I gathered Will and Grace and told them, “We are going to the store.” After a short drive, we arrived at the market, and I pulled out my list. Carrots, cabbage, small red potatoes… the items trailed on. A swipe of my credit card, a short return drive, and we were back home.
I checked the internet for cooking times, and the three of us moved into action. Vegetables washed, peeled, and cut up. I pulled the slab of corned beef that I bought a week earlier from the fridge and cut it into three pressure cooker sized pieces. Beef broth, an onion, and eight cloves of garlic went into the pressure cooker followed by a rack. I plopped the sections of corned beef on top of the rack, set the timer to 90 minutes and pressed the start button. Our St. Patrick’s Day celebration was underway.
Julie told me that she wanted to go for a walk, and this 90-minute window seemed to be a perfect time. We walked downtown, which was already bustling with people wearing bright green shirts and hats. The bars were open, and despite the fact that it was only late afternoon some revelry goers appeared drunk.
On our return, I removed the beef and added the vegetables. Three minutes later, dinner was cooked. Corned beef, cabbage, carrots, baby red potatoes, soda bread. Simple, but delicious.
I thought back to the last time that I made corned beef; it was a year earlier. In fact, I typically make corned beef only once a year.
St Patrick’s Day has little significance for us. Yes, I know that St. Patrick converted Ireland to Christianity. But our connection with the day centers mostly on the meal.
With that said, I would miss not celebrating this minor holiday. I enjoy our traditional corned beef meal, which somehow makes the day seems special. I believe that these minor celebrations serve an important function. That function varies from person to person. St. Patrick’s Day allows some to celebrate by recounting the religious significance of the day. Others use the day as an excuse to get drunk. We choose the day to have a simple family meal of corned beef and cabbage.
Minor holiday celebrations can give us something to look forward to. They can bring our families and friends together. They can allow us to extend ourselves outside of our usual actions and behaviors. They are more than marketing ploys designed to coerce us to buy things.
So Happy (belated) St. Patrick’s Day! If you didn’t celebrate it, consider doing it now. I’m sure you can get a nice slab of corned beef at clearance prices.
Today is day seventy-two. Seventy-two days, almost two and one-half months. Day seventy-two and I’m still not sure where I’m heading. I don’t know what I should have expected, perhaps nothing. Instead of clarity, my future seems to be more cloudy. Maybe my expectations were too high. That wouldn’t be a surprise.
My change took place on January 1st of this year. I moved from a five day work week to a three day one. Two more open days a week, a four day weekend every week. Now, seventy-two days later I am left wondering where the time goes. Friday evening starts, I turn around, and it is Tuesday night. I had so many plans.
To be fair to myself, I am doing some of the things that I had planned. To be honest with myself I’m not doing them to the degree that I had hoped. To be brutally honest my efforts have not convinced me that I have a hidden talent that will propel me into a new career.
I am not sure if my expectations are realistic, as everyone around me is telling me to take it easy and to be easier on myself. I am writing more, I am expanding my photography skills, I have done some house organization, and I’m even playing the guitar a little more. All of these activities at about a third of the level that I had hoped to do them, but I am doing them.
So what is the problem? To be honest, the problem isn’t that different from the problem that I had when I assessed my progress about a month ago. The problem is that I lack direction. I do not have a singular purpose; I am still scattered. I am still sampling this and that, hoping for inspiration to strike. The lightning bolt has not arrived.
On a day to day basis my writing style changes, as do my interests. I have been doing some architectural photography for a friend, and I find myself consumed by learning this new type of photography. I like being consumed by an interest. Is this a “next step” or just a passing interest? I find that I really enjoy working with small businesses. I tend to see things from a different angle. Is this a “next step” for just a passing interest?
I like writing about my philosophy of life. I want to distill a lifetime of experience into simple paragraphs. I like writing slogans for life. Is this a “next step” or just a passing interest?
