Fragility of Life

Took my first solo backpacking trip this past Labor Day weekend.  Nothing very dangerous or risk taking.  I knew where I was going, geared up appropriately, prepared for everything one should and notified my brothers where I was going along with the phone number for the nearest ranger station …..  just in case I didn’t make contact at a pre-appointed time.

….….. and the rain did come.  I gave myself a few merit badges for getting things right …. Shelter, Fire and Food …. in that order!    

After setting up my tent in record time, I started a fire with wet wood with the help of a homemade fire starter.   I cooked a fantastic Mexican dinner with fresh veggies, chicken and all the right spices ….. in the rain ...... and a luxurious breakfast of coffee and oatmeal the following morning …… also in the rain.  But that little bit of inconvenience did not dampen my mood.

In a quiet moment and to escape the pitter pat, I crept into my dry tent and snuggled into my zero degree Marmot sleeping bag.  Opening my journal that visited Nepal with me a few years back, I came upon an entry that I forgot all about.  It was called the “Fragility of Life”.

I include it now since it seems akin to my thoughts of being out by myself in the mountains of Colorado.

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Walking inches away from the edge of a cliff, certainly gives one pause.  The recent fallen snow didn’t need to add further encouragement to the possibility, as remote as it is, of a fall.

As we trekked to Everest Base Camp, I had that horrible, uneasy feeling.  Six days into the trek, after sharing many narrow trails with porters on foot and dzo (hybrid of a yak and a cow) caravans burdened with supplies destined for the remote Sherpa villages, I never had that feeling.

Why today?  Just that very uneasy feeling, the sixth sense kind.   “What if ….”.   I kept to the inside of the trail, used my trekking poles more diligently and looked to make sure every step was secure before taking the next.  I was actually frightened.

I softly thought the Buddhist chant … “om mani pedme hum” …. over and over again for comfort and concentration.   From time to time I did look up at the magnificence of the Himalayan Mountains and occasionally stopped for incredible photos.  Slowly the uneasiness faded and all was right with the world.  I was at peace.

I seriously thought about the fragility of life … my life.

In Japanese tradition, the cherry blossom (aka shakuro) signifies the fragility of life.  Its beauty only lasts but moments and is gone in a flash.  Each fallen petal represents the end of life.  Not that I consider myself to be a delicate flower, but the mere insignificance I felt and the sense of absolute mortality made me realize how true the saying is .… “you only live once”.

One careless step, a slip on a patch of snow could have ruined my day and everyday thereafter.

There are lots of reasons for living in the moment and enjoying what God has given me.  This bucket list trip to Nepal has opened my eyes, heart and senses in so many ways.  I am thankful for the moments along the way.

They include:

• ·      Sharing my brother’s 60^th birthday with a cake made by our Sherpa chef,
• ·      The old women with her weathered face smiling at us as she sat peacefully kneading her prayer beads,
• ·      The teenage Sherpa boys with their heavy loads strapped to their backs,
• ·      The shy  “namaste” of a little child greeting us along the way,
• ·      The full moon illuminating the freshly fallen snow,
• ·      The rising sun shining on a massive mountain right in front of our tent,
• ·      The tiny Sherpa villages with tin roof houses and the tiered freshly planted fields.
• ·      Sitting with a Buddhist monk at the Pangboche Monastery as he recited a prayer in his red robe wearing a puffy down jacket, Northface cap and orange Adidas sneakers with yellow stripes,
• ·      The yak bells sounding like wind chimes in the early morning as they started off on their journey north,
• ·      The emotions felt at the first sight of Everest!

The fragility of life is sweetened by the glorious moments we have.  Namaste!

It’s not the Kite, It’s the Air

Having to describe the music of contemporary rap music artists like JAY Z or Daft Punk, truly makes me the fish out of water. The compositions seem too foreign for me to appreciate beyond the pulsating rhythm and hypnotic cadence of its lyrics.  I am too embarrassed by my ignorance to describe the genre even further.

However there is an artist, Pharrell Williams, who caught my attention. This was not so much because of his current megahit “Happy” from Despicable Me 2, but because of this young man’s insights and humility.  He got me thinking.

