Let’s F*cking Go!!!

Ever thought your life is like a television series? Season to season hosted on a bed of eclectic episodes. Diverse character types, starring roles, and hidden meanings galore.  Can you visualize this?   

If your life was about to release a new season or episode, how would it go?  What would we see - in the spot promotion, the 2-minute trailer, in the major themes?  

I have given this a little thought and envision my Season 2, Episode 1 going like this…  

I’m at a bus station. About to leave on a faraway journey. The idling bus has a sign propped up on the dashboard “Destination Unknown.”  

Everyone from past episodes is there to pay their respects, say goodbye. They are huddled up, heads down and barely talking. Truth is, they are sad about my decision to leave them behind.  Guilt, regret, depression, all my bad habits, failure, shame, addiction, delusion, anxiety, heartache - the whole cast of characters are there. Even all the shoulda, coulda, woulda’s show up to bid me farewell.  For better or worse, each play major roles in my past episodes. I smile and hug each one of them. I express honest appreciation for the positive and negative impact they made. I wouldn’t be in the lead role of this series without their involvement. Not to mention they influenced me to write this next chapter. 

Despite all of them seeming down and out, I’m vibing. I’m upbeat, excited, ready. I haven’t even departed yet and I can see new beginnings, laughter, and clarity on the horizon. 

I’m travel super light. My backpack is compact and holds only bare essentials.  A crisp new journal, felt tip pen, headphones, couple of thought-provoking books, a sleeping bag and a few choice pieces of clothing including a swimsuit. Everything I need to step boldly into what’s next. 

The driver pulls out a hand hammered Tibetan gong to signal our departure time. Fitting for someone eager to journey within. I wave to everyone one last time and step onto the FUN Bus!  I feel like I’m floating. The time has come to leave what has been and discover what will be.  

My stomach butterflies flutter while my conviction remains calm. I’ve made the right choice to go. I can tell by seeing the people already onboard - they are full of joy, consciousness and freedom. Let’s fucking go!!!

I slip on my headphones. The gravelly voice of Bruce Springsteen singing Growing Up drowns out the world around me. Then comes the soulful lyrics of Corinne Bailey Ray Is This Love. I relax back into my seat. 

Risk and unknown litter the road ahead. Uncertainty is blowing everywhere. Skepticism, doubt and what if’s try to attach themselves to the front bumper as the bus picks up speed - they can’t hold on. Thoughts of “my life sucks” and “I’m not worthy” disappear in the rearview.  I start to feel confident, present and alive. I’ve got nothing to prove and yet I have purpose. Just be. 

Follow-on scenes swirl through a kaleidoscope of adventures. My spiritual evolution is a major theme.  At one point, I’m on the rim of a remote canyon in southwest Utah leaning into solo camping, meditation sits, yoga on the rocks, burning sage brush and sleeping out under star filled darkness. 

Clarity ensues. I see visions of myself sitting with people, listening to their stories, sharing space, and weighing in on their own direction. I find pleasure in pushing strangers (mostly men) to adjust their chosen direction - just a few degrees off from what they originally charted. This slight tweak is guaranteed to untap reserves of inner courage.

Faith in helping others leads to heightened self-awareness. This feels like a gift. Higher consciousness is achieved by connecting more deeply to the people I meet along the way.  What could be better!

The further I get, the more I let go. I unload gloom, loneliness and self-hatred. I release my grip  - on controlling results or trying to outsmart what’s next. I find peace in realizing that tornadoes and hurricanes have and always will sit behind puffy white clouds and bright blue skies.    

Throughout all of this, I move through the backwoods of Vermont, the heart of Boston, the beaches of Rhode Island, the concert halls of California, and through the most beautiful and unexpected spots across Cambodia, Vietnam, Australia, Africa, and South America. 

I am reminded that manufacturing our attitude is helpful but not a bulletproof shield.  We are not impervious. Like it or not, we will move through meat grinders, birds will shit on us, disasters will strike. Even our own mortality will show up. This journey re-introduces me to my own humanity. I accept who I am. I see that the answer is love. 

Perhaps most visceral in this new season is the absence of fear. Both my feet have left the dock. I’m all in. I drink from the fountain of academic, psychedelic, and soulful experiences. I enjoy knee deep powder, neck deep rivers, and waist deep quicksand. I dive into the ocean of Self and swim willingly through light and dark waters.  I get personal with the fragility of our existence. 

Scene fades. Credits roll. Tune in next time for episode 2.

// Christopher Robbins

Are You Carrying A Weapon?

I sat still and speechless, letting the tears roll down my cheeks as the words poured out of his mouth. On the outside this guy was a chiseled six foot eight inches tall and 280 pounds, oozing with grit and determination. But inside, he was a giant teddy bear who had all of us drenched in emotion.

His powerful self-reflection was one of many in the closing circle held on the last day of our retreat.  All ten of us guys shared stories remembered, gratitude earned, and lessons learned. We had spent the last five days together in the lush Green Mountains of Vermont connecting deeply with ourselves, with each other, and with our surroundings. In addition to hiking, eating, meditating, fire tending, and stretching our minds and bodies, we laughed and cried. We listened and heard. We revealed and imagined.     

For the guy talking, a former NFL linebacker who had held the Vince Lombardi trophy not once but twice, the experience was less sensational than it was a remarkable test of faith (and perhaps fate). Long before the retreat began, he let me know he was coming in deeply unsure. He was uncomfortable in this kind of situation, in the wilderness, with a group of strangers, talking about matters more personal than the score of last night’s game. On our pre-retreat Zoom call, he was visibly nervous. And when I met him on the first day and hugged him hello, his sweat drenched shirt put an exclamation point on the unease.

At first he was expectedly standoffish, deflected any eye contact, and criticized himself for almost everything. But underneath the nervous tension and social anxiety, I sensed he was a beautiful soul with a generous heart. And I had a feeling he was on the verge of having a serious breakthrough. 

His life accomplishments exceeded all of ours put together. Not just his thrill of victories, but also his agonies of defeat. You could tell by being in his company that he was the consummate team player – dedicated to winning at all costs. And win he did, at one of most physical sports ever. But like any intense lifelong commitment, his career path came at a cost.

This gifted athlete was a hero to many, not the least of which included his wife and children. In return for his on and off the field efforts, he was showered with accolades, money and promises of a bright future. But like many who go from stardom to retirement, he rode it up then spiraled down and spent several difficult years battling guilt, shame and a whole lotta shoulda, woulda, coulda’s.  Throughout the retreat, he tried to mask his past pain and struggle. But he was also transparent with us sharing how he had climbed a mountain of drug and alcohol addiction, encountered death, and put himself through successful rehabilitation efforts.

Fast forward to this Sunday morning in June, where I found myself in a sun-filled log cabin listening to this man sum up his takeaway from Soul Degree. He spoke with thoughtful eloquence making one thing very evident – he got what he came for. 

“I came to this retreat kicking and screaming. I had myself convinced it was a bad idea. But my time over the past few days has clarified why I am here. I now see more clearly the degree to which I have caused destruction - to myself and my beliefs. Throughout my life I have held myself to totally unrealistic expectations and subsequently never lived up. I have beat myself up over these failures, deeming myself unworthy of anything or anyone. To this end, I stand before all of you and commit to myself to put the f*cking bat down.”

Whamo. I immediately felt like I had been hit over the head with a bat.

While I may not have walked in this guys’ same footsteps, I could relate. My inner dialogue had always been about not believing I was good enough. As soon as he revealed his honest shortcomings, it occurred to me that I was wielding my own bat. And not the fun kind you knock baseballs around with but the destructive kind that you use as a weapon against your own confidence. 

In that moment he was sharing his revelation, I saw him step onto path a path of healing. I then had the experience of grabbing his hand, the one he had just released the bat from, and choosing to follow his lead. I suddenly felt like his equal and committed myself to ending my self-flagellation.  

Looking back I realize the tears I shed while listening to him drop truth bombs were filled with sorrow and pain, joy and relief. Sorrow and pain for how long and aggressively I had been swinging my own bat. Joy for the light that shines in when we finally choose to put the bat down.  And relief by the feeling that by laying this weapon to rest, I had set a part of me free. Evidently, I too got what I came for.

Ask yourself and let us know: Are you holding your own self-destructive weapon? What are you swinging the bat at specifically? Can you think of ways to soften the blows or even silence the abuse? Is there someone in your world that would help you put the bat down and support your healing journey?  