I want to travel to beautiful landscapes, small towns, real farms. I want to connect with people and write about them. I want to inspire other people with what I write. However, fear stands in my way. This fear is on many levels.
I have a fear that I would be disloyal to my family if I go away for a few weeks or even a few days. I have concerns about “wasting” family money on such a self-centered adventure.
I have a fear of reaching out to people and asking them for help. Dear reader, I have no evidence that this fear is rational, and I am confident that it is based in my childhood. Time and time again when I reach out to people they are not only receptive, but they seem happy about our connection. It is maddening that I am so influenced by childhood trauma. It is infuriating that I let these fears control me and that it takes so much effort for me to break free of them. I guarantee to you that I have been actively working on correcting this issue, but it has been a two step forward, one step backward process. I am convinced that this old dog can learn a few new tricks. Convinced, yet not sure.
I wonder what my next step should be. Should I plan a short non-family trip as a first stage of desensitization? Should I talk to friends and family and specifically ask them for help? Should I meet with my pastor, who is a shaker and mover, and ask for his advice? Should I continue doing what I’m currently doing and wait for an opportunity to present itself?
As I write this, I am aware of another obstacle. I love having the bits of unstructured time that I am now experiencing. I love the ability to write in present tense one day, and past tense the next. I love learning new things, like my recent stint with architectural photography. If I become hyper-focused on a project, I will need to give up those things. Personal growth over the greater good, could this be stopping me?
Day 72, the clock it ticking. Dear reader, I’ll keep you updated.
What is on your bucket list? Going skydiving? Attending baseball games at all of the major stadiums? Buying a BMW M6? I have a bucket list too, and I am in the process of tackling one of my items. My list has some fun goals on it, but it also has some things that I need to do for other reasons. So what am I tackling? Cleaning out my spice cabinet, of course!
Dear reader, as I type this, I imagine you yawning as you click off this post, but I am who I am. In our house, the spice cabinet occupies an entire three shelf kitchen cabinet. For years it has been so full that finding the most common item can require digging through its entire contents.
The cabinet serves as a repository of general baking items, such as baking powder and vanilla. It has specialty items, like my wife’s ever-growing collection of cookie sprinkles. It has cooking items, like bouillon. And of course, it has lots and lots of spices.
The last sentence may make you think that we are exotic gourmet cooks. This is not the case. Like many, we buy an unusual spice to try out a recipe and then keep it. Our cabinet has Chinese, Indian, and Cajun spices with names that I can’t even pronounce. We also have the usual spices: oregano, bay leaves, paprika, basil, thyme, cinnamon, that we use often.
The cabinet is jammed packed, and I have wanted to clean it out for years, but the thought of doing the job was overwhelming. Instead, I would waste time digging through unneeded items to find those common spices that I did need. I would rebuy spices that we had because I couldn’t locate them in the cabinet. The cabinet was so full that a little jostling would send these bottles to their death. It was common to have a bottle fall and shatter on the kitchen countertop when I went spice hunting, creating an unnecessary and sometimes dangerous mess.
Yesterday I decided that enough was enough and I started the process of cleaning, eliminating and restocking. Various jars and bottles completely covered my kitchen countertops. I sorted through them. Long expired spices went into the garbage, as did those spices that we used once and are likely never to be used again. I asked my wife if she wanted to participate in the cleanup. She said no, and I couldn’t blame her. Her refusal has exonerated me from any future blame if I accidentally tossed out an item that she would have kept.
Today I’ll line the cabinet with shelf paper, and restock it with the saved items. Cleaning a spice cabinet is like many life tasks. At some point, I’ll have to do it all over again.
Dear reader, if you have been following my blog, you likely realize that I find life lessons in just about everything. As humans, our responses are limited and routine. We tend to practice the same behaviors in many of our actions, whether it is in our lack of attention to a spice cabinet, or lack of attention to our lives, goals, and relationships.
These are the lessons that I learned from my spice cabinet cleaning:
Just like bottles of unused spices, it is easy to let unimportant things clutter up my life.
