Category: Introspective

Introspective pages from How Am I Changing?…. Or Not!

What Is Home?

Playing Solitaire at the Salvation Army
© Donny Hornstein

I’ve known quite a few persons in my life for 50+ years. Some, have only really become what I’d call a friend in the last 10 years or so. I’ve known my friend, Willie since December 2000, almost 14 years. Yet, I would say he is not only one of my closest friends, but someone who knows me almost as well as my birth brother. In some ways, better.

Here’s some history. In December 2000, Willie and I had both signed up to do a New Warrior Training Adventure. We were assigned to carpool together. We emailed a few times before we actually left for our training and I liked him from the get-go. He uses a Mac, so I knew he must be good people. I think he would agree, that weekend was life changing; it was for me, for sure. On that weekend, one of the things I noticed about Willie was how social a person he is. While I was content, maybe not the right word, to stay in my own little world, Willie probably knew every man on the weekend before it was over. There were probably 40 or more men there.

Willie, as long as I’ve known him, is what I call a Golden Child. What I mean by that, he could fall down in a hog trough full of manure and come up smelling like he’d just bathed in rose water. Putting it another way, from one of the two brief stints I’ve had in what’s called network marketing or multi-level marketing, one of my leaders there once said, “If you could build a church, you can be very successful here.” Willie is the kind of person who, if he started a church tomorrow, which right now would be Saturday, would have a full congregation on Sunday.

For several years, Willie’s been working on a project he calls “We Are All Homeless.” At first, this was about his buying the cardboard signs from the folks on the side of the road. He’s since had a few gatherings of friends, holding the signs he’s bought, in fairly prominent places around Dallas. He’s done a TEDx talk on it. He’s had art gallery showings. And now, he’s making a movie. A full length documentary. He’s been interviewed by many newspapers, TV and Radio stations, to include a segment on NPR’s All Things Considered. Like I said, a Golden Child.

Yesterday, at lunch, we talked. About how my job hunt was going. About how I was healing from my surgery. And, about his film. It sounds to be an extraordinary endeavor with all kinds of persons getting involved. Who knows, with Willie, it might win a documentary Academy Award. During the course of lunch and the conversation, Willie hit me with a question I wasn’t prepared for. Would I be willing to be interviewed for the film about what home means to me? I was both flattered and frightened. I don’t do my best thinking spontaneously in person; that’s why I write. I answered him with a partial truth: Having been a former photojournalist, I was much more comfortable behind the camera than I was in front of it. The real, untold story, until now, is I was much more frightened about not being so eloquent on camera. So, this blog piece is my way of taking care of me. I can think out my answer here, before I’m in front of the camera. And, this may just be a start to think about how and what I’ll really say when the time comes.

So, What is Home?

It’s where I feel safe. When I was young, and living in my parents home, I mostly felt safe. On the odd times when my father was raging, no, but most other times, yes. And, I must admit, I was a great trigger for his raging. I knew, in many cases, just how to get him started. His raging and my ability to start it was one of many reasons, beside being married only for three years in my 50s, why I chose not to have children. I told myself, if I had a boy like me, I’d have to kill him. I’m sure that’s an exaggeration, but it always felt true to how I saw myself as a catalyst for my father’s rage.

Home is where I can hide from the world. I’ve never been much of a social animal, so home is where I can stay to hide away from everyone else. Much of the time, I like my solitude. Some times, I don’t. But, the majority of the time, I do. I can sit, watch TV, read, listen to music or the radio, and not have to worry about someone else not liking what I’m doing.

I’m pretty crummy as a decorator. So, my home looks, well, like a bachelor lives there. I will admit, there are often times I wish I had what most would call a ‘normal’ home. Well decorated, nice furniture, clean. Instead, there’s always stuff piled everywhere. Not as bad as some homes I’ve seen, but nowhere near as nice as others I’ve admired. Yet, there must be a part of me that doesn’t really care what my home looks like. Else, I would do something about it. So home is a place for me which doesn’t need the approval of others; and, sometimes I’m embarrassed to invite someone in.

Home is also a place to be thankful for. I’m grateful everyday I have someplace to call home. I’ve gone through periods of unemployment and slow work where I was deathly afraid I’d wind up under an overpass somewhere – like many of the persons Willie has purchased signs from. I mentioned this to him once. I remember him saying, “That’s not gonna happen.” Somehow, I believed him and that particular fear has not come back a knockin’ for a long time now.

I like to cook. I don’t do much cooking outside of simple things anymore, but when I do, I enjoy it. So, home is a place I can nourish my body with food I prepare.

This is something I’ve only recently discovered about myself. I really like clean sheets at least, usually only, once a week. So, home is a place to crawl under clean sheets to sleep on a Friday night.

Finally, home is my place. Where I live. Where I sleep. Where I spend time. Where I can have a friend over if I want. Where I can call this place, my own. Home, in other words, is where I want home to be. All the time. Anytime.

I’m sure there are other things I’ve not thought of here. Maybe I’ll think of them when Willie and his crew put a camera and microphone in my face. At any rate, stay golden Willie boy. Thanks for the challenge.

How Am I Changing?: I’m willing to take a stretch when a friend asks me if I’d be willing to do so.

Suicide…It Isn’t Painless

Since 2006, maybe even a little before, suicide has shown up in my life. There have been three which have touched me and at least one other where I knew the person who chose to leave this world by their own hand. Two of these were friends. One was someone I knew of, but never met. All three impacted me in some way.

