Accept and enjoy the world

"There is nothing either good or bad,but thinking makes it so."―William Shakespeare, "Hamlet"

One of the greatest sources of unhappiness, in my experience, is the difficulty we have in accepting things as they are.

Without judgment, without wishing for otherwise.

When we see something we don't like, we wish it could be different ― we cry out for something better. That may be human nature, or perhaps it's something that's ingrained in our culture.

The root of the unhappiness isn't necessarily that we want things to be different, however: it's that we decided we didn't like it in the first place. We've judged it as bad, rather than saying, "It's not bad or good, it just is."

An example: In my recent post, A Beautiful Method to Find Peace of Mind, quite a few commenters thought my outlook was negative, pessimistic, or fatalistic … because I said you should expect people to mess up, expect things to go differently than you planned, and that you should embrace that.

It's too negative to expect things to go wrong, they said. However: it's only negative if you see it as negative. If you judge it as bad.

Instead, you could accept it as the way the world works ― as the way things actually are. And try to understand why that is, and embrace it. As it is.

This can be applied to whatever you do: whether it be how other people act at work, how politics works and how depressing the news media can be. Accept these things as they are, and try to understand why they're that way.

It'll save you a lot of grief, because you'll no longer say, "Oh, I wish things didn't suck!"

Does it mean you can never change things? Not at all. But change things not because you can't accept things as they are, but because you enjoy the process of change, of learning and growing.

Can we make this world a better place? Again, that's assuming that it's a bad place right now. But instead, you could say the world is just what it is ― and that's neither good nor bad. You can say that you'll continue to try to do things to help others, to grow as a person, to make a difference in this world ― not because you're such a bad person now, or the world sucks, but because that's the path you choose to take, because you enjoy that path.

As you catch yourself judging, and wishing for different ― and we all do it ― try a different approach: accept, and understand. It might lead to some interesting results.

Read more

On peace of mind

Joshua Loth Liebman "On my head pour only the sweet waters of serenity. Give me the gift of the Untroubled Mind."

Once, as a young man full of exuberant fancy, I undertook to draw up a catalogue of the acknowledged "goods" of life. As other men sometimes tabulate lists of properties they own or would like to own, I set down my inventory of earthly desirables: health, love, beauty, talent, power,riches,and fame.

When my inventory was completed I proudly showed it to a wise elder who had been the mentor and spiritual model of my youth. Perhaps I was trying to impress him with my precocious wisdom. Anyway, I handed him the list. "This", I told him confidently, "is the sum of mortal goods. Could a man possess them all, he would be as a god."

At the corners of my friend's old eyes, I saw wrinkles of amusement gathering in a patient net. "An excellent list," he said, pondering it thoughtfully, "well digested in contented and set down in not-unresonable order. But it appears, my young friend, that you have omitted the most important element of all. You have forgotten the one ingredient, lacking which each possession becomes a hideous torment."

"And what." I asked, peppering my voice with truculence, "is that missing ingredient?"

"With a pencil stub he crossed out my entire schedule. Then, haveing demolished my adolscent dream structure at a single stroke, he wrote down three syllables: peace of mind. "This is the gift that God reserves for His special Proteges." he said.

"Talent and beauty He gives to many. Wealth is commonplace, fame not rare. But peace of mind - that is His final guerdon of approval, the fondest insignia of His love, He bestows it charily. Most men are never blessed with it; others wait all their lives- yes, far into advanced age - for this gift to descend upon them."

Read more

Try to become a quitter

I'm one of those people who's terrible at saying no. I take on too many projects at once, and spend too much of my time doing things I'd rather not be. I get stuff done, but it's not always the best I can do, or the best way I can spend my time.

That's why my newest goal, both as a professional and a person, is to be a quitter.

Being a quitter isn't being someone who gives up, who doesn't see important things through to the end. I aspire to be the opposite of those things, and think we all should. The quitter I want to be is someone who gets out when there's no value to be added, or when that value comes at the expense of something more important.

I want to quit doing things that I'm asked to do, for no other reason than I'm asked to do it. I want to be able to quit something in mid-stream, because I realize there's nothing good coming from it.

A friend of mine once told me that "I knew I was an adult when I could stop reading a book, even after getting 500 pages into it." Odd though it sounds, we all tend to do this. We get involved in something, realize we don't want to be a part of it, but keep trucking through. We say "well, I've already invested so much time in this, I might as well stick it out."

I propose the opposite: quit as often as possible, regardless of project status or time invested. If you're reading a book, and don't like it, stop reading. Cut your losses, realize that the smartest thing to do is stop before your losses grow even more, and quit. If you're working on a project at work that isn't going anywhere, but you've already invested tons of time on it, quit. Take the time gained by quitting the pointless project, and put it toward something of value. Instead of reading an entire book you hate, read 1/2 a bad one and 1/2 a good one. Isn't that a better use of your time?

If you're stuck doing something, and don't really want to do it anymore, step back for a second. Ask if you really have to do this, and what value is being produced from your doing it. Don't think about the time you've put into it, or how much it's taken over your life. If you don't want to do it, and don't have to do it, don't do it.

By quitting these things, you'll free up time to do things that actually do create value, for yourself and for others. You'll have time to read all the great books out there, or at least a couple more. You'll be able to begin to put your time and effort into the things you'd actually like to do.

Let's try it together: what are the things you're doing, that you're only doing because you've been doing them for so long? Quit. Don't let time spent dictate time you will spend. Let's learn how to say "no" at the beginning, or in the middle, and free up more of our time to do the things we'd like to be doing, and the things actually worth doing.

Saying no is hard, and admitting a mistaken yes is even harder. But if we do both, we'll start to make sure that we're spending our time creating value, rather than aggravating our losses. Let's be quitters together.

What do you think? What in your life can you quit?

Read more

Beauty

There were a sensitivity and a beauty to her that have nothing to do with looks. She was one to be listened to, whose words were so easy to take to heart.

It is said that the true nature of being is veiled. The labor of words, the expression of art, the seemingly ceaseless buzz that is human thought all have in common the need to get at what really is so. The hope to draw close to and possess the truth of being can be a feverish one. In some cases it can even be fatal, if pleasure is one's truth and its attainment more important than life itself. In other lives, though, the search for what is truthful gives life.