Keeping “brain clutter” around increases my chance of not paying attention to things that I do need to pay attention to. The result is that unnecessary problems can come crashing down on me.
It is OK to give up those things that are not important to me, even if they would be considered important to someone else.
Sometimes I have to do the real work of cleaning this stuff out of my life, even if I don’t want to.
Doing this necessary work doesn’t have to be pleasant. Necessary does not mean pleasant. Necessary means necessary.
When indicated, I need to include the feelings and needs of those around me when making such decisions. However, my needs also count.
This is not a one and done process, and I will need to repeat it once my life-clutter builds again.
If I do regular check-ins with myself, I will be able to deal with my life-clutter sooner. The task will become more routine, it will be easier to accomplish, and I will become more efficient at accomplishing it.
Just like spices, having a little variability and uncertainty adds interest to my life. However, just like spices, too much ruins it.
Wishing you a clean spice cabinet, and just enough spice to make your life interesting!
My original plan had me walking Tuesday morning at 5 AM. My friend Tom was going to pick me up at 7:30 AM and take me to do a photoshoot of a recent remodel job that he completed. Monday night I received a text message from Tom, “Can you help me with my computer? I’ll take you to breakfast.” “Sure,” I replied. An adventure with Tom trumps walking.
At 4:50 AM Tom pulled up in front of my house. I put my coat on and headed out the door. Once inside the cabin of the car I was greeted by a friendly hello and a cup of Dunkin Donuts coffee. We headed into the city meeting rush hour traffic. I was grateful that Tom was driving; traffic makes me crazy.
At our favorite breakfast joint, The Palace, Tom chided me to order “Something decent this time.” I have been making an effort to be conservative in my ordering, and this unannounced change had clearly been picked up by him. I went with a veggie omelet. Tom pulled out his MacBook Pro and I fiddled with it and solved his technical problem. I have never had a computer class, but I seem to have an ability to understand computers. Sometimes the answers to a computer problem will literally flash in front of me. I guess this talent would be classified under the category that my wife refers to as my autistic brain.
Off to the suburbs and the photoshoot. Tom had several appointments Tuesday morning and so I shot solo.
The remodel consisted of a kitchen and two bathrooms. He had put a lot of thought and energy into the project and was rightly proud of the outcome. He wanted me to digitally capture when he was seeing for his portfolio.
Dear reader, there are few architectural shoots that are more difficult than a bathroom. Consumers see glossy photos in advertisements, but they don’t realize that these images can be bathroom “sets,” and not the real thing. When a pro shoots a real bathroom the room is sometimes partially deconstructed to allow for proper shooting angles.
Bathrooms are small, and to give photos the illusion of a larger space it is necessary to use a wide angle lens along with a camera capable of using such a lens to its greatest advantage. Wide angle lenses add a tremendous amount of distortion to an image. Objects towards the corners of the lens spread out and tilt in very unnatural ways.
Lighting is difficult when shooting a bathroom, a flash has to be carefully directed to avoid washing out closeby surfaces. Even using existing lighting presents its own problems of unwanted reflection and exposure blowouts.
Reflective surfaces, like mirrors and glass shower doors, are everywhere. It isn’t considered professional to see a photographer in the mirror of a finished photograph! Doors open into spaces, blocking the room view. The list of issues goes on and on.
When we view a bathroom in person we are able to take in the whole experience. Our brain makes a composite image out of many scanned images. Unwanted objects are filtered out, holes are filled in. The camera can only see the room one section at a time which highlights, not hides, flaws.
Door removal and room modification were (obviously) not an option, the best I could do was to try to emphasize creativity, rather than absolute accuracy.
I mounted a borrowed 16-35 mm L series lens on a Canon 5D and positioned myself in the room looking for the best angles… I started shooting. High shots, low shots, inside shots, outside shots, this angle, that angle… click, click click. A quick scan of the camera’s LCD screen to make sure I was in focus. Another scan to make sure that I wasn’t being reflected in the glass shower door. Click, click, click. It took me hours to shoot the two remodeled baths and the kitchen.
