Category Archives: Relationships

Scared to Death

DSC_1150“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

Happy Everything!!!

DSC_0405“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

An Unfriendly Reminder

DSC_0408“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

The Sexuality Spectrum: What’s Your Rating?

IMG_1089“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

IMG_1669“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

Do You Want to Build a Snowman?

DSC_0381“Life is more fun if you play games.” —Roald Dahl, My Uncle Oswald

Hello friend,

Last night, I took my kids to visit some family at a nearby hotel. As we made our way through the labyrinth of hallways, they raced each other to every turn at top speed. At their cousin’s room, they immersed themselves in playing with her and her books, consumed by the novelty of the situation. Then came the main attraction: the swimming pool! They could hardly wait to put their life jackets on so they could cannonball off the side and into the action of beach balls, floaty noodles, and swim races. Oh, and a million more jumps off the side into the water, each one more daring and more exuberant than the previous. In watching them throughout—and of course in participating, because they demand that I be every bit as involved as they are—I couldn’t help but be swept into the conclusion that the whole evening was, for them, simply a celebration of FUN and PLAY.

And then they woke up this morning at home and started that celebration again. “Can we rake up a leaf pile to jump into?” “Watch me do some cartwheels, Dad!” “Race me up the stairs: Ready, Set, GO!!!!” “Watch me be a cheetah!” “Daddy, can you spin us on the tree swing?” “Let’s dino-fight! I’ll be Triceratops, and you be Deinonychus. RAAWWWRRRR!!!” And on and on and on. It is amazing on so many levels. And even though they include me in almost all of their wide wonder, I often find myself wishing I could trade places with them. Of course, I am envious of the sheer volume of energy they have. I think of all that I could accomplish if I could go as hard as they do all day. I would also do anything for their presence. They live completely in the moment. Of course, that makes the day quite a rollercoaster of drama, but it is entirely authentic and marvelous. Within that presence and authenticity is a beautiful open-heartedness. They share themselves and their love freely and completely in a way that we would all do well to learn from.

But the quality that completely captivated me—and stirred my envy up to a frothing boil—was their zest for FUN, their zeal for PLAY. Every game or challenge I joined in—racing them down the hall and down the pool, or throwing them in the water, or playing catch—simply tickled my soul and made me feel so full of Joy. I couldn’t help but think, “Why don’t I do this more often?” I just felt so full of energy and life. So playful. So present. So free. So childlike.

What happens to us adults that we lose this playfulness, this willingness to be free and open-hearted and in-the-moment? At what point does it become uncool? We get so serious as grown-ups, so self-judgmental about allowing ourselves to do things like jumping in the leaves or doing cannonballs into the pool, things that we wholeheartedly sought out and celebrated as kids. It seems that the term “childish” has only a negative connotation. We use it derisively when we talk about people who are acting selfish or petty. It may be derogatory in those contexts, but I don’t think it needs to be that way when it comes to activities, to play.

When I look at the things my kids like to do—playing at the playground, sports of all sorts, riding bikes and scooters, tag, sledding, swimming, building snowmen, running through the sprinkler, the tree swing, creating imaginary stories with their toys, racing each other wherever they go, painting pictures, making bracelets for each other, dressing up as superheroes or princesses and acting out the roles, practicing cartwheels and somersaults, jumping on the trampoline, diving off the dock at the lake, tubing, making leaf piles to dive in, building forts out of sofa cushions, hide-and-seek, piggyback and shoulder rides, trick-or-treating, singing songs, and dancing—they are all born out of a quest for FUN. To quote Shakespeare totally out of context, “The PLAY is the thing….” And it really is.

I could go for just about every single one of those things on that list right now. I am envious of them as I think about it. On the other hand, I am so glad that having these guys gives me the excuse to do this fun stuff, to “act like a kid” again. But why should I need them for the excuse? Why don’t we adults just DO this stuff? Why don’t we just PLAY??? No apologies or excuses required. Play for play’s sake. Just because it is so silly and liberating and creative and energizing and FUN. We need that, don’t we? I know that I do, and the people I meet sure seem like they could use some, too.