I used to find notes left in the collection basket, beautiful notes about my homilies and about the writer's thoughts on the daily scriptural readings. The person who penned the notes would add reflections to my thoughts and would always include some quotes from poets and mystics he or she had read and remembered and loved. The notes fascinated me. Here was someone immersed in a search for truth and beauty. Words had been treasured, words that were beautiful. And I felt as if the words somehow delighted in being discovered, for they were obviously very generous to the as yet anonymous writer of the notes. And now this person was in turn learning the secret of sharing them. Beauty so shines when given away. The only truth that exists is, in that sense, free.

It was a long time before I met the author of the notes.

One Sunday morning, I was told that someone was waiting for me in the office. The young person who answered the rectory door said that it was "the woman who said she left all the notes." When I saw her I was shocked, since I immediately recognized her from church but had no idea that it was she who wrote the notes. She was sitting in a chair in the office with her hands folded in her lap. Her head was bowed and when she raised it to look at me, she could barely smile without pain. Her face was disfigured, and the skin so tight from surgical procedures that smiling or laughing was very difficult for her. She had suffered terribly from treatment to remove the growths that had so marred her face.

We chatted for a while that Sunday morning and agreed to meet for lunch later that week.

As it turned out we went to lunch several times, and she always wore a hat during the meal. I think that treatments of some sort had caused a lot of her hair to fall out. We shared things about our lives. I told her about my schooling and growing up. She told me that she had worked for years for an insurance company. She never mentioned family, and I did not ask.

We spoke of authors we both had read, and it was easy to tell that books are a great love of hers.

I have thought about her often over the years and how she struggled in a society that places an incredible premium on looks, class, wealth and all the other fineries of life. She suffered from a disfigurement that cannot be made to look attractive. I know that her condition hurt her deeply.

Would her life have been different had she been pretty? Chances are it would have. And yet there were sensitivity and a beauty to her that had nothing to do with looks. She was one to be listened to, whose words were so easy to take to heart. Her words came from a wounded but loving heart, very much like all hearts, but she had more of a need to be aware of it, to live with it and learn from it. She possessed a fine-tuned sense of beauty. Her only fear in life was the loss of a friend.

How long does it take most of us to reach that level of human growth, if we ever get there? We get so consumed and diminished, worrying about all the things that need improving, we can easily forget to cherish those things that last. Friendship, so rare and so good, just needs our care--maybe even the simple gesture of writing a little note now and then, or the dropping of some beautiful words in a basket, in the hope that such beauty will be shared and taken to heart.

The truth of her life was a desire to see beyond the surface for a glimpse of what it is that matters. She found beauty and grace and they befriended her, and showed her what is real.

Read more

James Cameron: Before Avatar ... a curious boy

 

James Cameron is the director of Avatar, Titanic, Terminator, The Abyss and many other blockbusters. While his outsize films push the bounds of technology, they're always anchored in human stories with heart and soul.

James Cameron has written and directed some of the largest blockbuster movies of the last 20 years, including The Terminator, Aliens, The Abyss, Terminator 2: Judgment Day, Titanic, and Avatar. His films  pushed the limits of special effects, and his fascination with technical developments led him to co-create the 3-D Fusion Camera System. He has also contributed to new techniques in underwater filming and remote vehicle technology.

Although now a major filmmaker, Cameron's first job was as a truck driver and he wrote only in his spare time. After seeing Star Wars, he quit that job and wrote his first science fiction script for a ten-minute short called Xenogenesis. Soon after, he began working with special effects, and by 1984 he had written and directed the movie that would change his life -- The Terminator.  Today, he has received three Academy Awards, two honorary doctorates and sits on the NASA Advisory Council. 

 

What we can get from this speech? Curiosity,imagination and fearless to failure are very important to success. Failure is not an option, but the more important is what we can learn from it. 

Read more

Love Your Life

However mean your life is, meet it and live it;

Do not shun it and call it hard names.

It is not so bad as you are.

It looks poorest when you are richest.

The fault-finder will find faults in paradise.

Love your life, poor as it is.

You may perhaps have some pleasant, thrilling, glorious hours, even in a poor-house.

The setting sun is reflected from the windows of the alms-house as brightly as from the rich man's abode;

The snow melts before its door as early in the spring.

I do not see but a quiet mind may live as contentedly there,

And have as cheering thoughts, as in a palace.

The town's poor seem to me often to live the most in dependent lives of any.

May be they are simply great enough to receive without misgivings.

Most think that they are above being supported by the town;

but it often happens that they are not above supporting themselves by dishonest means,

which should be more disreputable.

Cultivate poverty like a garden herblike sage.

Do not trouble yourself much to get new things, whether clothes or friends.

Turn the old, return to them.

Things do not change; we change.

Sell your clothes and keep your thoughts.

The pure, the bright, the beautiful,

That stirred our hearts in youth,

The impulses to wordless prayer,

The dreams of love and truth;

The longing after something's lost,

The spirit's yearning cry,

The striving after better hopes

These things can never die.

The timid hand stretched forth to aid

A brother in his need,

A kindly word in grief's dark hour

That proves a friend indeed ;

The plea for mercy softly breathed,

When justice threatens nigh,

The sorrow of a contrite heart

These things shall never die.

Let nothing pass for every hand

Must find some work to do ;

Lose not a chance to waken love

Be firm,and just ,and true;

So shall a light that cannot fade

Beam on thee from on high.

And angel voices say to thee

These things shall never die.

Read more

Watch the world go by

I was sitting outside my new home yesterday (we just moved last week, and we love the new place), watching the world go by.

There were people in cars, in a hurry to get to their next appointment. There were birds flying by, insects just as busy as the people in cars, plants and weeds thriving in the humid Guam climate.

Inside the house, my children were also busy, as ever, making a mess of the house (which my wife and I would soon clean up), getting into things, their natural curiosity overpowering our previous pleas for them not to play with lotion or take things apart.

The sky was slightly overcast and there was a cool breeze, quite strong and pleasant actually.

It's not often that most of us just sit quietly, and allow the world to pass us by.

Why not?

What is so important that it can't wait until later? What email must be answered right this moment? Do we really need to read all those articles online, all those messages from others, all those newspapers and magazines? Do we need to have the television and radio and Internet on all the time?

Is life passing us by as we keep our minds super-busy? Are we missing out on the beautiful world around us as we constantly think about the future ― what we need to do, our anxieties about what might happen ― and the past ― what we did wrong, what someone else did to us, what we said, what should have happened?

