Category Archives: Autobiographical

The Legacy of a King

“If I cannot do great things, I can do small things in a great way.” –Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

About 25 years ago, I walked into the library of my high school. Well, walked may not be accurate. I felt like I was pulled in, guided there as if by some magnetic force. I was on a mission. I needed to understand who Martin Luther King was and what he really stood for. And, more importantly, why he seemed to draw me to him even though I knew practically nothing about him. It wasn’t for a class assignment or anything related to school that got me into that library. I just really needed to know. I was compelled. There are some things that are just inside of us; we fall to the Earth this way. I was drawn to Dr. King, even before that library mission, and certainly every day since. Along with a guy you might have heard of by the name of Gandhi, Dr. King is my hero. Perhaps unfortunately for me, however, he is also my measuring stick.

I LOVE books and movies, but I tend to be a bit forgetful of the specifics of the story. I watch intently, and I passionately dissect and discuss them afterward. However, if you ask me, years later, what a particular book or film is about, there is a decent chance that I will have no recollection. But, if you ask me how I felt about it, I will tell you with absolute certainty. It is like that quote about how people don’t remember what you say or do nearly as much as they remember how you made them feel. So, there I sat in the movie theatre last week watching “Selma”, being touched and moved by the experience and by Dr. King’s impact on the United States and on me, when a fact rolled across the screen as the end credits began. It reminded me that he was a mere 39 years of age when he was assassinated in 1968. This fact hit me like a giant club upside the head. Thirty-nine!! And it was four years earlier that he had won the Nobel Prize for Peace. Thirty-five!!!

These numbers had my head spinning. First, it was, “How could they take him so young? Just imagine what he would have achieved with 30 or 40 more years on the planet.” That is mind-boggling. After that thought rattled around my brain for a minute, though, it lead right into a follow-up that got me into a near-panic: “He did all of that by 39—even 35. Shoot! I am running behind! I better get going on changing lives and leaving my mark on the world. NOW!!!”

Like I said, for me he is not just to marvel at; he is my measuring stick. You are probably thinking to yourself, “Why in the world would you choose one of the most accomplished change agents the world has ever known as your standard to live up to? Why not just take an average person—or even a moderately successful person—and try to do a little better than that?” It is a fair question and quite reasonable, actually. After all, isn’t comparing myself to Martin Luther King a direct path to failure and disappointment for me?

Maybe so. Maybe I am aiming too high. And let’s face it, my track record doesn’t quite shout out, “Hero! Difference-maker! Inspiration! Transformational leader!” I am a 42-year-old guy who has bounced around, taught a few people how to hit tennis balls, and sells shoes when I am not raising my kids. It is not exactly the resumé of Dr. King, who had a Nobel Peace Prize at 35 and was a hero and role model to people in all corners of the world. So, what gives?

Potential. That’s what. I am betting on my potential, on what I think I have in me. I think it is a lot. And I think it is special. Heart-changing. Mind-changing. Maybe even world-changing. I have thought about this concept of potential often. I think that in almost all cases, people overestimate their potential. They think they are capable of doing better—and indeed, fully expect to do better—than they actually are or do. I think it is part of why there are so many deathbed regrets. People think idealistically, especially in their younger adulthood, and dream big dreams for themselves. Unrealistically big, in most cases. (Well, as I write this, my mind changes. It is not our potential that we misread; I think those ideals are possible. We just lose our focus and fail to execute. Hence, the regrets.) I certainly may be in that unrealistic category. I am trying to measure up to Martin Luther King, for goodness sake! Logic says that I am definitely in that category.

But don’t tell me that. Delusional or not, I am going to believe exactly what my heart and soul are screaming out to me. They are telling me I am destined for greatness. They are telling me that I will change minds and change lives. Last week, I wrote to you that my Life Purpose Statement reads “I am a catalyst of Self-Awareness and Authenticity.” I believe that I was born with that purpose, that it lives in my soul. With that, I believe I am destined to help people know themselves better and live more authentic lives, honoring their gifts and their purpose. And the kicker is this: I believe I will do all of this on a grand scale, not just in the random few who happen to cross my path. I have a vision of publishing books that help people all over the world, of speaking in front of stadiums full of people, and yes, even of coaching people one-on-one. I want the work I do to touch all levels, from the personal to the global. As Dr. King said, I plan to do “small things in a great way” (as in my private coaching), but I also plan to do “great things”. I believe that it is all in me.

So, while I am obviously running behind schedule on the standard set by Dr. King, I am still willing to bet on myself in the long run. I am working on my coaching practice every day, beginning to help people to live their best lives. I am writing to you every week, polishing my skills and hoping to make a more grand-scale difference as we go. And I am always, in my head, practicing the speeches I will give to you when we meet in those stadiums on some distant day. The foundation is being laid. I have to think that if I keep plugging away at these missions, constantly trying to serve others, one day my potential will transform into results. Nothing is guaranteed of course—this is still Life, after all—but, as one of my other great idols, Henry David Thoreau, said, “if one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours.” I am betting on me. Watch out, Dr. King, I am coming!

How about you? What do you expect from yourself in this lifetime? Open up your journal and write about what you are going to do before you die. What is your potential? Do you have the ambition to match your potential? Are you ready to dig in and do the work that it will take to live up to that? Do you use someone as a benchmark or standard that you feel you should live up to? Is it someone you know, or a celebrity or historical figure? Is it a realistic guide? Do you think people tend to overestimate, underestimate, or be pretty accurate when it comes to assessing their potential? Where do you fit? When it comes to yourself, do you tend to temper your dreams or go wild? How about with others: are you the friend/confidante who tends to suggest “Dream big!” or are you in the “Be realistic” camp? When you get to the end of your days, do you think you will be more satisfied or more disappointed with yourself and your journey? Do you think that setting your sights lower takes the pressure off and leads to greater happiness and fulfillment? Or, perhaps setting high standards and expecting the most of yourself brings out your best self and helps you play a bigger game? Where do you fall on this spectrum of expectations? Are you okay trying to do small things greatly—being a light in your little corner of the world–or do you feel destined for grander things? Leave me a reply and let me know: How big is your life and legacy going to be?

Carpe diem,

William

Why Are You Here?

“He who has a why to live for can bear almost any how.” —Friedrich Nietzsche

I watched the movie “Selma” yesterday. It was about the Civil Rights Movement and Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s quest for the fair and equal treatment of Black Americans, in this case as it pertained to voting rights. It has really stayed with me, this film, creeping into my consciousness as I move through my day. I was captivated by so many different aspects of the film and the history behind it. One angle that really grabbed me in a unique and powerful way, though, was Dr. King’s resolve and willingness to go back into the fray—being beaten and jailed and leading others into situations that ended in their deaths—over and over despite serious doubts and guilt over so much spilled blood. And then there was his family. He carried the dual burdens of being taken from his wife and kids for long periods of time and also, by virtue of his leading role in the movement and the explosive mix of ignorance and violence that defined the opposition to it, the knowledge that he and/or his wife and children could be murdered at any time. I could not help but keep asking myself, “With so many reasons to NOT keep working for the cause—really big, life-or-death reasons—what kept him going back in?”

The answer I keep coming back to is that, deep down inside, he knew what his life purpose was. He knew that he was alive for a reason, and that to turn his back on that purpose would be to disrespect his Maker. He had a calling. A reason for being. A purpose.

I latched onto this aspect of “Selma” so strongly because I have been lately in the process of defining my own life purpose. I am going through the process as part of my Life Coach Training Program. It is no small task, either, let me tell you. Along the way, I have had to address what my needs are and what I value most in this world. I have tried a number of different exercises designed to help rank my values. I am not talking about chosen values—standards that I have adopted and held myself to—but rather about core values, which are things that I feel I was born with, things that have been with me all my life. The exercises—indeed, the entire process—have been very revealing.

Boiled down into one-word answers, these are some of my core values: spirituality, self-knowledge, teaching, purpose, growth, family, service, connectedness, health, and authenticity. These things get right to the heart of who I am and what makes me tick. They provide wonderful clues to my life purpose, but they are just the beginning when it comes to trying to define it succinctly.

The next phase of my homework was to make a long list of examples of times in my life when I knew was living “on purpose”. That is, times when I felt completely in the flow, energized, and as though things were effortless. I quickly jotted down more than twenty times in my life when I felt that way, ranging from when I was a teenager all the way up to the last year. My list included many times when I was writing, including writing my very first blog to you. I was on fire with passion for what I was doing, and the work and the cause filled my sails. It was effortless. I also noted many times when I was teaching, from private tennis lessons to Philosophy 101 classes. It included times when I have spoken publicly, including when I performed my sister’s wedding. That felt right to me. I also felt right and true in the simplest moments with my family, as well as hiking alone in the mountains or swimming in the ocean, feeling totally connected to the Divine.