The first happened, as I’ve said, in late 2006. This was a man I’d only recently gotten to know. We had been in the same men’s group together for a while. I’d originally known him from this perspective, but was able to know him much better when he became a part of a regular group of men I met with on a weekly basis. I got to know him even better when he and I carpooled together to a men’s weekend about two-and-one-half hours from where we live; so, I spent five hours alone with this guy just getting to know him and allowing him to know me. I liked and a had a great deal of respect for this man. He was someone from my industry, information technology, and he really knew his stuff. He’d begun an online group for the men from my Warrior community (I’ve written about that before.) For several years before his suicide, he’d had quite a bit of tsuris, as we say in Yiddish, or trouble or distress as Merriam-Webster defines it. He’d gone through a divorce and his ex had custody of their child. He had developed a fairly serious illness where his body was fighting against him – almost all the time. And, he battled some other inner demons. Sitting together with him in our group, I had no idea how serious this all was affecting him. Not until one of my best friends, whom he had been living with, came home and found him dead. Like so many things in his life, this man had carefully thought out how we do it, then, he did. I was shocked, sad and on one level glad for him to have ended his pain. I went to his funeral. I don’t really remember if I shed any tears that day. What I do remember is being sad I would no longer see my friend again. I’m not really aware of much in the way of aftermath to me from his suicide. I do know, the man had made a drum to use in the work we do in Warriors. His roommate’s decision was to place this drum in the room where the staff meets during a Warrior weekend. I thought this was appropriate and fully supported the ceremony we put together to commemorate this man. On a subsequent staffing, I found the drum was gone, not in the place of honor we had left it. That, disturbed me. So on yet another staffing, when I found the drum back, my fear, anger and sadness all came into play such that I removed the drum to give it a place in my home. It sits there today. I asked for and received the blessing of my friend, this man’s roommate, to do so. I often think about this man, this friend, and I miss him. I understand and accept his choice, but there is a hole inside me for him. If I were to use one feeling word about this suicide, it would be sad. I’m sad, Jim, I miss you.

The second time I was impacted by suicide was five years later in late 2011. This, too, was a shock – but not as much as the first as that was totally unexpected. At least a few years before, this second man had called me, either very late at night or early in the morning depending on your perspective, to ask me to come to his house. He said he had been out with a bicycle in traffic and had been suicidal. Of course, I got dressed and went over to his place as quickly as I could. Once there, I found him, his wife and another close friend of his and mine there. We talked. Drank coffee. Decided it would be best for the man if he checked into the hospital psychiatric ward, at least overnight, to get a professional evaluation of his state of mind. We drove him to the hospital. When we left, we were convinced the right decision had been made. Ultimately, the man left without ever having checked in. I was sad, and scared, but I also was able to trust he knew what was best for him. Men who knew him, kept watchful eyes on him, and I have to admit, he seemed OK. Better. Not so troubled. I relaxed. This man was also a Warrior. I staffed a few times with him after this event. During two of those staffings, there is a time on Saturday evening when a ritual elder asks men of the staff to bless another man if he feels so compelled. Twice, this man came to offer a blessing to me, done through the cleansing of the man being blessed with a scented, warm wash cloth. Both times he looked directly at me and said, “I owe you my life. You saved me.” I cried hard, both times. It was difficult for me to accept the blessing of another man. I thought I had done what any reasonable person would do, so why should I be blessed for that? It’s part of that “Not good enough” shadow I carry. Then, in 2011 I received another phone call. My friend had accomplished what he’d set out to do several years before. He took his own life. I was shocked, again. I was sad, again. I was angry. This time, he hadn’t called and asked for help, he just ended his life. I went to a tribute for him, and I spoke about him, his life and what he’d meant to me. So did many others. I don’t remember going to his funeral, or if there was a funeral.

This second man had been responsible for an annual sort of picnic in our community. He was from Louisiana and he was the cook for our annual crawfish boil. He was very good at it. He enjoyed it. And, dare I say, many came because they enjoyed the food – and the man who prepared it. A decision was made to continue the tradition and to name it after him. I’ve been angry about that for the last several years. While I don’t think it’s a sin to end your own life, I didn’t think it was correct to name an event for a man who had committed suicide. As I’ve said, at every new annual occurrence, I became angry, and confused, when I saw his name attached to the event. How dare someone honor a man who had taken his own life by commemorating the event with his name. How dare they!

It wasn’t until the most recent suicide, that of Robin Williams, I allowed myself the gift of looking behind what was driving this anger in me about the second man. I never balked at any of the tributes bestowed upon Mr. Williams. Not once. So what was driving this anger about my friend? It was my old pal/nemesis, sadness. I was sad the second man hadn’t reached out to me a second time. I was sad he had chosen what, in my judgment, was a terrible way to die. I was sad he would never prepare the crawfish at our annual gathering again. I was sad I wouldn’t get a chance to tell him I thought he was a good man. A good father. A man who brought blessing to others. I was sad. And, I had covered it up the way I’ve covered sadness before in my life – I camouflaged it with anger. I felt a big weight lifted from me with that realization. I’m good, no great, with the idea we as a community, have an annual event with this man’s name associated with an event he began. I bless you, Raymond, for the joy you brought to so many others, but mostly, I bless you for the joy and blessings you brought to me. I hope you are at peace. That is my blessing for you, this day, my friend.

The Last Salute
© Donny Hornstein

I think it’s so important for me to remember all the persons who’ve somehow touched my life. As a Jew, I was taught, “We Shall Never Forget” about the Holocaust. While that may well apply to the way in which the Jewish people were annihilated by the Nazis, it also means to not forget the six million who were lost. In my mind, it’s one of the reasons Yom HaShoah, or the Holocaust Remembrance Day came into being. Whether it’s six million or just a handful, the memories will be forever embedded in my soul. I shall not forget.

How Am I Changing?: It’s incredibly important for me to feel the pain of loss and more especially the sadness of loss. To camouflage that pain, serves no one, least of all me.