When was the last time you just sat, and observed? Why not do it today?

Read more

How selfless real love is

My wife called, 'How long will you be with that newspaper? Will you come here and make your darling daughter eat her food?

I tossed the paper away and rushed to the scene. My only daughter, Sindu, looked frightened; tears were welling up in her eyes. In front of her was a bowl filled to its brim with curd rice. Sindu is a nice child, quite intelligent for her age.

I cleared my throat and picked up the bowl. 'Sindu, darling, why don't you take a few mouthful of this curd rice? Just for Dad's sake, dear'.

Sindu softened a bit and wiped her tears with the back of her hands. 'Ok, Dad. I will eat - not just a few mouthfuls, but the whole lot of this. But, you should...' Sindu hesitated. 'Dad, if I eat this entire curd Rice, will you give me whatever I ask for?'

'Promise'. I covered the pink soft hand extended by my daughter with mine, and clinched the deal. Now I became a bit anxious. 'Sindu, dear, you shouldn't insist on getting a computer or any such expensive items. Dad does not have that kind of money right now. Ok?'

'No, Dad. I do not want anything expensive'. Slowly and painfully, she finished eating the whole quantity. I was silently angry with my wife and my mother for forcing my child to eat something that she detested. After the ordeal was through, Sindu came to me with her eyes wide with expectation. All our attention was on her. 'Dad, I want to have my head shaved off, this Sunday!' was her demand.

'Atrocious!' shouted my wife, 'A girl child having her head shaved off? Impossible!'

'Never in our family!' My mother rasped. 'She has been watching too much of television. Our culture is getting totally spoiled with these TV programs!'

'Sindu, darling, why don't you ask for something else? We will be sad seeing you with a clean-shaven head.'

'Please, Sindu, why don't you try to understand our feelings?' I tried to plead with her.

'Dad, you saw how difficult it was for me to eat that Curd Rice'. Sindu was in tears. 'And you promised to grant me whatever I ask for. Now, you are going back on your words. Was it not you who told me the story of King Harishchandra, and its moral that we should honor our promises no matter what?'

It was time for me to call the shots. 'Our promise must be kept.'

'Are you out of your mind?' chorused my mother and wife.

'No. If we go back on our promises, she will never learn to honour her own. Sindu, your wish will be fulfilled.'

With her head clean-shaven, Sindu had a round-face, and her eyes looked big and beautiful.

On Monday morning, I dropped her at her school. It was a sight to watch my hairless Sindu walking towards her classroom. She turned around and waved. I waved back with a smile. Just then, a boy alighted from a car, and shouted, 'Sinduja, please wait for me!' What struck me was the hairless head of that boy. 'May be, that is the in-stuff', I thought.

'Sir, your daughter Sinduja is great indeed!' Without introducing herself, a lady got out of the car, and continued, 'that boy who is walking along with your daughter is my son Harish. He is suffering from... leukemia'. She paused to muffle her sobs. 'Harish could not attend the school for the whole of the last month. He lost all his hair due to the side effects of the chemotherapy. He refused to come back to school fearing the unintentional but cruel teasing of the schoolmates. Sinduja visited him last week, and promised him that she will take care of the teasing issue. But, I never imagined she would sacrifice her lovely hair for the sake of my son!

Sir, you and your wife are blessed to have such a noble soul as your daughter.'

I stood transfixed and then, I wept. 'My little Angel, you are teaching me how selfless real love is!'

The happiest people on this planet are not those who live on their own terms but are those who change their terms for the ones whom they love !!

Read more

I do love you

Edward Wellman bade good-bye to his family in the old country headed for a better life in America. Papa handed him the family's savings hidden in a leather satchel. "Times are desperate here," he said, hugging his son goodbye. "You are our hope."

Edward boarded the Atlantic freighter offering free transport to young men willing to shovel coal in return for the month-long journey. If Edward struck gold in the Colorado Rockies, the rest of the family could eventually join him.

For months, Edward worked his claim tirelessly, and the small vein of gold provided a moderate but steady income. Leaving Ingrid behind before he could officially court her had been his only regret in accepting this American adventure. He had secretly hoped to make Ingrid his wife. Finally, he wrote to Papa, asking him to help make this dream come true.

After nearly a year, a telegraph came with a plan to make his life complete. Mr. Henderson had agreed to send his daughter to Edward in America. Because she was a hardworking young woman with a good mind for business, she would work alongside Edward for a year to help the mining business grow. By then both families could afford to come to America for their wedding.

Edward's heart soared with joy as he spent the next month trying to make the cabin into a home. At last, the day he had been waiting for his whole life arrived. With a bouquet of fresh-picked daisies in hand, he left for the train depot. Steam billowed and wheels screeched as the train crawled to a stop.

His heart beat with eager anticipation, then stopped with a sinking thud. Not Ingrid, but her older sister Marta, stepped down from the train.

Edward only stared － dumbfounded. Then with shaking hands he offered Marta the bouquet. "Welcome," he whispered, his eyes burning. A smile etched across her plain face.

"I was pleased when Papa said you sent for me," Marta said, looking into his eyes briefly, before dropping her head again.

"I'll get your bags, "Edward said with a fake smile. Together they headed for the buggy.

Mr. Henderson and Papa were right. Marta did have a great grasp of business. Within 6 months, their assets doubled.

Her delicious meals and quiet smile graced the cabin with a wonderful woman's touch. But the wrong woman, Edward mourned as he collapsed onto his cot each night. Why did they send Marta? Would he ever see Ingrid again? Was his lifelong dream to have her as his wife forsaken?

For a year, Marta and Edward worked and played and laughed, but never loved. Once, Marta had kissed Edward on the cheek before retiring to her room. He only smiled awkwardly. From then on, she seemed content with their exhilarating hikes in the mountains and long talks on the porch after suppers.

One spring afternoon, torrential rains washed down the hillside, eroding the entrance to their mine. Furiously, Edward filled sand bags and stacked them in the water's path. Suddenly there was Marta at his side holding the next burlap bag open. Edward shoveled sand inside, then with the strength of any man, Marta hurled it onto the pile and opened another bag… For hours they worked, knee-deep in mud, until the rains diminished.

Hand in hand, they walked back to the cabin. Over warm soup Edward sighed, "I never could have saved the mine without you. Thank you, Marta."