I then took time to write a bit about each of these examples: what I was feeling and what about them struck such a deep chord in me. Next, I combed through all of my descriptions for recurring themes and words that resonated with me. It turned out to be not so different from the list of core values I had already made. Words that kept surfacing were: Connected (with the Divine, with others), Inspire, Dreams, Growing (personally and spiritually), Motivate, Teaching, Sharing (my love, traditions, my message), Challenging (myself and others, moving beyond the comfort zone), Family, Creativity, Self-Improvement, and Improve the World.

With clarity regarding both my core values and the recurring themes of the most “on purpose” moments of my life, I was feeling ready to write my purpose statement. After some tinkering with language, this was my first draft:

The purpose of my life is to help people—myself included—to live their best, most authentic lives by teaching and inspiring them to know themselves better; to be grateful for all that they are and have; to challenge themselves to grow spiritually and experientially; and to honor and pursue their dreams.

I was kind of liking it, actually. It named the things I want to do with my life, and that hit me in a good spot. It rang true.

However, I felt the pressure to make it short and sweet, so I started chopping. To a writer, cutting out words is like killing your babies, so it was no picnic for me, I promise you. My condensed draft looked like this:

The purpose of my life is to teach and inspire people—including myself—to know themselves better, to connect to the Divine, and to follow their Bliss.

While I wasn’t so sure I liked it better than the long version, at least it was concise. I figured I would put them to the test with my teacher when I got to class tonight. I was feeling pretty confident.

As it turned out, the joke was on me. I got to class tonight, and he started explaining life purpose statements and the differences between purpose, mission, and vision. You see, mission statements talk about the ways we are going to fulfill our purpose. They are action statements. Purpose statements, on the other hand, identify our calling or reason for being. Curses!!! While I had thought I had two pretty solid versions of my purpose statement, what I really had were a long and a short mission statement. Back to the drawing board!

To get to my purpose rather than my mission, I need to focus on Who I Am more than what I am going to do to express who I am. At my core, who am I? Why was I born? Why am I here? What is in my soul’s code? With only a few minutes of reflection—and what will probably be the first of many drafts—I suppose I would answer this way:

I am a catalyst for self-knowledge and authenticity.

Yeah, I suppose that about sums me up. I want people to know themselves deeply and to own themselves completely, including the honoring of their dreams and their own unique path in life. In a way, I think my purpose is to help everyone live their purpose. Or, is that my mission? Whatever! In any case, I think I am starting to understand why I am here. And that’s the whole point, right?

How about you? Why are you here? Open up your journal, and get ready for some deep diving. What are your core values? Can you name your top ten? If you had to get it down to three—and really, you don’t—what would they be? Are you living from those values now, or are you off-course? Think about the times in your life when you have felt most “on purpose”. Write them all down, and then elaborate. What were you doing? What are the common themes running through those experiences? Do those themes mesh with some or all of the core values you listed? Now, write out your Life Purpose Statement. Be as concise as possible; really try to boil it down to your essence. And don’t play small! Your purpose is magnificent, so name it and claim it. How difficult is it to crystallize your calling? Have you always known what it was, or is it only now becoming clear to you? I think writing a mission statement is really helpful, too. I accidentally wrote mine first, which gave me some good clues as to how to write my purpose statement, but I think it probably works best to know who you are first before stating the way you are going to fulfill that purpose. In any case, do the work. Dig. Ask yourself some tough questions. And take the “shoulds” out of it. What do you really value? Who are you really? Not who do you wish you were, or who do you think you should be to make others happy or proud. WHO ARE YOU? There is no greater question and no more important answer. Leave me a reply and let me know: Why are you here?

Your truth shall set you free,

William

Scared to Death

“When you die, it does not mean that you lose to cancer. You beat cancer by how you live, why you live, and in the manner in which you live.” –Stuart Scott (1965-2015)

Hello friend,

I am a total mess today. I just learned a few hours ago that longtime ESPN “SportsCenter” anchor Stuart Scott died this morning after a long battle with cancer. Even though I knew that this day would come, since I don’t watch much television, Stuart had been off my radar since his moving speech at the ESPY Awards this Summer, a speech that culminated with him calling his daughter up to the stage for a big hug. So, when I turned on my phone this morning and saw the headline, it was a gut-punch.

I sat there on my sofa with slow tears falling down my cheeks as I read the long tribute to Stuart and his astounding impact on those he loved and on the world of television sports journalism. Then I gathered myself and headed up the stairs, yelling to the kids that it was bathtime. Then, I crashed. I broke down in uncontrollable tears. I stood there in my bathroom and thought that I should mention Stuart’s death to my wife, a casual sports fan, in the other room. But when I tried to bring the words, I just sobbed harder, the tears pouring down and the breaths hyperventilated. Eventually I settled myself down enough to greet the kids with giant, hard-as-I-can-squeeze-you hugs as they came up the stairs. I asked them both to stop for a moment and look into my eyes so I could tell them with all my heart that I loved them and would always love them no matter what happens.

As I held tight to my two little angels, I couldn’t help but think of the two daughters that Stuart Scott left behind this morning when he finally let go. They were the reason he fought through three different bouts with cancer over the last seven years of his brave life. Seven years. That is a lot of surgeries, a lot of chemotherapy, a lot of pain, but, even more important, a lot of extra days with those two girls. Long enough to see one become a high-schooler and the other a college student. Precious years full of priceless moments.

It was those years and those miraculous moments between a father and his children that had me sobbing in my bathroom this morning. And it was cancer. Yes, it had much less to do with Stuart Scott, the man—whom I had always very much enjoyed and respected on ESPN over the years—than it did with fatherhood and cancer. I cannot stomach this combination. It terrifies me. More specifically, it haunts me.

A few years ago, my sweet cousin Heide died after another protracted battle with cancer. Still in her thirties, the disease simply devoured her, leaving her loving husband and two young daughters behind. This incident shook me on so many levels. Beyond the loss of someone I loved dearly, it completely rattled me regarding my own death and planted an obsession in my brain regarding cancer. I have gone over and over in my mind how Heide must have gone through her process, especially the latter stages, when her fate became not an “if” but a “when”. How did she talk to her children? How did she talk to herself? Where is that transition point from hope to no hope, and how did she navigate it? How much did she actively lament the loss of years with her children and husband, and where did she find the strength to accept that loss? How sure was she that her kids will remember her?

These questions haunt me. I agonize over them. Eventually and inevitably, they lead to vivid daydreams—“daymares,” I call them—in which I am the one riddled with cancer, and I have the task of navigating my dying months with my children. All sorts of dramatic, heartbreaking scenes play out in my mind, and I take myself through the experience of the anguish and devastation over the loss of time together, of me missing out on raising them and them missing out on their father for the rest of their beautiful lives. Tears flow, both in the vision and in reality, as the vision feels so vivid and raw. It tears my heart into bits. I cry even now as I write this to you.

I can’t say for sure how much of this stems from Heide’s death from cancer, how much is from the birth of my children, and how much is from something pre-existing in me. Whatever the combination, I believe that I am drawn to the visions—and to today’s death of Stuart Scott—because I think it is going to happen to me. I do. I hate to even say that, because I don’t want to put that idea out into the Universe. I don’t want the Law of Attraction to kick in and draw cancer to me just because these cases so persistently stick to my soul and my mind. It seems so morbid. But I also want to be honest with myself. I feel compelled to own up to this extreme dread I feel about cancer and the end of my own life. Those visions are just so real!

I desperately hope that my premonitions are wrong and that I will live to a ripe old age, watching children and grandchildren grow and flourish in health and happiness. I know, too, that there is no guarantee of any of it. I could have an aneurysm before this sentence ends. (Whew!) I could be hit by a car tomorrow. Worse yet, my kids could get hit by a car tomorrow. There are no promises here.

I know that the very best I can do is be fully absorbed in each moment and love them with all that I have, to not waste time and energy dwelling on the future or regretting the past. The present is the gift. So, I will do my best to wipe my tears and bring myself fully to the present with those I love. I will enjoy every moment that I am blessed with. I will live well. I will do my best with what I can control. The end will come when it does, so I will just take the ride. I know how lucky I am. Thanks be to God. Life is beautiful.