Looking Inside For The Answers

I’m struggling internally with something.

There’s a man who’s a good friend of one of my best friends. I don’t really know this man very well at all. I’ve maybe had one meal with the guy…ever. I’ve never spent any real social time with him. I couldn’t tell you things he likes or what’s important in life to him. I know him because we belong to the same men’s organization. He has cancer.

Lately, my friend has been including me on an email of about four others because the man  has not been doing well. What I believe is my friend sees me as someone who is compassionate. And, usually I am. And, there’s the struggle.

I just don’t feel compelled to spend any time with this man. I don’t know him. OK, I know who he is, but I don’t really know him. If I found out he had died, I wouldn’t be sad. I wouldn’t go to his funeral. This is someone I would classify as an acquaintance, not a friend, and a distant acquaintance at best. Yet, my friend, the one I would go to any lengths to help if he were in need, has included me on this very short list. My opinion and my fear is by not spending time with this other man, I’m disappointing my friend. While that’s not something I want to do, I also feel I wouldn’t be true to myself by spending time with his other friend. Would I spend time with my friend under other circumstances? Absolutely! It’s purely and simply not wanting to take time out of my day to spend with the other guy. I’ll come right out and say those feelings come from a selfish place. In the last 13 years, I’ve been in the hospital four times. Three of those were when I had heart catheterizations. The last time was when I had my cervical discectomy. I never heard anything from this man. Not a “Hey, how ya doin’?” Not a “Get well soon.” Not a “How are you recuperating?” I don’t feel compelled to reach out to him any more than I believe he felt compelled to reach out to me. Yes, selfish. Yes, resentful. I’m just another traveler on the same road.

I wonder if my friend is in need of my company while his friend is dying. That’s an awareness I’m coming to grips with as I write. I also believe that’s why I’m in this battle with myself. It’s all about how I should or should not be spending time comforting my friend. Can I comfort my friend without providing an appearance at his friend’s bedside? I believe I can. What I want and have wanted to do is to have a conversation with my friend about all this. He’s a very intelligent man. My belief is by being truthful with him, I am also being truthful with myself, and he will understand my position.

What if he did ask me to spend time with the other guy on his behalf? Honestly, I don’t ever seeing him doing this. Yet, in my mind, without his ever having said so, I’ve invented this exact conversation. So what would I do? If he asked for that, I wouldn’t have any hesitation in doing it. Because, he’s my friend. Not the other guy. And, I’ve said that enough times here, to realize there’s a part of me wanting to be a better, more caring human being. That’s really who I am. How I see myself. The struggle isn’t really about my friend; the struggle isn’t about spending or not spending time with this other guy, the struggle is about how I see myself. I don’t want to be this selfish, resentful me. That’s a part of my past that kept me alive at some point. It’s not who I am today.

What, then am I willing to do? For me. Not for anybody else.

I’m willing to own I have a friend who cares enough about me to include me in something special to him. I’m willing to own if he sends me another email, I’ll go. Not for the man with cancer. Not for my friend. For me. Because it’s what I want others to do for me when I’m in that place. It’s the right thing to do, because ultimately the reward is what I give to myself.

There’s a big take-away from this for me. When I wrestle with something, it’s almost always going to be about me. Not my friend. Not his friend. Me. If the battle is internal, that’s where the answer will be as well. There will likely be many more times in my life when I think otherwise. It’s the way I fool myself into believing there are other reasons for my struggles. In the end, if I look hard enough and deep enough, I’ll find the truth. And really, that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it?

Consolation
Photo Illustration © Donny Hornstein

How Am I Changing? I’m willing to look inside for the answers.

Tears from I don’t know where

This morning, I had something happen which has happened before. It always catches me off-guard. I started crying seemingly out of nowhere.

It really wasn’t out of nowhere. I’d heard a story on NPR’s StoryCorps. It’s called, “After A Traffic Stop, Teen Was ‘Almost Another Dead Black Male.’ Have a listen (warning, there is some graphic depiction & language):

After hearing this, I teared up, well aware of the sadness I was feeling, but didn’t start crying. My judgment about this is the sadness was not only for the young man assaulted, but that he was discussing it with his mother who happens to be white. She says, “I thought that love would conquer all and skin color really didn’t matter. I had to learn the really hard way when they almost killed you.”

What happened next to me, was what caught me unawares.

I walked into a room where my cats have a tendency to puke a lot. Sure enough, one of them had. I have two cats and one of them is very vocal. I’ve had to work hard to remind myself often while living with this guy, “He’s just being a cat.” I have to admit, sometimes when he starts his vocalizing and doesn’t quit, I want to run away and hide. This time, though, as I’m on my hands & knees cleaning up the mess, listening to Moochie being Moochie, I was overwhelmed. It must have been triggered initially by the story, above, but I just started crying – uncontrollably. As I’ve said, this has happened before, and each time it just catches me in a way I hardly expected. It ended almost as quickly as it began.

Now, let’s take into account what’s going on in the world right now. There’s the shooting of an 18-year-old African American male in Ferguson, MO. Honestly, this hadn’t impacted me in any particular way. Not until I heard about the Missouri State Trooper who’s taken over governance of the situation. His walking with the protestors, getting all the militarism out of it, gives me hope for authority in our country. (Yes, yes, I’ve been bucking authority ever since I can remember. So this was a really good thing for me to learn about.) More directly affecting me has been the apparent suicide of Robin Williams. This seems to have taken a huge segment of our society not only by surprise, but where there is a tremendous grieving over this loss of a man. Me, included.