"You're welcome," she answered with her usual smile, then went quietly to her room. A few days later, a telegraph came announcing the arrival of the Henderson and Wellman families next week. As much as he tried to stifle it, the thought of seeing Ingrid again started Edward's heart beating in the old familiar way.

Together, he and Marta went to the train station. They watched as their families exited the train at the far end of the platform. When Ingrid appeared, Marta turned to Edward. "Go to her," she said.

Astonished, Edward stammered, "What do you mean?"

"Edward, I have always known I was not the Henderson girl you intended to send for. I had watched you flirt with Ingrid at the church picnics. I know it is she, not me, you desire for your wife." "But ..."

Marta placed her fingers over his lips. "Shhh," she hushed him. "I do love you, Edward. I always have. And because of that, all I really want is your happiness. Go to her." As she gazed up at him, he saw for the first time how very beautiful she was. He recalled their walks in the meadows, their quiet evenings before the fire, her working beside him with the sandbags. It was then he realized what he had known for months. "No, Marta. It is you I want." Sweeping her into his arms, he kissed her with all the love bursting inside him. Their families gathered around them chorusing, "We are here for the wedding!"

Read more

Life together

One fine day, an old couple around the age of 70, walks into a lawyer's office. Apparently, they are there to file a divorce. Lawyer was very puzzled, after having a chat with them, he got their story.

This couple had been quarreling all their 40 over years of marriage nothing ever seems to go right.

They hang on because of their children, afraid that it might affect their up-bringing. Now, all their children have already grown up, have their own family, there's nothing else the old couple have to worry about, all they wanted is to lead their own life free from all these years of unhappiness from their marriage, so both agree on a divorce.

Lawyer was having a hard time trying to get the papers done, because he felt that after 40 years of marriage at the age of 70, he couldn't understand why the old couple would still wants a divorce.

While they were signing the papers, the wife told the husband. "I really love you, but I really can't carry on anymore, I'm sorry."

"It's OK, I understand." said the husband. Looking at this, the lawyer suggested a dinner together, just three of them, wife thought, why not, since they are still going be friends.

At the dining table, there was a silence of awkwardness.

The first dish was roasted chicken, immediately, the old man took the drumstick for the old lady. "Take this, it's your favorite."

Looking at this, the lawyer thought maybe there's still a chance, but the wife was frowning when she answer. "This is always the problem, you always think so highly of yourself, never thought about how I feel, don't you know that I hate drumsticks?"

Little did she know that, over the years, the husband have been trying all ways to please her, little did she know that drumsticks was the husband's favorite.

Little did he know that she never thought he understand her at all, little did he know that she hates drumsticks even though all he wants is the best for her.

That night, both of them couldn't sleep, toss and turn, toss and turn. After hours, the old man couldn't take it anymore, he knows that he still loves her, and he can't carry on life without her, he wants her back, he wants to tell her, he is sorry, he wanted to tell her, "I love you."

He picks up the phone, started dialing her number. Ringing never stops. He never stop dialing.

On the other side, she was sad, she couldn't understand how come after all these years, he still doesn't understand her at all, she loves him a lot, but she just can't take it any- more. Phone's ringing, she refuses to answer knowing that it's him. "What's the point of talking now that it's over. I have asked for it and now. I want to keep it this way, if not I will lose face. "She thought. Phone still ringing. She has decided to pull out the cord.

Little did she remember, he had heart problems.

The next day, she received news that he had passed away. She rushed down to his apartment, saw his body, lying on the couch still holding on to the phone. He had a heart attack when he was still trying to get thru her phone line.

As sad as she could be. She will have to clear his belongings. When she was looking thru the drawers, she saw this insurance policy, dated from the day they got married, beneficiary is her. Together in that file there's this note.

"To my dearest wife, by the time you are reading this, I'm sure I'm no longer around, I bought this policy for you, though the amount is only $100k, I hope it will be able to help me continue my promise that I have made when we got married, I might not be around anymore, I want this amount of money to continue taking care of you, just like the way I will if I could have live longer. I want you to know I will always be around, by your side. I love you."

Tears flowed like river.

Read more

45 lessons of life

To celebrate growing older, I once wrote the 45 lessons life taught me. It is the most-requested column I've ever written. My odometer rolled over to 90 in August, so here is the column once more:

1. Life isn't fair, but it's still good.

2. When in doubt, just take the next small step.

3. Life is too short to waste time hating anyone.

4. Your job won't take care of you when you are sick. Your friends and parents will. Stay in touch.

5. Pay off your credit cards every month.

6. You don't have to win every argument. Agree to disagree.

7. Cry with someone. It's more healing than crying alone.

8. It's OK to get angry with God. He can take it.

9. Save for retirement starting with your first pay check.

10. When it comes to chocolate, resistance is futile.

11. Make peace with your past so it won't screw up the present.

12. It's OK to let your children see you cry.

13. Don't compare your life to others. You have no idea what their journey is all about.

14. If a relationship has to be a secret, you shouldn't be in it.

15. Everything can change in the blink of an eye. But don't worry; God never blinks.

16. Take a deep breath. It calms the mind.

17. Get rid of anything that isn't useful, beautiful or joyful.

18. Whatever doesn't kill you really does make you stronger.

19. It's never too late to have a happy childhood. But the second one is up to you and no one else.

20. When it comes to going after what you love in life, don't take no for an answer.

21. Burn the candles, use the nice sheets, wear the fancy lingerie. Don't save it for a special occasion. Today is special.

22. Over prepare, then go with the flow.

23. Be eccentric now. Don't wait for old age to wear purple.

24. The most important sex organ is the brain.

25. No one is in charge of your happiness but you.

26. Frame every so-called disaster with these words: 'In five years, will this matter?'

27. Always choose life.

28. Forgive everyone everything.

29. What other people think of you is none of your business.

30. Time heals almost everything. Give time time.

31. However good or bad a situation is, it will change.

32. Don't take yourself so seriously. No one else does.

33. Believe in miracles.

34. God loves you because of who God is, not because of anything you did or didn't do.

35. Don't audit life. Show up and make the most of it now.

36. Growing old beats the alternative -- dying young.

37. Your children get only one childhood.

38. All that truly matters in the end is that you loved.

39. Get outside every day. Miracles are waiting everywhere.

40. If we all threw our problems in a pile and saw everyone else's, we'd grab ours back.

41. Envy is a waste of time. You already have all you need.

42. The best is yet to come.

43. No matter how you feel, get up, dress up and show up.

44. Yield.

45. Life isn't tied with a bow, but it's still a gift."

Read more

Pack up your loved ones

When I was a kid, I remember my dad used to sing an old, WWI song, "Pack up your Troubles," while he was getting dressed for work in the morning. The lyrics from the chorus of the song play in my head often when I'm packing for a trip―"Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag and smile, smile, smile."