No One is Coming!

I’ve heard David Goggins berate people about it. I’ve read it in books. I’ve heard it quoted in movies. Even my own wife Mel Robbins has intellectualized it. And yet I’m embarrassed to say I never stopped to seriously consider that “No One is Coming to Save Us.” 

Ever contemplated this idea? That we are on our own and it’s completely up to us to save ourselves (even if we are lucky enough to be surrounded by supportive family, friends, teachers, therapists, mentors, etc.).

How does this resonate with you?

Do you find freedom in believing your destiny is yours to fulfil or f*ck up? Are you the type of person who is happy to know you’re the only one driving the bus? In a weird kind of way, it is liberating to conclude that our excuses and complaints are merely echoes of our apathy.

Or do you skew the other way - where this simple truth provokes heart-wrenching horror. Like holy sh*t, I’m totally on the hook to save myself. This can feel daunting when you finally realize your success, strength, well-being, happiness, etc. is 110% your personal responsibility. 

I posed this question to a group of guys and was floored by what I learned.

Fact is, this lesson is being taught in every classroom imaginable. At home, we are expected to grow up. This starts with learning how to walk and talk and ends with the proverbial pat on the back and push to become self-sufficient.  In school, the teacher demands you listen and learn, do the work on your own. At the office, your boss hires you with expectations that you will outperform the last hire. And in life, it’s completely on you to nurture your relationships, fix your financial situation, improve your health – you name it, nobody is your back up quarterback. Even parenting doesn’t offer a playbook. At the end of the day, we are on our own. 

This conversation also reminded me of all the other teachers who directly or indirectly expose this truth. Let’s start with death as the most profound teacher. Burying a mother or father can be one of the most dramatic alarm bells. The physical loss of their smile, hug or touch and the psychological loss of their cheerful support can be a harsh reminder that you are officially alone. And the school of hard knocks whose classroom is our own household where cries for help are often met with silence, denial or even worse, abuse. These are difficult teachers.    

Personally, I grew up in a mostly loving household, so neglect or hurt were not my instructor. Without knowing it, I was taught to be independent (read I was left on my own to figure shit out). While I sometimes paid the price of a “latch key” existence, it ultimately served me well as I learned how to effectively navigate problem situations.  This probably contributed to my stubborn pursuit (and definition) of success, but thank the stars I held a steadfast belief that I could “save” myself.

Nevertheless, it was eye opening to hear these guys tell stories about how they learned no one was coming - by facing the death of a loved one, battling through a rough childhood, or navigating the destruction of a meaningful relationship. Oddly enough, none of these shared experiences taught us in quite the same way.

It wasn’t until a decade after my father died that I started to hear the nuance of this concept. He passed back in 2006 and of course I was sad, but his long battle with esophageal cancer left me somewhat relieved (after 18 months of suffering) that he was no longer in pain. It was almost easier to conclude that his resting heart put him in a better, more comfortable place than wasting away in his bedroom at 6’2” and 70 pounds without the will to walk, eat or speak. His departure however didn’t leave me feeling worried that I had lost a much-needed backstop. Perhaps it was my sense of independence that gave me comfort? Or maybe that I had already jumped through many of life’s big hurdles – marriage, mortgages, parenting, and a boat load of professional failure. 

Shockingly it was a religious perspective shared by one of the men on this Zoom call that hit me like a freight train.  It was the idea that “God is our savior and since he is everywhere, we don’t need saving.”

I had to stop and contemplate this one. Being the secular person that I am, it took me a minute to consider that religion might be in play. And then my mind deferred to the only spiritual teachings I really comprehend – those of the Buddha. Buddhist philosophies profess that from birth to death, we are whole, complete, and good. We are perfect just as we are - never needing more from anyone or anything outside of ourselves. This set off explosions in my mind. If we have everything we need (inside of us), then we can officially give up the chase for external validation. We are acceptable, even perfect, as we are (and despite all the disasters we have encountered along the way). 

Remembering these Buddhist teachings brought back a flood of memories of my father. It helped me see (and reluctantly admit) how spent much of my life chasing his love and affection. It’s all I ever wanted – not saving, just love. He did the best he could, but like many of us children from the 70’s, I grew up lonely, fearful, and feeling unseen and unheard. His professional and other worldly pursuits contributed to him being physically and emotionally absent for much of my youth. This unlocked a different kind of perspective. Losing him was just the hook and jab. The knockout punch was me realizing I had been waiting my whole life to feel his love. His death was merely a confirmation that no one was coming to see me, hear me, or love me.

This has been a liberating discovery. I found a puzzle piece I never knew was missing. Today I rest a bit easier knowing that I never needed or wanted saving, I just wanted loving. Even more inspiring is the realization that I’ve got all the love I need – deep inside of me.          

//Christopher Robbins

Hide & Prove

It’s just before 8 pm on a Tuesday. My hot tea is steeping on the desk. Got my laptop fired up and the office lights dimmed. I take a few breaths and put in my earpods. My fidgeting highlights nervous energy. It’s been a while since I have hosted this digital gathering. I wonder how it will go, who will show up, will these guys deem it worth their time.

I open up the  Zoom room to find a few familiar but mostly unfamiliar faces. Catching their expressions makes me grateful. Then it fuels some courage to introduce myself. I set a few intentions and stress the importance of confidentiality, trust, and just being. The purpose of the call is simple - chill out, connect, reflect. I move everyone to find a comfortable seated position and guide them into meditation. I lead them first to their bodies, then to their breath. This helps us slow down and find our space together. From there I tee up our topic-du-jour: 

Where in our lives do we notice ourselves trying to prove or hide? 

This is one of my more recent musings. If you knew me or just opened the hood of my mind, you would likely find me contemplating how this stuff plays out in my own life: Out to dinner with friends, how and why am I proving my worth or hiding my true feelings? At the gym, am I trying to stand out or be invisible? In my work life, am I jockeying for status and power or am I just simply afraid and playing small?  

Tonight I select this subject anticipating it will provoke a thoughtful conversation. What I don’t expect are the pangs of self doubt rising up into my throat as I realize I may be held accountable for admitting my current predicament. I’m real-time in the throes of trying to prove my worth or hide my distress. No denying it. Feelings of embarrassment fire through my mind as I swing from the confident meeting host to thinking I’m not good enough. I distract myself by moving the group into smaller breakouts. This is part of the call format and will give us a chance to connect on a more personal level and dive more deeply into the topic at hand. I pop into the breakout and begin to listen, then ponder, and eventually take my turn to share. I openly admit to the unease I felt leading up to the call. I hesitatingly announce my true aspiration - to somehow validate that these guys conclude this experience is time well spent. In other words, I want my ego stroked. I’m hoping for acceptance or worried they are judging. I just want to be liked. 

These fears are my own mind fucking. Cerebral acrobatics that fan the flames of deeper insecurities. Not surprisingly, this dissipates once we’re underway. One of the guys pinpoints my torment when explaining his own circumstance, “The inertia of me not taking action seems to be acutely more painful than moving through the fears that hold me back.”  This rings true. His comments are subtle but potent. Our critical minds spark self judgement and hold us back from being honest. Our concern of not feeling worthy lingers without honest self expression.   

I notice as soon as we are knee deep into this discussion, the vibe of the call changes. We lose our contrived selves, stop trying to outdo our own stories and turn our attention to where we stand proud on a soapbox or wish we had an invisibility cloak. And the more we talk, the more I can see how my sincere admission liberates me from trying to be someone I’m not. Simply being my true self washes away the tendency to demonstrate or run. Other men declare finding similar relief. One guy notices how he was trying abnormally to distinguish himself as he took a new job and moved his family from Colorado to Michigan. Another tells how he is often trying to conceal the unrelenting pain and struggle associated with his wife’s medical issues. 

The discussion wraps and I sense these men more at ease. Brows are less furrowed and smiles appear. I too have a moment of clarity. It strikes me that my leading these circles is a personal choice not motivated by ego or showmanship. I just want to do my part to help us guys see the hilarity of our minds. I’m also a big believer that the wider perspective we seek, the more equipped we are to be kind - to each other and to ourselves. Of course I also just love instigating a shared experience that brings together good natured, like minded men.  

A few days have passed since that call and I find myself laughing at how these  patterns of thinking permeate through our lives. Like right this minute as I try to distract myself from this writing task by sifting through unopened mail and making another cup of coffee. Anything to prolong the scrutiny you will likely wage against this prose. Even as my fingers tap away, I notice myself asking, “What’s your point Robbins, what are you trying to prove…?” 