In an interview several weeks ago on CBS’ Sunday Morning (my favorite network show), Pharrell was asked about being in the spotlight.   The question was asked because he is not known for being a headliner but, as he puts it, always a guy next to the guy.   In truth, his contributions to music are certainly noteworthy.  As a songwriter and performer, he has played major roles in the 2013 successes such as Robin Thicke’s “Blurred Lines” and Daft Punk’s “Get Lucky”.   As a producer, he has been involved in hit songs by Millie Cyrus, Kendrick Lamar, Beyoncé and JAY Z.

He never fit into a box as he also said.  In fact, his production company is called the House without A Roof.  He is smart, pleasant, well spoken and versatile.  Besides the music, he is a clothing designer and is marketing his trademark park ranger hat. 

When asked about his meteoric success, he did not take even the smallest bit of credit. When pushed, Pharrell mentioned the high school band teachers who were inspirational and provided him the skills and knowledge that helped him get where he is today.  When pressed about his talent and asked what he is best at, Pharrell looking puzzled by the question, said that as soon as a person figures out what they are best at, they will fail.  To paraphrase him, when people start believing that their success is because of only themselves, they become “delusional”.  In reality, success is due to so much more then individual talent.  It is primarily due to the support and encouragement of others.  In Pharrell words, “It's not the kite, it's the air”. 

Interestingly enough, on another Sunday Morning show that aired on July 6^th, Robin Thicke was interviewed.   The success that Robin had with “Blurred Lines” didn’t have quite the same paralleled good fortune as Pharrell’s success.  You see, Robin’s wife, Paula Patton, left him.  In fact, according to Robin in an interview with Hot 97 ….. “I changed and I got a little too selfish, a little too greedy and a little too full of myself.”   Perhaps Robin might have been better off heeding Pharrell’s advice.  

The moral of the story ….. Before you become too self-absorbed in how great you are, hear those words ever so softly …... “It is not the kite, it is the air”.  What a beautiful way to describe that aspect of personal success.  No matter how successful we become, there are always others that have played a major role in that success.   I am sure you can list a few.  Better yet … can you be the air to another’s kite? 

Motivational? ….  yeah right!

Well then …. a motivational speaker that actually motivated me … at long last.

We all have been to conferences and annual meetings where the keynote speaker was a famous football coach, a decorated military figure or a successful business leader with accolades and accomplishments as long as a roll of toilet paper.  Often, the toilet paper had more use after the talk was over.   To sadly punctuate that, those books purchased in the moment of reckless inspiration, line obediently uncracked on our bookshelves with the ernest intent to read.

In all honesty, there have been a few keynotes that have touched me and allowed the necessary ingredients to permeate my conscious thought enough to leave an impression and help me reflect beyond myself.

One of those was this past week at a leadership conference held by my employer.  The speaker’s glam shot in the conference material looked ordinary and unassuming as he did approaching the podium.   What transpired from then on was not that at all.

The speaker, Tommy Spaulding, talked about his humble and challenged life growing up in upstate New York with dyslexia that resulted in poor grades and a questionable future.  After barely graduating high school, his life took some astounding turns that provided direction and fulfillment.  His achievements included traveling the world in service with Up with People and ultimately acquiring it’s CEO role.  Peppered though his inspiring journey were a hard earned bachelor’s degree, a coveted Rotary Club scholarship, an MBA and founding a leadership development consulting firm in Denver.

Alone his triumphs, experiences, tenacity, energy and passion would have been enough to hit the mark but that would have been the typical rags-to-riches, against-all-odds motivational speech.  The shelf life of his talk would have been as short as all the others.  

What stood Tommy’s message apart was his realization that the common thread through it all was his ability to establish sincere and meaningful relationships.  It was not enough to make contacts and “Win Friends and Influence People” as espoused in the popular book by Dale Carnegie embraced by Tommy as bible early on.  The successes in his life where through the bonds he established by touching people in a deep and lasting way……. to go beyond a person’s cover page, to meet them where they are, to reach their soul and connect to someone at their core.

He relayed many examples through out his talk and are illustrated in his book, “It’s Not Just Who You Know”.  The examples are simple and basic and demonstrate how anyone can do this. 

You can read his book and derive your own meaning, but the essence to me was that genuine relationships occur when you step beyond yourself into another’s world for a deeper understanding of who they really are, despite their exterior.  Also, those relationships do not have to be many.  It is not a numbers game and how many contacts we have in LinkedIn or Face Book friends.  We are fortunate if we can count them on our fingers and blessed if we can extend the count to our toes.  