Lately, with TSA regulations seemingly changing daily, packing my kit bag with clothes, toothbrush and Ziploc-baggie of three-ounce bottles seems more like trouble than fun, fun, fun.

For my friend, Vikki, though, what to pack isn't as important as whom to pack. She takes her family and friends everywhere. Vikki took her mother skiing in Mammoth last November and she took my mother-in-law to the ruins of Machu Picchu and Rome. Vikki has taken numerous people to exotic places like the outback in Australia, and the Greek Islands―all posthumously and in her bag.

You see, Vikki collects prayer cards from funerals and memorials of her loved ones and takes them with her wherever she goes. The cards, some with watercolor images of Jesus and others with pictures of a deceased friend and "in loving memory" printed beneath, are bound together with a rubber band and stashed somewhere in Vikki's carry-on.

I'm fascinated by this practice and ask her about it often. I like to keep tabs on the number of cards she carries as it increases. At last count Vikki was toting around forty people. I've often thought that when the tally reached fifty-two, I'd propose some kind of card game we could play. My husband, Larry and I sometimes travel with Vikki and her husband, Bill, so we could while away the hours on trains and boats by playing some modified version of war, poker, or go-fish.

Obviously, I'm not as sentimental about Vikki's collection as she is, but on a trip two years ago, I witnessed the power of those prayer cards.

Larry and I were in Peru with Vikki and Bill. We had just finished dinner at a restaurant in Aguas Calientes, when Vikki slid a small card across the table to Larry and asked, "Would you like to have your mom with you tomorrow when you climb Machu Picchu?" Larry was visibly moved by the gesture and slipped the prayer card from his mother's funeral into his shirt pocket. When we walked the ancient, Incan ruins the next day, Larry had his mom with him and I could sense the joy he felt in her presence.

It was then I realized the enormous happiness Vikki must feel, having some forty loved ones near her at all times.

With all the rules today about what travelers can't bring on a flight, maybe we'd all be a little more pleasant if we focused on the things we can bring and make sure they are what make us happy or at least smile, smile, smile.

Read more

My furry friend

Growing up, I always wanted a dog. Probably because most of my friends had them, my favorite TV families had them, and it just seemed normal, and American, to have a pooch in the house.

My Dad is very clean. Not just clean, I might say more Danny Tanner-ish in his habits. As in, he hoses down the backyard, and front walkway, and even gets halfway down the street, just for fun, until we have to yell, "Dad, you're wasting water! You can't hose down the world!" Then he stops, and comes inside, and starts the very important task of scrubbing the fingerprint smudges off the walls.

So, no dog. When I was eight, we moved across town to a larger house, with a pool, in a "safer" neighborhood, in a gated community. With a large yard. I was very against moving. Why, I cried, were we picking up and deserting everything and everyone we knew and loved?! Our old house was great, we had an avocado tree, it was on a super steep hill, what more could you want?! Well, in order to calm me down, I guess, my parents told me that we could get a dog when we moved to the new, barren home. I was sold. I quickly shut my trap.

I feel it was serendipitous that we didn't get a dog after the move. My parents said that I would never walk it, which I vehemently denied, but which was probably true. And saying we would get a dog and not following through was pretty much the ONLY thing my parents ever promised that didn't happen in my life so far. I guilted them about it for a few years, sobbing on holidays when I said "the only thing I want is a dog" and refused presents. Then snuck them into my room on the sly.

I am in my twenties now, and our new roommate just moved in. She has a dog. A West Highland Terrier, or Westie, as they are known. He is fluffy, but not too fluffy, small, but not too small, white, but not too white. He is perfect.

I don't even believe in perfection really, but this dog is perfect for ME. Its the dog I always dreamt of having, and it loves me as I knew a dog would. It follows me into the bathroom when I shower. At first we would scare each other, I was not used to having a non-human, living thing with a beating heart following me around and it would surprise me around corners.

Slowly, we got used to each other. Now I can tell when the dog needs to go out, or when he just sees a few birds in our yard. I give the doggie water, I walk him, and I teach him boundaries. My boyfriend was impressed when I taught him how to lie in his bed while the humans are eating, so as not to bother us. "I can't believe he listens to you." As Cesar Millan would say, I am the Alpha Dog.

In some ways, I am glad I have (been forced to) wait until this age to have a dog around. I don't take him for granted. I am happy every morning when I wake up and hear his little nails clicking across the floor. We are a good match. I can see how a dog is not for everyone. They are very needy and require a lot of attention and affection and structure.

Now my parents are semi-retired but my Dad travels a lot for work. He's off to Luxembourg, Mexico, or the Turks and Caicos every month. I ask my Mom if she would like a dog to keep her company. She says no, she has a stepdog now (ours) and she can visit it whenever she wants.

And yes, my furry friend will go with me wherever I want to go and whenever, he is very accomodating like that.

Read more

Modern Mom

The true meaning of the bumper sticker, which says, "Live long enough to embarrass your kids" has new meaning once you have a teenager. My daughter just turned 15 and suddenly I am now the most embarrassing person she can be seen with. Rather than take this personally I have decided to revel in the power it gives me.

Of course many of you have had the "You aren't wearing THAT" argument but I turned the tables on my daughter. She was wanting to wear midriff tops and tanks with bra straps showing … both of which I had been carefully taught were fashion no-no's. The other day I picked her up from school and stopped at the grocery store. "Mom! You can't go in dressed like that!" "I am staying in the car!"

Imagine ... a 50-year-old dressed just like her 15-year-old, and she does not want to be seen with me. Well ... I admit the embarrassment was worth every moment...she has now dressed a bit more conservatively. She HAD to go in the store with me as it was too hot to sit in the car. It was a priceless moment that also was a bit cheeky of me to enjoy so much.