How about you? How do you envision your death? Get out your journal and expose yourself. Do you have premonitions of your end and the process leading to it? How vivid are they? Do they bring out strong emotions in you, like my sobbing? Do you become obsessed or preoccupied with these thoughts? How crippling is that? Do you have specific visions for the manner of your death (e.g. my cancer vision)? How old do you think you will be when you die? Are you okay with that age? Would you like to know the real answer—the date of your death? How would that affect the way you live right now? If you knew you would die one year from today, what would you change? If you have a long list of answers to that question, do you think that means that you need to make some changes anyway? Would you rather a loved one die of something protracted so you had a chance to prepare for their passing (e.g. saying what you wanted to say), or would you rather them go suddenly so you didn’t have to dwell on it while they lived? How do you accept the news of the death of others? I used to just say “Good for them!” and wish them well on their journey, then let it roll off of me. Now I am more prone to days like today, when a stranger’s death can really break me up. How much do you fear or dread your own passing? Has that changed as you have moved through life? How has it changed relative to new relationships in your life? For example, my mindset was “Take me anytime; I am ready,” right up until my kids were born, and now I cling desperately to life on Earth. Do loved ones give you not just a reason to live, but also a reason to dread dying? Does one particular way of dying (e.g. Alzheimer’s or ALS) seem particularly unappealing to you? If you had a choice, what would take you? It is a big topic: Death. And since none of us is immune, we must all make our peace with it at some point. Or perhaps not. At the moment, I am in the NOT category, particularly if it is soon and cancerous. I cannot accept that combination. How about you: What makes you feel scared to death?

Give us your best today,

William

New Year’s Excuses

“The only thing standing between you and your goal is the bulls@#t story you keep telling yourself as to why you can’t achieve it.” –Jordan Belfort

Hello friend,

Happy New Year! It is that time again. Time for the symbolic “do-over” we all receive every January. A chance to start fresh. A chance to do better. A chance to finally do what you—and perhaps your nagging partner—have known that you needed to do for a long time. It is RESOLUTION TIME!!!

I have never been much for New Year’s resolutions. Up until two years ago, I stubbornly ignored the prospect altogether. I think it is because I always associated it with giving something up, like candy or soda. That didn’t sound like any fun to me. There is also my lifelong aversion to limitations. I cannot stand to be restrained in any way, and my narrow idea of resolutions saw them holding me back. For example, if my New Year’s resolution was to lose ten pounds and I did that by June, what did that leave for the rest of the year? So, I never bothered with a resolution.

As 2013 commenced, I changed my perspective on resolutions a bit and decided it would be good for me to challenge myself. So, I made a Daily To-Do List, which included several items that I wanted to not simply do once and be done with for the year, but to do every day of the year (see my post “Your Everyday To-Do List” from May 2014). I kept that priority list posted on my vanity and desk; it reminded me—or perhaps shamed me, I am not sure which—into acting better. I liked that. Did I get to them all every day, or even most days? Not exactly. Some of them became solid habits and mindsets, but a couple of them just never latched onto my daily routine. Still, that, for me, was a positive spin on resolution-making.

Whenever I think about things like goals, aspirations, agendas, or resolutions, I always find it more helpful to couch the question in terms of how I want to feel rather than what I want to do? I ask myself how I want to feel this year. The answer provides the soil for my seeds of resolution. This year, I want to feel impassioned, healthy & energized, challenged, of service, creative, impactful, at peace, nurturing, clear, and like I am growing. With those things clear in my heart and mind, I can then ask the follow-up question: “What can I DO to help me feel the way I want to feel?” The answer to this question is crucial. It is the packet of seeds to plant in the well-prepared soil. When the two are mixed and carefully tended, how can I possibly go wrong? I am sure to flourish this year. Right?

Well, maybe there is more to it. Gardens tend to grow weeds, too, and those weeds can suffocate even the most beautiful flowers. In the garden of resolutions, the weeds are excuses. Born from self-doubt, excuses suffocate us in two treacherous ways. First, they strike down our visions for a better life. Before we even make our list of goals or resolutions, they tell us why we have no business dreaming so big, that we should set our sights on something lower and more “realistic”, and that our past is a perfect indication of the limits of our future. “Think small, dream small, and you won’t be so disappointed,” they say. Second, excuses offer us a crutch for the goals or resolutions we don’t achieve. They make it someone else’s fault. They allow us to accept less because, after all, it is out of our hands. They give us a pass and don’t ask us to look in the mirror to make sure we really challenged ourselves, really did all we could, and really didn’t accept less than our very best. Then that general, Self-doubt, and its infantry of Excuses really muddy the waters by mixing the lowered expectations with a free pass for not meeting them. In the end, we are left with low self-esteem and the visual evidence for why it should be that way. It is a cancerous environment. Weeds!

I have felt the poison of self-doubt and excuses creep into my own process this year. As the New Year has crept closer, I have been pondering the way I want to feel and thus the way I want to live and the things I want to accomplish. It is ambitious stuff, no doubt. I set my sights high in many areas that matter most to me, such as quality time spent with my family, career transitions and aspirations, writing projects, personal enrichment challenges, and finally, health and fitness. And while I have felt the self-doubt and excuses rise up to challenge me on all fronts, I have been especially aware of them in the health and fitness category this year.

Feeling—and, I admit, looking—healthy, lean, and energetic have always been very important to me. I think I came to Earth with this drive, the same way others arrive with an innate drive to cook, race things, or heal people. Most years, I have not even been aware of my drive for fitness and how much I value it, as it has come relatively easily. I have been reasonably fit all my life, and when I am not able to exercise, or if I feel like I am losing the look or feel of an athletic body, I become quite frustrated and disappointed with myself. So, as I have been envisioning a lean, vibrant, and athletic body carrying me through the coming year, I have been extremely aware of an unusually strong barrage of self-doubt-driven excuses hurling themselves at me. I am now questioning what I once took for granted.

Over the past couple of years—my 40s, argh–I have become increasingly aware of belly fat. Maybe it was there before and I was just better at denial, but these days it seems I am painfully aware of its presence. I know that it is winning the war over my mind when I start to think that maybe I won’t ever lose it, that it is part of me, not just something a few weeks of running will take care of. (Cue the depressing music)

That running speaks to my second big doubt/excuse. This Fall, for the first time in ages, I did not have a gym membership and thus took up running outdoors for my cardiovascular fitness. I was doing weights at home and figured I could be fitter than ever with a few times per week of running. Heck, I was even preparing my mind to become a Winter runner, braving the frigid cold and wind for the sake of my health. I was committed! Then, just a few weeks into my routine and getting hooked (and fit), I pulled my calf muscle. It was devastating and frustrating simultaneously. Those feelings were multiplied in the weeks and months that followed, as each time I gave it a few weeks to heal and then tried to run again, the muscle popped. Over and over. Then, on my first full run with it feeling solid, the other leg did the same thing. Pop! “#@$&!!!!” So the process started over. Over and over again. My wife has said numerous times, “It is your body telling you that you can’t run anymore. Ever.” I really don’t want to believe that, but somehow my self-doubt has latched onto that comment and ridden it all the way into my psyche. (Cue the extra-depressing music)

With my ever-softening belly and my useless legs as background, I entered this little break for the holidays still doing my best to keep the excuses for an unhealthy, low-energy year at bay. I planned to get a little exercise while on vacation and build some momentum heading into the New Year. Then I proceeded to catch a bug that laid me out for my entire vacation. I was feverish, weak, and in pain. And, oh yeah, very frustrated. It felt like one last joke my body was playing on me for the year, just so I don’t get my hopes up and generate some real aspirations for next year.

It was lots of ammunition against my ambitions for a healthy, fit, and active body. My excuses are right there for me. I am getting old, maybe too old to stop the slide. My muscles can no longer hold up to vigorous exercise. And any little microorganism can knock me out for a week, further diminishing my muscle tone and lung capacity. I am a wreck! A wreck with excuses.

But stronger than any excuse is the choice to NOT use it. Those all seem like pretty good excuses for me to give myself a pass on getting back to fitness this year. But I choose to reject them. I am going to choose a different attitude, one that will make it easier to choose action steps that work for my values. I am going to choose to get back on the weights, figure out a cardiovascular option that works for me and my injuries, implement yoga, and eat better than I have before. I love The Gift of Choice! Instead of choosing excuses for the New Year, I am choosing ME.

How about you? What are your excuses for the coming year? Open up your journal and write out all of the things you think are holding you back from living your best life this year. What does your best life look like? What do you see yourself doing? What new habits would you like to add to your lifestyle and schedule? What things are dragging you down and need to be reduced or eliminated from your life? Who do you want to spend more time with? Less time with? How do you want to BE? What activities make you feel the way you want to feel? Can you see yourself really living the life you imagine? Okay, so what is keeping you from taking the steps to live that life? What stories are you telling yourself about why you can’t have that life? How long have you been telling yourself these stories? How is that working for you so far? Maybe it is time to tell yourself a new story. One with more dreams and fewer excuses, more passion and less self-doubt. I would love to hear that story. Leave me a reply and let me know: What is your New Year’s story?