The answer to this question is as fleeting as our mind fucks. Like it or not, we are always swinging from energetic to tired, succeeding to failing, psyched to bummed. So too with proving and hiding. We’re always doing one or the other and we’re always rearranging our justification of such behavior. The only real constant in this mental shit show is our self awareness. Being able to pause just long enough to notice where or why we behave like this - this is our power source.  

Note: if you would like to participate in our next Zoom circle, drop your email here. 

// Christopher Robbins / chris@souldegree.com

Butterflies & Covid

It is right about now, with only a few days remaining before we circle up, that the butterflies start to flutter. Despite what you might think, I’m not fearless. Even as your guide who has been through this before, I get them too. I hold excitement of what’s to come. I also hold expectations for what I hope will be a life changing experience for each of us. All of this fuels my own anticipatory anxiety. Throw in a long list of to do’s as I tackle every last detail - hiking routes, dessert choices, music playlists, and whether we’ve got enough bug spray - and you’ve got a real sense of my frenetic state. At the same time, my mind is bouncing with personal thoughts about what I aspire to gain from this time away. Just like you, I need to hit my own reset button. I aspire to go deeper than ever with myself. So yes, I’m eagerly looking forward to next week as are the butterflies in my stomach. 

But I’m also well aware of your reality which is not the same as mine. You have thrown your hat into a ring you know little about. Y’all don’t know what I know. You haven’t been through this mysterious wilderness-based experience. You are blind to what’s around the corner, how things will play out, or what revelations you will encounter. You have no context for Soul Degree - I get it. This has got to be 10x more nerve racking. It seems the only thing you can hold onto are the packing list provided and your unfounded reasons for committing to five days in the woods with a group of total strangers. At this point, I know it does little good encouraging you to relax. Not until you’re packed up and driving towards Vermont  will you feel like it’s game time. And not until you’re actually sitting in the sharing circle or around the campfire will you really be able to find a sense of ease. That time is coming. It’s going to be great!!  

And even before we actually meet up, trade stories and compare life notes, I want to point out one common thread. We all hold a very raw and real shared experience. Defined as a year plus of living in a Pandemic. Just the word itself sounds draconian. But it can’t be denied. We’ve experienced fear and pain, upset and loss. We have been shaken and stirred, picked up and knocked down. And at this very moment, we’re all coming out of our collective caves shielding our eyes from the bright rays of new hope and forgotten normalcy. Shit just the experience of entering a grocery store without a mask feels like a new beginning. 

But as the uncertainty of Covid begins to lift, there remains the unknown of what’s next. “What now” is the question I keep asking myself. Now that I have been through “all that,” how do I make sense of what actually happened? What did I learn about myself or others?  And perhaps most importantly, what should I extract from this bizarre moment in history. What nuggets of exposed truth might propel me to make meaningful changes in my future?  

I’m not suggesting we’re all change junkies, but let’s face it, the world is changed. For better or worse? Who the fuck knows. But changed, yes. So it goes without saying that we too are living in an altered state. We’re in the midst of our own metamorphosis. We’re all coming out of our cocoons that have been our homes, cars, backwoods, secret hiding places. And beyond our physical existence, we are opening up to a new emotional and psychological perspective that comes on the coattails of this unprecedented shared experience. 

To this end, the prework questions we pose before our meet up are more pronounced than ever. There is a little extra oomph behind what’s true for you now. So use your reflection time wisely. Examine what you have felt. And on the eve of our time together, what you currently feel. And lastly, what you aspire to embrace more of in the days and years ahead. Please know that Soul Degree presents a brilliant opportunity - to take your mask off. The blue paper one of course. But also the invisible ones we inexcusably wear in our everyday lives. Thank you in advance for your courage to be present, your willingness to share perspective, and your generosity of spirit. See you soon. 

- Chris 6/3/21

Fatherhood

As a father (and once a son to a father), Fathers Day has always been about celebrating Dad. Making a card, cooking the bacon, or delivering a hug.  Maybe a back rub, whispering a sweet nothing or making a dinner time toast. Anyway you slice it, it’s a day set aside to deliver acts of kindness - all intended to alleviate some pressure on what looks like a demanding job. 

But this year is a bit different because I am without my family. There is nobody here to do the dishes, make me dinner or rub my feet. I’m not sad or feeling forgotten. In fact, for the first time in a long time, I find myself with a moment to reflect on what it means to be a father. My quick conclusion - it’s a Herculean undertaking that doesn’t come with a useful guidebook.

I used to think fatherhood was all about basic blocking and tackling. The bottle feeding, diaper changing, arm cradling. It required supporting mom, tidying up, providing entertainment. Reading books, building Lego’s, and throwing the ball. Helping with homework, providing taxi services, making money and putting up a quality roof overhead. Looking at it through this lens feels quite exhausting. It’s no wonder why on Fathers Day we just want to put our feet up.   

But there is another side to fathering that seems to have less to do with household chores or keeping the little’s out of trouble. Sure these head of household responsibilities are helpful and important. But for much too long I have mistaken fatherhood as an act of doing versus being.

Being a father is actually much more challenging than just cleaning up puke, helping with lunches, or paying for the wedding. All of these actions have a beginning and end. They have results to show. As guys, we are programmed to be in action, to provide and protect, to fix and solve. Do, do, do.  This is our calling, or so it seems.

But as my kids get a little older, I’m beginning to see that the true joy of being a father is not about solving problems or doing things. It’s about being a listener. Providing complete selfless listening with no other purpose other than to hear. To stop, find their eyes, and just open your heart up to their own experience. Done right, this requires eliminating all judgment, ignoring what you know, resisting the tendency to find the answer. It takes just being with your child – no intentions, no rules, no assumptions. Instead just pure listening - to what they are feeling or seeing. And reminding yourself that they are just like you. Not in the genetic sense, but in how they are navigating this thing called life. They too are scared, alone, anxious, trying to be loved and accepted wherever they go.

Sure hugs are wonderful - they offer comfort and safety. But truly listening for the sake of making them feel heard. This is the real underpinnings to being a father. To simply being in service to their existence. This is the greatest gift of all and it makes me wonder if on Fathers Day, we should be celebrating our children for putting us in this envious position to just BE. 

//Christopher Robbins

Return to Jackson, by Jerry Casagrande

By my calculations, we are into Week Eight of this thing. My daughter and I noted that no member of our family of five has been out of the greater DC area in all that time, except for a slightly harrowing journey to JFK airport by me in Week One.

Although we have not left the DMV (as the locals call “DC-Maryland-Virginia), we have done our best to get into local wilderness areas. This past weekend we visited a spot about 45 minutes away with the curious name Banshee Reeks Nature Preserve. For all of us, time in nature--the more wild, the better--provides a salve for the soul. It helps us reset ourselves. And, in a time of some boredom, nature provides fantastic opportunities for fun.

I was not always a nature buff. I grew up in suburban Jersey and was far more familiar with malls - Menlo Park Mall and Woodbridge Center, to be specific - than I was with any trail, the site of bear or even deer scat, or how to pitch a tent. My family was very sporty--avid devotees of soccer, baseball, field hockey, swimming, and more. We spent a lot of summer days at the Jersey Shore too. But we did not camp. We did not hike. We did not seek out nature. I think it just wasn’t something in my parents’ experience, or on the radar of us kids. 

That all changed for me the summer I turned 16 years old. With the encouragement of one of the best teachers I’ve ever had--Mrs. Bart in chemistry and physics--I signed up for a wilderness program that began in Iowa City and culminated at Grand Teton National Park, near Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Prepping for the trip, my mom took me to buy a backpack, hiking boots, a sleeping bag, and a tent--things about which we were completely clueless. I still vividly remember setting the tent up for the first time in our living room, following the instructions line by line, with no intuition to guide me. The tent was a blue North Face. It was before self-supporting tents were a thing, so I had to hold it up with guy lines attached to the sofa and coffee table. I thought it was awesome and remember hanging out in it a long time before eventually I had to take it down and return the living room to its regular uses.

I was introduced to so many marvels on that trip. It was as if I were on an IV that dripped a love of nature into my blood, connecting my heart, my mind, and my soul to the wild world around me. From the sight of a deer buck leaping across the horizon at sunset in South Dakota’s Badlands to a frigid dip in the waters of Heart Lake in Yellowstone; from snowball fights in July in Montana’s Beartooth Mountains to a lazy canoe journey down Nebraska’s Niobrara River, all my senses were engaged with miracles they had simply never felt, seen, heard, smelled nor tasted before. (All natural Snow-Cones!) 