Recently she wanted to dye her beautiful auburn hair black. Yes she has naturally beautiful auburn hair but wants it to be black because she states, "Auburn is SO boring!" Of course my reply, "Oh my gosh … women all over the world for die for your hair!" was ineffective, however, as I plopped the box of purple hair dye onto the counter and said "Sure, just as soon as I am finished dying mine purple."

Yep, the purple dye sat on the counter ... I had called her bluff. "Perhaps if we both wait a couple weeks and you still insist on dying your hair black, mine will be purple just in time for me to chaperon your next school dance. That is coming up in two weeks, right? I bet your friends will think I am the coolest mom there!" She is visibly cringing. I can see thoughts racing through her mind. Her mom with purple hair at her school dance.

I am praying, please, PLEASE don't dare me to go with purple hair, but I stand firm. "Yes, I think I'd be pretty with purple hair. It is Dad's favorite color." She knows it really is his favorite color. Finally she shrugs and says "Nevermind." Whew ... she changed her mind. I am so relieved but I keep rambling on about purple hair as she leaves the room.

She knows I would do it. I have done sillier things to prove a point. I am not sure how long I can keep this up. I am praying she does not ask about piercing next, but I have already asked my husband to pick up a pamphlet from our nearest piercing place, just so I can whip it out and show her which one "Mom" might get, too. Of course she may never go that far. I am hoping ... praying ... and a bit nervous. When "Mom" wants to do it too―suddenly it just isn't that cool.

Yep ... I can be pretty silly. Looking at life with humor makes it bearable sometimes. It isn't all fun and games.

Read more

Life is about choices

Michael is the kind of guy you love to hate. He is always in a good mood and always has something positive to say. When someone would ask him how he was doing, he would reply, "If I were any better, I'd be twins!" He was a natural motivator.

If an employee was having a bad day, Michael was there telling the employee how to look on the positive side of the situation. Seeing this style really made me curious, so one day I went up to Michael and asked him, "I don' t get it. You can' t be positive all the time. How do you do it?"

Michael replied, each morning I wake up and say to myself 'Mike, you have two choices today. You can choose to be in a good mood or you can choose to be in a bad mood.' I choose to be in a good mood. Each time something bad happens, I can choose to be a victim or choose to learn from it. I choose to learn from it. Every time someone comes to me complaining I can choose to accept their complaining or I can point out the positive side of life. I choose the positive side of life."

"Yeah, right. It isn't that easy." I protested.

"Yes it is, " Michael said. "Life is all about choices. When you cut away all the junk, every situation is a choice. You choose how you react to situations. You choose how people will affect your mood. You choose to be in a good mood or bad mood. The bottom line is: It's your choice how you live life. " I reflected on what Michael said.

Soon thereafter, I left the big enterprise that I had worked in for years to start my own business. We lost touch, but I often though about him when I made a choice about life instead of reacting to it. Several years later, I heard Michael was involved in a serious accident, falling off 60 feet from a communications tower.

After l8 hours of surgery, and weeks of intensive care, Michael was released from the hospital with rods placed in his back. I saw Michael about six months after the accident. When I asked him how he was, he replied, "If I were any better, I'd be twins. Wanna see my scars?" I declined to see his wounds, but did ask him what had gone through his mind as the accident took place.

"The first thing that went through my mind was the well being of my soon-to-born daughter," Michael replied. "Then, as I lay on the ground, remembered I had two choices: I could choose to live or I could choose to die. I chose to live." "Weren't you scared? Did you lose consciousness?" I asked. Michael continued, "... the paramedics were great. They kept telling me I was going to be fine. But when they wheeled me into the operation room and I saw the expressions on the faces of the doctors and nurses, I got really scared. In their eyes, l read 'He's a dead man.' I knew I needed to take action." "What did you do?" I asked. "Well, there was a big burly nurse shouting questions at me" said Michael. "She asked me if I was allergic to anything. 'Yes,' I said. The doctors and nurses stopped working as they waited for my reply. I took a deep breath and yelled", 'Gravity'" Over their laughter, I told them, 'I'm choosing to live. Operate on me as if I am alive, not dead'."

Michael lived, thanks to the skill of his doctors, but also because of his amazing attitude.

I learned from him that every day we have a choice to live fully. Attitude is everything.

Read more

A goodbye kiss

The Board Meeting had come to an end. Bob started to stand up and jostled the table, spilling his coffee over his notes. "How embarrassing.I am getting so clumsy in my old age."

Everyone had a good laugh, and soon we were all telling stories of our most embarrassing moments. It came around to Frank who sat quietly listening to the others. Someone said, "Come on, Frank. Tell us your most embarrassing moment."

Frank laughed and began to tell us of his childhood. "I grew up in San Pedro. My Dad was a fisherman, and he loved the sea. He had his own boat, but it was hard making a living on the sea.He worked hard and would stay out until he caught enough to feed the family. Not just enough for our family, but also for his Mom and Dad and the other kids that were still at home."

He looked at us and said, "I wish you could have met my Dad. He was a big man, and he was strong from pulling the nets and fighting the seas for his catch. When you got close to him, he smelled like the ocean. He would wear his old canvas, foul-weather coat and his bibbed overalls. His rain hat would be pulled down over his brow. No matter how much my Mother washed them, they would still smell of the sea and of fish."

Frank's voice dropped a bit. "When the weather was bad he would drive me to school. He had this old truck that he used in his fishing business. That truck was older than he was. It would wheeze and rattle down the road. You could hear it coming for blocks. As he would drive toward the school,I would shrink down into the seat hoping to disappear. Half the time, he would slam to a stop and the old truck would belch a cloud of smoke. He would pull right up in front, and it seemed like everybody would be standing around and watching. Then he would lean over and give me a big kiss on the cheek and tell me to be a good boy. It was so embarrassing for me. Here, I was 12 years old, and my Dad would lean over and kiss me goodbye!"

He paused and then went on, "I remember the day I decided I was too old for a goodbye kiss. When we got to the school and came to a stop, he had his usual big smile. He started to lean toward me, but I put my hand up and said, 'No, Dad.'

It was the first time I had ever talked to him that way, and he had this surprised look on his face.

I said, 'Dad, I'm too old for a goodbye kiss. I'm too old for any kind of kiss.'

My Dad looked at me for the longest time, and his eyes started to tear up. I had never seen him cry. He turned and looked out the windshield. 'You're right,' he said. 'You are a big boy....a man. I won't kiss you anymore.'"