It’s an odd thing, really. I never met the man or saw him live. Yet, there is this profound sense of loss. I wasn’t a fan of the latest show, ‘The Crazy Ones,’ but I have seen and enjoyed many of the movies Williams was in. So, why is it I’m in this funk about his death?

Way back, when I was a photojournalist, I made this photo:

IMG_0003
© Donny Hornstein

 

The woman in the middle had just arrived on a tragic accident. Her son and two other boys were killed by an unseen train. The boys had been waiting for a west bound train to clear and when it did, they darted across the tracks, not knowing an eastbound train was right behind. The medical examiner had just pulled back the sheet for her to identify her son. The photo was made with a fairly long lens, from a decent distance away.

This picture ran front page on the paper I was working for in Iowa. The morning it ran, the newspaper was trashed by other local media and readers calling in about. It created quite a stir. The accusations ranged from ‘will do anything to sell more papers’ to much worse. It was the morning after that which tied everything together. One of the newspaper’s opinion editorial (OpEd) writers did a great piece on the reaction. He essentially said he understood the reactions AND there was nothing like a shared community tragedy to cause the community to come together. If the photo caused one parent to have a talk with one child about the caution necessary when crossing a dangerous place like railroad tracks, it was worth all the bad mouthing the paper received for publishing it. At the time, it was one of the most eloquent pieces I’d ever read in OpEd.

I suppose that’s the situation with the Robin Williams tragedy. There’s nothing like a shared community event, however small or large, to bring so many of us together. I know I’m not alone in my sadness. Several days later, it’s still a high point on the news and in social media. I’m astounded. And not.

I think when I don’t grieve outright, that grief will find another route to come out. It seems like that’s what happened today. Hearing the story from both the young man and his mother on NPR, and then having a crying cat, just triggered the grief in me wanting to come out. So, it did.

Another life lesson for me. Grief, like so many other things in life will find a way. If it’s not addressed head-on, it will find the path of least resistance and just ooze out – like a crying cat while cleaning up puke.

How Am I Changing: Lessons I’ve thought I’ve learned will come around again if the Universe senses otherwise.

Don’t think of all the misery. Be aware of the beauty and joy as well.

The title of this blog is a play on something Anne Frank said. Her quote is, “I don’t think of all the misery, but of the beauty that still remains.”

I’m thinking about what I write about. It reminds me of the personal work I’ve done during the last 13 years. I’ve done writing about anger. Writing about fear. Some writing about sadness. So I asked myself, “Where’s the joy?” Certainly there are persons, places, ideas, events and so on bringing joy to my life. Why don’t I write more about that?

It’s kinda funny – as in ironic, actually. As I finished that first paragraph, I started thinking about some of the events which brought sadness into my life. Be gone sadness, anger and fear, today, is about joy, and by gosh, that’s what I’m going to write about.

So, what are some of the things I’m joyful about, anyway? I’m so happy to say I have a wonderful relationship with my older brother, his wife and their kids. I know so many persons who have horrible, even non-existent relationships with their siblings. I cringe each and every time I hear about it. My brother and sister-in-law, (she’s really my sister from another Mother) are examples for me of how two persons can survive and thrive together for many years. This December, they will have been married for 44 years! I have a cousin and a dear friend, both gay, who’ve been in long term relationships as well. It brings me so much joy to see couples who’ve made the commitment and stuck to it.

I’m also joyful about my niece and nephew. My niece, well, she was the first baby I ever held. I was tricked into it. Have you seen the recent commercial where a gal is holding a baby, she has to go do something, so she turns to her brother-in-law and hands the baby off? Later she comes back and says she can take the baby back. He replies, “I got this.” That’s just about what happened with me. Only that wonderful brother and sister I’ve been talking about connived together to make it happen. I got this. I was the only member of the family for quite a while who could rock that little girl to sleep (cold hands, warm heart.) That little girl, by the way, turns 40 this year. Oy!

My nephew, now that’s a whole other story. I know there’s a cruel, mean part of me. My nephew got some of that as a youngster. He would run and hide when I would tease him, so I would tease him more. At some point, the part of me that is loving and caring stepped in. Then, we became really good friends. Today, we talk quite often. He’s a bit of a geek, so we can talk about geeky things such as computers and smartphones. I even, <cough> learn stuff from him sometimes <cough>. I’m so grateful for him and his wife as part of my life. They are just a joy to be around.

Friends.

“I cannot even imagine where I would be today were it not for that handful of friends who have given me a heart full of joy. Let’s face it, friends make life a lot more fun.”
–Charles R. Swindoll

What Mr. Swindoll says pretty much sums up the happiness I derive from friends. In 2014, I have to say if it weren’t for <cough>Facebook<cough>, my life might be a bit emptier. For instance, I have friends on FB from my high school days (a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away). For some of them, I bet we didn’t say a hundred words to each other back then. Now, I can’t imagine how we weren’t closer all those years ago. Then, too, there are the folks I’ve known since grade school who are still my friends (you know who you are.) One friend really comes to mind. This is someone I was really close to my second go round in college. Then there was a 25 year absence. Once we reconnected, it was as if no time had passed. I look forward to talking with her regularly. And, if it weren’t for FB, we might not have.

There are also my friends in my ‘real world.’ Not many, but the few who are there, I know I can count on and they know they can count on me. Although I’m a bit of a recluse, it brings me great joy when I spend time with these folks. Great friends….priceless.

Regardless of what else is or isn’t going on in my life, I go to movies. A lot. I’m joyful I get to go to about 60+ movies a year. I tend to like action, shoot ’em up type films. Films like Taken or most of the Marvel movies. But, I also like movies that touch my heart and my soul. Films like Seabiscuit or Begin Again or The Help. I have no hesitation to tell you I cry a lot in movies. Oddly, I don’t like comedies very much. Those goofy films with Adam Sandler or Will Farrell. However, every once in a while, I’m sure someone in the theater is looking around for the odd guy guffawing out loud. That would be me.