Charles Dickens said, “To a young heart everything is fun.” I can testify to that. I see it every day in my children. The challenge I am putting to myself is that, no matter how old my body gets, I will keep my heart young by doing what the kids do: seeking out play. Sure, I know that is going to become more challenging in a few years when the kids are not as young and don’t want to include Dad in the fun anymore. Will I still load up the sled and drive over to the big hill? Will I still get behind the boat on the tube and be whipped around? Will I still do cartwheels on the lawn and run through the sprinkler on a hot day? Will I still build forts out of the sofa cushions and ride my Rip-Stik around the block? Will I still jump in the pile of leaves before I bag them? Or, will I find new ways to play, or focus more on the kinds that don’t require a young body, like singing or making up stories? I sure hope so. All of these things are so much fun, and I am always rejuvenated after I do them. Rejuvenated equals “made young again”. Yeah, that works for me. I am ready to play!

How about you? Do you still play? Get out your journal and think about all of the things you do that are purely for FUN, that make you feel like a kid again. What are they? I have already mentioned dozens of things that my kids get me to do that are deeply rejuvenating for me. Do these things work for you, too? What is different about your list from mine? How self-conscious do you feel when you do these activities? Do you feel like people look at you oddly, as though you are doing something that is only socially acceptable for kids to do? I always get looks when I ride my Rip-Stik or go do down the waterslide at the pool. Are you the parent or adult who takes the kids to the sledding hill—or waterslide or bounce house–and only watches the kids as they have all the fun? Would you—do you–do these things alone, or at least without kids? Maybe it’s time to give yourself permission. On a scale of one to ten, how playful are you? Leave me a reply and let me know: Do you want to build a snowman? 

Put yourself out there,

William

Happy Gratitude Day!

DSC_0127“If the only prayer you said was thank you, that would be enough.” —Meister Eckhart

Hello friend,

I had a birthday this week. Birthdays seem to be received in such a wide variety of ways as people move deeper into adulthood. I know people who will simply not acknowledge that it is their birthday. They bristle at any greetings or gifts from loved ones, sometimes even going so far as to question the intelligence of the well-wishers, as there is simply NOT a birthday occurring on this day. I know others who somewhat-begrudgingly acknowledge their day and humbly accept their gifts and greetings, but they don’t want to talk about how old they are or dive into any deep sentiment about the passage of time and the life they have lived. They will be pleased to have the day move into tomorrow, just another day. Still others I know are more than happy to use the occasion as an excuse to have a party, eat some yummy stuff, and misbehave a bit. It is another Halloween or St. Patrick’s Day for them.

For me, though, Birthday Mode is something different. I have never been much for wild celebrations, so it is always very low-key. I enjoy the cake, of course, and hanging out with my wife and kids. I like hearing from my parents and siblings, and birthdays and holidays tend to provide us with the excuse to finally make the connection. Other than the cake and a few extra phone calls, though, the day tends to look—on the outside, anyway–like most of the others.

On the inside, though, the concept of my birthday has changed. This year I was keenly aware all day that I have come to see it as “Gratitude Day,” a day to be reminded of all of the amazing gifts in my life, which are too many to count but can definitely be felt. So, while the day seemed to go on fairly normally on the outside, I was doing an internal meditation on these innumerable blessings and just how thankful I am for them.

Of course, I thought about the many wonderful people in my life. My wife and kids–with whom I shared the cake and the laughs that day–are the very best that I could imagine, so it was cool just to bask in that kind of gratitude that comes from being up close and personal with its source. My parents and siblings are such admirable people in so many ways, and so I found myself truly absorbing and appreciating each call, FaceTime, and voicemail. These are conversations that I cherish. And while I don’t have many close friends, I was well reminded of them and how interconnected they are with the story of my life. Without them, there is not me, and it was nice to take some time to ruminate on that idea.

The group of people that surprised me most in my level of gratitude for them was the Facebook crowd. Seriously! This is the first year I have been on Facebook—yes, I am a little slow to join the new millennium—and one of the people closest to me said that I should make open to the public as little about me as possible. She said she doesn’t list her birthday because she doesn’t want people who barely know her wishing her a Happy Birthday. I didn’t listen, of course, so how pleasantly surprised I was to get a little shout-out from dozens and dozens of folks, mostly old high school mates and distant relations. Though I would probably not recognize all of their faces if I saw them today, I was somehow very touched and appreciative of the little moment it took them to just type “Happy BDay” or the like. It reminded me of where I came from and also of the importance of small gestures and how I need to do better with them, as I was certainly grateful to every one of those folks who took that little moment. People are good!

Already in the gratitude flow, I found myself really aware of the little things that I generally take for granted. As a middle-class American suburbanite in the 21st century, I live so amazingly comfortably compared to most anyone in the history of the world. There is a fridge full of food and money to buy more. I know I will be warm through a Minnesota Winter. Everyone in my family is healthy, and we can see a doctor any time that changes. My bookshelves are full, and the library is nearby in a pinch. And I have the privilege of not having to think about this stuff everyday, leaving me free to do things like studying life coaching and writing this letter to you. It is definitely a good gig, this one of mine.

