life

Tweak the relationship between strengths and weaknesses. Be the 16%.

Image from The Gaping Void.

“Only 16% of people manage to keep their New Year’s Resolutions,” The Gaping Void blog recently published. That means 86% of us will fail. Especially if our resolutions “are trying to fix a long-term fault” like losing weight, going to the gym daily, or changing an undesirable habit.

Why do we fail so often? Because “It’s difficult to change an aspect of your personality by sheer force of will,” the post continues, “And if it is a weakness you choose to work on, you probably won’t enjoy the process. If you don’t find pleasure or reinforcement along the way . . . you’ll soon give up.”

The solution, provided through the wisdom of Jonathan Haidt, is, “Work on your strengths, not your weaknesses.”

“Instead of saying, ‘I’m going to lose weight,’” The Gaping Void explains, “say, ‘I really love salad. Next year, I plan to eat more of it.’ Or, ‘I really loved tennis when I was a kid. I think I might take it up again.’”

Instead of focusing on where you need to improve, embrace what you love. And I love that.

Instead of trying to “fix what’s ‘wrong’ with us {which} is never fun and rarely works,” simply “tweak the relationship between our strengths and our weaknesses and choose to look at it from a different perspective.” Again, I just love that.

It is easy to fixate on what is “wrong” with us when reflecting. The way we behave in stressful situations, our innate ability to say the wrong thing when we desperately mean not to, or the extra pounds we carry. Whatever it is, when we look in the mirror, that fault is the only thing we see.

Believing we can suddenly fix them, simply because the calendar changed a day, does little more than add to the weight of guilt, frustration, and defeat. And when we fail it only encourages what we already believe, that we cannot change. “I simply cannot do this anymore,” we whisper to ourselves or cry into the abyss.

Because it’s true. We can’t. The majority of us can’t, anyway. I know I can’t. And I have a 20-ish years-long list of unfulfilled resolutions to prove it.

Especially recently.

This past year I have been crippled by the harsh realities of my insufficiency. In all walks of life, when I evaluate and consider who I am and what I’ve done, I am disappointed, embarrassed, and ashamed. Which is why, for the first time in 20-ish years, I have no New Year’s Resolution. There are simply too many wrongs that need fixing, and I have lost hope.

High-functioning depression” has suddenly entered my Google results.

This reality has not only confused me, it has frightened me. I’m not supposed to be this way. I’m supposed to be strong, funny, confident, and stable.

I’m supposed to be a man. A father. A husband. A principal. I’m supposed to be better.

There simply is no room for this shit.

Yet, it is here. Unwanted and uninvited.

And I cannot fix it.

This is why I truly appreciated the above post by The Gaping Void. Largely because it doesn’t attempt to fill my mind with the typical, “This will be your year!” bullshit. Instead, it offers a simple challenge: tweak the relationship between your strengths and weaknesses and choose to look at it from a different perspective.

A different perspective can often lead to a different purpose.

When I consider my shortcomings and disappointments, they are exhausting. What plummets me, however, is when I stop there. When I fixate on lost opportunities, failed endeavors, broken relationships, and failed tries. When I fixate on myself, I get discouraged. When I focus on others, however, I have reason.

I have reason to get out of bed and head to work because my family needs me.

I have reason to head to work because my students need someone to see them.

I have reason to hear my teachers because they need someone to trust them.

When I focus on others, I have reason to keep going because maybe “My year” has nothing to do with me but everything to do with the people around me.

Maybe “my year” focuses less on where I am struggling and frustrated and a hellova lot more on why others are struggling and frustrated. And what I can do about it.

Maybe “my year” isn’t about tweaking what is wrong with me but embracing what is right with me, being comfortable and confident with that, and believing, truly believing, it is enough because it is what I have. What I’ve been given. What I’ve been gifted.

Maybe “my year” is tweaking the relationship between my strengths and my weaknesses and choosing to look at Life from a different perspective.

Maybe this is the year I am the 16%.

#doGREATthings!

Give. Relate. Explore. Analyze. Try.

For more on . . .

-N- Stuff  :  Education : New Years

Match Life with life.

Recently, I’ve been struggling with inspiration.

More than a few personal endeavors, goals, and hopes have either crashed and burned or failed to get off the ground, and it has discouraged me far more than I anticipated. Especially in my writing. “What’s the point,” I’ve thought more than once, staring at a blank screen, unable to discover ideas or find the words, “No one is going to read them anyway.”

And in my most self-loathing moments, “Nothing I say or do matters.”

So, in response, I wrote nothing. For days. Which soon turned into weeks. Which now knocks on the door of months.

Feeling more and more discouraged (lost even), I resorted to old-school writing - in a paper journal! - to try and conjure a spark. “I give up,” I wrote in harsh black ink, “I just don’t know how.”

Rather quickly, the words came. Nothing fancy or poetic, just thoughts. Honest thoughts. And fears. Fears of failure, of wasted time and energy, and of doing this thing - whatever it is - wrong. Fears of embarrassment, rejection, and of regret. “I give up,” I wrote again, “I just don’t know how.”

I closed my journal, poured another cup of coffee, and headed to work. No solution. No resolution. No nothing. Just the weight of the task ahead, that students and staff will soon be in my school and my wife and children will be home when I get there.

And that brought a clarity, an understanding, to the reality that no matter how I feel about life, life doesn’t care much how I feel about it. No matter what, It still shows up. And it expects me too as well. Which is often why Life wins. Because it is relentless, consistent, and unapologetic in its one and only task: show up.

Should I not be expected to do the same?

There are so many friggin things I cannot control - how I am perceived, received, or embraced among the top. What I can control is whether or not I’m willing to try again. Whether or not I’m willing to show up, like Life, again and again.

It doesn’t have to always be pretty, but it does have to be always. For as Churchill (should have) shouted, “Do your worst, and we’ll do our best!” What matters is not that our best is enough, but that what’s best is enough.

And what’s best is that, even when we are at our worst, we show up.

- - - -

I don’t love that conclusion. Largely because it feels shallow. Insufficient. Uninspiring.

But really, I just don’t know what else to do. And sometimes, truthfully, it is all that I have - not giving up. Or at least, just showing up.

If I keep engaging with Life, maybe I can steal some from it.

Maybe.

Work. It gets the best of me.

This picture was taken a day after a major accident. I wasn’t paying much attention to the road; I was trying to call a struggling teacher.

I find that, at the end of the day, when I arrive home to my lovely wife and five fantastic kiddos, I’m exhausted. And not just tired exhausted, which I am, but resource exhausted.

I am less patient than I want to be because I used it all up throughout the day.

I’m less caring and intentional with my wife because I spent the day pushing into hard conversations and thinking and caring for others.

I’m less fun and energetic with my kids because my body is soar, my legs tired, and my mind spent.

Work gets the best of me; my family gets the worst.

I am not new to this understanding, nor am I espousing a wisdom previously unknown to every hardworking mom and dad, husband and wife. I am just renewed in my conviction and more aware that, recently, I am falling asleep on the couch while a child is in mid sentence, that I am spending too many evenings watching a movie or binging tv shows because its easier than anything else and I just want to rest.

My wife is generally very understanding and extremely accommodating to my busy schedule and demanding job. Recently, however, I begun to notice a slight (if not more than slight) slip in my time, efforts, and fight for quality family time. More than ever - and I’m not entirely sure why - I’ve adopted the attitude of “I deserve this” when in reality, I don’t. I just think I do. And I think it has something to do with moral licensing.

Moral licensing is “the habit of balancing out our good and bad decisions.” It is the convincing of “ourselves that it's okay we didn't do any recycling this week, because we usually do.” It is the attitude that its “fine to have that second helping of cake because we went on a run yesterday” (via).

Said another way, it is “when we are confident we have behaved well,” that we have “demonstrated compassion and generosity” all throughout the day or week and are therefor permitted little acts of selfishness, impatience, or thoughtlessness. It is the destructive convincing that, in the scheme of the week, day, or life, we have - generally - been a good person and are therefore permitted small acts of imperfection (via).

The problem with this way of thinking is fairly obvious. Namely, it isn’t right. From a basic integrity argument for sure, but also from a relational argument. Just because we are good most of the time doesnt mean we are permitted moments where we can be unkind, unloving, or foolish. And when I write it out, that truth is obvious. When I try and live it out, I find it much less convincing. And I hate it. My wife and kids deserve better of me.