The proof of realizing that kind of personal success, is not our good deeds and grandeur but the memorable experiences we share with those we hold dear … our true friends and family.   It is about how we make each other feel.  It is of those continually embellished tales being repeated over and over at the kitchen table that bring smiles to some and “Oh, no! There they go again!” from others.  It is remembering the “when’s”.  It is in the exhilaration felt or the tear shed when that picture is discovered in a long forgotten box.  It is never missing a beat after years apart. 

I heard or read somewhere that the only way to achieve immortality is through the memories of others.   Let’s live forever ….. shall we?

Source:  “It’s Not Who You Know” by Tommy Spaulding

Bottled Up

"Hurricane Sandy Washes Up Years-old Message in a Bottle"

That was the title of a small article tucked within the left margin of the Nation and World Section of the Denver Post on Friday, July 12, 2013.  It tells the heart warming tale of a bottle that washed ashore in Patchogue, Long Island, New York during the massive hurricane that hit the East Coast shortly before.

The green plastic screw top soda bottle contained a note from, then a 10 year old girl, Sidonie Fery.  It simply contained a line from a popular movie at the time "Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure".  According to the article, it reflected the young girl's perspective on life ...... "Be excellent to yourself, dude!"

The sad part of the story was that Sidonie died eight years after she tossed that bottle into the ocean in an accident while at a boarding school in Switzerland.  The park service workers who found the bottle gave it to Sidonie's mother who was obviously touched by the discovery and more so by their act of kindness. 

The story as wonderful and tragic as it is, is not what I am getting at. 

It got me thinking on a few levels.  First, I imagined that those bottles tossed into the ocean are not the corked up pirate treasure maps of boyhood dreams but are quite average and very human.  

Then I thought that besides the millions of bottles bobbing up and down in the sea, there are similar message delivering devices out there with the same aim.  What about time capsules?  School kids and public officials spend hours thinking about what to put in them.  What they want the future to understand about them, their town, their lives.  What about those countless tins buried by children in backyards or cigar boxes stuffed in rafters or under floorboards?   All have messages in word or object that have very real meaning to those who want it to be found.

Perhaps the contents are whimsical and fun with no ulterior motive other than to inform or entertain.  In the spirit of educating future generation, time capsules typically provide a pretty plain vanilla glimpse of how we living and what we hold important.  Not sure if the mayor of Anytown, USA would ever venture beyond including what the town's folk did that Fourth of July, Lily Jenkins was Miss Sweet Potato 2013 and the glorious accomplishments prominent citizens performed that year.  No deep dark scandal to shock future inhabitants, I bet. 

Regardless if it is a message of desperation, sadness, encouragement, joy, desire, simple information or just plain whimsy as in Sidonie's case, the contents are the depositors desire to get their own private thoughts out and share with someone.   Interesting enough .... that someone purposely is unknown...... a perfect stranger lucky enough to discover these very personal things adrift in the ocean or buried in the ground.  Why?   Well…why not. It is easier and safer to share ones inner feelings and secrets that way.  What harm or worry would it cause.  No one would question.   Not many would even bother, except for a few well-meaning park service employees. 

There a many other "bottles" floating aimlessly in the "sea" hoping and waiting to be discovered and its lonely contents shared.  Perhaps some bottles should remain lost and its messages kept silent.  Perhaps others messages should not be bottled up at all but shared with those who care.  Then again, perhaps some bottles really do contain maps to hidden treasures.  Perhaps …..

John Everybody: 1960 to 2013

I just attended a friend's brother's funeral.  A man I never knew but in the course of a beautiful hour-long service, grew to know who he really was.  I think people know us as we go through life but when opportunities arise like this when friends and families get a chance to testify, so to speak, the "realness" comes out. 

We all have someone like John in our families.  You do, I do. It is out of sincere respect for John and those like John that I write this.

John was just over fifty years old when he passed.  He lived his last few days in assisted living after years of suffering from an emotional, psychological illness.  He had a typical childhood, played sports in high school, traveled with his loving family, considered his father a hero and held his mother near to his heart.

The small Baptist church was crowded with family and friends, members of the church where the services were held as well as from other churches he was affiliated with over the years.  

As those at the service got up to say a little something about John, his life began to take form.  In reading between the lines, he was quite a character.  His quirks and idiosyncrasies were widely known and there was so much more meaning beyond the interruptions at meetings, constant questioning, and lengthy phone calls at all hours of the day and night. He was truly a constant in every life he touched.