When I arrived back home I loaded the images into my computer. A tweak in the overall contrast, a little more exposure here, better white balance there, and so it went. I have some perspective correction tools that reduced some of the most egregious optical distortions, but I’m am hardly a Photoshop expert. I don’t have the ability to create a geometrically accurate image, or the ability to perfectly clone out imperfections. Even so, I spent the rest of the day tweaking photos.
In the end, I felt OK with the results. They were a little better than the last bathroom photoshoot that I did. Hopefully, the next bathroom shoot will be a little better than this one. Although challenging, my project was also exciting. I pushed myself to think differently, I became more proficient, not only with the photography but also the post-production work. I forced myself to use my own standard as a reference point. That standard was not perfection.
Dear reader, I believe that last Tuesday’s photo shoot was actually a metaphor for how I approach life and its problems. If I have a problem I tend to believe that there is a solution to it. I think about the potential issues and plan accordingly. I explore my solution specific strengths and weaknesses. I focus on potential pitfalls and possible workarounds for them. I face the problem and try to learn from both my successes and failures. I correct my course as needed. I establish what is an acceptable outcome. Perfection does not exist, acceptable is the way to go.
I am not claiming that this method is the only reasonable one, but it generally has worked for me. When I talk to some of my patients I can see how their problem solving is ineffective and at times causes them unnecessary stress and grief. Some people adopt the impulsive “ask forgiveness” model. Some plan so obsessively that they never get around to tackling the task at hand. Some use the “I’ll worry about it tomorrow” option. Some feel that any outcome other than 100% is a failure, so they do nothing. Some utilize the, “It is not my fault, it’s your fault,” philosophy. None of these are congruent with happy life.
We are creatures of habit, but that doesn’t mean that we can’t adapt and change. If you are unhappy with the way that your life is going explore what you can do to change it. Be reasonable and take responsibility for your actions. Don’t blame others, become your own force of change. Sometimes the slogan, “Life is what you make it,” can be true.
On Sunday I went to the Paramount theater to see the stage play, “Cabaret,” and the story left me thinking.
The play’s setting is Germany in the 1930s. Like many stage plays there are stories woven into other stories. The story that struck me the most was not interpersonal; it was historical.
Germany had lost World War I in 1918, and the country was devastated by the cost of the war, a decimated generation, and a 33 billion dollar reparation ordered by the Treaty of Versailles. Because of these factors the country experienced hyperinflation until the mid-1920s. The inflation was so great that it took a wheelbarrow of German Marks to buy a single loaf of bread. Returning soldiers from the war felt that the government had sold them out, average citizens were disillusioned. Unemployment was high; food was scarce. Times were very tough.
Germany had been a prosperous country before the war. Highly industrial and well known for its universities, culture, and manufacturing prowess. Postwar Germans remembered the glory days, as they lived their current lives in deprivation. There was a general sense of discontent, anger, and a desire to blame. Blame the current government, blame the allies, blame minorities.
It was in this setting that Hitler came to power. His message was tailored to resonate with the populous. He promised a return to a great and powerful Germany. He blamed Germany’s hardships on groups that were perceived different, and not part of the mainstream. He scapegoated the Weimar Republic, which was the current German government.
“Cabaret’s” story beings before the Nazi’s rise to power, and much of it is set in the metaphorical Kit Kat Club. The Kit Kat Club was a place to escape reality and fulfill any erotic fantasy. Headliners, showgirls, and even the club’s waiters could be procured using the “modern” telephones that were on every guest’s table. In some ways, the Kit Kat Club mirrored aspects of Berlin during that period. The Berlin of the late 1920s and early 1930s was not only known as a center for music, film, and the humanities, but also as a free and wild destination.