Finally, I took a page from The Secret and expressed my gratitude for all of the magnificence to come. Actually, I find myself doing this almost every day in my journal entries. I am in the habit of sharing my thanks in advance for the many wonderful blessings that are surely on the way (it helps that I see everything as a blessing in my philosophy). For me, this helps me to walk each day in gratitude and to maintain my unbridled optimism for the future. In that vein, this is how I closed my journal entry on my birthday afternoon:

I am going to have a very good 43rd year. I can feel that. There is so much growth out there for me, and I am wildly grateful for that. Lots of change, lots of growth, lots of Love, lots of fun, lots of memories. I am really, really excited for what is coming. I am about to jump out of my skin as I think about it right now. The Universe and I will be sharing our gifts with one another. I am SO excited. It truly is a happy Happy Birthday and Gratitude Day that I am basking in right now. God permeates. I am oozing Peace. Life is beautiful.

How about you? What are you grateful for today? Open up your journal and remind yourself why it is good to be alive and be you. What are the circumstances you are most thankful for? Do you have food and shelter? Do you have enough money to pay for those things? Do you feel safe where you live? Are you reading this on a computer or smartphone? Are you allowed to freely express yourself? Do you have the chance to pursue your dreams? Are you educated? If you answered “yes” to any of those things, you are off to a good start. If “yes” to all, how blessed you are! How about the people in your life? Think about all of your friends and family members who make your little corner of the world a place you appreciate. Which ones would you not trade for a million dollars? How many people would take that moment out of their day to send you a Facebook birthday wish? Would that moment make you smile the way it made me smile? Are you grateful for that moment? What about the coming moments? Do you allow yourself to be grateful in anticipation of good things to come? Is your level of optimism about the future reflected in the level of anticipatory gratitude you feel toward it, or do you keep these things separate? How do you treat your birthday? Do you deny it or embrace it? Do you celebrate big? Does it draw you into deep thought about your life and its many blessings? If you are like me, your birthday has become a lot like what the other big holidays have become: a chance to give thanks for this beautiful Life. Leave me a reply and let me know: Do you celebrate Gratitude Day?

Let your light shine,

William

If Money Was Not An Issue…

DSC_1066“Making money isn’t hard in itself… What’s hard is to earn it doing something worth devoting one’s life to.” –Carlos Ruiz Zafon, The Shadow of the Wind 

Hello friend,

My life coaching classes have really gotten me thinking lately. Stirred up might be more accurate. You see, one of a coach’s best tools is a powerful question. A powerful question can make you see things in a totally new way, a way that might suddenly provide wonderful clarity on a topic that you have long been struggling with. Often, a coach’s questions cause you to look more deeply into your heart and mind to figure out what really makes you tick and what you really want to do with this wonderful gift called Life. What I have recently discovered is that the question that best grabs me by the collar and throws me up against the wall in its demand to be addressed is, “If money was not an issue, what career would you pursue?”

Of course, it is easy for my mind to run wild upon hearing this question. I mean, “If money was not an issue…” can easily translate into fantasies of living on the beach in Aruba. Who needs a career if money is not an issue, right? So, I must clarify the question. “If you were to make AS MUCH AS YOU DO NOW DOING ANYTHING….” or “If you made ENOUGH TO BE COMFORTABLE-BUT-NOT-WEALTHY DOING ANYTHING…” seem to put it in better perspective for me. The other way that helps me—the husband and parent part of me–get to my most pure answer is, “If you had no wife or children that you felt compelled to provide time, energy, and money for, what career would you pursue?” That one really helps me crystallize the issue, because I wasn’t much bothered by being broke as a single person, but I don’t want that for my wife and kids.

In any case, all of these versions of this question, at their core, simply ask, “WHAT IS YOUR BLISS?” What is your dream? What career thought absolutely lights you up inside? What is your calling? What job will most help you give your unique gift to the world? This topic—following your dreams–is probably my most favorite one in the entire universe. I am drawn to it like a moth to a flame, completely compelled by it. I feel so passionate about it for myself and for others. I could certainly write a post to you every week on this topic. I know it is why I have been drawn to life coaching as well. I just really want to see people living in the light of their own Truth by listening to their soul’s calling and following their Bliss. That is the key to living authentically, and I am nothing if not a fan of authentic living.