The stories unfolded and his life took shape.  I found out that his smile was that of a toothpaste commercial and that he had a dry sense of humor, was intelligent, had a photographic memory, was reliable and trustworthy and made people think beyond their typical doctrines and beliefs. He was also extremely caring and often prayed to remember to be considerate of others and to be a better friend, son and brother.

Initially, I felt that people simply humored him or, worse, tolerated him but in reality he truly was an important part of their lives.  Many who gave touching testimonies, mentioned the empty chair where he once sat, missing his presence, no longer being able to rely on his unique ability to quote chapter and verse.  I did get a sense of genuine loss and the realization of whom John truly was.

It was amazing that within just an hour, John's life was appropriately described as he should be remembered not how he appeared to be. There were good-natured, gentle  laughter and heart-felt tears along with lots of warm smiles.

In our family, there was Uncle Stanley, my grandmother’s brother.  I only saw him a few times as a kid but never really knew him, being wrapped up with the self-absorbed nature of adolescence. How unfortunate.  Grandma never spoke much about him but occasionally I would catch her tearing up, knowing what a tortured life he led. 

He would visit my grandmother from time to time at our house in Wantagh, New York, where she lived with us for many years.  I have clear visions of them sitting at our small wooden kitchen table talking quietly and somberly.  He was the youngest and she cared deeply for him.

Uncle Stanley spent time in Bellevue, the New York City psychiatric hospital.  I remember passing its tall, bleak ominous structure with barred windows on trips into the city.  At the end, he lived by himself in a small apartment in Brooklyn where they found him dead.  I never really knew the story but there wasn’t much talk about the how’s and why’s.  It just happened and he was buried.  He didn’t have the testimonies from a church full of friends and families, just silent grief and tears from his older sister.

According to my grandmother, he wasn’t always like that. He was the life of the party, dashing, enjoyed camping, fishing and driving fancy cars. He was also married once and had a little girl whom he lost contact with over the years.  What happened along the way?

My grandmother had a term for Uncle Stanley and people like him.  She called them “lost souls” .... those among us who are constantly wondering, wandering, searching and wanting to belong ….  deeply saddened by it all.

So … John, Stanley and all the lost souls … be at peace now that you are no longer lost but in a place that recognizes and embraces your own unique greatness.  Know that you were valued, cared about and made a difference in people’s lives.  God bless you.  God bless you.  Be at peace.

Not too Late to Innovate

On the morning of April 8^th, 2013, I begrudgingly woke up to begin my morning routine.  Glazed with the lack of sleep, I pummeled my alarm clock undeservingly three or four times to get a few skinny minutes of interrupted sleep.

I stumbled to the coffee maker and hit the magic button to percolate the life-giving four cups of coffee that I pre-loaded the night before.  I then hit the button on my radio that sits on my living room floor with my big toe. It too is pre-programmed to NPR at a volume I am sure my neighbors don’t appreciate at that hour.

I need to be on autopilot most mornings to get up and out, so the less I leave to chance the better! 

In disbelief, I stared in the mirror to look upon a much older imposter.  After I got over my disappointment that he was really me, I brushed my teeth, shaved, showered and sipped some coffee, all the while listening to NPR and the local public radio station.

I enjoy the slow paced news reporting and comprehensive featured stories that replace the rapid fire, repetitive TV or typical radio news delivered by talking heads being constantly interrupted by annoying commercials.  Besides getting updated on the latest world crisis and the daily reminders of how our constipated elected officials can’t make decisions, the broadcast helps to facilitate the waking process and slowly turn me into a human being.

This particular morning, I was listening to an interview by Jeremy Hobson in his syndicated Market Place Morning Report.  It was with Tom Agan, managing partner at Rivia, a firm specializing in innovation and brand consulting.  The topic was innovation and, more importantly, what is the best age for innovation.

The refreshing message, clear and straight, … it is never too late to innovate and, in reality, those that are most innovative are a little long in the tooth.  So there’s not only hope but proof that folks in their forties and fifties can and do create new products,  … and to take it further … change careers, begin a new life, do something great or become someone they always wanted to be.