As the play’s storyline progresses the plot shifts from the apathetic “anything goes” attitude of the Kit Kat Club to the Pan-Germanistic views of the Nazis. The promise of change and a return to greatness convinces common Germans to step in line and to embrace Hitler and his political party. This plot shift demarcated in the play by the stirring pseudo-anthem, “Tomorrow Belongs To Me.”
A once powerful country, weakened by economic turmoil. A country that had been in a world leadership position by its economic and technological might, now struggling for survival. A people once prosperous, now suffering without jobs or a hope of a future. A potential leader with a promises to make Germany great again. A political party that pledged to get rid of individuals who were different, who didn’t belong because they were not part of the mainstream. A promise to take care of Germany and Germans, at any cost. The rhetoric that was all too irresistible to citizens who was sick of their current politicians and politics. The change happened one step at a time. The abhorrent became normalized. Actions justified, gazes averted. Freedoms eliminated by fostering fear. People eliminated by instilling prejudice. One step at a time.
Many years ago I was standing in a very long line. It was the condolence line of my cousin’s husband’s wake. He was only 50-something, tragically killed by a very malignant cancer. Dee’s husband, John, was a successful realtor and a larger than life figure. He was a very large man, with an equally large and jovial personality. He was an extrovert who seemed to know everyone in the western suburbs of Chicago. People liked him.
We waited well over an hour to offer our condolences to my cousin, as the number of mourners was so large that they were overflowing into the parking lot. I stood in line making small talk to the people around me; I was struck with many emotions. Naturally, I was devastated for my cousin and her family. I also felt bad for her deceased husband who was finally starting to reap the rewards of a life of hard work. Ashamedly, I also was feeling sorry for myself.
I have said in other posts that I am relatively shy and an introvert. I form very deep connections with people, but the actual number of connections is small. As I stood in line, I imagined what my wake would look like. Instead of a room overflowing with people I imagined a room of empty chairs. I viewed my worth in what services that I could do for others. I felt that when I was no longer able to provide a service, I would be forgotten, like dust in the wind.
I now discount that belief, but I do think that some residual effects partially fuel my desire to find a second career now that I am retiring. I am a Spiritual person, and I believe that God is active in my life when I allow Him to be. I just celebrated my 65th birthday, and He has been showing me the genuine connections that I do have with people.
He has been allowing me to see that my worth transcends my ability to do things for others. My worth is based on my intrinsic self. The essence of who I am as a person. My strengths, but also my flaws. I am an imperfect person who is always trying to be perfect. The last few days have reminded me that people care about me, warts and all.
Sunday morning my siblings gathered for breakfast at Butterfield’s restaurant. They shared memories of me as they wished me a happy birthday. Later that afternoon my wife and kids went on a photo taking excursion with me. They sat for hours in the car as we drove to Woodstock, IL. No one complained. Sunday night my daughter Kathryn called from Arizona and wished me a happy birthday. Monday I saw my oldest daughter Anne, her partner Chris, and my grandkids. They happily sang along when the waiters at Giordano’s pizza belted out “Happy Birthday To You.”
My friend Tom says he doesn’t believe in celebrating birthdays. Despite this Tom was at my house at 5 AM on my actual birthday day bringing me my morning coffee. He drove in the pouring rain to The Palace in Chicago and bought me breakfast. Afterwards, we took the long way home which allowed us to observe the various and ever-changing neighborhoods of Chicago. I love doing stuff like that. After the neighborhood drive, I was taken on a tour of Berland’s House of Tools. Berland’s is the ultimate toy store for power tools. I love power tools, and Tom has been promising to take me there for over a year. Up and down the aisles we went as he explained to me the various saws, drills, and presses. More coffee, more activities, more conversation; there was even an interesting photography project for me to shoot added into the mix. It is a good thing that Tom doesn’t believe in celebrating birthdays; I was completely overwhelmed by his non-celebrating!