The best time is now,

William

Happy Everything!!!

“All of us take pride and pleasure in the fact that we are unique, but I’m afraid that when all is said and done the police are right: it all comes down to fingerprints.” –David Sedaris, Holidays on Ice

Hello friend,

“Merry Christmas!!!” “Happy Hanukkah!!!” “Happy Kwanzaa!!!” “Happy New Year!!!” “Happy Holidays!!!” It is certainly a festive time of the year in this part of the world, even if we are celebrating different things. So, which one do you say when you greet someone or bid farewell these days? Does it matter? This time of the year, I always begin to wonder.

In recent years, as the world (hopefully) creeps toward greater tolerance and inclusiveness of difference, I have noticed it become more common to hear “Happy Holidays!” or “Seasons Greetings!” in advertisements or greetings. Good old “Merry Christmas” seems to be losing its fashion in many settings. When my daughter’s Girl Scout troop went to a senior citizen center to sing carols, I noticed that the set list was loaded with secular songs (“Frosty the Snowman”, “Jingle Bells”, and the like) and empty of actual “Christmas songs” like “Away in a Manger” or “Silent Night”. I cannot imagine that would have been the case when I was growing up. There seems to be change in the air. Is it simply us becoming more politically correct, or is it something more?

I don’t know if my house is a good example, but it’s the one I know best, so here is what I can tell you from this spot on the planet. My greeting to others at my work and in the world is typically “Happy Holidays!” I very rarely wish someone a “Merry Christmas” unless I am certain that they are Christian and celebrate Christmas. I try to be aware of the language I use, and I do my best to communicate thoughtfully, especially to those I do not know.

One of my favorite annual traditions is the receiving of “Christmas Cards”. I have always loved returning to my parents’ home for the holidays and settling into the sofa for a couple of hours with the basket that houses the enormous collection of Christmas cards and letters. I read all about my extended family and old family friends that I grew up with. I am deeply nostalgic by nature, so I adore this trip down Memory Lane. I have done my best to keep up the tradition, sending out a card and letter each year almost on time for Christmas. I don’t call ours a “Christmas card”, though, at least not to myself or to my wife and kids. To us, it’s a “Holiday card” (which makes it okay when it’s late for Christmas, right?). In recent years, the photo printing companies have really jumped on the bandwagon of inclusivity, so we get to choose one of the options that reads “Peace on Earth”, “Oh What Fun”, or this year’s choice, “May Your Days Be Merry”. I hope that choices like this land well with everyone who receives our card. The letter intentionally does not mention Christmas, though certainly most of the people who receive it are Christians. Most. Not all. And I have no wish to exclude anyone with my language.

In perusing Facebook lately and seeing what people are sharing and what type of comments they are making, I have noticed a fascinating trend: a backlash against my type of political correctness (I like to think of it as simple respect or inclusion, but what do I know?). I have seen angry, bitter comments from people demanding to “reclaim Christmas” in schools and public settings, or feeling like their freedom to say “Merry Christmas” has been infringed upon by all of this politically correct nonsense, to the point that they are supposed to feel guilty for broadcasting Christmas wishes to the world. The partnering themes seem to be “Keep Christ in Christmas!” and “This is America, and that means we celebrate Christmas!” My favorite Facebook meme in response to these angry, defensive claims was one that read, “Want to keep Christ in Christmas? Feed the hungry, clothe the naked, forgive the guilty, welcome the unwanted, care for the ill, love your enemies, and do unto others as you would have done to you.” Hmmm. That sounds both productive and logical (which means that most of us will ignore it).

I guess I am unsure if non-Christians take any offense to hearing “Merry Christmas” all the time or not. I, for one, do not. I understand that the intent of most people saying “Merry Christmas” (or “Happy Hannukah” or “Happy Easter”) is not to convert me to their religion but rather to simply spread some cheer in the way they learned to do that. I am a fan of spreading cheer, after all. Sure, I could intellectually say to myself, “Why are you evangelizing about your religion when you don’t have a clue as to what I believe?” But it is feels easier—and more forgiving, frankly—to just roll with it.

And let’s face it: although Christmas gets a lot of folks into church who don’t often go, it has become a much bigger secular holiday than it has a religious one. If we polled a million people off the street—even if it was a million Christians—I would be willing to bet that if we asked them, “What is the first thing that comes to your mind when I say ‘Christmas’?” far more people would say “Santa” than “Jesus”. I am not at all suggesting that Christians should forget the origin of the holiday—indeed, I wish they would follow the message of that Facebook meme even more—but I would say that it is okay to admit that Christmas has become mostly a secular celebration. We spend months and moneys buying presents, and then we get together to eat, drink, and be merry. It is a good thing.

And for those who feel like they need some ethical ammunition in order to keep saying “Merry Christmas” to every stranger they meet, admitting that it has become a secular holiday, ironically, gives you just that support. Think about it: if we just came to see Christmas in the same light as we see Halloween, for example, you could greet folks with a “Merry Christmas” and think nothing of it. It is only when we both 1) cling to Christmas as a religious day, a day primarily to honor Jesus, and 2) press our demands to use “Merry Christmas” without an awareness of our audience, that it becomes a problem of arrogance and Christian privilege. Because there is still some denial, debate, and confusion about the first issue, I choose to steer clear of the second.

All of this is just a roundabout way of saying that my hope for all of you at this time of the year is that you celebrate joyfully and safely, and that you do so with an awareness that, while we are all part of this wonderful unity called the human race, we are also each unique in our beliefs and traditions. In the coming days, I will celebrate Christmas, Kwanzaa, and the New Year, and I will bid a Happy Hanukkah to my Jewish friends. My cousin-in-law, Justin Data, recently wrote a blog in which he invented a new holiday called “Gluttonmirthen” that encompasses the entire span between Thanksgiving and New Years Day, aptly named because that period is both joyful and completely gluttonous. Now that is inclusive (and seriously, how fun is it to say “Happy Gluttonmirthen!”? I’m just sayin’.)! And while I will go on wishing everyone “Happy Holidays” and spreading good cheer, I will try to remind myself that this is not “the holiday season” for everyone; it is simply a time when a lot of my holidays come in rapid succession. So, I say to you, whenever your favorite or most holy holidays fall on the calendar, “HAPPY EVERYTHING!!!” It is all good to me.

How about you? Are you celebrating a favorite holiday this time of year? Open up your journal and write about what makes it so important to you. Does it make you nostalgic for your youth or for family members that are no longer with you? Is it a religious or secular holiday, or a bit of each? If it blends the two, which part do you prefer: the secular or the religious? Are you at all offended when someone wishes you a “Merry ________________” if you don’t celebrate whatever is in that blank? Do you think others have a right to be offended or feel oppressed by the majority trying to make everyone celebrate the majority group’s holiday? How do you greet people hello or goodbye at this time of the year? Do you say it unconsciously, or do you choose your greeting with care and consideration for your audience? Do you think you should? Is it enough to “mean well” or at least “mean no harm” by your greeting–no matter what you say–or should you work harder to understand the impact of your words before you say them? Which way do you lean on this issue: are we all just being too sensitive about this stuff, or is it time for a major shift in consciousness to bring about some long-neglected inclusion? Leave me a reply and let me know: Is it time to just say, “HAPPY EVERYTHING!”?

Be what you want the world to be,

William

Who is God?

“God has no religion.” –Mahatma Gandhi

At Christmas dinner several years ago, in the course of conversation, I mentioned that I was no longer a Christian. The room went silent. All of the buzzing of different conversations stopped dead. There was a collective shutdown of communication, as no one seemed to know where to go with that thought. You might think that such a nugget might stir up a provocative discussion about some fascinating existential issues, such as religion, God, or the very nature of humankind’s place in the universe. NOPE! Crickets. No one asked what I believe in, why I had left the religion, or if I had found a new one.

WHY ARE WE LIKE THIS? Why do we have such difficulty communicating about an issue that speaks to not only our very essence as a species but also to the core beliefs that define our perspectives as individuals? Let’s face it: what you believe about God and religion colors your entire worldview. It is indisputably important. Even if you don’t care much for the topic, it is affecting you as the lens through which you see the world. So, why can’t we talk to each other about it? Why can’t we tell each other who God is to us?