I like to travel. I don’t do it enough. And, even though I’ve got status on American Airlines, I often don’t take the time to see a city I’m traveling to for business. Reminds me of a friend. This guy is very high up the food chain for a certain card game. He’s been all over the world playing the game. He’s played with some awesome celebrities. And, yet, the only thing he’s ever seen in many decades of doing this is the ballroom in the hotel where the game is being sponsored. I don’t want to be that guy for the rest of my life. I want to see things like Mount Rushmore, the Taj Mahal, the holy land. Most of all, I want to re-see all the parts of Scotland I rushed through in my youth. And…..wait for it…..I will.

I’ve always loved books. I’ve bought and held unto many. Many, I never read. Don’t get me wrong, there were many I did read; just many more I didn’t. I don’t know why. I know I’m not the only one like this, but ever since the Kindle, I read lots more. On planes. In restaurants. At home. Everywhere. And you know what I’m reading most? Many of the books I bought earlier in my life which I can now read on my Kindle. I’m sure someone has done a study on this, somewhere. Why is reading on an electronic device easier than holding a book in my hands? Turning each page. Hunting for a character introduced earlier in the book I’ve forgotten when he’s re-introduced (that’s one reason I do like my Kindle, it’s so much easier to search than a ‘real’ book.)

I would really be remiss to not say food brings me joy. You know that old expression, “Some eat to live, others live to eat” ? Well, I’m the latter. I L-O-V-E to eat. I’m lucky. I don’t have the current American obesity disease. Probably because I’m also very OCD or ADD or ADHD (ask my ex, she can tell you which one is the true Donny) But, I’ll freely admit, given my druthers, I’d eat like Michael Phelps in training. Imagine! 12,000 calories a day! Wow! (Of course that assumes one is burning 10,000 calories a day in workouts.)

Lastly, as a tag on to my little rant on eating, let me say I’m joyful for my health. I’m six years older than my Mother was (of course, her death was not natural). And, while I’ve had a couple of big fixes, three angioplasties and a three-level cervical discectomy, I’m really pretty healthy. I work out. I would also agree with one of my teachers: Tai Chi saved my life. Learning to slow down, breathe and take an hour to figure out nothing else but where my hands and feet are has been one of the great joys of my life.

(I’m saying this next thing as much to me, more, than you, the reader.) Take the time to be aware of the joys in your life. Cherish them. Get rid of the stuff which brings you no joy. The effort for both is, for me, clearly the same. Give me more joy.

How Am I Changing: I’m looking at all the emotions in my life. Please remind me when I stay on one too long.

 

What to do when things look tough

This has been a tough year.

Since November of 2012, I’d been suffering with a loss of feeling in my hands. Typing was almost impossible and dictation software, well, I was correcting more mistakes with my hunting & pecking than I was getting right. I was losing strength. I was dropping stuff. It was really making me crazier than I am naturally.

For a year and a half, I saw my internist, who prescribed meds, then sent me to have an electromyleogram done. Lots of black & blue and his conclusion was carpal tunnel syndrome. Following the EMG doc’s advice, I saw a hand surgeon who did carpal tunnel release surgery on my right hand. Of course, $2,500 later, it was worthless. I mean not even 1% improvement. Back to the internist (it’s now December of 2013) who finally sends me to a neurologist. Finally, I get diagnosed (after an MRI) with degenerating cervical discs in my neck. Nice, not!

In between times during this segment of my life I saw an acupuncturist, a chiropractor and a physical therapist. But, it’s the neurologist who leads me to a neurosurgeon. He tells me I’ve got severe degeneration and really need to have surgery to get this fixed.

Now, I’m OK with the surgery, but the last time something like this happened was in 2001. I was working for IBM. I needed an angioplasty. Had it. But, after two months in post-cardio rehab and a second angioplasty, IBM put me in a group of 1,500 and laid me off. So, when the talk of a three-level cervical discectomy came up, I was a little gun-shy about talking to my present employer.

In late March of this year, 2014, I told my boss I was going to need the surgery. A couple of weeks later, he told me to go forward with it. A week or two after that, he calls me one morning, Good Friday to be exact, and tells me my employer is terminating my position. Now, to be fair, I’d been working for this company for about seven months and my utilization (I’m a mobile employee who gets billed out) was nearly almost nothing. Nonetheless, when he told me my job was being eliminated, I went dead silent. Now, anyone who knows me well will tell you that doesn’t happen very often.

Let’s start with some good news. Had the surgery the last week in April and almost immediately things began to improve with my hands. That, was a miracle I am grateful for.

Now, the bad news: After a week of medical leave and two weeks of vacation, my employer stopped paying me. I mean nothing. And that’s how it is now in early August. I’ve watched my bank account dwindle. I’m getting that old fearful, nervous feeling about money again. Hence the title of this writing: “What to do when things look tough”

Well, there’s always when the going gets tough, the tough get going. And, to be honest, I’m trying. But, I’m not hitting 500 balls a day yet. I’m scouring the web for jobs, I’m trying new things I can do from home but so far, not much has been happening.

If you’ve followed this blog for a bit, you’ll know fear is a primary response of mine and I can feel it grabbing for me right now. It’s kind of like being Harry Potter and feeling the dementors circling. (Where’s my patronus when I need it?)

When I first learned of my pending unemployment, I thought, “OK, one door closes, five doors open.” Perhaps that was too grandiose. Perhaps while my mouth was saying that, my brain and everything else was telling the Universe, “Really, how about if one door closes and another one opens…sometime, but maybe not as soon as you’d like.” Now, that seems real to me.