For me, then, the trouble with this supremely important question—What does your Bliss look like? (and no excuses allowed)–is that it is a trap. It compels me to live out my answer or else feel like a fraud, an untruthful version of me. I just find it so necessary to follow whatever my answer to this question is, because that seems to be the only way to live truthfully to my calling and purpose. After all, I know what my values are. To maintain my integrity, I must be able to answer to the man in the mirror. Living my Truth is the only way I can look that guy in the eye for any sustained period. Thus, I feel even more emboldened to follow my Bliss and live out my dreams. I start plotting my future as a writer, speaker, and coach as though it is the most natural and obvious thing to do–starting immediately, of course!

But then guilt or humility or the voice of Society smacks me back with a “Who are YOU to get do whatever you dream?” and a “Be realistic!” I start to wonder if I am just being a selfish, spoiled guy—which I am, of course—expecting everyone else to make allowances for me to live my dreams. I wonder if my sense of entitlement—the “How could I NOT get to chase my calling? How DARE you stand in my way?” feeling—is justified. Because, really, who else is following their Bliss? Is there really anyone else out there who has not been forced to settle for less in order to keep the lights on or the spouse satisfied? Why should I be so lucky?

But then the relentlessness of my Truth comes roaring back. Along with it comes my dogged determination to not settle for less in my life, to never give up on my endless quest to learn more, grow more, BE MORE, and in that, to be completely and truly ME. This feeling—and indeed, even the logic behind it—wins me over every time I ask myself this most powerful of questions.

I understand that it may seem selfish. Believe me, I have felt the guilt from that jab from my conscience. But I really do think—in theory—that people should be following their Bliss, going after what lights them up inside. It just so happens that it is a lot more convenient to do that when either A) no one else is counting on you for food and shelter, or B) your partner is not simultaneously taking the same kind of risks. I truly want my wife to be happy and fulfilled and following her Bliss. But I secretly hope that her current, stable, insurance-granting job makes her feel that way so that I can continue on my uncertain, not-yet-profitable pursuit of my own dreams. Oh, the ways my mind has to twist things in order to live as though money is not an issue!

How about you? How well are you doing at chasing your dreams? Open up your journal and answer the question for yourself. What do you most want to do with the rest of your work life? Are you doing it now? Are you even in the ballpark? If not, what are the main factors keeping you from following your Bliss? I know that, for me, Time and Money are my biggest, most overused excuses (Time being my favorite crutch), but get creative and specific with your challenges. What is really holding you back? Once you have identified your calling, how patient are you in needing to see results? How do you manage expectations? I really battle myself about this. While in my most generous moments, I appreciate that I write to you every week and that I am taking classes for coaching and thus am working toward my goals, most of the time I am kicking myself for not being “successful” yet and wondering why I can’t just drop my other work to devote all of my time to what I am most passionate about. How entitled to your calling and the pursuit of it do you feel? Which of your current responsibilities or commitments would it be reasonable to let go of to give yourself more time to pursue your dreams? Do you dare announce your dreams to the people around you? Most of us are too afraid to tell others what we really want to be, because revealing that leaves us open to judgment, both about our dreams themselves and about not living them. How much do you share? Are your loved ones supportive of your pursuit? In H. Jackson Brown Jr.’s book P.S. I Love You, he says, “Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.” I bet that something—some long-buried dream–jumps into your mind when you read that. Don’t ignore it. Honor it. Consider it.   Then leave me a reply and let me know: If money was not an issue, what would you be doing? 

You are worthy of a big dream,

William

So Long, Farewell

DSC_0819“How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” –A.A. Milne, Winnie the Pooh 

Hello friend,

Whenever I think of goodbyes, I think of my parents. My Mom is all-in when it comes time to part ways. I think so fondly of the mornings at her house—the home of my childhood–after a long holiday stay, when I am packing the car with a million pieces of luggage. She makes sure to get up early to make a big breakfast. She finds a way to engage in a good conversation one last time, gently reminding me that I still feel so very much at home there. She comes by with lots of motherly love and rubs on the back. She tells me how glad she is that we came. She hugs. She kisses. There are lots of “I love you’s,” and even more heartfelt tears. She puts it all out there. It feels good to have a goodbye morning with her. I always drive away full of love and gratitude—and yes, a few heartfelt tears of my own. My Mom is the world champion of goodbyes.