I suppose the pat answer is that God and religion are in the same category as politics: there is just too much emotion tied up in them, that it only creates trouble to attempt a conversation on the topic. I can understand that. Because these feelings run so deep, it is only too easy to cross someone’s line, causing either the walls to go up or the fireworks to go off. Even though I appreciate a good, challenging conversation, I understand the hesitation to the idea of bringing God up at your holiday gathering in anything other than a prayer. However, I think one of the negative side effects in always taking a pass on this is that, over decades and generations, these issues are never raised at all. We learn what we learn from our religion or school or culture, but we also come to see by example that there is no room to converse and investigate the topic. We are receptacles only. Don’t think. Don’t question. Don’t explore. Accept blindly and silently.

It seems a shame to me, though, to miss out on some deep-diving conversation. It is such a rich, grand topic, after all. So, I will make a deal with you: I will give you a pass on attempting this conversation with your friends or family members today IF you take it to your journal. Yes, your journal: the safest, most accepting and affirming place to be your beautiful self. My journal is where I have processed my spiritual journey, from religious upheaval to deep, lasting Peace.

I grew up in a sometimes-churchgoing Catholic family. It was all of the traditional Christian representations of a Father God who had one son named Jesus, and the only way to return to God in Heaven was through Jesus. My Mom was more into it than my Dad was, and we went to church often enough to know the drill. I never liked it as a kid. Too much ritual, too much standing, too long, too boring. I respectfully challenged just about everything my Confirmation teacher said regarding the rules of getting to Heaven, because it just didn’t ring true to me.

From that introduction, you might think that I bolted from the church the moment I left home, but the opposite is true. When I went to college, I started going to Mass regularly. It was less formal, and I usually enjoyed the message of the sermon—which kept me going back—but never could quite get attached to all of the ritual and dogma. Even as I moved around the country in my wandering days in Minneapolis, Chicago, DC, New York, and Los Angeles, I always found a Catholic church to attend. I really just wanted to hear the sermon; I wanted to be moved and inspired by a good speech. I stomached the rest for the sake of the speech. And the Church was all I knew.

Until it wasn’t. When I was about 24 and living in California—and going to church weekly—I started finding wonderful books about other people’s experiences of God and spirituality. A seismic shift began inside of me. I was, at long last, connecting with stories of the Divine that rang true to me and my experiences. I was seeing in words for the first time the God I had always known. My soul began to bloom, and I was on fire with this new connection I was making to my God, the one I had always felt but never had the words or the support for. It was a God who permeated everything and didn’t have the jealous, vindictive streak from the stories I had learned growing up. And because God permeated everything completely, it meant that we were all one—connected, just like Quantum Physics tells us—and that we were all (not just Jesus) fully God. I liked this God. I liked him because I knew him. Somehow reading these books caused me to remember what I had somehow forgotten.

As you might have already guessed, my days as a Christian were over in a hurry with this new revelation. I was still fascinated and totally inspired by Jesus of Nazareth, but I was just as clear that he was not the one and only son of God and that I didn’t need to go directly through him to access God. (It was an amicable break-up; we’re still friends.) In the months and years that followed my awakening—nearly 20 years of uninterrupted Happiness, I believe it worth noting–I have been an avid student of God and religions. I have studied Philosophy of Religion both in and out of university. I have read the Bible from cover to cover, the Koran, Bhagavad Gita, and other traditional holy books. I enjoy them very much. I see pieces of each traditional religion that are appealing. I quite like certain aspects of Buddhism, particularly. Still, I have come to prefer books like Neale Donald Walsch’s Conversations With God series or Deepak Chopra’s How to Know God. I like to learn about Quantum Physics, because it tells me in scientific terms what the other spirituality books on my favorite shelf tell me: that we are all One, inextricably intertwined with All That Is. I actually feel as though I understand well, though, where atheists and agnostics are coming from, and I sympathize with their positions. The traditional ways that scientists have determined “proof” don’t tally well when it comes to verifying the existence of any God. We are left with philosophical arguments, leaps of faith, or trusting our guts, hoping to find, as I did, something that feels like Truth.

So, what do I call myself if someone asks? If I don’t see the conversation going very deep, I might just say, “I am spiritual but don’t subscribe to a particular religion” or “I believe in God but am not religious.” More specifically, I believe that God is pure Love and that God is All. That is, that there is nothing that is not fully God. A logical extension of this is that I am God, in the same way that Jesus, Mohammed, Buddha, or Krishna (or Jim Jones or David Choresh) is God. (Humorous side note: My four-year-old confirms his understanding of this concept by saying, “God’s in my ear, right, Dad? God’s in my butt, too, right?” Yes, son, God is in your butt.). In any dictionary, there is a term called pantheism. I like the way Alasdair MacIntyre explains it: “Pantheism essentially involves two assertions: that everything that exists constitutes a unity, and that this all-inclusive unity is divine.” To be even more specific about my belief, I actually prefer the term panentheism, which is found in only a few dictionaries. Essentially, it means that God is the universe in its entirety, but God is also more. God transcends the universe. “He” is both the universe and also the intelligence behind it. That works for me. All of this points me to two conclusions that I like to remind myself of regularly: 1)We are All One, and 2) The end is not in doubt. I travel happily through the world with those assurances.

How about you? Who is God to you? Open up your journal and your soul, and merge the two. How do you visualize your God? Is it an old man with a long white beard who lives in a cloud-like Heaven? Is it an invisible spirit? Does it have human-like characteristics, such as anger and judgment? Is your God found in Nature? What do you call your God (I use God, the Universe, the Divine, the All, the One, All That Is, and Life interchangeably)? How do you reach your God? Do you have to go to a house of worship? Is God found only when you bow and make a formal prayer, or do you see God in the most mundane of circumstances? Do you pray regularly? Are your prayers typically requests for things you want, or prayers of gratitude? Do you feel heard? Do you think God answers specific prayers? If so, how do you think God decides? How tolerant are you about other people’s idea of God? Do you find yourself more put-off by someone from a different religion or by an atheist? Do you think there is any way to prove God’s existence? Is the order in the universe enough to explain it, or the complexity of the human body, or perhaps “miracles”? If it is so difficult to prove, why do atheists get such a bad rap, and why is there so much killing and animosity in the name of God? How sure are you of your God? Sure enough to try to convert others to your belief? This is a delicate topic for conversation—I can attest to that—which makes it the perfect topic for a journal entry. Dive deep and find your Truth, uncertainties and all. I would love to know what you find. Leave me a reply and tell me: Who is God to you?

Namaste,

William

An Unfriendly Reminder

“When health is absent, wisdom cannot reveal itself, art cannot manifest, strength cannot fight, wealth becomes useless, and intelligence cannot be applied.” –Herophilus

Hello friend,

A little over ten years ago, I came to understand suicide more clearly.

Sure, I had spent time thinking about it over the years, but mostly in theoretical terms. I would hear about people killing themselves and always wonder, “Why?” In the tenderness of my youth, I wanted to believe I was so empathetic that I really could understand the depths of despair. When my first love broke my teenage heart, I was a mess inside. I was pretty far gone, but not so far that I wasn’t aware of my thoughts. Among other things, I thought a lot about suicide. Not actually doing it—I never considered it as an option—but about the concept of suicide. Being depressed for that short time really triggered something in me, a deeper intellectualization of suicide. I thought about it regularly: about how people’s emotions can turn an otherwise-clear mind irrational, and about how belief—whether rational or not—that one’s life has no hope for improvement can make ending that life seem like an appealing option. Traps of the heart and mind. That, in a nutshell, is how suicide appeared to me until about the age of thirty. And then, it all changed.

I herniated a disc in my lower back. I won’t go into the complete nightmare sequence of events led by the HMO-directed thinking of doctors who were way out of their expertise, but suffice it to say that in the end, I was literally stuck in a sideways-bent position for days on end as they continued to multiply the doses of narcotics but failed to get me the right tests and specialists to provide any relief. I distinctly recall sitting—if you could call it that—alone in my basement one afternoon, sobbing and wailing because it hurt so badly. It was in that moment, and in the ensuing days of agony that led up—finally—to my surgery, that I arrived at a new understanding of suicide. It wasn’t only about mental and emotional pain and despair, as I had previously believed. No, the ending of one’s own life could be deemed a desirable outcome if enough physical pain was involved for a long enough time. Again, much like when I was suffering from a broken heart, I didn’t actually consider killing myself during the episode with my back, but I surely thought about the concept often. My mind just gravitated to the topic. I put myself in the position of people who are suffering from some types of terminal cancer or other chronic, severe, and debilitating pain, and believe me, I completely understood their desire to end their lives “prematurely”. In that much pain and with no end in sight, it became easy to understand the “This isn’t living” rationale. If I weren’t being careful with my words, I would describe the kind of pain I was in as “unbearable”. However, at least I knew that a solution would come eventually, and with it relief. I knew I could lay down my burden; others are not so lucky.