The culmination of these experiences, the final burst of all things superlative, the thing that sealed the deal that I would, for a lifetime, be in love with, find connection in, and work to protect Nature was four days backpacking in Grand Teton National Park.  Hurricane Pass. Alaska Basin. Death Canyon. These are names and places that are etched into my soul. The hike through them, the nights sleeping under their stars, the crispness of their mountain air, transformed me. Those days and nights are the foundation point of every trip I have taken into the wild. They are the fount from which my efforts to instill this same love in my children springs.

It is with the greatest delight that I share the news that Soul Degree has just confirmed a retreat this October to Jackson Hole. Scheduled for October 14 to 18, we will be hosted at the extraordinary Broken Arrow Ranch, which in the summertime is used by CityKids, an organization offering wilderness and youth development programs for kids from Washington, DC, who would otherwise not have such an opportunity. 

Like you, we don’t know what the pandemic will hold for us come October; nonetheless, we are making plans for an incredible five days and four nights under Wyoming’s skies and stars and hope you will reserve a space with us. Please know that your health and safety of course come first and that if we have to cancel, or if you don’t feel comfortable attending given the pandemic, your deposit is completely refundable or transferable to another Soul Degree retreat.

In the meantime, may you and your family be well, stay healthy and at peace, and find some time to marvel at the gifts of Nature.

// Written by Jerry Casagrande

Moving Forward, by Jerry Casagrande

Have you found that the Covid19 pandemic is allowing you to make progress on projects that you had stalled on? To complete things that had gone uncompleted? Perhaps to clean closets, empty boxes, review old papers and photos? We certainly are doing these things in our family.

There is a process that I started at age 6 or at age 33--depending on how I think about it--that I’d like to move one step further on today in this blog. That is to explain that I am a survivor of childhood sexual abuse.

The abuse happened two times, when I was about six years old and, in line with most survivors’ experiences, the abuser was someone I knew and trusted.

It took me some 27 years to break my silence on it, to tell even a single soul about it. When I was 33, I told a therapist. Shortly thereafter, I told my wife and in due time my family members and then a few friends. At some point, with enough therapy behind me, I became fairly comfortable talking about it, finding it easiest to do so with complete strangers. 

By way of example, last year, I was at the Austin Film Festival pushing a script of mine that is about a former high school basketball star who was sexually abused. I was telling a fellow screenwriter about the script. After I explained the plot, he asked me, “So, were you a basketball player?” I think I laughed out loud. Screenwriters like to have some qualification for writing what they do and, despite my height, and my coach’s good-hearted attempts, I never made it past riding the bench on the high school freshman team. So, I just responded, “No. I wasn’t a hoops player.” Then, wanting to assure him that I was qualified in some way, I added “But I was sexually abused.” He didn’t quite know what to do. It was a funny, awkward moment and, perhaps, a small but significant point on a journey from twenty-seven years of silence to today.

So, why exactly am I putting it in writing today? Why broadcast that news? I have two reasons. For one, there is no shame in being sexually abused. Yet our culture, intentionally or not, places shame upon survivors, who are typically more than happy to grab that shame and beat themselves with it. I did nothing wrong and no survivor does anything to deserve the abuse put upon them. I hope that in sharing this news, I can in some small way reinforce that message.

Secondly, I think and hope it is helpful both to survivors and to those who haven’t experienced sexual abuse to know that survivors are not “out there” but rather are right here--in your neighborhood, in your friend group, at your place of work, and these days, on your Zoom call. One out of four women and one out of six men are sexually abused before they reach the age of 18. There are a lot of us. I take strength in knowing I am not alone and I hope, again in a small way, that expressing my experience gives strength to other survivors.

Although it took me 27 years to put voice to my experience, the memory of it was there all along. Like a wave in the ocean, the power of the memory ebbs and flows. Sometimes it is barely there, easily forgettable, seemingly unimportant. At other times, it seems to carry the power of my entire life. It seems to be the single most important event in a life full of events, the most determinant thing that has ever happened to me. The truth, as with most things, is somewhere between the two. 

The abuse is also something I have carried, unconsciously, in my body. Research by folks such as Bessel van der Kolk has shown that even after a trauma survivor is able to talk about and intellectually accept the fact of his/her trauma, the body itself retains negative impacts of that experience. Years and decades later, the body can continue to react as if it is currently experiencing the trauma even when the immediate actual environment is nothing but safe. I can attest to the validity of that research.

A take-away for folks who did not experience abuse as a child might be that survivors are all around. For the most part, we are completely silent about our experience. We may be genuinely laughing and smiling. We may be leading happy, pretty successful lives. And yet in many cases we are never quite free, in body or mind, of that thing that happened. We’ve likely become damn good swimmers and yet are always on the lookout for that wave looming on the horizon, waiting to sweep us under and away. 

April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month. In honor of sexual abuse survivors--folks you know, even if you don’t realize you know them--please honor their choices to discuss or not discuss their experiences. And, please consider a donation to organizations such as the Zero Abuse Project or other fine organizations working to put an end to childhood sexual abuse and to support survivors of such abuse. Thank you.

In honor of all you survivors out there, allow me to express my deepest respect, compassion, and empathy for the experiences you’ve had, the struggles born of them, and the strength with which you’ve carried forward. Remember, there is no shame.

// Written by Jerry Casagrande

I'm Grieving (I Think)

What the fuck is going on here? 

I’ve been holed up for three weeks desperately trying to make sense of nonsense, to no avail. I’m still cooped up, desperate and nonsensical. But I’m okay (I think). I’m safe and healthy (I think). My family is safe and healthy (I think). I’m starting to wonder if it’s the doubt of did I, do I, will I, that has me scared. Like I’m flat footed and questioning not only whether I’m okay, but if everyone around me is okay.

I don’t think so. Uncertainty and fear are pasted on every face I see driving down the road or walking the grocery aisle. And practicing isolation is another new reality compounding the anxiety. And here I am trying to normalize something that is not normal, trying to put routine into quarantine. Lipstick on a pig looks better than this unprecedented pandemic. 

But really, without a compromised immune system or symptoms of the virus, my mind swirls the drain of everyone else’s plight. I feel helpless wanting to be helpful. I feel unnerved by reports of overwhelmed hospitals and under protected medical professionals. I feel heartless looking out for my own well being or ways to fill my days when I know damn well there are so many others experiencing much much greater struggle. Truth is, I don’t want to think about me or my comfortably constrained circumstances. 

But the research is overwhelming on why now, more than ever, we need to stop and grieve - for ourselves. We need to embrace the truth that lies within before we can expect to powerfully embrace the pain of those around us. Some experts even suggest that we give a name to our distorted perception of what’s going on - an anchor thought that helps us identify this grief when it washes over us. 

But grieving is hard under normal conditions. I am still managing in my mind how to stomach a catastrophe that seems long from over. I feel like I’m watching a train wreck that is far from over. 

It’s the riddle of 2020 - how do you accept and overcome grief that is amorphous. 

This grief is like a nightmare appearing out of nowhere, wreaking havoc on every nook and cranny of my being. Like a fog oozing in through unseen cracks. Even in my friendly greetings I feel like a villain has slid silent and deadly in between us, reminding me not to hug or kiss but to separate and sanitize. 

And how do I grieve something that is reckless and wicked and causing pain, spiking fear, and prompting 7 billion people, including my discouraged self, to mask up and shut the door on the world.  

And where do I begin to grieve - for the loss of a job, not mine, but his. For the loss of income, not mine, but theirs. For the loss of loved ones, not mine, but the 000’s of others who are sure to face this harsh ending. And what about for the loss of personal freedoms, controls, and my emotions? 

And when do I begin to grieve - is it now, yesterday, tomorrow, next week? I don’t even know if I was or will be sick? I don’t even know yet if I should or shouldn’t wear a mask and even if I had one, I would wish a doctor or a nurse would have it. Do I wait to grieve until a real catastrophe hits near home, until someone close to me falls prey? What if this invisible murder never knocks on my door - when and how do I grieve for the neighbor, for those less fortunate, for the millions of employers and employees, for the cities, for the world? 

The problem doesn’t appear to be in my own lungs. It’s in my heart, which gets heavier and heavier as each day wears on. Still I’m okay (I think). 