So why is it so hard? Why do I continually do that which I do not want to do?

My son answered this for me the other day when he and I were engaged in a rather heated discussion. He had been rude to his younger sister and I was getting on him. “I don’t like acting this way,” he said, openly and honestly.

“Then why do you do it?” I asked. “Are you like this at school?”

“No.” He responded.

“Then why at home? Why do we get the worst of you?” I asked, instantly thinking of a black kettle and pot.

“Because it’s safe, I guess.”

Bingo.

Work, although safe in many regards, is not nearly as safe as my home.

If I am short with my staff or impatient with my words, I can expect a phone call or visit from my boss. If I don’t show up to work, I don’t get paid. If my behavior is less than what is expected, I will be placed on an imrovement plan. At work, there is immediate and uncomfortable accountability.

At home, there is grace. At home, there is unconditional love. At home, there is comfort. And comfort can be an incredibly bad thing.

I know my wife won’t leave me, just as she knows I won’t leave her. But not leaving is a pretty low bar of expectations. We can stay together for the next thirty years but be completely unsuccessful in our marriage, in raising our kids.

And that is exactly what has been on my mind lately.

When my career is over, when I receive the retirement plaque of 30-some years commitment to this wonderful profession, I don’t merely want my wife and kids in attendance, I want them celebrating their dad. A dad they know, that they respect, and that they are proud of. I want my wife to be excited for the next chapter of life because she has learned from the past seven that no matter the circumstance, I will be present. That in all things, no matter how busy or exhausted I am, I choose her.

Lately, I don’t think she could confidently say that.

In a recent conversation with a friend I found myself saying, “I am defined by my family. My wife, my kids. But I spend more of my days thinking about and caring for my profession - the kids in my building and how I can improve the school.” I spend less time considering how to pursue my wife, support my kids, and build a solid and safe home.

Work gets the best of me. My family gets the rest of me. And that just simply terrifies me.

So what do I do? What does this acknowledgement mean? And, more importantly, what can I do about it.

One, I think flirting with moral licensing needs to go. That’s a dangerous and dark alley, and the fact that I’ve even lingered on the corner makes me sick.

Two, I need to place some of my selfish ambitions aside - or at least be willing to. So what if I gain all that my mind desires - a successful publishing career, a several times recognized blue ribbon school, and great applause for all I’ve done - if my wife and kids don’t know me, don’t trust me, don’t like me, what is it worth? A pile of dirt, that’s what.

And three, give to Caesar what is Caesar’s. I am not responsible for what will happen, only what needs to be done (as I slightly nod to Gandalf). I am also responsible for what I’ve been given. And what I’ve been given is a kind and gracious wife who loves others more than herself and five kiddos who need a dad, a father, and an example. If loving and caring for them lowers my chances of personal advancement, so be it. It is out of my hands. My children, my wife, my family, however, are not. And I need to grip them tightly.

Work may get the most of me, but it doesn’t need to get the best of me. I can love my job, work hard at refining my craft, come home exhausted, and STILL carry some of the best of me through the door. And I must.

Becoming a better father and husband makes me a better principal, educator, and leader because it makes me a complete, more well-rounded person. And when I am a more complete, well-rounded person, work gets the best of me. And so does my family.

#doGREATthings!

Give. Relate. Explore. Analyze. Try.

For more on . . .

-N- Stuff  :  Education : On Leadership

Right now, we are all rubber bands

@will_santino_illustration

In my most recent staff meeting I handed out a rubber band and asked people to get into groups of three. “Now stretch it out,” I said. And they did, but only to the point of resistance.

“How’s the rubber band?” I asked.

“Fine,” they said, because rubber bands are made to be flexible and to endure. Just like us.

“Now pull a little more,” I said. And they did. Not as much as the first, but still a good stretch.

“What about now?” I asked, “How’s the rubber band?”

“Fine,” they still said, but less assuredly.

“Now pull again.” And they did. “And again . . . and again, and again.” With each and again, they pulled a little less and worried a little more. One teacher even used her free hand to block her face.

“This is where we are,” I said, “We are made to endure, to be flexible, but with each new request, with each new demand, we stretch a little more and a little more and a little more. We are now living in a state of constant fear that we’re about to break.”

We can endure hard seasons. We can absorb change, be flexible, and stretch ourselves further than we thought imaginable. But not forever. Lest we break.

The problem is - for my staff in that meeting and for many of us in our daily lives - we don’t see an end in sight, largely because the problems and issues are far bigger than us, and we can’t do anything about it.

What we can do, however, is show grace. To ourselves, and to others.

Giving grace doesn’t mean we have a free pass to sacrifice our integrity or high standards of excellence - absolutely not! But it does mean that when we fail, we show grace - that we courteous and show goodwill.

You are trying your best. The woman next to you is trying her best as well. The man across from you is trying his best. The kiddos in your classrooms are showing up and trying their best, and your boss is trying her best. But we can only stretch so far. And for many of us, we are walking fearful that, with the next request or burden to bare, we will break.

We can’t solve most of the problems the people around us are asked to endure, but we can give them - and ourselves - some grace. Which, in the end, might be the only thing that holds us together.

For more on . . .

-N- Stuff  :  Humanity  :  Friday Thoughts

Our worth, and why it matters.

unnamed.jpg

Every so often, my children struggle with the “I am’s” of who they are. The “I am” of who they are currently, the “I am” of who others see in them, the “I am” of who they were, and the “I am” of who they want to be.

A few nights ago was one of those times.

So I had them draw a picture of themselves and then asked them, “When you look at yourself, what are five things you want people to say about you?” The clicking an clacking of crayons scribing little words and simple phrases instantly filled the dining room. I sat and watched. I listened. And I worked on my own.

My plan was to discuss the power of our actions because my kids, like many others, don’t want to be perceived as bossy, unkind, selfish, and so on. At times, however, their actions suggest otherwise, and I wanted them to understand that just because they think something about themselves doesn’t mean that is how they are perceived. Our actions define who we are, not our words.

As is often the case, however - at least in my family - the conversation took a turn and headed in another direction.

“I’m cool,” and “fun” Zion wrote, asking how to spell every word.

“Try sounding them on your own,” I said. And she did, adding, “Tuf, butiful,” and “nis.”

“Artistic,” Eden wrote in pink, then, switching to purple, “beautiful, athletic, nice.” She struggled a bit for her fifth. After a few minutes of thought, she witched back to pink and wrote, “funny.”

Judah’s were written in gray, “not ugly, nice, humorous, somewhat athletic, kinda smart.” With a black crayon, I crossed out “not ugly” and wrote “handsome,” but he didn’t like that. I also crossed out “somewhat” and “kinda,” and that really frustrated him, “You asked my for my opinion, and this is what I want!”

“Why though?” I asked, knowing he was struggling a bit in school with identity and feeling a bit on the outs, “Why do you only want to be kinda smart or somewhat athletic?” I pointed to my black markings, “Why don’t you want to be handsome?”

“Because I don’t want to stand out,” he said, tears beginning to swell in the corners of his eyes, “I don’t want everyone to notice me.”

My initial plan of discussion began to change course. Eden and Zion stopped coloring and looked at their older brother.

“What’s so wrong about being noticed?” I asked.

“I just don’t like it,” he said, and my father-heart broke.

“Comer here,” I said, grabbing the crayons and placing them back into the bucket. “Come sit with me for a minute.” We walked to the living room. He sat on the oversized chair and I sat on the floor, arms across his lap. Eden snuggled in next to me, as she has come to do in recent months, just to listen. Zion kept coloring for a while, then headed off to play dog with her younger brother.

“You’re a Miller,” I said to Judah, “And that means when we do something, whatever is, be it sport, school work, yard work, coloring, whatever, we do our very best.”

“But why can’t I do my best and not be the best?” he asked, tears still on the brink.

“Why can’t you be the best?” I asked, feeling a bit of frustration welling in my stomach, “What’s wrong with that?”

“Because I don’t want to be arrogant. I don’t want to think I’m better than everybody else.” A tear lunged down his cheek.

“Why does being good mean you have to think you’re better than everybody else?” I asked, somewhat knowing the answer.

He shrugged his shoulders, “It just always seems that way.” Faces of kids Judah has grown up with flashed through my head. Kids who were talented in various areas but also selfish and unkind to most everyone who wasn’t up to their standards.

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” I said, “You can be both great and nice?”

“Why does it matter?” Judah asked, “Why can’t I just be good? Why do I have to be great?”