The key thread through Mr. Hobson’s story and the critical ingredient for innovation according to Mr. Agan’s research, is experience.  Once again, I go to my trusted counsel, Mr. Webster.  Experience means “a practical knowledge, skill or practice derived from direct observation of or participation in events or in a particular activity”.  More over, experien”ed” means “made skillful or wise through experience”.

My good friend continued to feed my frenzied search for confirmation by adding synonyms such as accomplished, consummate, crackerjack, expert, masterful, and my favorite … virtuoso.  Wow!!!   To think I was just getting older!!

“The real innovators average about age 40” stated Mr. Agan during Mr. Hobson’s interview.  He went on to say that the image of a young college kid in his dorm room concocting the next big idea like Mark Zuckerberg is a “total fallacy”.    Agan provided a true example of Steve Jobs who created the iPod and iPhone after many years of working in the industry.  His successes and innovations came after years of experience (aka trial and error) or graduating from the “school of hard knocks” as by grandma Julia used to say.  I am sure we all can come up with many, many more men and women who have mastered their trade and accomplished great things.  There are many, many more just waiting to explode with the next big idea or simply to make a foundational shift in their lives.

Now that I have proven without a shadow of a doubt that all of us baby boomers have the potential through extensive experience and knowhow to be innovative, why aren’t we?  Why aren’t we bursting into the boardroom with a company saving concept, or convince our spouse to move to Paris, or get that PhD we always wanted, or write that one great book that is in us?  Why? Why? Why?

Glad you asked!  Over several months, I wrote three bogs, titled “Catapult for Sale”, “Settling is for Rocks” and “Fear of Falling”.

In each, I tried to share my own reasons through personal experiences as to why I didn’t, on multiple occasions, cross that ocean of molten lava from wanting something (aka “State of Desire”) to making it happen (aka “State of Being Cycle”).   There are so many reasons and for each of us the reasons are so very personal and so very real.

In “Settling is for Rocks”, I contemplated my comfort with complacency and the usual.  In “Fear of Falling”, it was the gut wrenching, sweat drenching anxiety provoked by the unknown and potential failure.  

In “Catapult for Sale”, I shared my belief that if you do not engineer your own mechanism for change in the way you want, someone or some event may make a change for you and one that is not of your liking.

The moral of the story, according to this casual observer and “virtuoso” (Don’t laugh!!), is that experience and knowledge is only part of the equation for innovation and creation.  There needs to be that bee in your bonnet, thorn in your side, pebble in your shoe and/or burr under your saddle that makes you take the leap and begin your journey.

So, my graying friend, if you find the words “I am too old to be doing this” rolling off your tongue and passing through your lips …. think again, long and hard … while listening to your favorite tunes on your iPod!

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In case you don’t believe me, here’s the link to hear Jeremy Hobson’s interview with Tom Agan.

http://www.marketplace.org/topics/business/what-best-age-innovation.

Just a Walk in the Park

On a bucket list trip to Nepal some weeks back, I couldn’t but take a few lessons from a simple walk in the park…. Sagarmatha National Park….. that is.  

Amazing to think that I was trekking through the Khumbu Valley in the shadows of the Himalayas and the great one, Everest, just a few days a go.  The visions are captured among the 1,200 plus digital pictures and the lasting impression of my experience etched permanently in my heart, mind and soul as the Buddhist prayers were etched on hundreds of ancient mani stones along the trail.

Before the grandeur of the 29,000 foot master, my take away and lessons learned were quite simple.   Here are but a few.

1    1.)  Trust your feet.

a.     On steep terrain or slick, snow covered boulders, take one step at a time and let your feet do the walking not your mind. 

b.     If you are not sure, trust your instincts.  Don’t confuse reality with fear, worry and over thinking. 

2    2 .)  You don’t have to be in front to lead.

a.     The best vantage point is often from behind as others ahead might take the wrong path, tire out or loose their footing.

3    3.)  Don’t be complacent or a yak will knock you into the abyss.

a.     Keep vigilant even when you are lost in the moment, relaxed or distracted.   Don’t loose sight of what is around you.

4    4.)  If you need help, ask.

a.     Asking for help is not a sign of weakness but one of strength and wisdom.

b.     After a very hard climb up Kala Patthar (18,200 ft) , I was just exhausted.  Knowing that the descent on icy rocks would be harder, even dangerous, when fatigued, I asked our Sherpa guide to help lead the way.  He was only glad to help.  I made it back safely!