I just worry for the neighbor up the street whose small business may go belly up. And the mother of a friend who I know is heading to the hospital with a high fever and chest cough. And longtime chef who I know staked his entire life on the livelihood he hoped to earn being a proud restaurant owner/operator. And the teenage athlete who has been training and sweating and dreaming of that season that won’t happen - the one that could make or break his college dreams. 

And I sit really uncomfortable thinking about the millions of people whose goods and services, with a brush of a microbe, are no longer in demand. And the recently retired whose lifetime of retirement savings just circled down the Wall Street drain. Or god help them, the medical professionals who are putting their own life on the line day in and day out, leaving every fear at the door and walking bravely into the battle of their lives.    

I will listen. I will try to slow down, even stop. I will try to take stock of the situation, to develop some sort of mental assemblance. I will try to allow myself a moment to exist rather than achieve. I will try to comprehend, embrace, and feel. If you the experts say it will help me understand and it will really truly help me support those around me, then I will grieve as best I can. 

// Written by Christopher Robbins // chris@souldegree.com

Hear The Melody, by Jerry Casagrande

I wrote the blog below on Friday morning. Perhaps, like me, you have noted how incredibly fast things are changing in our world. And how something that happened just a day or two ago seems so far away now.

The gist of the blog below is that there is a benefit or two to be found in all that has occurred in the past few weeks, and that worry is not useful. As if trying to slap me awake from a too light-hearted take on the pandemic, in the 48 hours after I wrote this, life hit me with a direct account from my dear cousin of the hardships and worry facing her parents, brother, and friends in Italy, and news that a very close friend just learned that her step-father is on a respirator with Covid-19 and her mother is in quarantine. As a kicker, life created a scenario where I had to travel four hours to JFK airport, suffer a car break down in Staten Island, spend the night in a hotel of questionable cleanliness and take multiple uber trips with masked drivers in New York--our country’s current Covid-19 hotspot.

Believe me, I worried.

And yet, I think there is something in the words below. I wish for each of you that comes across these words that you find times free of worry and that you and your loved ones stay healthy.

* * *

“These are challenging times.”

“Crazy times, eh?”

“Really difficult days we’re having.”

These words or some variation have come from my mouth or been texted or emailed by my fingers multiple times a day, every day, for the  past week or so. You’ve probably said something like them as well.

And, there are of course real significant challenges right now and that lay ahead of us:

• Loved ones becoming sick or even dying;

• Jobs lost, wages disappearing;

• Childcare suddenly required but unavailable or unaffordable;

• Savings placed in the stock market wiped out.

And more. This blog has no intention to downplay the severity of those problems. They are real and we all need to come together in community to help one another. Family member to family member, friend to friend, neighbor to neighbor, American to American, and flat out human to human no matter where we are from: China, Italy, Iran, or countries that have not yet felt the wallop of this virus. And our government, as an expression of our will (“of, by and for the people”), needs to step up and make the best plans to secure our health and prosperity as much as possible.

 With that said and without minimizing the tragedies and difficulties unleashed in the past 80 days or so, I propose that the virus has offered us at least one thing that may make us stronger, more capable of facing the challenges ahead with creativity, resilience, and compassion.

And that is that time has “opened up” in an unprecedented way. 

What are your plans this evening? Or tomorrow evening? Or this weekend? Or in two weeks? If you are like me, you have no plans. I was supposed to have a beer with a buddy last night. Canceled. My wife and I likely would have gotten together with friends this weekend. Canceled. Going to the Y to work out a few times each week? Canceled. Going to see LeBron take on the Wizards with my son next week? Canceled. Spring break plans? Canceled. 

In other words, planning (or at least large components of it)—are canceled. And, with that, all the mind space devoted to planning is freed up. I am not planning the best way to get to the hoops game to see LeBron, nor how to squeeze the Y workout in before I have to drive my kid to school (because he is now in school online at home and the Y is closed). Don’t have to figure out a hotel for spring break. To be sure, there is still work and bill paying and meal cooking, but the space that had been consumed by so many other planning items is freed.

When that time suddenly opens up before us in this way, one of two things can happen. The mind—that tricky bastard—can quickly fill the space with worry. In a pandemic, that worry is certainly understandable. But it is not useful. The Dalai Lama once said: 

If a problem is fixable, if a situation is such that you can do something about it, then there is no need to worry. If it's not fixable, then there is no help in worrying. There is no benefit in worrying whatsoever.

If you can fix it, no need to worry. You will fix it. If you can’t fix it, also no need to worry because it can’t be fixed. The Dalai Lama’s point is not that you should avoid fixing your problems—please do your best to fix them. Rather it is to not worry about fixing them. As the folks at Nike might say, “Just do it,” or perhaps better, as your mom might say, “Just do your best.”

So, if worrying isn’t useful, would it not be better for me to use that freed up mind space to just be. To allow my mind to rest in the present. To appreciate and be grateful for the life I do have. To allow my mind to sit with my sons or daughter or wife here and now and appreciate this moment without planning for the next. That is a gift of the virus: this rare opportunity to be in the here and now with our loved ones. [Yes, I know: talk to me after two weeks of this “opportunity” to be with my loved ones and see if I am not pulling my hair out. But, for now…]

So, I encourage you—and I encourage me—to use the freed up space to get actual shit done about the challenges we face. To spend time with, talk with, and care for loved ones as we are able. And to reduce or eliminate our worrying. 

I suggest that, with the mindspace freed up from planning much of our near-term lives, we quiet our minds. That we enjoy the peace and the quiet. That we go for walks and chat with our neighbors from six feet away. That we notice the birds that sing outside our windows every day but whose song we never quite heard before.

As Tom Waits sings:

I never saw the mornin' 'til I stayed up all nightI never saw the sunshine 'til you turned out the lightI never saw my hometown until I stayed away too longI never heard the melody until I needed the song.

May you and your loved ones stay healthy, may we join together to support each other through our individual and collective challenges, and may we each, in the opening up of time that is right now, hear the melody of life’s song.

//Jerry Casagrande

My Abandoned Dreams, by Boyd Falconer

I hear you. You want to make some changes.

But you have some hesitancy. Hesitancy can be a killer.

You even have some fear of the unknown (if you’re willing to admit it). So you stay quiet about your dreams and goals. What will people say about you? What will your friends think? What will happen to your reputation if you fail to reach your goal?

There are three components you’ll need to fully accept before you can map a path forward.

1. In life, you don’t get what you want. You get what you are.

2. If you’re unsure of who you are, your dreams and goals will never become a reality.

3. For your dreams and goals to become a reality, you actually have to have dreams and goals.

It is astounding to me how 'heavy' these three components are to many leaders out there. Heavy. Too hard. So they're avoided. 

But I can help.

How do you achieve a goal you can’t see?

Could you shoot a three-pointer if I blindfolded you at the three-point line? Absolutely! You’d miss a few, but you’d nail it on your other attempts. What if I took the blindfold off, but removed the hoop from the backboard?

No hoop? No goal.

No goal. No achievement. It’s a simple equation.

But there’s an even bigger headache lurking for you.

Your dreams and goals are wrong. 

I’ve heard too many clients get swept up by the romantic, almost ‘Disney’ definition of a dream. And it’s not just creative or entrepreneurial types that I’d put in that category. Even high-profile executives create childish narratives like “I’ve always wanted to live in French Polynesia and sell hand-churned gourmet ice cream from my beachside parlor” and consider that narrative “their dream”.

But they speak high-school Spanish, not fluent French. And they vacation every year in Florida, at a timeshare apartment complex that they’ve been going to for twelve years now. And since they don’t exercise, they try to avoid ice cream when they’re filling their SUV with groceries at Costco. Or they cave to the gallon low-fat cookie dough ice cream because a quart of the gourmet, organic product is too expensive. And they’re trying to lose weight. Sound like anyone you know?

I dare you.

I dare you to ask ten people to share their definition of the word dream. Be observant to the direction of their answer. Don’t judge their response, but listen for the tone with which they share their definition of the word.

I bet you’ll get two groups of roughly equal size.

One group will suggest to you that a dream is defined as an achievement or a state of being that is longed for and, well, “achievable”. An aspiration like owning a business is a great example.

The other group will use words and phrases like “crazy fantasy” or “unrealistic hope”. An example might be playing for the Chicago Blackhawks. Next season. But the person in question has never skated.