Even though I have some lingering nerve damage in my leg from the blundering of those doctors that did not get me the proper care in time—yes, I am a little bitter still if you couldn’t tell–my essential health was restored eventually. There is a scar on my spine that will stay with me, but otherwise my body moved on. After a year, I had pretty well put behind me my medical nightmare and the horrific pain I was in for those dark days. One lesson I kept with me was to always try to maintain strength in my core muscles and overall fitness. The other lesson that I was sure that I would hold onto forever was to be grateful for my health every day that I have it. The incident had made me keenly aware of how precious and fleeting good health is—much like life itself—and thus how aware and grateful I should be each day to be alive and relatively pain-free. I vowed to never forget. How could I?

Well, I did forget. I got complacent. I did the right things physically to try to avoid another disaster, but I got sloppy with the gratitude part. I stopped reminding myself what a magnificent gift it is to wake up and breathe easily in the morning, to be able to wrestle with my kids and give them shoulder rides, to run around and hit tennis balls, to survive a hot yoga class, and to simply walk the earth without the distraction of pain. Sure, I have had pretty regular injuries to remind myself what a hassle they are, but mostly I have been able to press on and continue an active life. And, I am sad to admit, a blindly ungrateful one, too.

It seems that the better my health has been, the less grateful for it I have been. For me at least, it is the biggest one I let slip through the cracks when it comes to prayers of gratitude. I feel like I am pretty self-aware when it comes to how lucky I am to have such wonderful people in my life. My parents and siblings are the best ever, and I wouldn’t trade any of them in. I can hardly imagine my luck in finding someone who actually chose to have me around for life, so, needless to say, I am grateful for my amazing wife. And of course, my kids are the greatest things that have ever happened to me. I feel like I know that every day, too. I am so aware of how they make my heart overflow, so I pretty much ooze gratitude when it comes to them. I know, too, how lucky I am to be allowed a schedule that matches my priorities, offering me tons of quality time with the family, as well as some stolen moments to pursue my passions, such as writing this letter to you. I am well aware of how spoiled I am in this regard, so I am deeply grateful.

I always tell people that one of the biggest benefits of keeping a daily journal is that it makes me intensely self-aware, and that the main benefit of this self-awareness is gratitude for my beautiful existence. As I said, I feel like this is very true in all of the other areas of my life. So, why do I do so poorly in acknowledging the blessings of good health? Being a sports lover, the analogy that comes to my mind is of the referee (or the ballkids in tennis). The goal of the referee—or the ballkid—is to NOT be noticed. If you notice them, it is probably because they are doing a bad job. Health seems to be, for me, like that. If I don’t notice my health, that means the job is being done well. If I do notice it—like this past week, when my spine has again gone awry and left me agonizing—something is wrong. I can see now—pain sometimes has a way of clarifying things—that this is not fair to my health. I am hereby vowing to do a better job of acknowledging—DAILY–the wonderful fortune it is to be in good health. I love Herophilus’s quote at the top of the page; it really is true that without health, our other gifts cannot shine through. I am so driven to maximize my potential, so I would be a fool not to honor the instrument through which all things flow. Like with so many people around us, a simple show of gratitude and respect can do wonders. It is time I started to set things right. I am only sorry that it required this week’s unfriendly reminder from my spine to help me see the light.

How about you? How is your relationship with your health? Open up your journal and start writing. Make a list of the aspects of your health that you appreciate. Can you make it through the day without pain? Do you require any medications or devices to function normally? Do you like a good fitness challenge? Do you sleep comfortably? Are you able to “act like a kid” sometimes, full of energy and freedom? Can you run? Could you still climb a sledding hill? Jump in the pool or lake for a swim? Run through the sprinkler? Ride a bike? Chase a kid around all day? Do you set goals for your health and fitness? Do you go to a gym or have a regular workout routine? How is your diet? If you could change your weight any amount in either direction, what would you choose? Do you know of people who are less healthy than you? Perhaps they have cancer, cardiovascular disease, an autoimmune disorder, arthritis, or obesity. In thinking about them, does it make you more grateful for the health that you have? Does it motivate you to take action to improve your health? How grateful are you about your status? Are you like me and take it for granted when it is going well, only to be reminded of your ingratitude when you are stricken down with something? Leave me a reply and let me know: Do you appreciate your health, or does it require an unfriendly reminder?

Start your day with “Thank you”,

William

What’s Your Elevator Speech?

“Every job from the heart is, ultimately, of equal value. The nurse injects the syringe; the writer slides the pen; the farmer plows the dirt; the comedian draws the laughter. Monetary income is the perfect deceiver of a man’s true worth.” –Criss Jami

Hello friend,

Teacher. Waiter. Tennis coach. Maid. Actor. Retail manager. Personal trainer. Construction worker. Courier. Painter. Secretary. What does this seemingly random list of professions have in common? These have all been, at one time or another, my answer to the age-old question that defines social gatherings in our society: “What do you do?”

Now look at that list again. If you and I had just met, made it past the names, and arrived at the inevitable “What do you do?” question, which of my answers would have interested you enough to start a real discussion or made you consider either employing or referring me in the future? Let me answer for you: “Very few!” Maybe the actor made you at least curious enough to ask, “Have I seen you in anything?” Maybe if you were really into tennis or fitness or desperately needed your house painted, you might have asked a follow-up question about my services. Otherwise, my answer was probably a conversation dead-end and an encounter you quickly forgot. The next time you needed a courier, a maid, or a secretary, you did a Google search—or Yellow Pages back in the day I was doing some of those jobs—and found someone, because our conversation certainly didn’t hold me in your mind.

But what if, when you asked, “What do you do?” I had said, “Have you ever invited a special someone over to your place for the first time—or agreed to host a party for your job–and desperately wanted to hide the fact that you haven’t dusted since, well, EVER, and that you aren’t even sure you know how to use the vacuum cleaner? Well, I work with people like you to take care of all their cleaning needs so that they can be free to focus on the more enjoyable things in life, like getting dolled-up for that date or making hors d’oeuvres for that party. That way, they can be at their best when it matters most.” How would that grab you? You just might ask to get my business card, because you either A) are that messy person who wants to impress, or B) know someone who is. In either case, I have your attention and will probably come to your mind the next time you need a maid. Behold, the power of the Elevator Speech!

An Elevator Speech gets its name from the idea that if you got on an elevator several flights up and someone asked you the classic “What do you do?” you could, in the thirty seconds or less it would take for you to arrive at the lobby, interest them enough with your answer that the person would ask for your business card. It is a marketing spiel, of course, but its purpose is not to sell something immediately but rather to begin a relationship.

The relationship you are trying to open is not necessarily with everyone but with your target audience. When I was the maid, if I had given you that speech in a crowded elevator and you were compulsively neat, it would have had no effect on you. But, that handful of slobs sharing the elevator with you should have been completely captivated by my speech to the point that they pulled me aside as we got off in order to get my card. If your Elevator Speech is truly tailored to your desired audience, that audience should automatically gravitate toward you when you give it, eager to learn more.

So, what makes a good Elevator Speech? I think it starts with authenticity (as just about anything good does, right?). It has to come from your heart and not feel canned. It should sound conversational. Metaphors and examples are great, as humans tend to think best in vivid images and stories. Clearly conveying the benefits you can provide for your audience is crucial; that is, not just telling people what you do, but, more importantly, how it makes their lives better. If people think you are authentic and they can clearly visualize how your product or service can benefit them, they are going to want to find out more about you. If you get that far, you have a good Elevator Speech.

Being new to this whole concept and to marketing in general, I asked my wife if she has some version of an Elevator Speech ready for when someone asks her what she does. She runs a multicultural center at a college, so I thought that such a spiel might be the farthest thing from her mind. Much to my amazement and delight, she immediately (and so casually) replied, “I create opportunities for people to have authentic dialogue with each other about difficult issues in order to learn more about their own and others’ perspectives. Ultimately, the goal of my work is to facilitate dialogue and create spaces that allow people to build effective relationships across difference and develop a mutual understanding of each others’ experiences.” WHOA!!! This woman is good! She is very, very good. (Writer’s Note: It is really cool to still be impressed by your spouse after a million years together.)

