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.
In life, you don’t get what you want. You get what you are.
If you’re unsure of who you are, your dreams and goals will never become a reality.
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
5,4,3,2,1... Write
5,4,3,2,1… write. Just go. Put your fingers on the keyboard and tap tap tap… do not hesitate, do not create excuses, do not avoid by way of another trip to the refrigerator, just sit your bum in the chair and release what’s on the mind, from the brain to the fingers to the laptop to the screen. Don’t let the excuses of writers block stifle self-expression. Hang on, what's writers block? Am I afflicted?
Truth is I do love to write, but I think I’m afraid… of becoming attached. Of creating self-prescribed pressure fueled by an expectation, that writing is the endgame. That being a content creator is the bridge to some promise land. I loathe the idea that by publicly putting out a few “pieces” I now NEED to continue some form, any form, of prose, indefinitely. I also find it degrading that Soul Degree (this recently launched men’s adventure retreat) will only ever be as good as the social proof demonstrated through a blogging prowess or frequency. Does it really need to be a quid pro quo?
But for real, I will write – as a promise to myself - at a frequency that feels good. And I will attempt to share my thoughts to you, as a means of triggering a conversation. But I don’t profess to be the answer-man. Nor do I relate to my writings as higher education or a new found philosophy. I’m just a normal guy with a desire to help. I'm also human, plagued by forgetting to let the things that bring me joy bubble up to the priority surface.
Credits: Yes, the countdown from 5 to 1 is a meta-cognition trick taught to me by my awesome wife Mel Robbins. She's got a fascinating bag of tricks designed to get you off your ass.
Cheers,
Chris
Jumping Beans
Your FEELINGS are THE SIGN you’ve been looking for.
This quote took me off guard today. It is subject to very broad interpretation making the enormity of it almost scary. But more alarming were my feelings - which at the time were of worry and concern for my son Oakley.
He is 11. Charming, intelligent, thoughtful and emotionally strong. And at the same time, he’s battling a couple of real learning disabilities including dysgraphia, dyslexia, and ADD. This struggle reared itself around 3rd and 4th grade and we were fortunate to quickly find him a school that caters exclusively to this learning style. He is in his 2nd year, has a handful of good pals, enjoys the teachers, and all-in-all is happy. But recently, due to some struggles in math, he ran full tilt into a wall of self-doubt. He woke up one day having convinced himself that he’s not “smart” like his peers. He went so far as to internalize it as reason to give up. “Why bother studying, it’s not worth it…” Of course my own fear of the situation went to thinking that this isolated incident could seep into and erode his overall self-confidence. Incredible how adept our minds are at creating horrible outcomes.
The “solver” in me just wanted to have it all figured out – where did his learning disability come from, how do I roll with it, how much compassion and how much grit do I bring to it, etc. And how do I embrace the crisis homework moments – and chalk them up as my means to understanding the inner workings of a youngster who is often paralyzed by it all.
The “believer” in me said, “Oh, it’ll all be fine, it’s just a life phase, and everything will turn out…” Not that I’m ignoring the severity, but rather trying not to fret, not letting my mind fall into a negative spiral. I am fortunate that Oakley is so verbally capable of communicating what’s going on for him and for that I’m at a slight advantage.
The “meditator” in me feels, well… writing about it all. Ironically – here I am having reached my mid-years, easing into my own phase of chasing down enlightenment and working tirelessly on finding my own unmapped level of calm. I guess you could say I’ve reached a different mellow. But how is this possible as I look at my son who has the evolving disposition of a Mexican jumping bean and can’t sit still – I thought we shared the same gene pool?
Guess there’s no time better than the present than to teach your child how to meditate.
Cheers, Chris
It Takes a Lifetime...
“It takes six million grains of pollen to seed one peony, and salmon need a lifetime of swimming to find their way home, so we mustn’t be alarmed or discouraged when it takes us years to find love or years to understand our calling in life.”
I’m 46 years old. This means I’ve had ~25 years to be a working professional. During this time, I have worked in a variety of sales and marketing roles for 8 different corporations – private, public, domestic, international. I’ve also started 8 different companies some successful, but most failures. My industry experience has also run the gamut from commodity trading, hospitality, consulting, software, ebusiness, retail, wholesale, media/entertainment, digital publishing and mobile apps.
My dad held one sales job out of college before quickly going into the Advertising business. He spent the next 35 years of his career going from junior grunt to the Chief Executive Officer running the 9th largest agency in the world.
Suffice to say, my only frame of reference for success (for a very long time) was my dad. By all apparent professional standards, he killed it. On top of this, he was a cool dude, so I set out to be like him – or at the very least build a financial legacy like the one he left behind. This is how I thought success should look.
Looking back on it, I realize my career path was a minefield for disappointment and was subsequently fraught with fear and anxiety. How could it not, I was naively pursuing his measure of success. He didn’t stoke this fire. I did. It’s no wonder I hopped from job to job, convincing myself the next offer would hold more promise, offer more upside, and secure more credibility. And then I got my MBA - because surely that would be the ticket. And from there, what else…. start not one but six different companies.