Eden held her knees, Judah shifted in his seat, and I felt a heat flash through my neck and up through my face, This isn’t working I thought to myself, I don’t even know what I’m trying to say.

Quotes from inspirational books clogged themselves in my throat. They tasted like acid. I swallowed them down.

“Because,” I said, stalling, thinking, and feeling completely lost. What am I doing? What am I saying? I held Judah’s hand, stared at the scar on his arm, and sat quietly. Eden leaned against my arm, Judah looked out the window, and my mind wondered quickly through the past few years. Suddenly, hundreds of thoughts and memories and moments began to flood my head, of Judah and Eden struggling with identity and confidence, of them believing most everything they do isn’t good enough, that their gifts and talents and thoughts have little worth; that they’re “different.” An answer began to form.

It’s funny how our brains work, how they can take milliseconds to work through years of images and emotions, how it can tie them together in a single linear story with crisp and sudden clarity, and then suddenly produce an intelligent (or, at the very least, coherent) thought.

“Judah,” I said, the thought beginning to take shape, “I don’t want you to be great for your sake, so that you can get the glory and praise. I want you to be great for other people’s sake.”

“What do you mean?” he asked. Eden lifted her head from my shoulder.

“Let’s say you had a hundred dollars in your wallet, but because you hadn’t looked for a long time, you only thought you had twenty.”

He looked at me skeptically, with a look that said, “I would never forget that I had one-hundred dollars.”

“I know,” I said, “But just pretend, okay?”

He nodded. Eden began to chew her nails.

“So you have a hundred but only think you have twenty, and I come home from work, stressed and terrified because I had miscalculated our budget and now we were a hundred dollars short and our heating bill is due in a few hours. You hear Mom and I talking, and as you press your ear to the door to hear more clearly, you catch me saying, ‘If I don’t pay it soon, they’re going to shut off the power and we won’t be able to heat the house.’”

Judah’s eyes widen slightly because with almost two months of below freezing temperatures, he knows what that means.

“So you run over,” I continue, “and say, ‘Dad, I have twenty dollars you can have,’ and you hand it to me with joy in your heart, knowing you can help.” His eyes stay with me and I know he’s tracking along. “And I take it, grateful and joyful that my son is so willing to give and to love our family, but I know it isn’t enough. That although the gesture is sweet and beautiful, it doesn’t really matter because we’re still far from paying the bill and soon, everyone will be freezing cold.” Judah nods and Eden, still against my arm, stares.

“But if you had known that you had one-hundred dollars instead of twenty,” I continue, “you could have helped fully and completely. You could have paid the bill for us and everyone would have been nice and warm, right?” And he nods again.

And that’s just where I need him to be.

“We don’t pursue greatness so we can bring honor and praise to ourselves,” I tell him, holding his thigh and looking into his eyes, “we pursue greatness because it allows us more and greater opportunities to help more people. If you have one-hundred dollars but only think you have twenty, you can only provide twenty dollars worth of help. But if you have a hundred, if you can look in the mirror and say, ‘I’ve worked really hard and now I have a hundred dollars to give away,’ think of how much more you can bless others?” He nods again.

“But Judah,” I say, holding his hand and wrapping the other around Eden, “and Eden, you both have some amazing gifts. They need to be worked on and refined for sure, but you have amazing gifts. You’re healthy, your smart, your athletic, your artistic, and a million other things - you are truly gifted and talented kids. But right now, you believe you only have twenty dollars in your wallet, which means you are losing chances to truly help and bless others.”

They both nod.

“And that’s why I want and care about you being great,” I say, “Not because I want you to be popular or praised, but because I want you to serve and help as many people as possible. I want you to make a huge difference. Does that make sense?”

“Yes,” Eden says. Judah nods, as he tends to do when he truly gets something.

“Good,” I say, now go give your mom some hugs and then brush your teeth.” They scamper off, racing and pushing and arguing, like they do every. single. night. Then, they come to me, wrap their arms around my waste, say, “I love you,” and turn for their bedrooms. “Judah, Eden,” I say. They turn in unison, “You’re worth one-hundred thousand dollars, not just a hundred.” They smile and turn and race to bed.

That’s why we become great. So that we can help others. So that we can make a difference. And that is what so many kids - so many people - are missing. In service of others, that’s where we find our worth, our purpose, and our hope within this mess of life. Not in spending more time loving ourselves.

We each have a great a mighty worth. What a blessing it is to discover unique and exciting and sometimes simple ways to give it away.

For more on . . .

-N- Stuff  :  Open Thoughts  :  On Living

Some are less and some are more : An update, of sorts.

795550C2-88A0-42E2-B906-AC9622BF07A8 2.JPG

It seems about once a year or so I go through a phase of questioning my writing and the purpose of this blog. This past phase was a bit longer than normal, but also a bit more clarifying. That is, once I was asked to clarify why I was backing off, “Because I’m trying to be more healthy.”

“That’s pretty ambiguous,” my friend said, shaking his head, “explain.”

So I did. It went something like this:

Two maybe, but never three:

Screen Shot 2019-05-07 at 4.49.38 PM.png

For the past several years, I’ve been working hard on writing more consistently. “One post a day,” I promised myself. Even if it was simple and short, I had to write/publish something on my blog or work on a chapter for my book.

Then we moved (again), I started Grad classes, kids entered sports, and then, and then, and then. Somewhere in there was my marriage, social life, and gaining a few extra unneeded pounds. My life was busy and certainly productive, but it was not healthy.

So I gave up writing for a while.

“But that was really good for you,” my friend reminded me. And he was right, it is. Writing is not only therapeutic, it’s clarifying and inspiring and something I truly love. But so is my marriage, my kids, and the many other things that take up time and demand thought.

Then, my wife posted this:

D8390E38-5FAD-423B-ABAE-EAEF24773EDD.JPG

Do you know the good years when you’re right in them, or do you only recognize them after your future is the past, and it’s all come and gone? 
I took a small break like I always do this time of year because it is work, heart-life-work, this bittersweet pursuit to hold on to time just so. If I get too distracted, if there is just too many things and I hold it too loosely, life slips through my fingers and falls to regret. But if there is a desperate clenched grip, it squeezes through anyways. Grip too tight? Not tight enough? These are the days, the good days. 
It is finally Spring, which means lamb kisses in barns and sports are over. It also means road trip camping season has nearly begun. 

I’m terrified. Terrified of wasting time, of missing out on opportunities, and of one day looking back with regret. But more than anything, I’m terrified my kids will grow up without great memories of their father. If they one day, many years from now, described me as hard working, loyal, and a man of character, I would be happy. But also a bit disappointed because, as much as those qualities mean to me, I also want my kids to one day look back at the life their dad lived and say, “He inspired me to live.”

Which is why, recently, I ran The Spartan Race with my son.

57050D3F-2F9A-4541-B67A-492FB0BD8CED.JPG

If you follow me on social media, you’re probably tired of this photo. But I’m not. This photo, to me, is a reminder to get out more, to try new things, to push boundaries, and to endure. It’s a reminder to prove I’m alive, to myself for sure but even more so for my kids who are watching, day in and day out. “Prove you’re alive!”, I tell them, but they don’t always listen. Because they’re kids. But when I live it, when I put the phone down, the computer away, and the books back on the shelf, when I take a weekend (with the support of my loving wife) and break out of the norm and and run a race with my oldest son, they see it, they experience it, and they want to live it too.

“Can I do it next year?” my two daughters asked.

“You bet,” I said, “And I’ll do it again with you.”

“Me too,” Judah yelled from the backseat, “And next year, I’m gonna beat my time.”

Me too.

I may not be writing as much lately, which, if I’m honest, is frustrating and sad. But because I’m writing less lately, I have more time for other things, for life things, and for the moments that are fleeting quickly. And I don’t think I’ll ever regret that.

So that’s one reason why I haven’t been writing as much lately. It’s also why I haven’t listened to or posted about podcasts either.

Because . . .

Podcasts are cool and all, but sometimes . . .

I listen to a lot of podcasts. Most of the time it’s because I enjoy them and often find inspiration from them. Sometimes, though, it’s because I like being the guy who listens to a lot of podcasts. So when the other day, while heading out for a morning run, my podcasts wouldn’t play, I was super annoyed. I even considered not running at all because, how boring would that be, running in silence? But the Spartan run was nearing and I knew I needed the training, so I headed out anyway. Soon after, I started thinking.