5    5.)  Sing even if you don’t know the words.

a.     Express your joy in any way you can.   Don’t be constrained by perfection or the lack of or even if someone doesn't like your singing!!

6    6.)  Recognize beauty in every step.

a.     There is beauty in a snow covered mountain, an orchid near the ground, a yak bell‘s rhythmic sound, eagles gliding overhead, the bright colors of prayer flags flapping in the wind …. All are beautiful in their own way.  Don’t miss the chance to see things in their authentic and simple beauty.

7    7.)  Remember why you are here.

a.     It is so easy to forget the purpose of your journey especially when difficulties arise.

b.     When you stop and remember why you have embarked on such a trip and traveled half way around the world, clarity will come.

8    8.)  Be in and enjoy every moment.

a.     This moment will never come again.  All your senses are at attention only at this moment.  No picture or tale will ever capture it again as it was so truly see it, breath it, smell it, feel it and taste it.  Savor every second until it becomes part of who you are.

9    9.)  Be humble and gracefully allow others to pass.

a.     Sometimes ego gets in the way and we may not want others to succeed.  Letting people pass does not diminish who you are and what you are setting out to accomplish.  Who knows … they may remember your act and help later in your journey…possibly when you need it most.

1  10.) Help if another has a heavier load.

a.     Everyone has too heavy a load to bear at times.  When you see relief in their eyes as you ease their burden, you know you have done a good thing.

1  11.) If you fall, figure out why and do what you can to not fall again.

a.     Falling several times in one day, one would think I would have learned a lesson.   It took our lead guide to remind me to use my trekking poles that were safely strapped on my day pack.  It was simply amazing that I never fell again after heeding his advice.

1  12.) Even the weak are stronger then you are.

a.     It is humbling to see a young Sherpa boy, half my size in flip flops carry five times the load I was carrying over narrow, bolder strewn trails.  This mental and physical toughness was witnessed over and over again.   I never felt so weak in my life.

1  13.)  No matter how fast you go, the end is the same.

a.     Each day of the trek, there was a start and a finish.  It didn’t matter what day.  Some might have been longer but always a start and a finish.  It was amazing to me that when I was lagging behind, “smelling the roses”, I always reached the camp soon after those who hurried to get there.  Go figure.

1  14.)  The journey of exploration is often more satisfying then reaching the summit

a.     Read the wonderful poem,  “Ithaka”, by Constantine P. Cavafy and you will understand.

1  15.)   A smile is welcoming in any language.

a.     Not much more to say then a sincere and warm smile opens many doors in any culture.

1  16.)   It is good to remember those you love and those you lost.

a.     As I experienced all the marvels of my trip, I often wanted to share what I have experienced with those I love.  I also wished those that I lost would be there too with me.  The joy and wonder I felt wasn’t just for me but for all those who made me and enabled me along the way.

I think sixteen lessons learned are enough except for one final ….. Sherpas rule!!!

Namaste!!

Poof!!

“Now you see it, now you don’t” is a typical introduction a magician in a traveling carnival might say while making a coin, rabbit or beautiful assistant disappear.

How about “we’ll miss you and best of luck in your new job”?

I recently experienced a disappearing act when I left my somewhat secure position at a large academic medical center to join another healthcare organization.

To make my disappearing act even more “stupendous”, I loaded up my covered wagon with all my modern day essentials and headed west to the Colorado territory leaving my Chicago home of 25 years.  “ Wagons ho!”

On that first expedition (aka interim living) my packing list resembles that of Noah’s ….. two plates, two bowls, two folks, two knives, two towels … you get the picture.   Except my manifesto included an iMac and an iPhone.  How did Noah survive without either!!

Then weeks later with the help of two burly guys and a truck, all the contents of my apartment simply vanished leaving only the imprints of my furniture legs in the carpet and patches of dust I should have cleaned years ago. 

It was interesting to see my life segmented into cartons, meticulously itemized in boxes labeled “kitchen”, “living room”, and “master bedroom”.   My life-in-a-box … passing before me as the movers loaded them one by one onto a truck …. as I might add …. rather indifferently.  Didn’t they know what each of those treasures safely cocooned in miles of white packing paper meant to me?   

Then there was the office I spent nine years cluttering with vital, top secret documents, some what organized files, multi-colored post-it reminder notes and dusty personal affects ……. all disappeared too.  Locking the door behind me for the last time, I looked back only to see empty bookcases and, for once, a clean desk.    Maybe that stuff wasn’t so mission critical after all!