Frank got a funny look on his face, and the tears began to well up in his eyes, as he spoke. "It wasn't long after that when my Dad went to sea and never came back. It was a day when most of the fleet stayed in, but not Dad. He had a big family to feed. They found his boat adrift with its nets half in and half out. He must have gotten into a gale and was trying to save the nets and the floats."

I looked at Frank and saw that tears were running down his cheeks. Frank spoke again. "Guys, you don't know what I would give to have my Dad give me just one more kiss on the cheek....to feel his rough old face....to smell the ocean on him....to feel his arm around my neck. I wish I had been a man then. If I had been a man, I would never have told my Dad I was too old for a goodbye kiss."

Read more

Listening is powerful medicine

I believe listening is powerful Medicine.

Studies have shown it takes a physician about 18 seconds to interrupt a patient after he begins talking.

It was Sunday. I had one last patient to see. I approached her room in a hurry and stood at the doorway. She was an older woman, sitting at the edge of the bed, struggling to put socks on her swollen feet. I crossed the threshold, spoke quickly to the nurse, scanned her chart noting she was in stable condition. I was almost in the clear.

I leaned on the bedrail looking down at her. She asked if I could help put on her socks. Instead, I launched into a monologue that went something like this: "How are you feeling? Your sugars and blood pressure were high but they're better today. The nurse mentioned you're anxious to see your son who's visiting you today. It's nice to have family visit from far away. I bet you really look forward to seeing him."

She stopped me with a stern, authoritative voice. "Sit down, doctor. This is my story, not your story."

I was surprised and embarrassed. I sat down. I helped her with the socks. She began to tell me that her only son lived around the corner from her, but she had not seen him in five years. She believed that the stress of this contributed greatly to her health problems. After hearing her story and putting on her socks, I asked if there was anything else I could do for her. She shook her head no and smiled. All she wanted me to do was to listen.

Each story is different. Some are detailed; others are vague. Some have a beginning, middle and end. Others wander without a clear conclusion. Some are true; others not. Yet all those things do not really matter. What matters to the storyteller is that the story is heard ― without interruption, assumption or judgment.

Listening to someone's story costs less than expensive diagnostic testing but is key to healing and diagnosis.

I often thought of what that woman taught me, and I reminded myself of the importance of stopping, sitting down and truly listening. And, not long after, in an unexpected twist, I became the patient, with a diagnosis of multiple sclerosis at age 31. Now, 20 years later, I sit all the time ― in a wheelchair.

For as long as I could, I continued to see patients from my chair, but I had to resign when my hands were affected. I still teach med students and other health care professionals, but now from the perspective of physician and patient.

I tell them I believe in the power of listening. I tell them I know firsthand that immeasurable healing takes place within me when someone stops, sits down and listens to my story.

Read more

English Reader Magazine

ER-2010 Spring	ER-2010 Summer

Read more

What I have lived for

Three passions, simple but overwhelmingly strong, have governed my life: the longing for love, the search for knowledge, and unbearable pity for the suffering of mankind. These passions, like great winds, have blown me hither and thither, in a wayward course, over a great ocean of anguish, reaching to the very verge of despair.

I have sought love, first, because it brings ecstasy - ecstasy so great that I would often have sacrificed all the rest of life for a few hours of this joy. I have sought it, next, because it relieves loneliness--that terrible loneliness in which one shivering consciousness looks over the rim of the world into the cold unfathomable lifeless abyss. I have sought it finally, because in the union of love I have seen, in a mystic miniature, the prefiguring vision of the heaven that saints and poets have imagined. This is what I sought, and though it might seem too good for human life, this is what--at last--I have found.

With equal passion I have sought knowledge. I have wished to understand the hearts of men. I have wished to know why the stars shine. And I have tried to apprehend the Pythagorean power by which number holds sway above the flux. A little of this, but not much, I have achieved.

Love and knowledge, so far as they were possible, led upward toward the heavens. But always pity brought me back to earth. Echoes of cries of pain reverberate in my heart. Children in famine, victims tortured by oppressors, helpless old people a burden to their sons, and the whole world of loneliness, poverty, and pain make a mockery of what human life should be. I long to alleviate this evil, but I cannot, and I too suffer.

This has been my life. I have found it worth living, and would gladly live it again if the chance were offered me.

Read more

Each day is special

A friend of mine opened his wife's underwear drawer and picked up a silk paper wrapped package:

"This, - he said - isn't any ordinary package." He unwrapped the box and stared at both the silk paper and the box.

"She got this the first time we went to New York, 8 or 9 years ago. She has never put it on. Was saving it for a special occasion.

Well, I guess this is it. He got near the bed and placed the gift box next to the other clothings he was taking to the funeral house, his wife had just died. He turned to me and said:

"Never save something for a special occasion. Every day in your life is a special occasion".

I still think those words changed my life. Now I read more and clean less. I sit on the porch without worrying about anything. I spend more time with my family, and less at work. I understood that life should be a source of experience to be lived up to, not survived through. I no longer keep anything. I use crystal glasses every day. I'll wear new clothes to go to the supermarket, if i feel like it. I don't save my special perfume for special occasions, I use it whenever I want to. The words "Someday..." and "One Day..." are fading away from my dictionary. If it's worth seeing, listening or doing, I want to see, listen or do it now.

I don't know what my friend's wife would have done if she knew she wouldn't be there the next morning, this nobody can tell. I think she might have called her relatives and closest friends.

She might call old friends to make peace over past quarrels. I'd like to think she would go out for Chinese, her favourite food. It's these small things that I would regret not doing, if I knew my time had come. I would regret it, because I would no longer see the friends I would meet, letters... letters that i wanted to write "One of this days". I would regret and feel sad, because I didn't say to my brothers and sons, not times enough at least, how much I love them.

Now, I try not to delay, postpone or keep anything that could bring laughter and joy into our lives. And, on each morning, I say to myself that this could be a special day. Each day, each hour, each minute, is special.

Read more

You'll never regret it

Time is running out for my friend. While we are sitting at lunch she casually mentions she and her husband are thinking of starting a family. "We're taking a survey,"she says, half-joking. "Do you think I should have a baby?"

"It will change your life," I say, carefully keeping my tone neutral. "I know,"she says, "no more sleeping in on weekends, no more spontaneous holidays..."