The night before, I didn’t sleep well because I had this thing with one of my students earlier in the day and it was bothering me. A lot. We’d been going around this misunderstanding for some time and that morning it had came to a head. We argued, yelled even, and refused to see the situation from each other’s perspectives. By the end of the conversation, he walked off and I threatened suspension. It wasn’t great and I wasn’t proud, but I was pissed. At him, myself, and the situation. It felt like all my work with him and his fellow classmates was suddenly lost because I handled the situation poorly and because I didn’t know how to fix it.

“Hard choices are often hard because they impact other people’s lives in meaningful ways,” Steven Johnson writes in Farsighted: How We Make the Decisions that Matter Most, “and so our ability to imagine that impact - to think through the emotional and material consequences from someone else’s perspective - turns out to be an essential talent” (pg 122). But because I was constantly distracted by work and kids and podcasts, I was unable to think or consider my student’s side of the story. Only mine. Until I ran without a podcast. Then and only then, I had time to think.

“When we are left to our own mental devices,” Johnson continues, “the mind drifts into a state where it swirls together memories and projections, mulls problems, and concocts strategies for the future” (pg 79). It solves problems. But only when it has time to do so. Listening to podcasts every chance I had never allowed my mind to sit and rest, to mull problems, or concoct strategies. It was always busy.

Just like my students.

Recently, after watching and talking and listening to staff and students around my school, we’ve made a few changes for next year: no cell phones during class time and block scheduling. When asked by a few students, parents, and board members, “What is the genesis of these changes?” I answered with, “Because life for our students is too busy, too distracted. We want them to slow down, to dig deeper into their classes and content, and to be more cognizant of their thoughts, emotions, and surroundings.” (Okay, I didn’t say it exactly like that, but more or less the message was the same). The morning my podcast didn’t work and I had to run in silence, I was convicted of this for myself as well because, for me at least, I can get a bit snooty about kids (and adults) playing video games or wasting time watching television. “They’re a waste of time, a distraction,” I find myself thinking and often times saying.

Yet, how often do I allow myself - my brain - to sit in silence and think, consider, and drift? How often do I play with memories and projections, mull problems, and concoct strategies for the future?

In the same way I want my students to slow down, to rid themselves of distractions and to wrestle with the intricacies and complexities of life, I must be willing and able to do the same. Podcasts, although better then gaming, can still be a distraction that quickly pulls me across the surface of thoughts and ideas, preventing me the opportunity to stop, sink, and struggle.

So that’s why, along with writing, I haven’t listened to as many podcasts lately.

But also, I don’t have time. Or perhaps energy is a better way to say it because of course I have time - we all do, if we really want something. We just need to make time for it. But energy? Yeah, I’m pretty low on that.

Here’s why.

For the Eulogy, not my Resume:

I’ve written a few times about the difference between eulogy virtues and resume virtues. It comes from David Brooks and his book, Road to Character, and it is something I think about quite often.

Resume virtues, Brooks explains, “are the {virtues} you list on your resume, the skills you bring to the job market and that contribute to external success.” Eulogy virtues, on the other hand, are the virtues that people talk about at your funeral, “the ones that exist at the core of your being - whether you are kind, brave, honest or faithful; what kind of relationships you formed.” They describe how you used your resume.

Recently, this concept has challenged me more so than ever because, for various reasons, I have been presented with the possibility of pursuing a doctorate, and for many reasons my answer would have been and very easily could have been “no.” But then my wife got involved in the decision making process and her simple reasoning stuck, “because it will open doors”, which, on the surface is pretty common and not all that groundbreaking. Because that’s what resumes do. They open doors. But my wife didn’t end there.

“Because it will open doors, which will potentially allow you greater opportunities to serve.” And she’s right! Not only will furthering my education (ideally) allow me to better serve my here-and-now local community, it will provide me the opportunity to help others too, if the moment or opportunity should arise.

Or, as Chef José Ramón Andrés Puerta would say, “an opportunity” to help.

José Ramón Andrés Puerta is “a Spanish-American chef often credited with bringing the small plates dining concept to America. He owns restaurants in Washington, D.C., Los Angeles, Las Vegas, South Beach, Florida; Frisco, Texas; Mexico City, and Dorado, Puerto Rico” (via). He is also credited with dreaming up and creating World Central Kitchen which travels the world and serving 150,000 meals daily to those in need.

Every time you have a disaster, you bring the different experts into different areas for the reconstruction, for the relief process. So you need to understand that if you have to rebuild homes that you'll bring architects. If you need to take care of people in the hospitals, you bring more help with doctors. If you have to feed people, it's only very normal and logical to me that you will bring cooks. And that's what we do. Kitchens, restaurants are chaos. And chefs, restaurant people - we manage chaos very well. After a hurricane, it's a lot of chaos. And people go hungry, and people go thirsty. And what we are very good at is understanding the problem and adapting. And so a problem becomes an opportunity. That's why I think chefs more and more - you're going to be seeing more of us in these situations. We're practical. We're efficient. We can do it quicker, faster and better than anybody (via)

Because of his resume and his intense training, Chef José Ramón Andrés Puerta not only gains access to kitchens around the world, he gains access to people in need around the world. He uses his resume as a foundation to live his eulogy virtues.

And that has been continually convicting to me.

I want to learn and grow and develop my resume as much as possible so I can be as helpful as possible, here in my current job, but also anywhere at any time. When there is a crisis or a need, I want to be ready and available and not stuck behind some bureaucratic red tape. I want access, a seat at the table, so I may best be able to serve and remember the poor.

That is why I’m writing less, listening to podcasts less, and working more on my resume.

For more on . . .

-N- Stuff  :  Open Thoughts  :  On Parenting

Humility: The Why of teaching, leadership, life

IMG_3734.JPG

I’m in Missoula this weekend, attending a principal’s conference, enjoying the mountains, and writing papers. Yeah, it’s pretty awesome.

I’ve written various chapters for a possible book on education but have been struggling with how to tie them all together, “What’s the overall purpose?” I keep asking.

At a recent teacher’s conference, I asked those in my workshop, “Why do kids need an education? Why do they have to go to college?” then they discussed. Their answers weren’t shocking.

But then I asked, “Why does a student need your subject? And why do they need you as their teacher?” They had a more difficult time answering this question.

Later the following night, while watching the sun set behind the Missoula mountains, an to my question, “What is the purpose of my book” surfaced, “To discuss why we teach.” So often, at conference or in literature, we as educators discuss What to teach and How best to teach it, but how often do we consider Why we teach?

I asked the group that question too, “Why do we spend so much time on the What and How and not on the Why?” For an almost awkward long while, they were quiet. Then, a middle-aged lady leaned over and whispered to her friend.

“What was that?” I asked, “Can you say that again?”

“Because it’s easier,” she said.

“Exactly,” I said.

This weekend’s writing is based almost entirely off the book, Humilitas: The Lost Key to Life, Love, and Leadership. It’s a simple read, but it is also one of the most profound because it hits to the core of why we teach, lead, and live.

Summary: 

The thesis of Humilitas: A Lost Key to Life, Love, and Leadership is that most “influential and inspiring people are often marked by humility” (pg 19). But this wasn’t always so. For many years, men and women would never have considered humility a lost key to life, an honorable character trait, or something worth emulating. It wasn’t until just a few thousand years ago that humility was introduced into the Western world, forever changing the way we think, and the way we lead. 

According to John Dickson, a historian and senior research fellow of the Department of Ancient History at Macquarie University, the ancient Greek and Roman world was built up on an honor/shame culture. In this time, a father would not have been concerned with whether his son was happy (in the modern sense) “or made money or lived morally, but whether the boy would bring honor to the family, especially to his father, and to himself” (pg 86). Honor could come through participating in a military victory, advancing through the ranks of official society, or by inventing/creating something that would greatly benefit the village – where his name and his family’ name could be pointed to and remembered. “In all of these things,” Dickson writes, “the thought was not so much the importance of conquering evildoers, making a difference to civic life or benefiting others; the chief good was the respect and praise that comes through these activities and the way they confirm the merit of the one so honored” (pg 86). Life was about being honored, remembered, and revered. Humility was rarely, if ever, considered virtuous because it was for the lowly, not the honorable. 

Humility towards the gods was appropriate because the gods could kill you. Humility was advisable to emperors too, because they too could kill you. Humility towards an equal or lesser was completely out of the question because “merit demanded honor, thus honor was proof of the merit (pg. 87)”.  