I thought of those that witnessed my disappearance and the finality of their hugs and handshakes as if they knew my reappearance was doubtful.

I also thought of those who weren’t able to see me disappear.  Might they be wondering why I am not answering the phone, returning emails or seeing me in the halls or at meetings?  Maybe, maybe not.

And what of those I often encountered on the programmed paths I traveled daily….. the train conductor, my dry cleaner.   When will it dawn on them that my absence was not temporary.  (See Familiar Strangers, August 20, 2010).

How about my old friends, favorite haunts and familiar surroundings that I will be missing?  They as well disappeared before my eyes.

What will never disappear is how much all I left behind meant to me.  Each and every person I encountered and moment I experienced over the past twenty-five years shaped who I am and gave me the confidence to enter that magician’s black box, not knowing what awaited me on the other side. 

When one disappears, one has to understand these things.  I am not sure, I fully did.

Now I know how that nervous little rabbit might have felt … nose twitching, pretending not being afraid.  Indeed!

Poof!!!!   “Now you see him, now you don’t”!

Fear of Falling

Unbeknownst to many, on my fiftieth birthday I experienced my first "shugyo". What the heck is a "shugyo", you might be asking. Although it sounds like a maki roll, it means so much more.

In feudal Japan when samurai ruled that space in time, a samurai would venture out from time to time on a "shugyo"..... a time of extreme austere training. It would have been on a day of personal importance such an anniversary of a meaningful event. On that day, without notice or fan fare, he would leave his home and family to test his skills as a warrior. Those skills would obviously involve wielding a katana (aka samurai sword) but also this was a test of his spirituality, mental toughness and physical strength. They would endure many trials and hardships, pushing their limits and ultimately discovering what they were truly made of. If they made it back, they were pretty darn good!

Anyway .... In modern times, we too test our selves (or should). We don't go around picking fights with the guy in the next cubical or abandoning our day job without notice to wander off into the wilderness. As tempting both might be, we instead do more time appropriate and socially acceptable challenges like running a marathon, climbing a peak, changing careers, moving across country, etc.

My shugyo, exactly five years ago, was to jump out of a perfectly good airplane. I had the opportunity to learn about skydiving from a friend who trumpeted the euphoric feeling of free falling and then floating thousands of feet above ground. It certainly sparked my spirit of adventure and at the same time created an incredibly queasy feeling in my stomach. A rational person would say .... "Sounds like fun but no way". To me ..... it was to be my perfect shugyo. What an ideal way to face my fears, muster courage and test my limits!

So on the morning of July 21, 2006, my fiftieth birthday ... I left my house early in the morning without fan fare and notice, went off to a small grass covered airfield in rural Illinois. After a brief lesson and two or three trips to the bathroom, I was strapped tightly into a harness, introduced to my tandem partner, and entered a small plane with it's two propellers whirling. The deafening engine noise was masking the pounding of my heart.

Off we went into an extremely steep climb, quickly flattening out after reaching proper altitude. I was among experiences skydivers and a few other tandems. The pro's were joking around but us fledgling baby birds were just a little bit nervous about leaving our nests for the first time. My tandem skydiver joined in the kidding torelieve a little of my stress but even in his clowning there was a clear serious nature about checking harnesses andgoing over Safety instructions. We were ready.

As we reached 14,000 feet, the signal was given to stand and approach the now opened door. Just like in those WWII movies, we lined up like paratroopers, ready to jump into battle. The experienced skydivers couldn’t wait and, with ear-to-ear grins and carefree abandon, quickly jumped one after another shrinking in size as they fell. For me, it was an eerie feeling ..... wind blowing, staring out at the patchwork fields below, feeling the vast nothingness of space and knowing that the only thing between me and thehard ground was that open door ..... but there I was ...... toes over the edge.

In a tandem jump, you are securely fastened toan experienced skydiver on your back. My guy was a scrappy Brit named Jacko. Besides being there for your survival, he was there to "help" you take that first step into thin air.