And then there is my Dad. The man who occupies the same house on those sweet, sentimental goodbye mornings is nowhere to be found. Perhaps the dog needed to go out for an extra-long walk, or that darn post office box was in desperate need of a checking, or maybe something was left at the office. In any case, he will not be sharing in the farewell breakfast, the “I love you’s,” or the teary-eyed hugs. My Dad is the world champion of avoiding sentimental moments, especially goodbyes.

As the child of this wonderful good-cop/bad-cop duo, you might suspect that I am some kooky hybrid of the two. I suppose that is true. When it comes to that kind of goodbye with those nearest and dearest to me, I love the lingering, sentimental goodbye like my mother. I am hopelessly nostalgic, so I like to soak in those last moments of a visit like they are a warm bath, thoroughly enjoying both the moment and the grateful afterglow of the wonderful time we have shared (which makes leaving so difficult). I love the peaceful gratitude that comes from spending time with the right people. When it comes to anyone else, though, I would rather take my old man’s route and avoid it altogether. Just get me out of there!

I have been full of goodbyes lately. A few days ago, I left a job and career of many years, in the process bidding farewell to many people who hold all sorts of different places in (and out of) my heart. In the week leading up to the final departure, as I saw folks for possibly the final time, I noticed my heart and mind run through the full extremes of responses, both in the goodbye itself and even in the mere anticipation of the goodbye.

On the one hand, I really appreciated the opportunity to say farewell to some of the players, mostly because I wanted to thank them for all of the their time and effort and commitment over the years. We had been through a lot together, and a player-coach relationship can go pretty deep. I definitely felt that in my inclination to touch base with my long-time players. The more I had invested in them—and vice versa—the more I wanted to connect with them one last time and thank them for the ride. It is a great gift to get the chance to coach someone who is invested in their own improvement, and I wanted to linger in that gratitude a bit in my final moments with those special people.

Otherwise, though, I mostly wanted to avoid people all week. If I wasn’t close with someone personally, didn’t care for them, or never made that great connection that comes when someone really lets you join in their fight for their own advancement and self-confidence, I absolutely did not want a farewell. I was actually even a bit repulsed by the idea. It was the complete opposite of my reaction with the other players.

I seem to fall on the “Give me the genuine and heartfelt, or let’s not waste our time” when it comes to goodbyes. But as I write that, I see that that is exactly how I am at my core and why I mostly keep to myself. If I am going to interact, I prefer it to be deep and meaningful. I don’t suffer the shallow stuff very well. So, I don’t avoid most goodbyes the way my old man does—to hide from the emotions that might come up—but rather because they won’t bring any emotions up. That is why I had no inclination to say goodbye to coworkers; I was not close to any of them. If no one knew I was leaving, I could have easily walked out the door just like any other day and never looked back. I suppose that sounds cold or simply weird, but that is a pretty normal feeling for me. I have had enough big transitions—moves or job changes—to know my patterns. I tend toward the deep and lasting OR a complete severing of ties (mostly the latter). I am not sure if that is a good or a bad trait, but it is certainly me.

Next week I will say goodbye to one of the best friends I have ever had. He is moving far away, and who ever knows what happens then? For the most part, I just want to have one of my Mom’s goodbye mornings with him and linger in the gratitude and fond memories. In some ways, though, I want to be my Dad and make his goodbye a little easier for him—it is already tough enough to move away from a life you have built, no doubt—by disappearing until he gets out of town and avoiding all the sentimental stuff. But this is a guy who tends to go dark, so what if this is the end? What if I don’t get the chance again to tell him that he’s the best and that I love him and that I thank him so, so much for all that he has been to me and my family?

This is when I know how much I am my mother’s son. The Truth in my soul demands a proper farewell, no matter how many tears must be shed or hugs must be hugged. It would be false to my Truth to go out to walk the dog for this one. I will stay. After all that we have been through, I must say my goodbye.

How about you? How do you do with goodbyes? Open up your journal and your heart, and share your Truth. Do you have a typical pattern for your big goodbyes? Are you the world champion of them, or are you the one who avoids them like the plague? Does your response change wildly, like mine, depending on the bond you have made? How have you handled your biggest goodbyes (e.g., moving away, leaving a job, even the death of a loved one)? I love the Dr. Seuss quote that goes “Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.” Do you tend to be the one smiling or crying, or both? It can be a complicated matter, so dig deep on this one. Maybe allow the feelings to come out that you didn’t when you said (or avoided) some important goodbyes. It is a good release. In any case, tell your Truth. That is always the most important thing. Tell your Truth. Leave me a reply and let me know, How do you do goodbye? 