So, what do I do when things start looking grim? I keep my spirits up. I write. I keep searching for something to make all this change. It will.

And, (I would have used but, and realize that effing word negates everything in front of it) why do I keep falling back on the same old responses? Why fear? Why negativity? Because, they’re comfortable; like an old worn blanket. And, (this time I mean and) I believe it’s time to get a new blanket.

When fear becomes my dominant re-action, that’s what I do. Become afraid. Play dead. Curl up in a ball and do nothing. And what does that buy me? Exactly, nothing! It’s time to put the kettle on the stove, boil the water and make some damn fine tea! With honey!

George Santayana is credited with saying, “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” I think oftentimes that’s true. I don’t remember how fear leads to a void where nothing happens which is positive, so when faced with a choice, fear often wins out. The result is the same as it has been the last umpteen million times I’ve made that choice before. Nothing positive. It’s comfortable, therefore it’s still a choice available. What has to happen so that choice is no longer the ‘winning’ choice? I believe it’s the same thing which allowed me to put anger in it’s place. For a very long period of my life, I often chose to be angry about something. After many years of looking at that choice, I realized it wasn’t really anger I was choosing, it was avoiding sadness or fear. And believe me when I say it wasn’t a macho thing I’d learned as a little boy. It was anger was OK (my Dad could be a very angry man) and fear and sadness hurt. When I accepted the fear or sadness or both, the number of times I actually became angry diminished considerably.

Now, the time has come to put fear in its place. This is what the tough do when the going gets rough. Not necessarily get going, although that may be the right choice in certain circumstances, but find the courage to move forward. Like a shark. Not attempting to fall back on the comfort zone of fear. So, it’s about recognizing the fear, thanking it for all the times in the past it has helped me, then asking it to move aside to let my new friend courage drive the train. I don’t think it’s about trying to banish fear; just use it when it’s productive, not when it’s comfortable.

How Am I Changing: I’m willing to look at the things keeping me stuck; I’m willing to take small steps to move around them. Hopefully, many of those small steps will move me along on my journey to my final destination. And for me, that looks like being the best me I can be. Today, tomorrow and for the rest of my life.

Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure

(Ed. note: I finished this more than a year ago. Why I continued to not publish it, I’m not clear on (see the part on “not good enough.”) )

Goal missed. Being kind to myself, priceless.

A little more than a year ago, I said I would write three posts in the next two months. I failed to keep that commitment to myself and to you, the reader. I have a couple of choices. I can beat the snot out of myself for missing my goal, or I can be kind to myself, admit I’m human with all the warts and freckles, and move on. I’m choosing the latter.

A question I’m asking myself right now is what was more important to me than keeping my promise to write? The simple answer is I’m a procrastinator. And, I’m lazy. While I’d rather be busy than sitting around doing nothing, that’s exactly what I chose: Do nothing.

There still is a part of me who thinks, no one will read this. No one really cares. But, taking the elevator down one more level, the answer is still: I’m not good enough. As I examine my life, I know that’s a worn out fable. Not true. Absolute lie. So, what’s the payoff to me to keep holding on to it?

By continuing to draw on that very old excuse, I get to stay small. Invisible. “As I was walking up the stairs, I met a man who wasn’t there. He wasn’t there again today. I wish that he would go away.” (From the film, Identity) I also remember a quote often attributed to Nelson Mandela, but which really comes from Marianne Williamson:

“ Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.

It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves: Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Who are you not to be?

Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking, so that others won’t feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us: it’s in everyone.

And, as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

My desire here is to liberate myself from the fear. To manifest my greatness in all the glory I was meant to share on this planet. And yet, knowing this, there is still an undercurrent of fear which often shows up in my life. Play small. Stay in the darkness. Why? Because if I let my light truly shine, my arrogance might overwhelm me. I might become a real braggart. I might get to the point where even I don’t like me. What may also be true, is I might become more humble. I might like myself even more. I might banish the “I’m not good enough” to a place where I am able to acknowledge that part of me, but realize it’s an old story which simply isn’t true any longer. I might, I might, I might.

Where do I go from here? That’s such a powerful question. Not only does it apply to my writing, this writing,  but it’s a question I really want to look at daily. Where do I go from here? What’s the next step? Where am I going with the time I have left on planet Earth? Who do I want to travel with? How do I want others to see me? How do I really want to see myself? How do I want to be remembered when I’m gone? So many questions. Alright, I’ll do my best to answer some of them.

I want to be remembered as someone who made a difference. Sometimes, that difference might be about work. More often, it will be about how I made a difference in my own and other’s lives. Will I bless others and will I allow myself to be blessed? Not just on the surface, but deep down in my very core. Imagine, I ask myself, how would life be different when I live a life of purpose? Will those around me see me? More importantly, will I allow me to see myself? I’ve done that to a degree over the last 13 years. Perhaps, now, today, it’s time to ramp that up a little more. Be bigger. Be bolder. Be as magnificent as heaven intended. I want to make a difference.

I want to see myself as a man of integrity. When I make a commitment to do something, I  do it. No excuses for why I didn’t do it. Just get it done as said. I’m usually pretty good at this. I falter. I’m not a saint. Yet, some of the simplest things, like writing three times in two months, sometimes present the biggest stumbling blocks. Why is that? Why is it easier sometimes to do the harder things and the easier things present the greatest challenges? All good questions to struggle with moving forward. Like a shark; move forward, or die.

I want others to see me as a good teacher and a better student. I’ve always been the latter. Only recently began working on the former. I’ve had great role models from which to learn. Persons who lead workshops. Persons who teach kids. Persons who run successful businesses. All these persons I’ve either studied or been allowed to learn from. All great teachers in their own right. Seeing the light turn on for a student is one of the most rewarding things I’ve done in my life.