Over these years, I earned plenty of money, but I had not achieved success and I was the farthest thing from happy or satisfied. By the ripe old age of 43, I had achieved only two things comparable to my dad: a propensity to consume voluminous amounts of booze and an undeniable mid-life crisis.
The pendulum has swung immeasurably since then and I am in a far better mind-space, but that’s not the point of this story. The relevance is about our own respective ‘journey’ and where we sit on the continuum.
It seems our tendency is to shape and steer our lives – to cause, even force, a desired outcome. Ironically, this often leads to frustration and disappointment. Truth is, we are no different than the peony or the salmon. The only distinction is our waning perspective on how life is designed to unfold, our awareness of personal thought patterns, and our gratitude for the power of experiential learning.
Cheers, Chris
Time to Blossom
“The flower doesn’t dream of the bee. It blossoms and the bee comes.”
So is the summary of this quote, stop thinking and start doing? But what about the Law of Attraction – doesn’t this concept endorse the idea of ‘dreaming?’
Fact is, the Law of Attraction, like many o' concept, isn’t a foolproof phenomenon. But what's the downside of visualizing a future we desire. It’s certainly more entertaining than anticipating doom and gloom or looking through a half empty glass.
Perhaps this metaphor is simply speaking to the power of just being you? Blossoming in your own skin. Being present to the acute moments of your life and how its unfolding. Without a doubt we’re all on a continuum, all at various stages in our thinking and growth, all holding aspirations and realizations that evoke different shades of emotion.
Sometimes I do wonder for myself - where will things open up (more so than they have already). Better yet, if I could cause the opening, where would I want to push the envelope? In the case of Soul Degree (this recently launched personal development program), I truly believe that if we build it, they will come. Yet there is still fear and some hesitation. Perhaps because I feel there is still work to be done in my own shed before inviting others into it. Ironically, that’s what it’s all about.
Time to unleash these fears, push aside the hesitation, turn on the creativity and put myself out there. Fear-less. Venture-more.
I guess for me this blossoming means that Soul Degree will come alive (and will make a profound impact), that I will embrace becoming a yoga teacher, I will hone my own art of being a dad, I will up my pursuit of increasing heart rates while practicing meditation daily, I will be writing more freely (for me), eating better, drinking less, chasing more pow-pow, lowering my handicap(s), consuming more books, being a community player and strengthening friendships near and far.
Cheers, Chris
To Be Present or Aware?
I’m sitting here on my couch. It’s 6:15 am on a weekend morning. The place is dead quiet, the whole house still asleep. Steam plumes out of my cup of tea, which leans awkwardly on a not-so-flush log that serves as a side table. The crickets make music outside while the sun rises up beyond the tree line making sky purples turn pink. I feel acute pain in my right foot and a dull ache in my right hip. These are shitty reminders that my Ironman-training body is not Ironman-ready. All of this interlaced with long deep breaths.
The colorful collage of family photo’s hanging on the refrigerator catches my eye. I suddenly feel gratitude - for what I’ve got, what I have experienced. Oakley’s backpack, books and shoes dot the floor, a sprawl that surprisingly triggers a sense of joy (of having a son) rather than disgust (at the mess).
Okay, so I was aware. Or was I present. Is there a distinction to be made? Does one look inward while another outward?
My assessment of what happened? The hands on the clock moved, but time stood still. As if my mind had the power of slowing down time, harnessing tranquility, and creating a deeper, more profound stillness.
Time to try that again.
Cheers, Chris
Kids: A Measure Of Time
Often my kids appear in front of me, not as little human beings, but rather as a three-pack of fluorescent blinking glow sticks that light up the passage of time.
Notable childhood “moments” almost invariably include your child’s first step, their first tooth, or when they move out of their crib and into a real bed. Then there is the experience of learning balance while first riding a bike. And of course birthday celebrations, no matter how many candles are burning.
For whatever reason, the sensation of a time warp doesn’t always rear its ugly head when you’re the one in front of the cake. Sure there is lead up and fanfare and parties even gifts – all of which are predictable in that we anticipate that celebratory day. And yes, with birthdays comes the reminder of age - our standard measuring stick for time.
But for me, none of these life moments are as jaw-dropping, even heart wrenching, as the first day of school. I’m always taken by that shiny lunch box or stylish pair of new ‘kicks coupled with a big smile for that front porch picture.
It is this wrinkle in time that reminds me how fast it’s all rolling. Maybe for me the beginning of school hangs on the innocence of a yellow school bus. I'm enamored by the hand-operated double doors, the chitter-chatter of little people, and the over/under of whether they will take the time to wave goodbye. Regardless of whether my own kiddo’s are on-boarding or I’m sitting behind a random bus, it moves me.
Suddenly, with the click of just 17 front porch, first-day pictures, the innocuous visual of a school bus and its naïve cargo goes poof and I am left standing there speechless, camera in hand, wishing a bus were on it’s way while thinking holy shit, how did 17 years just go by…. “Hey Dad, I’m late for school, where can I find the car keys…”
Cheers, Chris