It was in this context that ancient Greeks and Romans thought nothing of praising themselves in public or, better still, getting others to praise them because it was proof of their merit. 

Then, from seemingly nowhere, came the teacher from Nazareth.

“Unfortunately, after two thousand years of Christian history,” Dickson writes, “it is difficult for people in the modern West to think of Jesus of Nazareth in a non-theological way” (pg 101). Historians however, have very little difficulty in laying “out the sources of his life, describ{ing} the methods historians use for testing claims about him, plac{ing} him in the context of Roman and Jewish history and outlin{ing} what most scholars agree are the facts about Jesus’ life, teaching, execution, and immediate impact” (pg 102). And according to historian scholars, Jesus’ immediate impact upon the Western world was introducing humility as a virtue. Because of Jesus, humility is no longer scoffed at or looked down upon, it is a badge of honor and pride and the mark of any great leader.  

Humility is “the noble choice to forgo your status, deploy your resources or use your influence for the good of others before yourself”, it is the “willingness to hold power in service of others” (pg 24). It is therefore impossible to be humble, in the real sense of the word, without a healthy understanding of one’s own worth and abilities (pg 25). Great leaders are not humble because they are sheepish, think lowly of themselves, or because they are “down to earth.” They are humble because when they look in the mirror, what they see is their gifts and talents and resources. They know fully well how good they are, strong they are, or powerful they are. And they must. In order to be humble they must be fully aware of what they have/are, so they can be equally aware on how best to give it away.

“Humility,” Dickson writes, “is more about how I treat others than how I think I think about myself” (pg 25). Although they have a healthy perspective of themselves, it is not their focus.  

Men and women who understand this concept and embrace it as a principle virtue, they become the most influential and inspiring people in our schools, companies, communities, and world. By living and leading through humility, they not only gain the trust and admiration of those they lead, they inspire and encourage everyone around them to live to their fullest and greatest potential, fully embracing their gifts and talents yet deploying them for the good of the community, not just themselves.  

 

Analysis:  

Several years ago, when I first married and was still considering my possible profession, a friend offered me a leadership book, “How to Make Your First Million, By the Age of Thirty,” or something like that. I believe that individual meant well by the gift because I truly do believe that individual wants to help make the world a better place. Sadly, that cannot be said about many leaders in any work force, which is why, sometimes, the greatest leaders refuse to take on leadership responsibilities. Because the stigma of those in leadership is often selfishness and materialism. They become leaders so they can make millions, have more benefits, or gain more power; it’s about them, not others.  

Leaders such as these care deeply about What they do and How they do it because they compliance from their staff; their concern is efficiency, productivity, and numbers. 

“If we're going to say, I'm not a success unless I'm on that best-seller list or this best-seller list, or I get that thing in advance or I have these sorts of ratings,” Seth Godin states, then “you are playing the game of the industrialist,” and therefore missing the point. “The point is,” he concludes, “will someone come up to {you}and say, based on what I learned from you I taught 10 other people to do this, and we made something that mattered” (Godin, 2018). 

The point of leadership is the same, to help others become the best version of themselves so they can, in turn, help 10 other people do the same.  

If, as a leader, the purpose is to be liked, popular, or successful (according to numbers, money, or achievements), then their foundation – their Why – becomes subject to personal gains and losses, not the community’s best interest. And when their personal purpose motive becomes unmoored from the people motive, bad things, scary things, and destructive things begin to happen.  They begin to deploy their resources or use their influence for the good of themselves rather than for the benefit of others. They begin to abuse their authority. 

According to Dickson, a principal, CEO, and president, have structural power that has been handed to them by an organization. They have “the power to hire and fire, set directions, approve budgets and overrule colleagues where there is disagreement” (pg 39). Leaders who wield this power selfishly, who’s aim is to serve and bring honor to themselves and their position, do so because relying on their authority is proof of their status and authority, which in turn creates a culture of fear, mistrust, and survival.  

In contrast, if a leader’s purpose is to help, to honor those they lead, and to employ their resources for the betterment of the community, if a leader sees their position of power not as a right but as a privilege and responsibility to serve rather than be served, they will create a thriving culture of curiosity, trust, and innovation. 

This is why John Dickson’s book is so crucial, because it addresses the Why of leadership and emboldens good leaders to be great leaders. It allows leaders to fully acknowledge who they are and the gifts they’ve been given, to pursue and strengthen those gifts, and to step into positions where those gifts and talents are most needed. Dickson’s redefining of humility gives talented, gifted, yet selfless individuals the push they need to step into spotlight roles because they know, by stepping into a leadership position, their focus will not be themselves, but those they serve. 

Just like Jesus. 

John Dickson, like many non-Christian historians, believed Jesus of Nazareth to be the defining example of humility. And whether or not one believes him to be the savior of the world or not, his example (in relation to humility) is one worth emulating.  

The Apostle Paul wrote to the church at Philippi: 

Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others. In your relationships with one another, have the same mindset as Christ Jesus: Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage; rather, he made himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man he humbled himself by becoming obedient to death— even death on a cross! 

Christ did not consider his authority as God’s son as something to be used for his own advantage, it was something He needed to give away! His power, his ability to provide eternal life, his authority over death meant He had something nobody else did, and He understood this. He had to in order to properly and fully serve the world. Christ embraced his Godship, his authority, and chose to humble Himself by becoming obedient to death (allowing Himself to die) so that others may live. He didn’t use His kingship to be honored and served (to make millions), but to serve. That is the true definition of leadership.  

It is also the perfect recipe for creating a culture of trust. 

Plato once believed, “that all of us tend to believe in views of people we already trust . . . even a brilliantly argued case from someone we dislike or whose motives we think dubious will fail to carry the same force as the case put forward by someone we regard as transparently good and trustworthy” (pg 42). Leaders who assume leadership positions with a faulty and selfish Why are not trustworthy. They are the exact opposite, which is why they resort to tricks and gimmicks. In contrast, leaders who spend their time and energy thinking about and serving, who care more about the wellbeing of others than themselves are easily trusted. “Leadership is not about popularity,” Dickson writes, “It is about gaining people’s trust and moving them forward” (pg 43). It’s about their advancement, not our own.  

Another outcome of a life lived in humility is that one will “learn, grow, and thrive in a way the proud have no hope of doing” because “people who imagine that they know most of what is important to know are hermetically sealed from learning new things and receiving constructive criticism” (pg 116). This is a radically important concept for a leader. If a leader is not living with true humility, they are unable to learn and grow because in order to do so, they must admit – either privately or publicly – that their skills and gifts and talents are insufficient. And if they’re insufficient, the spotlight will move and shine upon someone else, which could be devastating. However, if a leader is marked by humility, they and their spotlight are already focused elsewhere, leaving them free and open to new thoughts and new ideas, allowing them to grow and learn and better serve those they are leading. “In his battle against early twentieth-century rationalism and self-reliance,” Dickson writes, “G. K. Chesterton argued that human pride is in fact the engine of mediocrity. It fools us into believing that we have ‘arrived’, that we are complete, and that there is little else to learn” (pg 120). Such is the trademark of a selfish leader. 

Being a leader marked by humility does not mean, however, that he or she is soft, easily tossed around, or meek and mild. Nor does it mean being loud and pushy. “One of the failings of contemporary Western culture is to confuse conviction with arrogance,” Dickson argues, “the solution to ideological discord is not ‘tolerance’,” he writes, “but an ability to profoundly disagree with others and deeply honor them at the same time” (pg 23). Having strong opinions and deeply held convictions is not a hindrance to humility. In fact, in many cases, it is the mark of it. As long as we are willing and able to use or withhold those convictions for the good of others before ourselves. 

 

Closing

Living a life and leading with humility not only signals security, it fosters a healthy sense of self-worth that is rooted in service rather than achievement, in giving and not taking. The more leaders rely on achievement or popularity for a sense of worth, the more crushing every small failure or simple criticism will seem.  

In contrast, knowing, living, and leading with a purpose beyond myself that is rooted in the principle of humility provides an impenetrable fortress of security and freedom, for leaders as well as for their staff. If a staff understands that their leaders decisions and purpose is to serve and honor them, if they believe that their leader’s hope is for them to succeed, to reach their utmost potential, and to be the very best version of themselves, a community that supports and trusts one another, that grows and learns from another other, and that defends and protects one another will be established. A type of culture where everyone is embracing their gifts and talents and using them for the benefit of the community, not just themselves, because they know and trust their neighbors are doing the same. “When people trust us, they tend to believe what we say, and few are considered more trustworthy than those who choose to use their power for the good of others above themselves” (pg 147). 