But that's not what I mean at all. I look at my friend, trying to decide what to tell her. I want her to know what she will never learn in childbirth classes. I want to tell her that the physical wounds of child bearing will heal, but becoming a mother will leave her with an emotional wound so raw that she will be vulnerable forever.

I consider warning her that she will never again read a newspaper without thinking: "What if that had been MY child?" That every plane crash, every house fire will haunt her. That when she sees pictures of starving children, she will wonder if anything could be worse than watching your child die. I look at her carefully manicured nails and stylish suit and think that no matter how sophisticated she is, becoming a mother will reduce her to the primitive level of a bear protecting her cub.

I feel I should warn her that no matter how many years she has invested in her career, she will be professionally derailed by motherhood. She might arrange for child care, but one day she will be going into an important business meeting, and she will think her baby's sweet smell. She will have to use every ounce of discipline to keep from running home, just to make sure her child is all right.

I want my friend to know that every decision will no longer be routine. That a five-year-old boy's desire to go to the men's room rather than the women's at a restaurant will become a major dilemma. The issues of independence and gender identity will be weighed against the prospect that a child molester may be lurking in the lavatory. However decisive she may be at the office, she will second-guess herself constantly as a mother.

Looking at my attractive friend, I want to assure her that eventually she will shed the added weight of pregnancy, but she will never feel the same about herself. That her own life, now so important, will be of less value to her once she has a child. She would give it up in a moment to save her offspring, but will also begin to hope for more years―not to accomplish her own dreams―but to watch her children accomplish theirs.

I want to describe to my friend the exhilaration of seeing your child learn to hit a ball. I want to capture for her the belly laugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog for the first time. I want her to taste the joy that is so real it hurts.

My friend's look makes me realize that tears have formed in my eyes. "You'll never regret it," I say finally. Then, squeezing my friend's hand, I offer a prayer for her and me and all of the mere mortal women who stumble their way into this holiest of callings.

Read more

All you remember

 

All you remember about your child being an infant is the incredible awe you felt about the precious miracle you created. You remember having plenty of time to bestow all your wisdom and knowledge. You thought your child would take all of your advice and make fewer mistakes, and be much smarter than you were. You wished for your child to hurry and grow up.

All you remember about your child being two is never using the restroom alone or getting to watch a movie without talking animals. You recall afternoons talking on the phone while crouching in the bedroom closet, and being convinced your child would be the first Ivy League college student to graduate wearing pullovers at the ceremony. You remember worrying about the bag of M＆M's melting in your pocket and ruining your good dress. You wished for your child to be more independent.

All you remember about your child being five is the first day of school and finally having the house to yourself. You remember joining the PTA and being elected president when you left a meeting to use the restroom. You remember being asked "Is Santa real?" and saying "yes" because he had to be for a little bit longer. You remember shaking the sofa cushions for loose change, so the toothfairy could come and take away your child's first lost tooth. You wished for your child to have all permanent teeth.

All you remember about your child being seven is the carpool schedule. You learned to apply makeup in two minutes and brush your teeth in the rearview mirror because the only time you had to yourself was when you were stopped at red lights. You considered painting your car yellow and posting a "taxi" sign on the lawn next to the garage door. You remember people staring at you, the few times you were out of the car, because you kept flexing your foot and making acceleration noises. You wished for the day your child would learn how to drive.

All you remember about your child being ten is managing the school fund�raisers. You sold wrapping paper for paint, T�shirts for new furniture, and magazine subscriptions for shade trees in the school playground. You remember storing a hundred cases of candy bars in the garage to sell so the school band could get new uniforms, and how they melted together on an unseasonably warm spring afternoon. You wished your child would grow out of playing an instrument.

All you remember about your child being twelve is sitting in the stands during baseball practice and hoping your child's team would strike out fast because you had more important things to do at home. The coach didn't understand how busy you were. You wished the baseball season would be over soon.

All you remember about your child being fourteen is being asked not to stop the car in front of the school in the morning. You had to drive two blocks further and unlock the doors without coming to a complete stop. You remember not getting to kiss your child goodbye or talking to him in front of his friends. You wished your child would be more mature.

All you remember about your child being sixteen is loud music and undecipherable lyrics screamed to a rhythmic beat. You wished for your child to grow up and leave home with the stereo.

All you remember about your child being eighteen is the day they were born and having all the time in the world.

And, as you walk through your quiet house, you wonder where they went and you wish your child hadn't grown up so fast.

Read more

A little piece of me

When he told me he was leaving I felt like a vase which has just smashed. There were pieces of me all over the tidy, tan tiles. He kept talking, telling me why he was leaving, explaining it was for the best, I could do better, it was his fault and not mine. I had heard it before many times and yet somehow was still not immune; perhaps one did not become immune to such felony.

He left and I tried to get on with my life. I filled the kettle and put it on to boil, I took out my old red mug and filled it with coffee watching as each coffee granule slipped in to the bone china. That was what my life had been like, endless omissions of coffee granules, somehow never managing to make that cup of coffee.

Somehow when the kettle piped its finishing warning I pretended not to hear it. That's what Mike's leaving had been like, sudden and with an awful finality. I would rather just wallow in uncertainty than have things finished. I laughed at myself. Imagine getting all philosophical and sentimental about a mug of coffee. I must be getting old.

And yet it was a young woman who stared back at me from the mirror. A young woman full of promise and hope, a young woman with bright eyes and full lips just waiting to take on the world. I never loved Mike anyway. Besides there are more important things. More important than love, I insist to myself firmly. The lid goes back on the coffee just like closure on the whole Mike experience.

He doesn't haunt my dreams as I feared that night. Instead I am flying far across fields and woods, looking down on those below me. Suddenly I fall to the ground and it is only when I wake up that I realize I was shot by a hunter, brought down by the burden of not the bullet but the soul of the man who shot it. I realize later, with some degree of understanding, that Mike was the hunter holding me down and I am the bird that longs to fly. The next night my dream is similar to the previous nights, but without the hunter. I fly free until I meet another bird who flies with me in perfect harmony. I realize with some relief that there is a bird out there for me, there is another person, not necessarily a lover perhaps just a friend, but there is someone out there who is my soul mate. I think about being a broken vase again and realize that I have glued myself back together, what Mike has is merely a little part of my time in earth, a little understanding of my physical being. He has only, a little piece of me.

Read more