Now before you rush to the comments section to say “playing for the NHL next season is totally possible, Falconer”, let me draw your eyes back to the word “unrealistic” in the paragraph above. A contract with a professional team is possible, sure. We’ve all seen the movies of the miracle turnaround of misfortune. But realistic? No freaking way.

Therein lies the debilitating distraction of dreams in the context of performance, achievement and coaching. It’s why I so often see “dreams” holding clients back. Yes, you read that correctly. And you’ll see that for yourself when you complete your dream definition experiment. Your interviewees will tend to define dreams as realistic or unrealistic. Aspiration versus fantasy. Pragmatic versus whimsical.

MY DIRTY SECRET

My bold advice to clients is to abandon the term 'dream' altogether, because even if you have a clear understanding of your goal as realistic, many of your supporters won’t. And you’ll be tempted to put resources into articulating the achievability of your dream to someone other than yourself. Doing this saps energy from your progress. Your inertia will slow or even stall completely.

Dreams are too hard. Goals are too easy.

Here’s a way to wrap both terms into something that’s easily understood. It will help you not only define your aspiration, but stay on track to achieve it.

Turn your goals into Stretch Goals.

Turn your dreams into Stretch Goals.

With this single shift, your focus will sharpen toward desired achievements or states of being that are currently out of reach, but truly within the realm of achievability. Out of reach, but achievable. That sounds like a beautiful stretch goal, wouldn’t you agree?

This sounds too easy. But the power is in the simplicity. Oh, but wait. What happens when your stretch goal is achieved?

Yep, you create another one.

And another.

As every stretch goal is achieved you get bolder and stronger. The dots connect. And before you know it you’ve achieved a dream.

Oops. Did I say dream?

//Boyd Falconer

Bracing for Change

Can’t tell if I’m bracing for physical loss or emotional overwhelm or if I’m even bracing?  I might be reeling or just standing still - deer in the headlights. Why is this important? Everybody, not just me, is staring down the barrel of reality as the days of August tick away.

Reality of what – how life isn’t always a vacation? How August brings a change in temperature, a change of grade, new teachers, classes, expectations and a switch from the beach to the playground.      

I see change everywhere.

I feel my eldest daughter excitedly charting her semester abroad - 3300 miles east of Boston.  I watch my middle daughter anxiously packing up for college – her freshman year – 2900 miles west of Boston. In a matter of weeks, I will be easing back into a 15 minute morning and evening commute to shuttle my youngest son to/fro school.  And reluctantly, I share a tiny closet with my wife, who rips it up every Sunday in preparation for her new television schedule - 4 day-weekly trips to NYC – 190 miles southwest of Boston.

I see opportunity everywhere. 

Sawyer is going to re-ignite her passion for global travel, immerse herself in Spain and make new friends. Kendall is going to step out of her 18 year bubble and begin to chase a lifelong dream at USC in California. Oakley, while not expecting it, is going to grow up physically, mentally, and emotionally while discovering more of himself than he has ever known, thanks in large part to the self-actualization that happens when applying to new schools.  And Mel is about to step in front of 100M households and use the power of communication to improve people’s lives – lights, camera, action. 

So where does that leave me. Looking into my crystal ball, watching the next 30 days unfold, I see so much joy and happiness, anxiety and heartache, expression and frustration, loneliness and pain. I feel the anticipation and adventure of watching Sawyer blend into the security line at Logan Airport. I see my own tears of excitement and sadness, leaving Kendall on the doorstep of her new dorm room. I am cautiously optimistic for the steep learning curve that Oakley will be scaling. I get goose bumps by the energy and enthusiasm that is rolling off of Mel’s tongue as her experience on camera continues to affirm her skill as a talk show host and her vision for making a profound difference (in all of our lives). 

I also see a quiet home, a new puppy, autumn bike rides, a dream trip to Ireland, NYC/CBS studio visits, homework headaches, two boys eating simple dinners, moments of peace, loneliness, clarity, the leaves turning, a deeper sense of self, and so on.

I see myself trying to be ever present to these coming and goings and trying to find a means of capturing it– maybe in my mind, perhaps through my pen, but definitely in my heart which seems to feel as though it’s beating harder and harder with each day passing. 

I’m not certain to be succeeding – at remaining ever present - but I’m getting closer.  I can feel it. 

// Christopher Robbins

What Did You Learn?

The question “What did you learn?” comes in many shapes and sizes.  And who is asking the question can put additional weight on the inquiry. Like when you do something wrong or dishonest as a young boy (or a grown man) and suddenly your parent appears asking, “young man, what did you learn from your experience?” When feeling caught in the headlights, answers to this question can feel shallow and ill prepared. Perhaps just enough to satisfy the inquisitor, but not enough to resonate in your own soul.

As we grow up, our propensity to seek knowledge increases and subsequently we aspire to figure out what we have learned or what we can learn. Fact is, this quest to learn is never ending. This is particularly true with our own self. Whether we want to admit it, we are constantly trying to peel back the onion to better understand who we are, how we think, what we want, where we fall short, how we aspire to be more of this, less of that. 

The answers for each of us are never the same, but one thing is consistent. We fear the truth behind the learning. Fundamentally we know the truth will set us free. But more often, the truth feels like it’s lurking, silent, and elusive. Initially, this is what makes it scary. We want to be in control, we want to have the answers, to “see the light” – and quite frankly being in the dark sucks. Hunting for the truth can be painstakingly difficult – inquiring into the vast unknown, wondering what will be found. And we often find these trying moments can last months, years, even a lifetime. But perhaps more frightening is what we might learn from the truth, once it is found. Inevitably this newfound understanding will lead to realizations that lead to considerations which then lead to decisions – about how or why we should act on that truth. In other words, we might need to do something about it. This may be a key reason why many of us avoid such learning. We are reluctant to take action on our findings.  

Recently I was asked this question “what did you learn” when asked about Soul Degree. The inquirer was totally innocuous – a complete stranger carrying no preconceptions (unlike what you might feel if your mother or father were asking).  In a split second, a whole slew of answers came to mind… I learned that this guy did this, that guy came from there, that guy liked such and such, and so forth.  It took another moment to realize these answers were superficial and not what I truly learned. And then the truth appeared.

I learned that I, me, we, us grown men… often have a false definition of what it means to be a man. I learned that many of us feel lonely despite never truly being alone. I learned that we are always trying to do the right thing, to be the strong provider, a loveable father, a reliable and trustworthy partner.  But often we lack confidence in believing that we are actually delivering against some self-prescribed metric of success.  I learned that we are hard pressed to slow down, look around, take it all in. To this end, I learned we are capable of stopping our incessant desire to keep pace (with those around us) and instead take a knee, in the muddy path, to inspect the tiny black dots on the back of an orange newt.  I learned that we often find ourselves overflowing with self-judgment about whether we are “doing it right.” I learned that we care deeply about those around us, but question our ability to deliver pure love. I learned that men need laughter to feel alive – not surface level chuckles, but deep guttural laughs. 

I also learned that learning new things is like a revolving door – we can (and often do) go around and around while noticing new things (about the same topic) with each passing.  This sense of discovery with ourselves and of those around us isn’t redundant nor does it signal the end. If anything, it marks the beginning.    

// Christopher Robbins

Celebrate NOW!

I just celebrated my 49th birthday. It was low key, unrehearsed, no parties. Mel was away so the kids took it upon themselves to pamper me. Now that they are bordering on grown proficient adults, the service was quite lovely.

I’ve never been a huge birthday guy – it has never really occurred to me to celebrate the birth of myself.  I think there are many who discount their own birthdays’ as pomp and circumstance and fall into the habit of reacting to how others celebrate our day.  As a kid, it was always mum who did all the work – cakes, decorations, invites, clean up….  Teenage years - school mates take over the details. And in our later years, a smattering of neighborhood, family, and work friends might come out to cheer us on and up (to our next year).

I think my indifference to birthday celebrations is probably because I don’t prefer being in the spotlight and these events tend to flip on that bright light, albeit for only 24 hours once a year. I even recall my family enjoying birthday celebrations and the heightened interest in birthday cakes (the more designed and decorated the better).  This might explain why the Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food ice cream cake recently designed and presented by my kids actually may have gone down in the record books. 