Out we went. Remembering my instructions of arching my back, legs bent at the knee and arms out .. I was in free-fall. Oddly enough the fear was totally gone, replaced by an incredible sense of freedom and serenity. The only hint of falling was the images on the ground quickly getting bigger. It was an incredible feeling. With the cool wind noisily rushing all around me, I was screaming with excitement and exhilaration. We dropped 4,000 feet in one minute. At 10,000 feet, I was too distracted to pull the ripcord so my partner did, thankfully. We gracefully floated in contrasting silence to the ground where I made an albatross-like landing. My "shugyo" was over and concluded with high fives and a manly hug from Jacko.

I was reflecting upon my experience over a cold beer at a nearby bar that offered discounts to us skydivers. The realization was that all the fear and anxiety I felt was driving to the airfield, strapping on the harness, enduring the steep accent in that noisy, prop plane and, most of all, standing at the open door with my toes overthe edge, gazing into the unknown.

Once I was out, there was no feeling of falling but only the joy of facing my fears and knowing that I successfully completed my first "shugyo". I felt alive... in many ways.

The moral of the story? ........ You can figure it out.

Round and Round and Round in the Circle Game

The concept of a "circle" applied to our personal life implies something frivolous and, most often, wasteful.

A merry-go-round with painted ponies going up and down conjure up a vision of children squealing with excitement or perhaps a Joni Mitchell song.

Chasing ones tail like an energetic puppy makes you feel unproductive and silly.

Getting the run around is frustrating and upsetting.

Spinning ones wheels gets you nowhere fast and only kicks up mud.

Getting around to it, means "it" will never get done.

Spinning the bottle can get you slapped, but that was a long time ago!

Going around someone is a way of getting what you want ....... evasion at it's finest.

Round the clock is just plain tiring.

I think you get the point ......... in a round about way! Sorry.

But there are times when going round in circles is a good thing and even a masterful way toward personal and professional development.

There is a concept in Martial Arts called the "Path of Interlocking Circles" that may shed some light. I was fortunate to come across it in a book by Mark Moeller. This concept put my years of martial arts training quickly in perspective. I used to ask why am I throwing the same punch or using the same block over and over again .... hundreds of times. Why do katas always go in sequence from the most elementary to the most complex? Why are black belts doing the same kata and drills as the white belts? Sure, sure ..... practice makes perfect, but really now!

Well .... you only had to watch a black belt perform Heian shodan, the white belt kata, or a series of simple punching and blocking combinations. Their moves "snap" and the power is felt with every move. The sleeves of their gi would crack like a whip. It is easy to see, hear and feel the way even the most basic move was supposed to be performed.

Well ... The answer is the path of interlocking circles.

Everyone starts at the bottom and learns basic skills. Visualizing a circle, we would continue that learning, rounding the circle. As it comes completely around, you are at the bottom again, but this time with slightly refined skills. It might not be noticeable at first, but you have improved incrementally. At which point you pick up additional techniques and refinements on those you have learned before. You continue to progress along a slightly higher circle indicating a little bit higher skill level then your previous circle. So round and round you go, on and on ..... refining your previous skills and adding upon your foundation of abilities. Over months and years of training, there you are .... cracking your own whip and intimating the lower belts with the shear mastery and beauty of your technique.

But there is more, much more. It is a complex equation. The answer does not lie in simple repetition but in the intensity of the practice (i.e., passion) plus its purpose (i.e., why am I doing this). Repetition without purpose and intensity is simply motion. It might feel good and you might look good but are you truly learning and are you really growing?

Here's another variable to include. This one is from the ground level. In the style I trained, we were bare-footed. We were trained to grasp the floor with our toes. Seems odd but it worked. Gripping with your toes create the base. We were grounded and had the needed stability and traction for the next move. That was the foundation upon which we built our skills. Techniques became easier and the wobbling stopped.

How does all this apply to our every day? How many times do we just go through the motions just to get by or get through the day? Are we spinning our wheels, chasing our tails, getting around to "it" and going around the obvious? Hhmmm .....By returning to the "base", we may rekindle the passion and regain the sense of purpose we once had. Possibly?

Now ... from the ground. What about our basic beliefs, core values and principles? Have our toes lost their grasp on the floor? How many times do we wander from who we are or who we want to be ....... loosing our footing and wobble? If that is true, how can we take the risk to venture out on that skinny little limb with confidence to be who we ought to be?

Maybe it's not so frivolous to go round and round after all ..... "The path of interlocking circles, young grasshopper." A reminder for me ..... for sure.

Source: Karate-do Foundations by Mark R. Moeller, 1995