My daughter Grace arrived home from school at 4 PM and immediately started to bake me a sugar-free birthday cake, despite the fact that she was overloaded with homework. My son volunteered to clean up the baking mess. My wife came home from work and made me a homemade dinner of cornflake chicken, mac and cheese, and grilled asparagus. As we sat at the dinner table my family, each told me something that they loved about me.
Add to all of this cards, ecards, emails, text messages, phone calls, and Facebook birthday greetings. I was overwhelmed, and I am still basking in the glow of feeling very much loved and cared for.
I keep striving to be significant. God keeps telling me that I am significant. I am significant because I am who I am. Unique not only because of my talents but also because of my many imperfections. Lovable because of both. It is easy for me to love, I am slowly (but surely) allowing myself to be love. It feels pretty darn good.
My birthday was approaching, and Julie and the kids asked me what I wanted to do. Since I ask for the same activity every year, my response wasn’t surprising to them. “I want to go somewhat and take some pictures.”
The day before our adventure I sat with my two youngest and searched, “Interesting towns in Illinois.” A list of 15 popped up, but most were over a 3 hours drive away. Woodstock was a little over an hour from our house, a reasonable drive. It seemed like the likely choice.
I charged my camera’s batteries and picked out a lens. Off we went.
Dear reader, my wife used to get annoyed with my constant picture taking. “Stay in the present, not behind the lens,” she would scold me in her best psychologist voice. But she understands me now. When I am wandering around, I usually drift off somewhere else in my head. A camera focuses me. I have to pay attention to my environment. I have to stay alert, as I am looking for anything that could make an interesting picture. I need to be on and not drifting away. But taking pictures always takes more time than just sightseeing. On my birthday my family gives me their time as a gift. They avoid making sighs and other sounds of displeasure when I suddenly stop in the middle of a street and raise my camera to my eye. Sometimes, one of them may even hold my camera bag.
I have always loved taking pictures. In the 1990s I jumped on the video bandwagon and had a whole desk full of editing equipment. Title makers, time base correctors, monitors. All connected with a sea of cables. When technology advanced, I converted to digital editing, building my video workstations to save money.
Video was interesting, but in the early 2000s I rediscovered photography, and I never looked back. Video is like reading a novel; photography is like reading a poem. A single picture can tell an entire story. It can inspire, repel, make you happy, sad, or even cry. Like the different genres of literature, there are genres in photography. Each requires a different skill set, but all are unified by a common language. That language is the language of light.
I find the creative aspect of photography the most rewarding. However, I also enjoy the gadgets and the photo tweaking. It is exciting for me to return home and upload my images to the large screen of my computer monitor. Sometimes I’m pleased, other times less so. No matter what I always learn a little bit more each time I go out and shoot.
There is also a joy in capturing something that is evident but likely ignored by the people around you. An emotion, a scene, an event. I have done professional photography through the years, but I get a different kind of pleasure shooting for the joy of creating something personal and uniquely mine.
So there I was in Woodstock, Illinois. Wandering the streets of its prosaic downtown, camera at the ready. I clicked here and pointed there; soon it was time to head home. The trip symbolic of many things: Seeing new sights, being creative, spending time with my family, improving a skill.
In many ways, my photography interest is symbolic of my life. The combination of creativity and technology is irresistible to me. When I take pictures, I am once again taught that most joy comes from simple things. It is a lesson that repeats over and over in my life.
It’s 2 PM on Tuesday, and I get a text reminder from my daughter, Grace. “Don’t forget that you are picking me up after school. You need to be on time.” I respond, “I know, I’ll be there at 3:30.” I then receive a screenshot of an earlier text message with the time 3:10 circled. This level of insistent confirmation is not typical for Grace, and it signifies how important it is for me to pick her up exactly at 3:10. I respond, “I’ll be there.”
Once home she only has minutes to change into more formal attire; I drive her to a swanky benefit where she will be one of the speakers.