Sunday, January 6 passed by slowly and I felt very loved and taken care of by my children. While this was all going on, I did try to do two things: I stopped to pay attention to my children – like really pay attention. Not watching to judge or critique or worry or correct, but simply to be in the mind space of observing – actually seeing, without any construct. It was cool. I also took a moment to consider this notion that the chances of each of us being alive are statistically something like 1:4,000,000,000 – proving to some degree that you really are a miracle.  From this vantage point, you actually do deserve a celebration – at a minimum for yourself, by yourself, because why not.  Plus our own life expectancy might only get us a max of 75+/- celebrations in a long lifetime. 

In other words, I got briefly present to the ‘why’ most people make a big deal out of birthdays – to stop and take stock of all that you have, to celebrate life and all of it’s colors, sights, sounds, people, experiences. I went to bed that night having felt (in a tiny way) I stopped to take all this in.   

Tuesday January 8  – I sit down at my desk and the first phone call I receive is from the school informing me that a friend of Oakley’s (in his class) suddenly and unexpectedly lost his father to a brain aneurysm. Just like that. This news knocked me hard.  I felt this numb sensation immediately after hearing sharp and stark information that shatters us with a reminder of how fragile we are, how quickly life can flash. 

I hung up the phone and sat motionless at my desk. The long list of to-do’s in front of me faded into the distance taking on immediate insignificance. What then came into focus was today, this morning, this moment, the remnants of cold on my ear having just pulled the phone off it, the crushing visual of a heartbroken family, the tree-filled view out my window, the feeling of my breath, the steam coming off the hot coffee, the timelessness of it all.

Forget once a year, it’s time to celebrate the micro moments right now. 

// Christopher Robbins

Why You Should "Sit" or The Upside to "Blanking"

For as long as I’ve been meditating (not long enough), I’ve always had this belief that the act of “sitting” is all about trying to quiet the mind. Or minimally, it's an attempt to lengthen the space between our crowded thoughts. 

Many would argue that’s exactly the point. But like many concepts in the spiritual world, the definition, purpose, and methods of meditation are about as multi-dimensional as you get a.k.a. wicked loose.  Subsequently, it’s subject to a gazillion different interpretations. 

I recently read a piece that suggested the goal of trying to make your mind blank while meditating is an insurmountable obstacle to developing a rich and nurturing practice.  The author went on to say the mind isn’t meant to be blank and trying to force it into that state is “futile, maybe even harmful.” Hmmm?

Their point was that meditation is simply just a concentrated mind. “A mind that is not blank but rather stilled by holding an unbroken, one-pointed focus on a single object for an extended period of time.”  In short, sustained concentration. 

This perspective may sound rudimentary to you, but it crystallized a lot for me, especially my answer to why I chose to sit in the first place.  My daughter asked me the other day, why do you meditate, what do you get out of it?  My answer was more wrapped up in the assumed benefits (for me) of being still, being present (to my thoughts), weaving gratitude into the act of breathing, blah, blah, blah.  Sharpening my ability to concentrate was not part of my answer. So it seems while I no doubt felt the desired affect from the moment I was introduced to this great practice, it’s taken me 5+ years to realize the net effect on my day-to-day life. 

All of this makes me wonder if I have gone through the better part of my life simply inept at concentrating. 

And sure, for some people the act of calming or blanking the mind is exactly the desired affect. I was and still am that person.  But my horizon has been expanded and the upside feels farther-reaching – meditation can be leveraged to strengthen sustained concentration levels.  And who wouldn’t want to sharpen that skill.    

// Christopher Robbins

Ubuntu

Ubuntu is "the belief in a universal bond of sharing that connects all humanity." This originated in Southern Africa and has come to be used as a term for a kind of humanist philosophy, ethic, or ideology, also known as Ubuntuism.  I have heard it described, as “a person is a person through other persons.” Essentially, we depend on other people in order for us to be fully who we are. 

What’s fascinating about this belief is that it often flies in the face of our push to grow up.  Particularly as a young boy, the desire is often to “do it on your own.” In fact, asking for help often felt like a sign of weakness. I can remember in my own youth wanting to achieve self-sufficiency at every turn whether it involved cooking my own food, tying my own shoes, getting myself to school, etc.

And there is also a tendency as a parent to encourage this type of behavior.  Encouraging this idea that you can’t or shouldn’t depend on others is one way to promote learning, growth and development.  It can also take one more to-do off your plate.  I can certainly remember feeling a sense of victory when I no longer had to wipe my kids’ butt, dress them each morning, make their lunch or even drive them from point A to B. 

But beyond self-sufficiency is this idea that our own humanity is linked to really connecting with people around us. And not just the friendly hello, but truly connecting on a deep level.  Beneath the surface, we all have layers and layer of thoughts, opinions, ideas, fears, and aspirations.  Many of these can even go unspoken between your closest loved ones and not necessarily out of choice, but because we devote time and attention toward other things. 

As I grow up, I covet these deeper connections. The twists and turns of conversation with close relationships or even total strangers – what’s not to love when there is so much to gain.  Sure it’s sometimes scary to think that digging into someone’s true feelings or revealing our true selves will make us vulnerable, and may even result in us looking silly.  But isn’t the exposure of our real selves the thing that makes us human and more importantly, approachable, understandable, even lovable?  At the end of the day, it seems we all just want to feel loved - which only happens with human connection.

// Christopher Robbins 

The Fork In The Road

If only I had been introduced (at a young age) to the idea that too much self-centered thinking is an almost guaranteed source of suffering and that a compassionate concern for others’ well being is the source of happiness.   

Growing up, I wasn’t taught to look out for #1. In fact, my parents always struck me as super thoughtful people, warm-hearted and generous to everyone around them.  But I did witness my father maintain a laser focus on his work. He worked his tail off in the advertising business, going from basically the mailroom to becoming CEO of the 9th largest ad agency in the world.  I lived through little to middle income and then into the 1% - right before my eyes.  So my circumstances presented society’s typical metric – the idea that success is measured by money or power or fame or influence.  This is where I hit the fork in the road and ultimately took the path most traveled. 

I graduated from college and began pursuing jobs that I thought would result in more money or offer me more influence or lead to more exposure. Some of these career moves involved me subconsciously chasing a shinier penny – anything to help me advance.  And each time I took the proverbial step up, I would enjoy a brief moment of happiness, but something was never quite right.  After almost 20 years of working at many different jobs across multiple industries, I was still feeling aimless and vacant.   

Looking back on it, it is clear that my primary focus through many of these endeavors was only on myself.  In each position I held, I was not consciously looking out for those around me. It didn’t occur to me to put my own needs aside and identify where or how I could make a difference for my colleague or my boss or the company at large.  I just cared about what I was going to get, what was in it for me. It’s no wonder I wasn’t always meeting expectations (for myself or others).  I’m starting to see that perhaps it was my self-centered thinking that caused a subliminal form of suffering (and distraction) which took away from my ability to perform at levels I only dreamed of. 

By the age of 42, my “career journey” suffered what I experienced as a fiery train wreck. I was running my own company at the time and ultimately lost not only all of my own personal wealth as well as friends/family investment.  But even worse, my self-worth and internal confidence. It took me a few years to crawl out of this wreckage and to open my eyes up to my false interpretations, missed expectations, and where I may have been blind to the fork in the road. 

After some much needed soul searching, I now find myself knee deep in a handful of professional pursuits that are largely selfless and not surprisingly satisfying from an emotional and financial perspective. But perhaps more interesting about this rocky path, is that I found my way not by chasing success but by putting my ego aside and following my heart. It sounds corny just saying it, but without question I am in a far more empowered and happy state of mind, getting up and going to work, not for myself (even though I’m still self-employed), but truly for others. 

I share this story not to toot my own horn, but in hopes that it might flip a switch for others. I think there are many (men in particular) just like I was – working our ass off, but secretly waiting for happiness or joy to arrive.  The often heard refrain, I’ll be happy when I get that job, fall in love, get rich, etc.  Today I am finding some of my greatest joys in pursuing selfless action.  If you had told me fresh out of college that such an approach toward my career advancement would yield financial results, I would have laughed out loud. 

So while they say that 50% of our happiness is determined by immutable factors such as genes or temperament, the other half does seem to involve our circumstance. In my situation, I watched my father achieve “success” which I interpreted as money and influence.  You could argue I had little control over this particular circumstance, but the attitude and actions I subsequently took were 100% in my control and that’s where we can all accomplish great things. 