A leader marked by humility is also not afraid to admit mistakes because they are not concerned about their perfect shine. They’re fully aware of their faults, and the faults of others, and therefore choose to freely admit their flaws and mistakes because they know it is what’s best for the progress and strength of those they lead. “Mistakes of execution are rarely as damaging to an organization, whether corporate, ecclesiastical or academic, as a refusal to concede mistakes,” Dickson states. If a leader is unwilling to admit his or her mistakes, if they are insecure and unable to fail in front of those they lead, they can never expect their school or community to try new things, make amends for mistakes made, or seek reconciliation from those they’ve offended. The culture will be stale and shallow, with each person operating out of safety and survival rather than curiosity and trust.  “Apologize to those affected,” Dickson argues, “and redress the issue with generosity and haste” (pg 130).  

Leaders want their staff to believe that they are not only competent in their job, they also want their staff to be proud of them as their boss, to brag about them, and to consider them a superstar, like players do who have been coached by some of the greats. “I played under Coach K,” or, “I was one of Coach Ditka's players.” Athletes who talk this way are proud of their journey and the coach that inspired them, because those great coaches understood humility.

Dickson writes, an "inspiring leader must control his ego and throw his energies into maximizing other people’s potential.” But also, they must ensure that “{the players} get the credit” (pg 156). Coaches who brag about their play calling, their clock management, or whatever instantly lose the respect of their players. Great coaches brag about their players, lift them up and celebrate them; they shift the spotlight, fully and completely, on others and their accomplishments, not their own.

The most influential and inspiring people are often marked by humility. They willingly forgo their status, deploy their resources, or use their influence for the good of others before themselves. They consider others as more important than themselves, and in so doing, they change the world.  

For more on . . .

-N- Stuff  :  Education  :  If school was like rock climbing 

A flower from my wife

IMG_3544.JPG

“The heart is a bloom, shoots up from the stony ground.”

A lyric that follows me now, down every dirt road path and onto the old cracked sidewalks, where little girls giggle as they silly talk and my mind drifts again to another world we lived in. A place that taught me a plant can survive in the most surprising, sometimes inhospitable places. And the human spirit can thrive, even in change, even if smothered or weary. 
Beautiful flowers can grow out of concrete.
- Josey Miller (@storyanthology)

Yeah, she’s pretty awesome.

Click here for more thoughts, pictures, and inspiration from my wife,

Rewind Forward : When today becomes the past

IMG_3023.JPG

I often return to the moment before the accident. One moment, I see a young beautiful lady laughing into the camera . . . CUT . . . three months later, she woke up from her coma. When I saw her for the first time, I asked my father, "Who is this woman?"

This video truly shook me a bit, and not just because of the death of so many family members (actual and relational), but I'll admit, the thoughts and memories of older days, when we were camping and living and struggling together, came rushing in. I easily resonated with,  

Do you miss him sometimes?

Not just sometimes . . . always!  Always!

And I don't think I'll ever stop. But also, 

I'm ready - to stop looking back, and to look forward. For a long time, I dreamed of standing here together again. But life took another turn.

Some of my family have said the brokenness we're experiencing is "God's will" and until He decides it's time for us to reconcile all we can do is pray. I think that's bullshit. I think we are a product of the decisions we've made, of the truths we hold so dear. Life didn't take the turn, we did. And now, we're miles and miles apart, still heading in opposite directions, waiting for and dreaming of the days when someone else will turn around. 

As I write, my family (wife and kiddos) are traveling the country. We're nearing the end of our fifth week on the road (from Wyoming to Pennsylvania with stops in Virginia, New Jersey, Michigan, Indiana, Wisconsin, and North Dakota). On our way to Virginia, I wrote in my journal,

We’re nearing 4 weeks of road tripping, and some days, I just want to be home, sitting on a couch, doing very little. Because traveling is expensive, because traveling breaks habits and somehow convinces kids it’s okay to push and break rules, and because one-year olds don’t sleep well on the road. And we are tired. 
But then we stand and look over the valley and I get to see the country with my son, my wife, my kids - my family -and then, through the perspective of young eyes, the miles and millions of cups of coffee are worth it. Because someday, I’m going to wish they all fit in the van again.

I don't know what sort of turns life has down the road, I just know that for now, we're all in the van together. I also know that however I travel now, the way I love my kids, the conversations we have or don't have, the stories we share the memories we create will most definitely and directly impact how we, a family, travers the road ahead. 

You can't outrun the past. With that I agree. But I can choose to sit in the present, to live and love and pursue with the tenacious truth that I'm not guaranteed tomorrow, and that someday memories might be all that I have left. 

Although hopes and dreams will forever be before me, I do have a say in how this thing plays out. These days are about these days and right now. The ripples will take care of themselves. 

Things I mean to know

IMG_1481.jpg

This morning, instead of hopping in the car and driving, I walked. It was brilliant. Brilliantly cold, and brilliantly convicting, like the heat of an afternoon sun after a freezing and wind scourged morning, because before the day even began, I was asked to consider everything I know, and how I know it. And I didn't have any answers.

What do we know, fully, and with confidence, but without knowing why? Without knowing the evidence, the facts, or even just simply the other side?

For me it's a lot of things. But when I first listened to this podcast, I wasn't considering me and what I did or did not know, I was considering others and what they don't know. Because from my perspective, they don't know a lot. And they don't even know it. 

The Episode is entitled, Things I Mean to Know by This American Life. 

This little soundbite is from the Prologue:

"I started looking into it and it was too hard." So, she, "jumped back into the ocean with the rest of us dummies." Because it was easier. Because getting to the bottom of things is a lot of work, especially when those things don't have easy or definable answers - when they deal with all that human being stuff.

When I heard these lines, I was about three blocks down from my house, kicking a small rock out of my path, and thinking of all those who could benefit from hearing these simple words. 

Then I turned the corner and headed down 6th street. The rock lost in someone's yard and the chill of the morning beginning to seep in. I pulled my hat down further then jammed my hands a bit further into my pockets. 

A thought was beginning to fester, and by the time I reached the my classroom and chair and Coleman thermos coffee, it was a wild and living thing.

Maybe I'm the one who's wrong?

In recent months I've been questioning myself, my faith, and my life more than I ever have before. Yet, somewhere in all that, I've found plenty of time and arguments for why others have been wrong, why things or ideas have been the source of my befuddlement, and why if everyone could just be as open-minded or loving or accepting as me, things would be pretty damn good.

Then I walked to work and kicked a rock and listened to stories of people talking about what they thought they knew. 

On the walk home, Megan Phelps-Roper describe her time as a member of the Westboro Baptist Church, "Most of the time, I would walk away from those conversations feeling like I had won. I never set out to have my mind changed."

Once I saw that we were not the ultimate arbiters of divine truth but flawed human beings, I couldn't justify our actions. . . That period was full of turmoil. But one part I return to often is a surprising realization I had during that time - that it was a relief and a privilege to let go of the harsh judgments that instinctively ran through my mind about nearly every person I saw. I realized that now I needed to learn. I needed to listen.

And so do I. Holy shit so do I.

I need to listen to those who frustrate me, who hurt me, who think incomplete and false thoughts about me. Because they might be right. 

Holy shit they might be right. At least in part.

Because,

You're not letting go of your truth but understanding someone else's. You need that if you're going to build a bridge and get across and get through.

But to be honest, this is really hard because even through I want to get through, I also want to win - at least in part - because even though I want to understand, I also want to be understood. And even though I want to build bridges and find a way to let go of the harsh judgements that instinctively ran through my mind, I also want to be validated and affirmed in what and who I am.  

Which makes the conversation difficult, I think, because - out of self preservation - I talk more than I listen, I defend more than hear, and I explain more than I try to understand.

And that might be the first times I've really understood that. 

 

For more on . . .

-N- Stuff  :  Open Thoughts  :  Other Inspiring Podcasts

 

BE SURE TO SCROLL DOWN AND SUBSCRIBE - THANKS FOR READING!

That Sunday Evening Feeling

IMG_1345.jpg

It descends quick, normally between the hours of 5 and 7.30pm, being especially felt when the weather is turning and the last of the daylight has burnished the sky a shade of crimson pink before plunging into a sea of concluding darkness.