I return home to put on a suit coat and tie and return to the benefit about an hour later. There is my little girl, once the toddler who was afraid to go down a flight of stairs. There is my high school student standing in a receiving line smiling and talking to shakers and movers. The mayor, the superintendent of schools, the head of the park district, the list goes on. Soon she is speaking to the entire group, recounting stories and statistics on the benefits of positive role models for teens, and the intrinsic importance of connection with others. My pride in her is overflowing as she answers questions from the audience with the authority and humor of a seasoned pro.
My role is very minor, as a guest of the event. I don’t enjoy attending formal functions. As an introvert, even this limited part tends to exhaust me.
However, dear reader, you would never know that I was an introvert at the event. I am social and engaging. I go up to people I don’t know, introduced myself, and start conversations. Such behaviors are not natural for me, but long before I became a psychiatrist, I was an observer of human behavior. I know what to do, and how to do it. After many benefits, professional meetings, cocktail parties, and other such events, I can pull it off, but it is an energy draining effort.
The event brings to the forefront one of the main issues that I continue to deal with as I try to transition from my doctor position, where people came to me, to a position where I have to go to people.
My issue isn’t making superficial contact with someone; it is my inability to ask them for something. Time to talk to me, a moment to allow me to take their picture. This is difficult for me to do.
As a problem solver, I know that there are some patch fixes. Having a wingman with me makes it easier to engage someone on a deeper level. Using an intermediary person as a go-between could be useful. However, I have a way to go.
Wednesday night, Valentine’s Day, I am sitting across the table from my wife, Julie. We are at Pepe’s, an inexpensive Mexican restaurant that we like. I tell her that I’m disappointed with myself for not making the progress that I had hoped to make. “I just don’t know what to do or how to do it.” I discuss with her my difficulty with inconveniencing others. How I don’t want to bother people with my demands. She suggests that I talk to our pastor, as he is the consummate connector. It is a great idea, but it would require me asking him for help. I chuckle to myself. I put the idea on the “likely possible” list. I tell her that I still feel that I need to do something that will have a greater impact in this world. As I start to process what I’m saying we both explore my life. When I try to do grand things they are marginally successful. It is clear that I have made the biggest impact when I am interacting one to one with someone. This is the case not only in my professional life but also in my personal life. I reflect.
Saturday morning and I’m sitting in my friend’s Tom’s office working on a project. After about an hour he asks me if I want to go to Harner’s restaurant for breakfast. At the restaurant, I talk to Tom about my dilemma. “Tom, I want to change the world, but I seem to be a one on one type of guy.” Tom listens. I start to reminisce how in the early days of our friendship I tried to help him with his home remodeling website. Tom and I are great at bouncing ideas off one another, and I remember how much I enjoyed learning about the construction business as we redesigned his web pages. Another one to one interaction with someone. An interaction where both parties continue to benefit. I reflect.
Tomorrow I’ll meet with my siblings for breakfast. I have already been in contact with several of them about the get-together. We are looking forward to seeing each other and sharing our lives.
Later in the day my wife and kids have agreed to go with me on a photo road trip. We will travel to Woodstock, Illinois, about 1 hour away. They have promised to be patient with me and to not complain about my constant stops to shoot pictures. I’m am excited about the adventure and the company. I reflect.
My birthday is in a few day; it will be one of those big milestone ones. Dear reader, I am in a period of transition. I continue to wait for my “big inspiration,” but I am starting to see a different path. Perhaps my next direction will be on a smaller scale. I am trying to be still, quiet and to listen. I hope this will cause me to gain greater clarity. I’m trying to look at my past and learn from both my successes and my failures.
Life is interesting. Every day I face a new reality sculpted by the experience from the days before. Perhaps it will be my children who will be the ones with the big ideas. One foot in front of the other. I reflect.
Grace giving her talk.I need to be quiet and listen.
It would have taken minutes to clear the sidewalk.
Why We Should Create Paths, Not Barriers.