 // Christopher Robbins

Time For Me To Teach

The first time I found myself on a yoga mat was back in 2003.  I walked upstairs to a narrow second-floor studio that sat above a pizza joint. The incense was burning, the lights were dimmed, the chatter was soft. The room was small with a few lace curtains over the windows, allowing some natural light to shine across the wood floor. It was wicked hot and I was the only guy in a sea of women. I was gripped with fear. Not the fear that comes with feeling like you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time, just the paralyzing fear that I would fuck it up and “do it wrong.”  

The moment we began, I completely zoned out, like you do when you’re daydreaming.  I got lost in the sounds of our deep breathing, of the guiding voice, the music, even the boisterous blow of the heating element. It was blissful despite feeling like a bull in a china shop.  I didn’t know what the heck I was doing. 

I don’t recollect what originally compelled me to try yoga. I think my story was that “my hips were tight and I needed to stretch?”  Yeah right… as if any guy in their right mind steps into a sea of spandex and kooky music and pursues some form of ancient movement.  Looking back on it, I was drawn to yoga for a reason - I needed to learn something. 

Approximately 12 years passed and I continued to practice a lot of yoga.  So much so that I reached a point of borderline boredom – and I still hadn’t given much thought to what yoga was teaching me.  So I signed up for a 200 hour Yoga Teacher Training course. Six months of weekend sessions, workshops, journaling, and reading. We consumed a ton of books and held discussions about every aspect of yoga from how it all began, to the early Yogic pioneers, to the mind-body-spirit connections, and of course the poses and how to verbally lead them, as a teacher.  Of course my story at the time was not that I aspired to be a yoga teacher but instead “I was just there to learn a bit more in hopes of re-igniting my interest in the practice.” 

So here I am today, a few years post Teacher Training, and I am teaching yoga. And like any novice, I continue to get butterflies in my stomach before I teach a class. And this annoys me – because come on… how does someone who has been doing something for so long still get butterflies?  So I’ve been thinking about their origin, why they come, when they arrive, how they pass? 

Probably obvious to you, but alas I’ve figured out these butterflies I get when stepping up to teach have everything to do with “getting it right.” 

This is not to suggest that 15 years of practicing yoga hasn’t completely corrected my own habit of self-doubt.  That’s not humanly possible.  But it has crystallized where the doubt rises up and how it can sabotage your own truth.  In my case, I found yoga because I needed to learn that regardless of whether you’re a student or a teacher, there is no right way.  There is no right pose, no proper technique, no instruction manual to follow.  There’s only the act of doing. Time for me to teach. 

Cheers, Chris

25 Years

Monday, 4/24/17, 11:52 am, 2nd floor of the Davis student center at the University of Vermont in Burlington. The place is buzzing. People everywhere chatting, laughing, reading, web surfing, eating, Snapping, sleeping, writing, etc.  Outdoorsy brand logo’s flash left and right – the brand managers of Patagonia, Lowe, Birkenstock, Burton, North Face, Osprey, Nalgene, Apple would be proud. All of this against a backdrop of yellow and green – Catamount colors. 

25 years ago I sat here on this campus as a UVM college senior on the verge of graduating. This particular student center was not here but the hustle and bustle was just the same.  Looking out across the sea of students is forcing my own look back. On the one hand, it feels good to be back in a familiar place, subconsciously and consciously reliving some of the best memories of my life.  It’s also a stark reminder of how fucking clueless I was at that time in my life – about myself, my path, my passions, fears, strengths and weaknesses.  The glass half full definition of this mind state might call it “innocence” or “lacking wisdom.” Note to my daughter: you won’t find a college class on HOW to acquire wisdom.   

The difference today is that (like every kid around me) I too am staring into a laptop.  Note: these devices didn’t exist in 1992, we used pen and paper or desktop PC’s chained to the desk in the library. But the greater disparity is what I’m dealing with right here right now – things, beliefs, concepts, actions I could never have predicted I’d be caught up in.  It’s probable that my mind in late April of 1992 was consumed by a hangover, or the cute girl across the room, or about the test I should have been studying for, about finding a pal to smoke a joint, or about whether I should grab a burrito in the cafeteria or  falafel at the food truck.  Today my brain is wrapped around managing a media/entertainment company, launching an info-marketing company, leading a personal development retreat, building community, and learning the art of parenting.  Shit, rather than talking smack about my own shenanigans this past weekend (like literally 5 students are doing right next to me), I’m on the phone planning dinner logistics for my two kids at home alone while I scramble to lead my eldest daughter through this one final college tour.  These complexities are rich and rewarding and of course the source of grey hair.  But they are also wildly different from when I was 21 years old and staring at this thing called “life beyond college.”  Makes you ask yourself the question: if you could roll back time, what would you have wanted to learn or know before getting started? 

// Christopher Robbins

Untether Your Emotions

This is a fascinating article by Mark Manson.  The Disease of More.

He raises the following questions/thoughts/perspectives:

Why pursue “the next level” - is there even a next level to get to? Do we really need to hire a coach to help us see our blind spots?

The Disease of More, coined by Pat Riley, basically says that champions are dethroned not by other teams but by internal forces.  More money, commercials, accolades, endorsements, etc. changes the psychological composition of a team and what was once a perfect chemistry of bodies and minds becomes toxic with players feeling entitled to more, ultimately leading to failure.  

Prior to the 80’s, Psychologists studied (almost exclusively) not Positivity, but rather what fucked people up, what the cause was of mental illness and emotional breakdown and then they went on to explain how to develop coping mechanisms.  
Eventually a study was conducted measuring people’s happiness on a 1-10 scale (this was recorded by 000’s of people across every sort of day-to-day activity, with their ranking supplemented by details about what was happening in their life at that time to justify the ranking).  Net-net of the study - everyone was a 7 with predicable up/down swings depending on circumstances, but everything averaged out to a 7.  Basically, people are just Fine. And that it’s our brain that tricks us into believing that “fine" is not satisfactory and that if only we had just a little more, we would be an 8 or 9 or 10.  Need a new job, a new car, a new house, a new diet, a new lover, a beach vacation, a pina colada, another…. etc.

As such, Manson concludes we need to be motivated by something greater than ourselves. Sure, we could (and often do) spend time analyzing our desires and values and end up with impressive sounding lists of arbitrary personal improvement goals. Yet over time these seem to lose their meaning. And just because we can pursue this self improvement, it doesn’t mean we should.  

He argues that improvement as a pursuit is not the problem, it’s the WHY that’s motivating the improvement effort. Compulsive self analysis for the sake of improvement could be construed as narcissistic which will probably lead to further disappointment.  

His caution: careful of adopting new dreams and goals that could harm the success of happiness you’ve already built for yourself today.  

His final point: life is not a mountain to scale. 

This last point really struck me because life has always felt a lot like that - at least metaphorically speaking.  So if it’s not a mountain to scale or a river to float or a game to play, then what is it?  

Asked another way, what do we strive for in life?  If there is no mountain to climb, then what do we do, what do we want?  And I mean beyond what feels like basic wants of shelter, food, security, health, friendship, to leave a legacy (be remembered), etc.

Personally speaking, I believe at this point in my life I am seeking a degree of enlightenment, whatever that means.  It's a hippy-trippy concept thus subject to personal interpretation.  I speculate that enlightenment is a physical, mental and emotional mind state that enables people to be fully present, self expressed, and clear minded.  I imagine this almost like an invisible cloak providing a warm calm and soulful ease that feels inside-out bulletproof.  

My quest for enlightenment is not to say that I am living a life on anxiety’s edge. I own responsibility for all the decisions I’ve made up until today.  I can also attest to the fear and worry and shortcomings I have felt over the last 47 years - which are not likely to disappear as this is part of being human.  But no, I’m not living with perpetual anxiety, but I am cognizant of and often distracted by the challenges presented in life.  Financial hardship, professional struggle, relationship breakdown, health issues, disaster, etc.  Relatively speaking I have suffered little in these areas, but our own dragons are imagined by us and they’re ours to slay.  More importantly, when these challenges present themselves, they can trigger emotional responses that hijack your logical thinking or mute your instincts. Staying true to your ‘gut’ or your heart starts to feel near impossible. This is why I pursue things like meditation, yoga, writing, self reflection, stillness, open spaces, etc.  They give me the profound impression that I am getting closer to that mind state.  The irony is that there really is nowhere to get to - there is only now.  You and only you are the one putting on your final act. You’re in your outfit, the mic is on, lights shining, scene is set, time for action….

Because its the actions you take, untethered from your emotions, that will dictate how you experience your here and now. 

// Christopher Robbins