To be seen as someone who cares about others. And to be seen as authentic. No BS. Telling it like it is; with compassion. I had a great lesson in this recently. A man I know and was spending a weekend with, along with more than 40 others, was just triggering the anger in me over and over. He also triggered another friend of mine. I would have been like a gunfighter of old. “Let’s meet in the street at noon and have a gunfight.” What I saw my friend do was to approach the man creating the trigger with compassion. I was in awe. What I hope for myself is to have learned something about the compassionate way the man was approached. If I am able to do this part of my life better, what a more fulfilling life I will have for myself!  (Unfortunately, the guy creating the trigger continued throughout the weekend to behave exactly the same and nothing ultimately was resolved.)

So, in the end, as I publish this, finally, I’m recounting Nelson Mandela’s words: powerful beyond measure. While today has been a sad day, it is the day after Robin Williams’ alleged suicide, I’m choosing, at this moment to think about how powerful his life was and how lucky I was to be witness to some of it. Not his private moments, but his public ones. The moments when seeing him on screen I thought, “What a great talent.” There must have also been great pain there, too. I can only hope his choice was powerful beyond measure for him. For me, it’s just a day to grieve.

How Am I Changing: I can choose to let my imperfections show; the writing doesn’t always have to be perfect, the relationships don’t always have to be the way I want. And, it’s OK to grieve publicly.

What about you? Is there something you want to change? How about finding something small to start? It’s just an idea.

 

Hit Five Hundred Balls Until Your Hands Bleed….

It’s been four months since I wrote anything for this blog. Four months.

When I ask myself “Why?” and am really honest with myself, it’s because I have lofty goals for this blog. I want one million readers. And I haven’t been willing to do the work necessary to make that happen. Hence, the title of this blog.

It comes from a story about Gary Player, the golfer.  “Many years ago the legendary golf pro Gary Player was hitting balls off the practice tee one morning, and the first ball he hit went 280 yards straight as a bullet.  A guy in the gallery just within earshot said, ‘Man, I’d give anything to be able to hit a golf ball like you.’  Gary walked over to the guy and said, ‘No, you wouldn’t.’  The guy said, ‘Yes, I would.  I’d give anything to hit like that,’  Gary said, ‘No, you wouldn’t.  You wouldn’t be willing to do what it takes.  You have to rise early in the morning and hit five hundred balls until your hands bleed.  Then you stop, tape your hands, and hit five hundred more balls.  The next morning you’re out there again with hands so raw you can barely hold your club, but you do it all over again.  If you do that through enough years of pain, then you can hit a ball like that.’  Player won more than 160 professional golf tournaments and is a member of “the big three” — along with Jack Nicklaus and Arnold Palmer — who dominated golf through the 1960’s and 1970’s” (Bob Merritt, 7 Simple Choices for a Better Tomorrow, p. 136).

I haven’t been willing to hit enough balls to hit like Mr. Player. What I mean is, I haven’t written every day as I originally thought I would. After about five months of writing sporadically, the blog had fewer than a dozen followers. I got discouraged. I gave up. I thought, “This (blog) really isn’t going to go anywhere. No one really cares about what I’m writing.” And, this was pure BS. There were a handful of persons who ARE interested in me and this blog to read each post as it has come out. The problem is, I wasn’t doing enough to grow the village to raise the child.

I made up stories. I saw a friend writing her blog about a personal tragedy in her life. She has more than 500 followers on her blog. What I didn’t think to research, is how much she’s done on other blogs she has. She’s been hitting five hundred balls for some time. So have many others I’ve met in such places as Triberr.

There have been other times in my life where I’ve had lofty expectations, only to let reality teach me otherwise.

I remember when I went back to the University of Missouri to go through the Photojournalism program, I thought I knew it all. Cocky as all get out. Fortunately, I had a wonderful teacher in Angus McDougal. He was one of several professors who showed me what I didn’t know. It was an incredibly humbling experience. When I got to the premier course at Mizzou at that time, called, of all things, Photojournalism, Mr. McDougal taught the art of picture stories. How to tell a story through the use of photos, with the text of the story to elaborate the pictures. I had a pretty difficult time at first grasping this. To the point that one day, I walked into his office and told him I was going to quit the program. I think he was truly astonished.

McDougal sat me down and closed his door. We reminisced a bit about the past. Only a year or two before, I had been that cocky SOB who knew everything. He told me I had talent, I just need to be patient and nurse it. He could have accepted my resignation and laughed. He didn’t. He said with hard work and dedication, I’d make it. He gave me back my dignity and a reason to stick with the program. I did. I went on to have an ‘interesting’ career as a photojournalist. I made some really good picture stories at the papers I worked for. Problem was the cocky SOB was still running the show. I wasn’t a very good employee and got what many with the cockiness get – fired. But, I digress, that’s another story.

I want this blog to be successful. I don’t know if I’m willing to hit five hundred balls until my hands bleed. I want that, but I’m not sure I’m motivated enough to make it happen. As I’m writing this, I want to make a commitment to write a certain number of posts in a given time period. I’m scared to do that. I’m scared about a lot of things in my life. Fear has always played a dominant role in how I live. In some areas, I’m less afraid than I used to be. In other areas, fear still runs the show.

So, to the question at hand: I’m committing to writing three posts in the next two months. That’s not so hard. It felt good to say. Small steps. I see too many around me try to conquer their fear overnight. Including me. It didn’t develop overnight. Why try to battle it to the death overnight? Perhaps after I reach that goal, I’ll have the courage to take on a bigger goal. And then, a bigger goal after that. Maybe, just maybe I’ll get a million readers. And, if I don’t, that doesn’t mean I’ve failed. It just means I have to continue hitting more balls until I get the results I want.