On my walk today I came upon the above scene. Someone had plowed their driveway, and the excess snow had formed two high barriers obstructing the sidewalk. The snow had turned into solid ice, and it was directly blocking my path.
Was the snow left by the home’s owner, or was it left by a plowing service? It doesn’t matter, the result was the same. The individual’s needs were being met but at the expense of the greater good. The driveway was clean and open. The family had access to their garage. Their car could be protected from the elements. It didn’t seem to matter that they were creating a potentially dangerous situation for anyone using the sidewalk.
I had two choices; I could trudge through the snow of the parkway, or risk stepping over the mounds of ice. I choose the later, slipping along the way. The event made me think. In the US we are proud to be individuals. We strive to be independent. We celebrate free thinking. We honor those who we think are successful and powerful. In many ways, our country became great because of our entrepreneurial spirit. We read case studies of prominent business moguls. We recount rags to riches stories. We admire billionaires.
People become successful in a variety of ways. Unfortunately, sometimes it is at the unnecessary expense of others. In this subgroup, there are those who enjoy being in a position where they can make someone else’s life difficult. There are others who simply don’t care; as long as their objective is met the impact on those around them is inconsequential.
This self-centered focus occurs beyond corporate America. We see it in politicians who place their needs, or the needs of a small but influential group, before the overall good. We also see it in self-centered relationships where the individual’s objective is to always win and never to yield or compromise.
In most cases, it is better to think about the total impact of any decision, and to balance that decision based that thought. In the short term, the individual’s gain may be smaller by such a stance, but the overall gain will be greater. As humans, we must be aware of how our actions impact others. When that is not the case it creates unnecessary problems that not only hurt others, but often can come back and negatively affect us.
Removing the excess snow from the sidewalk would have taken a minute or two. A slight inconvenience that pales in comparison to the inconvenience of leaving the snow on the sidewalk. In my life, I want to create paths, not leave barriers, for those around me. I know that in the end we will both benefit.
The news channels buzzed for days. Colleges and school closed. I arranged to work from home, and my wife rescheduled to delay her workday. The snowpocalypse was upon us, and then it was gone.
There is a strange excitement that happens when you inject a small element of danger into a situation. The operative word is “small” as real danger brings with it panic and anxiety.
Our snowstorm was well predicted, and it was easy to plan. The entire family was together in the safety of our home. We had shelter, food, and a good internet connection. I elected to walk in the morning, but I had all of the necessary gear to do it. The kids were in communication with their friends via various group chats. Julie was able to talk to her patients on the phone.
I worked from my basement video studio instead of driving to Rockford. This involved some planning and the problem solving of some technical issues. Planning and problem solving, things that I am expert! My plans worked out well, and I was able to connect to both campuses via my video link.
Last night the weather had cleared enough so I could drive my son Will to his friend Joe’s house. My friend Tom asked me to come over and help him refinish his kitchen table. The roads were a bit slippery, but nothing that an experienced driver couldn’t handle. I had the fun of playing with his high-end power tools, as we sipped tea and swapped stories.
Yes, the Snowpocalypse made us change things up a bit, but the crisis was more akin to a Disney adventure ride rather than a disaster. We were fortunate to be able to arrange our lives, but I’m sure there was some tragedy that happened during the storm. There always is.
Huge piles of snow created by plows and blowers.Crews work in pre-dawn to clear the sidewalks.
This morning I woke early, dressed and headed out for my walk. I meandered and viewed huge piles of snow created by plows and snow blowers. As I approached my downtown, I could see crews busily getting sidewalks ready. It will be business as usual in a few short hours. Computer, phone, and a book at the ready, I sit in Starbucks sipping coffee and typing this post. A post reflecting on the adventure of the Snowpocalypse; as I type I am grateful that it was just an event, nothing more.
Starbucks coffee, computer, book and a view.
Life is what we make of it. I like to avoid disasters. I am not a crisis-oriented person. In the case of the Snowpocalypse, a little thought turned a storm into an exciting adventure ride.