Even since I was a child, I understood this feeling but could never articulate it. As an adult, not much has changed; Sunday evenings are still my least favorite time of the week.

Recently, I came across an essay which argued that "The Sunday evening feeling is ordinarily associated with work, and the idea of going back to an office after a pleasant break." Therefore, the uneasiness or weight we feel is our conscious telling us that "we are going back to the wrong sort of work" (via). But that didn't really resonate with me because I don't work in an office or job I hate. I love and believe in my job and will, consciously, stay in it for the rest of my life

So why do I still feel the weight of a typical Sunday evening?

Because life still isn't enough.

The article continues:

We normally manage to keep the insistent calls of the true working self at bay during the week. We are too busy and too driven by an immediate need for money. But it reliably comes to trouble us on Sunday evenings. Like a ghost suspended between two worlds, it has not been allowed to live or to die, and so bangs at the door of consciousness, requiring resolution. We are sad, or panicked, because a part of us recognises that time is running out and that we are not presently doing what we should with what remains of our lives. The anguish of Sunday evening is our conscience trying to stir us inarticulately into making more of ourselves.

I don't quite agree with everything said, but I do think there is something there. Like the idea of our consciousness banging on a door, reminding us that time is running out, and fast.

Suddenly, spending most of Saturday morning skimming Facebook updates seems like a waste of precious time and that hour at the mountain lake should have been all about teaching Eden how to skip a rock, not taking pictures of my kids searching for them. Instead of watching football, I should have played it, with my son, as the snow fell from trees.

What if that Sunday evening feeling is a little nudge, a jab even, reminding us that time is running out. That even if we live well into our 70's and 80's or well into our 90's, the end will come faster than we expect and when it does, it will be too late, there will be no more weekends to try again.

What will we have to show for it? What will we have made of ourselves? Of our families? Of the world around us?

I like the way the essay concludes:

We should not keep our Sunday evening feelings simply for Sunday evenings. We should place these feelings at the center of our lives and let them be the catalysts for a sustained exploration that continues throughout the week, over months and probably years, and that generates conversations with ourselves, with friends, mentors and with professionals. Something very serious is going on when sadness and anxiety descend for a few hours on Sunday evenings . . .

And we would be wise to consider it. Before it's too late.

 

For more on . . .

-N- Stuff  :  On Living  :  Resume VS Eulogy Virtues

 

BE SURE TO SCROLL DOWN AND SUBSCRIBE - THANKS FOR READING!

Self-Confidence: A Mental Wobbling

Choice is the active hesitation that we make before making a decision. It is a mental wobbling, so we are always in a dither of doubt as to whether we are behaving the right way, doing the right thing, and so on and so forth, and lack a certain kind of self confidence. And if you see that you lack self confidence, you will make mistakes. Through sheer fumbling. If you do have self confidence you might get carried away with doing entirely the wrong thing. You have to regard yourself as a cloud in the flesh because, you see, clouds never make mistakes.

Did you ever see a cloud that was misshapen? 

When we believe that, we will  be on good terms with your own being, and be able to trust our own brain . . .

The problem is, I don't want to fully trust my own brain, because I know my brain, and I don't trust it.

But I do want to be on good terms with my own being, accepting it, in all of its limitations, and wobble, because I want to rely on others, need others, and cling to others, not just myself. Confidently.

Because that is Life. And in that, I do not dither or hesitate in doubt, but fully embrace. 

Like the beauty and wonder of the clouds. 

 

For more on . . .

-N- Stuff  :  On Living  :  Humanity

 

BE SURE TO SCROLL DOWN AND SUBSCRIBE - THANKS FOR READING!

Letter from a past generation

This letter, from Will Schoder's grandfather, reminded me of my grandfather. It's something he would have written, probably even did. I'm just not fortunate enough to have it stored in a box.

I'm not a big fan of downing the Millennial generation because, mainly, most of what I hear is unfair and biased. There is probably truth in the criticism, just as much as there is error, and I'd rather focus on the things I can control. Myself. Just like this grandfather here. He can articulate his frustrations with some of his fellow countryman, and articulate it well, but it doesn't drive him to hate or ridicule others. Rather, he pursued his wife, he fought in a war, and he lived his life; he changed himself. 

This letter crosses all times and boundaries and is a good reminder on how to live life: honestly and admirably and fully in the moment - "with our whole being" and with little or "no need to fear the future." 

Thank you, Barry, for the sweet reminder. 

 

IF YOU'VE SUBSCRIBED IN THE PAST MONTH OR SO

PLEASE (scroll to bottom) AND DO SO AGAIN!

There was an (ahem) operations error and it didn't go through (sorry about that).

 

For more on . . .

-N- Stuff  :  On Living  :  Will Schoder

The Best That Ever Was . . . a waste.

"If you have dreams of being a rock-star public speaker, pumping up an audience as you stride the stage and proclaim your brilliance, I beg you to reconsider. Don’t dream of that. Dream of something much bigger than you are.”  (TED Talks: the official TED guide to public speaking)

Matt Damon agrees.

"Imagine chasing that, and not getting it, and getting it finally in your eighties or nineties  with all of life behind you" or broken relationships or abandoned friends or ruined lives "and realizing . . . what an unbelievable waste." 

Because

"It can't fill you up. If that's a whole that you have, that won't fill it."

It's the difference between eulogy virtues and resume virtues; the BIG ME and little me.

“THE SECRET TO HAPPINESS IS: FIND SOMETHING MORE IMPORTANT THAN YOU ARE, AND DEDICATE YOUR LIFE TO IT.” – DAN DENNETT

Or as Chris McCandless wrote during his last days, "Happiness is only realized when shared."

A grim yet poignant reminder for those of us pursuing dreams.

Oldest Living Veteran - 109 Years Old

Richard Overton fought in the South Pacific in World War II, is 109 years old, still drives, sometimes drinks whiskey with breakfast, smokes 12 cigars a day (but doesn’t inhale), and still lives in the house he built himself in 1945. In this video from National Geographic, Overton talks about his military service, his faith, his long life, and soup. Overton’s short summary of World War II:

"It wasn’t good, but we had to go."

I don’t really care to live to 100, but if I had Overton’s spirit and attitude, perhaps I’d consider it (via). 

 

For more on . . .

-N- Stuff  :  Real People  :  Humanity

 

BE SURE TO SCROLL DOWN AND SUBSCRIBE - THANKS FOR READING!

Writing and Life, and the Advice We're Misusing.

K.M. Weiland work has been posted in the past and probably will be in the future, because it's just good stuff.

Her latest post, "6 Bits of Common Writing Advice You're Misusing," is another great resource for writers, but it's also a great resources of life.

Here are a few most notables:

1. Write a Likable Character

You hear it all the time. If you don’t create characters readers like—and especially a protagonist readers like—why would they ever want to read your story? Stories are made or broken on the strength of their characters, which means you must get readers invested in your main character right from go.

Common writing advice says your protagonist must be likable. But don’t confuse likability with perfection. Readers love flawed characters.

What Writers Sometimes Think This Means:

The problem is that writers sometimes think this means they must write a character who is an utter saint. If he makes a mistake, if he speaks in anger, if he’s selfish, if he sins—readers will instantly judge him, hate him, and drop him. Instead of creating a realistically flawed (andinteresting) human being, these writers end up with either a

a) a self-righteous goody-goody

b) a self-flagellating goody-goody

The irony here is that “perfect” characters are hardly ever likable characters.

What This Bit of Writing Advice Really Means:

Because we often equate other people’s ability to like us with our ability to avoid of messing up, we think the same must apply to our characters. But (aside from the fact this is an utterly false paradigm) consider some of your favorite characters. I’m willing to bet most of them are egregiously flawed. And don’t you love them the more for those flaws?

When you’re told to “write a likable character,” what you’re really be told is to “write a realistic, compelling, relatable, interesting character.” So give him a relatable motivation and pile on the sins, because readers have a high capacity for forgiveness.

Application to Life:

We love flawed fictional characters because they are relatable. Characters that are to goody-goody become distant because we know ourselves. We know that, try as we might, we are deeply flawed and fully sinful - that we have ghosts

When we read the struggles and failures of fictional characters, we see ourselves, and we have compassion, and we end up loving them more.

Characters like Cora who kills a white boy while trying to escape North, the adulterous John Proctor in The Crucible, and lying, scared, and over emotional disciple, Peter.