So, what about me? I have only been learning about this stuff in the past week as part of my Life Coach training program. By nature, I have approximately ZERO INTEREST in sales or marketing. None. I guess I have always taken the mindset of, “If I deliver a good product, word will get out, and people will come.” That has been my version of marketing. It is no wonder I am not a salesman! However, my teacher has been hitting me over the head with the idea that, no matter how great of a Life Coach I am, if I am not willing to put myself out there and talk to people about the benefits of working with me, I am going to be a broke Life Coach. So, it is time to start talking!

This is what I have come up with so far:

“Do you know those people who are really driven to reach their full potential? Well, they often become frustrated—even stressed-out—about how to best use their time and their talents. I work with those people to CLARIFY WHAT IS MOST IMPORTANT TO THEM, and to eliminate the distractions that drain their energy. What’s so great about that is that they can then direct all of their efforts into FOLLOWING THEIR PASSIONS and LIVING THEIR PURPOSE.”

What do you think? Did that peak your interest at all? Maybe make you want my business card to learn more about what I could do for you? If it did, awesome! If not, either the speech needs a lot of work—which is definitely true—or you are not part of my target audience. I actually kind of like it, though, at least as a start. Well, maybe it is not so much the speech that I like but, rather, I like that I get to do those things it talks about. It is good to appreciate your job, to feel as though you are adding value to the world. I am right there with this new gig. Now I just need to tell people about it!

How about you? What do you say when someone asks what you do? Take out your journal and write about your work. Do you usually respond with a couple of words, such as “I’m a nurse,” “I’m in sales,” or “I work at a grocery store”? How often do people ask you for your business card or for more information based on what you tell them? Do you like your job? Do you think if you liked it more, you would be more eager to use an Elevator Speech to describe it? Does it even interest you to find out what people do for a living? I tend to be a bit repulsed by the question—similar to talking about the weather—because I think most people ask it simply as a reflex. I would rather know what someone’s hobbies or passions are. But maybe if people gave more Elevator Speeches, I would like the “What do you do?” question. Have you ever used an Elevator Speech? Did it work? Did it surprise the person who asked you? I think I would be shocked to hear one, just as I was when my wife dropped hers on me. If you could come up with one now, how would it go? Leave me a reply and let me know: What’s your Elevator Speech?

Self-knowledge is a wonderful thing,

William

The Sexuality Spectrum: What’s Your Rating?

“All young people, regardless of sexual orientation or identity, deserve a safe and supportive environment in which to achieve their full potential.” –Harvey Milk

Hello friend,

WHAT ARE YOU? This is possibly my least favorite question in the world. We ask it when we need to put someone in a box. We feel compelled to label people and fit them neatly into a category in our mind so that we know how to treat them. “What are you?” We ask it about religion. We ask it about race and ethnic background. There are often very clear answers to these questions: “I am Muslim and White,” or “I am an atheist and am half-Black and half-Korean.” When it comes to sexuality, our WHAT ARE YOU? implies that we expect the same cut-and-dried type of answer: “I am straight. Period,” or “I am gay. Period.” Once in a blue moon, we hear that someone is bisexual, but we tend to dismiss that as an aberration. We prefer the person to fit neatly into one of the two boxes: Straight or Gay. That’s it. Label assigned. No more thinking for me to do about it. You are an option for me or you aren’t. But maybe, just maybe, it isn’t that simple.

I think that sexuality exists on a continuum—a spectrum—and that very few people are 100% at either the heterosexual end or the homosexual end. We receive so many demands from the day we are born—both overt and covert—to get in a box and stay in it. Of course, in this culture we demand our children to stick to the Straight box. This demand causes all kinds of difficulties for those who come to realize that they were born to be in a different box. But, any move away from the Straight box puts the person on a one-way trip to the Gay box. Straight or Gay: that’s what we are, according to the rules. But, like I said, I think it is more complicated than that.

Humans are complicated. We take the easy way out when we paint others with such broad brush-strokes, turning everyone into a cartoon figure as hero, villain, sweetheart, jerk, witch, great guy, mean girl, and so on. Most people fit all of these descriptions at one moment or another, so to try to put them into a box with a label only gives us a very limited and unrealistic view of their true character. The fewer the labels that we allow in our mental grid of our world, the less accurate (and more cartooned) is our worldview.

So, where does my Sexuality Spectrum fit in here? In order to understand where you truly are sexually, you have to be willing to comb your innermost thoughts, feelings, and inclinations, not just your sexual history. What thoughts excite you? What repels you? What shows up in your dreams, and how do you feel about that when it does? Who do you imagine yourself snuggling up with? Getting freaky with? Growing old with? Then you have to consider whether your honest answers to all of these questions match entirely with the box you are in—Straight or Gay—or if your answers make you feel like your box is getting a bit constraining. Maybe it isn’t so black-&-white. That’s how it feels to me.

If you make me claim a box, I will definitely claim Straight. I always have. I have always been highly attracted to women and find no difficulty in becoming excited at the thought of being naked with them. I have arousing dreams about being with them. When I use my less-sexy test of “What type of body do you want to snuggle with?”—or, another version is, “Who do you want to share passionate kisses with?”–I am definitely drawn to images of women. I sound pretty darn straight, right? Well, yes, but maybe not 100% yes. As I said, humans are complicated. I can certainly acknowledge when a man is attractive. I am not repulsed by the idea of being with a man sexually. I have had a few dreams in my life involving men and could even get excited thinking about some aspects of it. Some. Not all, and certainly less so than my very frequent thoughts of women. And when it comes to my Snuggle-&-Kiss Tests, I have a tough time envisioning myself warmly wrapped in a man’s arms. It is just not as appealing to me as a woman’s.

So, where do I rate? Based on everything I just mentioned, I guess I would say that I am an 85% Straight. Maybe it is more, possibly slightly less, but let’s call it 85%. The immediate thought that comes to me is, “Does that mean I am BISEXUAL?” This takes me right back to the curse of labeling. If I admit to even the slightest attraction to a male, I might be evicted from my comfortable home in the Straight box. Heck, in some people’s mind, that admission might send me directly to the Gay box. Yikes! I don’t want to be in the Gay box. There is way too much persecution there. All of my straight privilege—assumptions that I am masculine, not wondering if I have equal protection under the law, etc.—goes right out the window. And for what, a few thoughts?

If I have to go to the Gay box for an occasional thought about men in a sea of thoughts about women, it is no wonder I never actually took the step of entering into a relationship with a man. I have known and liked many gay men over the years, and in my younger years certainly had opportunities to enter into romantic or physical relationships with some. I chose not to. As I think back about that time from this distance, I think that maybe the reason I never did “experiment” or get into a relationship with a man is just this fear that a single transgression would get me permanently evicted from the friendly confines of Straighthood. This is exactly how it works: The Curse of Labeling. When we try to fit neatly into a box—even if it mostly describes us—we deny ourselves the richness of the full human experience.

When I think of the Sexuality Spectrum and of people ignoring it to honor their own Truth, a few examples come to mind. I know a very enlightened woman who always thought of herself as a heterosexual. She met a gay woman and fell in love, and, more importantly, gave herself permission to disregard the labels that everyone else wanted to put on her and allowed herself to enjoy the experience of loving another person. Years later and still together, I would bet she still assigns herself a number clearly on the heterosexual side of the spectrum but would probably tell you that she simply rejects labels altogether. I have another friend who always badly wanted to be on the straight side, so his actions allowed him to be labeled as such, even if, deep down, he knew that he was at least somewhat more on the gay side. When he finally lived long enough to realize that the Straight label didn’t make him approve of himself the way society promised it would, he gave himself permission to test the waters on the other side. What he thought was a tolerable “62% Gay-but-living-as-Straight” turned into the realization that he had always been 85% Gay but was finally willing to admit it to himself and the world. That permission liberated him, and he can now live with the Gay label if you insist on making him wear one. Finally, I think of the movie “Brokeback Mountain” and its two main characters, Jack and Ennis, who fall in love in a place and time that does not accept love between men. Jack, as the story unfolds, is revealed to us as someone who is probably 90% Gay, while Ennis is probably 85% Straight. Yet somehow, each person fell in love with the other person. In their tiny bubble in the Universe, the labels went out the window, and there was only Love.

What seems to happen to most of the rest of us, though, is that we never get past the labels. We get our WHO ARE YOU? answers as soon as we can and then get right to the task of imprisoning ourselves and those we meet in the boxes of those answers. They determine who we can love and who we should fear, who we tolerate and who we persecute. The labels separate us. The labels minimize us. They make us smaller, simpler, and more bland. They strip us of our richness and complexity. But the worst thing that the labels do is reduce our chances to experience Love.