The real you is amazing,

William

Challengers of Change

DSC_0904“Those who expect moments of change to be comfortable and free of conflict have not learned their history.” –Joan Wallach Scott

Change is tough stuff. It is so necessary for growth and vitality, but still so very difficult and stressful. Relocations. Career changes. Relationship beginnings and endings. Births. Deaths. Heck, even your favorite TV show getting moved to another night! This stuff is no picnic, even when the changes are ones we have looked forward to. We always hear people say “Change is good!” while we are gritting our teeth about something changing in our lives. It seems no accident that the word “CHANGE” can be extracted from the letters of “CHALLENGE,” as the former never seems to come without the latter hanging all over it like a wet jacket. When it comes to making a major move in our own life—especially an effort to improve ourselves or our station in the world—the haters seem to come out of the woodwork to let their feelings be known.

Unfortunately, the first person we usually have to battle in this process of change-for-growth is ourselves. We put up a mighty challenge, too. When I think of big moves I have made in my adult life—quitting school (a couple of times!), moving to New York and Los Angeles, leaving LA, giving up single life, going to graduate school, leaving management, even starting “Journal of You”—there wasn’t a single one that didn’t involve a full-scale war against my own fear and self-doubt. So many of those changes involved facing The Great Unknown—which I think is the biggest fear for most of us—and others involved jumping into things that seemed known but still terrifying to me. When I look at that list, I can clearly recall that I was achingly close to not pulling the trigger on every one of those moves. I was my own biggest challenger.

I may have been my biggest challenger, but I was certainly not my only one. I think most people who make big moves in their lives find the same thing. When we finally push back our demons, face our fears, and claim the move, we feel a huge relief. The weight is off our shoulders. We think we are in the clear. Only then, however—when the news gets out—do we get the multitude of challengers and haters bringing their own issues to us. Our life changes trigger a lot of issues inside of the people around us.

Jealousy is a big one. Disappointment. Anger. There is a “Who moved my cheese?” element to it, as your friends, family, and even acquaintances can no longer take your role in their lives and in their minds for granted. You have become a wildcard, a rogue player. You must be assessed in a totally different way. That uncertainty is highly uncomfortable for most people, and especially so if your life change involves you—at least in their eyes—“rising above” the status you shared with them. There are a lot of psychological forces at play.

In most of our stations in life, we don’t like to admit—to ourselves or to others—that we don’t want to be what or where we are. So, we keep the “getting out” or “rising above” discussions away. But then someone in our station, out of nowhere, announces that they are making the move, getting out. And for the rest of us, our very first reflex thought is, “Oh, you lucky son-of-a-gun!” Whether what follows are well-wishes or resentment depends on the emotional maturity of the onlooker.

I see exactly this in the world of Tennis teachers, my field of work. We are all just a freak injury away from being out of a career, so we would be fools to not have at least considered a back-up plan, no matter how much we love our work. Yet no one ever talks about it. EVER! It is like some silent code that we have agreed to. Then one day—it happened last week in my office, actually–one of our co-workers announces he is getting out, becoming a civilian, and here comes the silent chorus of “Lucky son-of-a-gun!” thoughts from the rest of us. It is a fascinating relationship we all have with denial.

It often takes someone moving the cheese to release what lies beneath. That is when the challengers of change reveal themselves, both inside ourselves and in the form of the people in our lives. We must be armed and ready to take on all challengers. I think I am about due for some change, so I suppose it is time to strap on the armor. I love the quote from an unknown author, “If nothing ever changed, there’d be no butterflies.” I feel like flying. So, bring it on, world! I am grateful and ready to begin anew. I accept the challenge.

How about you? How well do you deal with change? Open up your journal, heart, and mind, and let it all flow out. Make a list of some of the big moves you have made in your life. How scared were you? Were you more scared of the change itself, or of announcing your move to the world and dealing with everyone’s reaction? Which of your moves represented an attempt on your part to “move up” in the world, to change your station or follow your dreams in a new way? Were those the scariest? How did the people in your life react to those announcements? Were you supported? Did you lose any relationships over any of these changes? Thinking back over your lifetime, which potential moves did you not make because of fear (of the unknown, of letting people down, of failure, etc.)? Do you regret that now? What would you like your next big move to be? Moving away? Job change? Going back to school? Having a child? Ending a relationship? How much of your own internal resistance will you have to overcome to make this big change? How much resistance will you get from your acquaintances, friends, and family? Whose disapproval do you fear the most? Are you ready to make the move anyway? Leave me a reply and let me know: Are you up to the challenge of change? 

Be boldly YOU today,

William