But not so much with the non-fictional characters of our daily workplaces, the family members that gather around the Thanksgiving table, and the members of our churches. Their faults are not lovable but deplorable. They drive us apart, they seep into our thoughts while driving or washing the dishes. They're the subjects of our cryptic blog posts. 

Suddenly, the realistic, compelling, relatable, interesting characters that are so lovable in books are our enemies in life.

Patrick Lencioni refers to this as the Fundamental Attribution Error, "The tendency of human beings to attribute the negative or frustrating behaviors of {others} to their intentions and personalities, while attributing their own negative or frustrating behaviors to environmental factors" (The Advantage).

Reading and writing stories can remind that, just as we and our favorite characters are flawed, so to is our neighbor. And that makes them realistic, compelling, relatable, and interesting . . . if only we choose to keep reading and not close the book.

4. Flesh Out Your Minor Characters

Your protagonist may make or break the show, but the supporting cast is just as important to the success of his story. If your minor characters are boring, flat, and clichéd, your entire story will suffer. This means you must lavish just as much attention on the little people as you do your shakers and movers. Even your smallest of walk-on characters need to strike readers with just as much realism and charisma as your larger-than-life protagonist.

Common writing advice says you must flesh out even your minor characters—and you should! But you must do it artfully, using only story-pertinent details.

What Writers Sometimes Think This Means:

Every character is the hero of his own story, right? And that’s exactly what some writers seem bent on doing: writing an entire story for every minor character, however insignificant they actually are within the plot. When you end up telling a minor character’s entire life story just to “flesh him out,” you know you’ve gone too far. In fact, even just sharing a single detail about this character if it is not pertinent to the story is a bridge too far.

If you introduce your walk-on taxi driver with a lengthy conversation about his large family, you’re telling readers this man and his family are important—to the plot, to the protagonist’s development, or to the thematic premise. In short, every minor-character detail you include had better be doing double or triple duty, rather than simply serving to tell readers, “See, look, this guy is a real human being! No, really!”

What This Bit of Writing Advice Really Means:

By all means, bring your minor characters to life. But do it deftly. Do it in a way that creates irony and subtext—and most importantly moves the plot forward.

Application to Life:

"You must lavish just as much attention on the little people as you do your shakers and movers." And how much more this applies to life.

How we treat those who can do nothing for us, who can provide little or no return, defines our character more than anything else. Being kind to those who are kind is easy. Being kind to those who are undeserving, who are cruel and seemingly fully selfish, is not. But it's what makes a "successful story."

In life, there are not minor or flat characters, there is only people - humans who want and love and fail and feel just like the rest of us - who want to be the hero. Lavishing attention on the "little people," those who cannot speak for themselves, fight for themselves, or think for themselves, is the mark and beauty of the best of humanity - it's humility. It's the mark of a hero.

People like Nelson Mandela, Mother Theresa, and those whose names will never appear in blogs or headlines because they didn't do what they did for attention, but because it was the right thing to do. And at the end of their lives, their funeral parlor is full.

5. Add Conflict to Every Scene

are-you-creating-your-own-personal-cliches.jpg

Here’s one you hear a lot these days: conflict, conflict, conflict. Without it, you have no plot and no story. If characters aren’t fighting, struggling, overcoming in every single scene, the forward momentum of the plot will founder, and readers will grow bored and give up on the book. More than that, conflict is directly related to the pertinence of any scene within your story. If something isn’t happening to push the conflict forward, then chances are high that scene can and should be trimmed from the story.

Common writing advice says you must include conflict in every scene—and you should! But you must make sure it is story-driving conflict, rather than random arguments.

What Writers Sometimes Think This Means:

In their determination to include the magic story elixir of conflict, writers sometimes end up manufacturing it. The result is random conflict—arguments, obstacles, and even physical altercations that actually do nothing to move the plot.

Turns out, conflict all by itself is not a surefire indicator of a scene’s plot-progressing necessity. Too often, writers feel their story is lagging (particularly in the Second Act), so they throw in a random argument between allies—or the neighborhood bully attacks—or there’s a car wreck—or who knows what else. The result is, at best, melodrama. At worst, readers will be just as bored as if the characters really were doing nothing.

What This Bit of Writing Advice Really Means:

It’s not enough to throw in a random argument to spice things up. Every bit of conflict in every scene must function as part of the overall plot, creating a seamless line of scene dominoes—one knocking into the next—that progresses your story from beginning to end.

Just as importantly, every bit of this conflict must pertinently impact your character’s arc and your story’s theme. If it misfires on any of these three levels—plot, character, or theme—it risks irrelevance and must be reexamined to strengthen it into something with the ability to truly power your story.

Application to Life:

Saying that a story without conflict is boring and will cause the readers to lose interest is perhaps true, but it is also shallow at the least - inaccurate and unhelpful at most because it doesn't relate to life. Try telling a middle school child struggling with the harshness of an overwhelming bully that it's what makes his life - his story- interesting. Tell a father whose searching for answer after losing his job or a wife and mother of three who has recently discovered that she a widow and must carry the burden alone that this is what moves their story along, "from beginning to end," and see if they are comforted. 

It won't. Because the purpose of conflict is not to move the story along. 

Conflict and hardship is a part of life, we know that. But how we interpret conflict can change how we view life.

"It’s not enough to throw in a random argument to spice things up," Weiland writes, and that is true, and it's probably good advice for writers. But in life, there is no "random argument" because, to paraphrase Weiland, every bit of conflict in every moment of life functions as part of the overall story, "creating a seamless line of scene dominoes—one knocking into the next."

The argument with a loved one that seemed to spawn from nothing and that ended nowhere is part of the seamless line of dominoes that was knocked, sometimes days or even years prior.

A blowup is never just a single isolated blowup. Somewhere, someone has pushed a domino. 

Knowing this can remind us perhaps of a few things.

  1. Patience - because if we love that person, we want to know what's really going on. We want to lay a domino on its side and stop the progression.
  2. Empathy - because we know ourselves and that really, when we are frustrated over a dirty kitchen, there is really something bigger we're wrestling with. So we listen.
  3. Forgiveness - when we are close to someone, we are the ones they fall on. And sometimes,, they can't do anything about it - they've just been pushed over. So we bare it.

Thank you K.M. Weiland for the post, and thank you for reading!

 

Jump!

Philippe Halsman was a renowned portrait photographer who was particularly active in the 40s, 50s, and 60s and most famous for his iconic photos of Salvador Dali and Albert Einstein. For a period in the 1950s, Halsman ended his portrait shoots by asking his famous subjects to jump. The results were disarming.

When you ask a person to jump, his attention is mostly directed toward the act of jumping and the mask falls so that the real person appears.

Halsman got all sorts of people to jump for his camera: Richard Nixon (above), Robert Oppenheimer, Marilyn Monroe (above), Aldous Huxley, Audrey Hepburn (above), Brigitte Bardot, and the Duke & Duchess of Windsor (above). He collected all his jump photos into the recently re-released Philippe Halsman’s Jump Book.

Repost from kottke.org

First off, kottke.org is just a great resource for fun information so thanks to kottke for yet another inspiration/stolen post!

Second, what's so great about these pictures is the "other side" of those being photographed - the "real person." Everyone has a child inside, often hidden and suppressed by expectations, judgements, and "maturity." Jumping seems to be the key to unlocking the cage. If only for a little while.

Thanks Philippe Halsman for the great photos!

A Marriage, by Michael Blumenthal

http://www.usnews.com/news/blogs/press-past/2013/03/28/as-the-supreme-court-weighs-gay-marriage-a-look-at-its-last-major-marriage-ruling

Sometimes, marriage isn't easy. Sometimes, it's work. Most often, it's a choice.

 

For Margie Smigel and Jon Dopkeen

You are holding up a ceiling
with both arms. It is very heavy,
but you must hold it up, or else
it will fall down on you. Your arms
are tired, terribly tired,
and, as the day goes on, it feels
as if either your arms or the ceiling
will soon collapse.

But then,
unexpectedly,
something wonderful happens:
Someone,
a man or a woman,
walks into the room
and holds their arms up
to the ceiling beside you.

So you finally get
to take down your arms.
You feel the relief of respite,
the blood flowing back
to your fingers and arms.
And when your partner's arms tire,
you hold up your own
to relieve him again.

And it can go on like this
for many years
without the house falling.

 

 

For more on . . .

-N- Stuff  :  Poetry  :  Inspiration