They immediately cut us off from a huge portion of the population. They send us to another label—the “right” gender, race, religion, and economic class for our label–instead of a person. Sure, these labels help us organize our world in a coherent way, but when taken as rule-making truths, they organize us right into a prison of our own making. So, if I am truly an 85% Straight guy who accepts the label of Straight, I am only allowed to fall in love with the women who also accept Straight, no matter if their actual percentages are 40% Straight or 100%. That 15% Gay aspect of my being must neither be acknowledged nor allowed to find love. Instead of choosing freely amongst nearly all of the adult population to find the right one to share my entire, complex, beautiful being with, I am left to scrounge around for true love amongst less than half of the population, most of whom have been stripped of their authenticity by accepting their label without a fight. Suddenly, I don’t like my chances so much!

Thankfully for me, I am happily in love with my wife, and I hope she doesn’t go anywhere for a very long time. But if she does, I hope that I will be strong enough to be open to Love however it shows up. I hope that for my kids, too. In a world where it is such a challenge to find and sustain happiness, and where a significant component of happiness comes from the giving and receiving of love, I hope for them that no matter where they land on the Sexuality Spectrum, they accept themselves completely and accept Love openly and gratefully.

How about you? Where do you score yourself on the Sexuality Spectrum, and how does that affect who you are willing to love? Open up your journal and dive deep. This is a huge and very private topic for most of us, so perhaps your journal is the only one you dare share this with right now. I know that for my part, this letter to you has things that I have never shared with anyone. If I can do it for you, you can do it for yourself! What is your label? Gay? Straight? Something else? How tightly do you cling to that label? Would you ever dare stray to the other side, or would you be afraid, like me, that going there—even just once—might define you as something other than your current label? Does that seem too risky to you? Do you agree with me that people exist all across the Sexuality Spectrum, or do you think it is more black-and-white than that, i.e. that most people are 100% Gay or 100% Straight? Do you think your number on the Sexuality Spectrum changes at all throughout life, or do you think we simply become more clear about it at a certain point? Do you think you are allowed any choice in the matter? Why do you think we make such a big deal about this topic? Why has it been so taboo? How has this affected who you are open to loving? Has it narrowed your choices? Does that seem right to you? Be honest with yourself, and if you dare, leave me a reply. I would like to know: Are you open to Love, however it shows up?

Authenticity is beautiful,

William

Time Well-Spent

“Time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time.” –Marthe Troly-Curtin, Phrynette Married

I woke up today feeling like such a kind and generous soul. I had decided last night that I would be giving my precious personal time away today, sacrificing my many pressing projects to make someone else happy. I was patting myself on the back for my magnanimity, thinking this wonderful gift of my time—scarce and valuable as it is—would surely get me on Santa’s good list as the holidays approach. “What a guy,” I thought, “selflessly sharing myself for someone else’s good.” Boy, how I had it wrong! As it turned out, the one who got the most out of the deal was me.

Sometimes I think that we punish people for being self-sufficient and doing a good job in this world. Well, maybe punish is the wrong word; maybe we just fail to reward. People in school or at work who aren’t keeping up seem to get lots of the teacher’s or boss’ attention and guidance, whereas the people who are getting the job done are denied the attention that might help them actually excel rather than just get by. Our “reward” for doing well is often to be ignored.

This seems to happen in relationships, too. The “squeaky wheels” in our circle of friends—the ones with the issues and the drama and the special needs—get the extra time and attention. It might take the form of a bonus hug or special lunch, or it may be as simple as having all of the conversation centered on them. The others—the friends who seem to have it all together and aren’t so aggressive with their demands—end up like the model student or co-worker. Their reward for their solidity is to get NO attention at all. No conversation focus. No extra hugs. No lunch or party in their honor. No love.

It pains me to admit that this is what I have allowed to happen in my circle. I let things slip. I have been unfair with my time and attention. My circle is tiny, mind you. It essentially includes me, my wife, and my two young kids. So, when someone starts to get shorted by me when it comes to my time and attention, you would think I would notice it and immediately rectify the situation. You would think. Sadly, that is not the way it has happened.

I like to think that I am a good Dad. Since the day my daughter was born six-plus years ago, I have totally transformed my life and priorities. I have scaled back my career–more than once–and given up most other hobbies. I have definitely gone all-in on fatherhood. I love it, too. I gladly accept all of the exhaustion and frustration in exchange for the way my heart overflows with Love and Gratitude as a result of their presence in my life. So, I give my every moment to them, from the time they rise in the much-too-early morning to the time they drift off to sleep at night, by which time I am usually so wiped out that I don’t have a lot left in the tank before I have to retire for the night. In that short time, I feel compelled to write my daily journal entry, as well as do my homework for my Life Coaching classes. I am committed to writing these letters to you as well. My labor of love, The Journal Project, has been lately relegated to the back burner due to a lack of time, and that hurts my heart more than you can imagine. There is, quite simply, never enough time or energy to do all that I am driven to do. Those darn kids, as awesome as they are, sure soak up a lot of me.

Oh, did I mention that my sacred circle has another member? Yes, while the kids are busy being the squeaky wheels that get the grease—the Drama Queen and Drama King of the group—my wife plugs along in her self-sufficient way. She seems to understand the deal—that the kids are a huge handful but worth every bit of energy and time spent—and puts no demands on us to make it about her. She willingly gives us her energy and time—she is a fabulous Mommy and wife–and she makes no demands in return. She is that high-achieving, low-maintenance kid in the class. But, like I said, those are sometimes the ones that don’t get the attention they deserve simply because they don’t stamp their feet and demand it. The teacher is occupied by putting out fires with the loud ones instead.

I am the teacher in this case. I am so, so guilty of giving all of my time and energy to my kids, then sneaking in my personal projects in the tiny window of free time after they go to bed. Day after busy day, week after busy week, year after busy year. The blinders go up in the mad dash to “accomplish” anything on the kids’ or my To-Do List. As my old friend Ferris Bueller says, “Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in awhile, you could miss it.” Wise man, that Ferris Bueller. Well, as I have been rushing around meeting the needs of my kids and then trying to squeeze me into the equation in the day’s last breaths, I have forgotten to stop and look around. And I missed something vitally important. My best friend.

Yes, my wife’s reward for being a self-sustaining, low-maintenance member of my inner circle has been to be virtually ignored by me. I haven’t given her the energy, the time, or the appreciation that she deserves. I have been very unfair about that, and I need to do better. So yesterday, when I realized that our schedules were going to match up to both have the same day off today, I decided that my moment had come to begin the process of making it up to her. I looked—with some longing, I admit—at the list of pressing things I have been wanting to do with my rare window of personal time, and I turned the paper over. It would have to wait for a different day. I went to my wife and offered her my time.

It turns out to be a fairly small window between getting kids to their morning destination and having to return to get them in the afternoon. But we took advantage of it. We drove my son to daycare together. We did some shopping. We went out for lunch. We even went to my daughter’s Science Fair at school. Pretty mundane stuff, sure, but that was not the point. The point was that we did it together. I gave her my time. I gave her my presence. I gave her a husband and best friend again.

As it turns out, though, I was the one who got the most out of it. In not being a very good best friend, I forgot how great it is to be with my best friend. To sit down over lunch and have a great conversation. To do something entertaining like a first-grade Science Fair. To simply be together. In thinking I was giving a gift to her, I was missing the bigger picture. It was at least as much a gift to myself. And I discovered a third party in the room—something called US—who benefitted even more.

I learned a lot today. I learned that I was a fool for forgetting about someone so awesome in my life. I learned that it is okay to take a break from my To-Do List once in awhile. And most importantly, I learned that, to someone you love, there is no greater gift than your time and your presence.

How about you? Who do you owe some time to? Open up your journal and take a mental walk around your sacred circle of loved ones. Can you find the ones who, perhaps, don’t get enough of your attention and time? Why is it? Do you take them for granted? Is it because they don’t bring any drama to demand it? If you could offer them a few hours of your undivided attention, how would you spend the time? What if it was only thirty minutes? If you cannot make the time, what small gesture can you make today to bridge the gap? A quick text or voicemail, perhaps? Maybe a link to a song that binds you together? How do you show your loved ones that you care? Is that the best way you can think of, or might there be more? Leave me a reply and let me know: What, for you, is time well-spent?

Rise to the occasion that is your life,

William

Journal of You

Finding yourself through writing

Category Archives: Autobiographical

Scared to Death

New Year’s Excuses

Who is God?

An Unfriendly Reminder

What’s Your Elevator Speech?

The Sexuality Spectrum: What’s Your Rating?

Time Well-Spent

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