What about you? What goals are you telling yourself you can’t/won’t do because……  Are you willing to make a small commitment to yourself to take a baby step. I hope so. I’d like the company.

How Am I Changing: I’m willing to own my fears and take small steps to get past them.

First, Do No Harm….

This is a vital part of the Hippocratic Oath as I understand it. How does that apply to an IT trainer/consultant? It seems to be a lesson I’ve only just recently taken to heart.

One of my shortcomings, has been for a very long time, this angrily, impatient guy who has the ability to lash out at the most inappropriate times. For instance, I might be working with a client. Someone who’s actually paying me. One of two things might unleash this Mr. Hyde. The first might be the project is not going well. I’m having difficulty completing the task I’ve been hired to do. The client, or someone else present, asks a simple question, such as “How’s it going?” Rather than simply say, “Not so well,” or “I’m facing a bit of a challenge here,” that person is likely to get a snippy answer or, in many cases, even worse, a look saying, “Get away from me now! Leave me alone!” The second scenario might be the client asking me a few questions about other things they need done, and I haven’t completed the first one yet. Same likely response. The end result is not good. I can immediately tell I’ve insulted someone or at the very least hurt their feelings. Neither of which is how I really want to be seen. I’ve been working on this for at least 10 years. Getting better, but still don’t have it whipped.

How does the title of this blog come into play? Well, a couple of days ago it was Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year. I don’t usually go to the synagogue on this day. I choose to do something else which I believe will be valuable to both me and the persons around me. For the last couple of years, I’ve met with my friend Bruce. He’s a very wise man; I think it’s important to have wise women and men in my life.

We were talking about ways in which my Mr. Hyde has a tendency to show up. Bruce, is also a Warrior, that is he’s done the New Warrior Training, and we’ve spent quite a bit of time together in that forum. Bruce asked me where in that part of my life I’m best. I knew he meant times when I’ve facilitated another person through a process to help them heal an event from their life which may be kicking them in the head after many years. We often refer to this as Carpet Work, because it’s usually done on a carpet. The carpet is just a symbol of a safe place to do the work. I really believe one of my heavenly gifts is to act as a facilitator of this work.

Bruce went on to say, when I’m ‘on the carpet’, no matter what’s happening, I maintain the ability to guide the person I’m working with through their work. I don’t get flustered if it’s not going the way I ‘think’ it should. I don’t get flustered if someone else in the area starts asking me a bunch of questions or is making a bunch of suggestions. My goal, in this moment, is to help this person get resolution on whatever they happen to be working on. Most importantly, I work very hard to do no harm.

The next question Bruce asked me, a feather could have knocked me down. “What’s keeping you from bringing that guy, the one on the carpet, to the rest of your life, especially your work?” I almost started to cry.

“I’m afraid in my work, when I’m getting paid, someone will see me as incompetent if it’s not going well. I’m afraid I’ll be ridiculed.” For the other scenario I’ve mentioned, someone asking me a lot of questions, that’s about my challenges around multi-tasking. I’m usually not very good at it. Solving one problem at a time works best for me. So, when someone is asking me a lot of other questions, my concentration on the current problem becomes diminished. Again, I think I’ll appear incompetent if I don’t get each problem solved in the order begun.

My wise friend continued. “When Mr. Hyde wants to come out, become the guy on the carpet. Step back. Ask yourself, “What would he do?” Would he get angry or belittling?” I knew the answer was no. It was an ah-ha moment. Now, if only I could put it into practice. And, I did, the very next day.

I was working with a client. A fellow I’ve worked with many times before. He asks a lot of questions while I’m working. And, this particular job was one I hadn’t really done before. I’d also done something I don’t usually do: I’d quoted him a flat rate for the project.

While I was working, he started asking questions. First, do no harm; that’s all I wanted to remember. Sometimes, I would stop what I was doing and ask him if he wanted me to stop the first problem to deal with the newer problem his question propagated. He  always said, “No, let’s solve this other one first.” Sometimes I would stop after he stopped and I’d tell him I hadn’t really heard what he said because I had been concentrating on the first problem. Would he mind repeating what he’d said. He did. Do no harm. It was working.

Finally, we got to a place in the project where I was about to do some physical work with his laptop. I was going to replace his hard drive. For a lot of folks who do what I do, that’s no big deal. For me, I hadn’t really done it before on this computer model. I was nervous.

I’d watched a good video on the subject. I’d made notes. I started. Much of what the video showed was spot on. Some of it had some minor detail differences. But, when I got down to taking the old hard drive out, there was, for me, a big difference. The video had said there might be some tape on the hard drive cable. Just peel it away the video said.  It turned out, the cable, what they call a ribbon cable (very, very thin and easy to break) was  actually attached to the top of the hard drive with an adhesive. Whatever happens, do no harm. At worst, I’d have to buy the guy a new cable. It all worked out beautifully. I stayed calm. Replaced the drive. Put everything back together. Started the computer up. At first, it choked. I thought from the clues the computer was giving I might have not seated the memory chips correctly. Re-seated them. Perfect! And, even when the guy came in and said, “How’s it going?” I said to myself, do no harm. And, I didn’t.

At the end of that day. I felt great. Mr. Hyde stayed at home. The client had asked me how much he owed. I told him I’d quoted him a flat rate but it had taken twice as long. I was good with whatever amount he felt was fair. He paid the full amount! (He’s really one of the nicest clients I have.)

How Am I Changing?: When I don’t allow the fear to ‘control’ me, life is good. I’m blessed and so is everyone around me.

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