Available 15 October 2025 in the UK and EU through local booksellers as well as major retailers. Sailing Naked will be released in the US on 6 January 2026. Want a compelling read?? Buy yours now!
Synopsis:
Sailing the high seas, clothes were always optional. Why settle for plain vanilla when you can be an outrageous chocolate sundae—overflowing with flavor and a few nuts on top?
Frank thrived on creativity and contradiction. Whether he was sailing the Pacific, debating the virtues of growing vegetables in the desert, or simply losing himself in conversation, he did it all with flair. The ascot and Wayfarers he wore were more than style—they were the bow on a loosely wrapped package, the final flourish on a life lived vividly.
Yet beneath that charm lay the shadow of a past he could never escape. At twenty, Frank fled Communist Hungary in 1956, carrying with him both freedom and the wounds of exile. He was no man for excuses; he simply chose to live at the farthest edge of everything—having once known the suffocating stillness of censorship, he sought only extremes.
Kristina’s memoir is a raw, lyrical exploration of her life with her father, a Hungarian Freedom Fighter turned political refugee. Through love, loss, and turbulence, she unravels the story of a man celebrated for his courage yet undone by his demons. Though he earned entry to the United States through a visa recognizing his service as a translator for the Austrian border guards, his spirit remained haunted by the Russians and their tanks. Drugs and alcohol became his refuge until his final breath.
Where hope flickered, despair often followed. Few could comprehend the emotional wreckage born from a youth of hiding carrots, stealing chickens, or dragging a wounded comrade from the reach of Soviet bullets. In the end, hindsight became a reflecting pool—showing a thousand ways Kristina and Frank might have found peace together.
This is an account of her path to find peace, via Venice Beach, California in the 1970s, Seville, Spain in the 1980s, Michigan, Chicago, Switzerland, Hungary, the Isle of Wight and Mexico.
Early praise for Sailing Naked includes:
“A compelling expression of vulnerability and acceptance… A must read!” — Evelyn Farkas, Ph.D., National Security Expert and Fellow Hungarian
“Her lesson to all of us is to have empathy for oneself and to honor and develop your highest self.” — David Evrard, Author and Entrepreneur
“Through storm and hellish situations, Kalapos unflinchingly documents her father’s struggles and her own quest for inner peace. A moving tale of compassion and acceptance.” — Zilka Joseph, Author of Sweet Malida: Memories of a Bene Israel Woman
About Kristina Kalapos:
Kristina is an entrepreneur, writer, adjunct instructor, and ski instructor, she has built a dynamic career defined by creativity and resilience. Born in Zurich, Switzerland, she remains deeply connected to her Hungarian roots and has successfully founded two businesses. Her intuitive vision has guided her work in business, in the classroom, and on the ski slopes alike. Kristina attended elementary and junior high school in Traverse City before moving to Harbor Springs for high school. She currently lives in Northern Michigan.
When was the last time you spent real time with your extended family?
It seems weddings and funerals are the backbone of most connections when gathering requires days long car rides or leaving on a jet plane. My family is one such family.
Most of my life has been lived in the Midwest, sandwiched between family out east in Vermont and New Hampshire, down south in Florida and Georgia or across the big pond in Switzerland.
No spontaneous gatherings are featured in this arrangement. Rather, methodical planning requiring coordination of schedules, the purchase of water shoes, and the endurance of arduous planning.
When I was a kid, circa 1973, several years after my parents’ divorce, my father moved to Venice, CA, which set in motion our move from Suburban Chicago to Florida. My mother packed up our lives, and the three of us moved to Largo to be closer to her mother and sister.
My brother and I hit the jackpot!
My aunt and uncle lived in Clearwater, FL, with their 5 children. Similar in age and spirit, we became stuck like glue. Games of red rover, hide and seek, or hoops in the driveway where the instant quorum of participants was at the ready.
We spent most weekends together. My uncle taught us how to water ski, and we joined our cousins in sailing school.
We raced Prams in the Intracoastal Waterway, water skied behind a tiny Boston Whaler that was continually swamped by enormous yachts, fished for crab with raw chicken tied to a string, made sand castles on the white sand beaches, swam in the Gulf, and threw rocks at alligators in a nearby pond.
We deep sea fished, and I met my first cockroach!
We ran a-muck as one giant apple.
Sunday nights were family dinner night. We kids had the first seating at a long dining table draped with newspaper and spewed with fresh crab, shrimp, and potatoes that we ate with our hands.
My city-apartment life was in the dust, and we embraced a life we could have only previously dreamed.
Indelible still to this day.
Rather astonishingly, this time represented only one jam-packed year of my youth. We returned to Suburban Chicago after the school year, and my cousins moved to Savannah, GA.
In the time passed since those formidable days, besides random one-offs, we have gathered for weddings, and now, sadly, funerals.
My B-side mantra: Death brings people together!
The recent passing of my mother’s sister, matriarch to the crab fishing, alligator slayers, did just that. In a breath of fresh air, I defiantly proclaimed the eminent need for a family gathering.
And just like that, FamReU 2025 in Northern Michigan was born.
Among our graying hairs gathered the next generation of cousins, and we did not let one minute of time slip by unattended.
In honor of their father and his legacy, we water skied.
My Uncle Don – RIP August 17, 1937 – June 26, 2016
Fortunately, with no alligators to harass nor sharks to fear in the fresh water lake, we spent our time together on and in the water. In addition to water skiing, we wake boarded, paddle boarded, swam wearing bathing suits and without, and stared at the endless stars and enduring Milky Way.
We danced on the deck and played sporting, competitive rounds of corn hole, ping pong, giant Jenga, and paddle ball.
Twenty-Two of us for 4 days ranging in age from 16 to 89. My mother, the oldest, and my second cousin, the youngest. Ten traveled from Savannah, 2 from Montana, 2 from New Hampshire, 3 from Colorado, and 5 are here in Michigan.
We ate from paper plates and drank cold beer out of coolers packed with ice.
We laughed until we cried and cried until we laughed.
We relived old memories and created new ones.
We missed those unable to attend and spoke of them often.
Never miss an opportunity to saddle a pink pig!
We revived an undeniable, enduring relationship cultivated through our shared upbringing, mutual interests, and the inescapable genetic link that molded and joined our spirits before we understood what that would mean.
Would you stand outside during a Cat 5 hurricane? Run toward the eye of a tornado? Or jump off a cliff without a parachute?
Exactly!
Not only would I not jump off a cliff without a parachute, I wouldn’t jump off of a cliff with one! Call me crazy, but I can’t get in my car without buckling my seat belt.
Recently, I read an article in The Atlantic by David Brooks (link to article) and can’t get one sentence of the 10ish minute read out of my head, “Power without prudence and humility invariably fails.”
Why?
Genuine power comes from dominant, brazen, innovative, and often cavalier behaviors that collectively garner attention and demand submission and compliance. Power is only powerful if one out does another.
No risk, no reward. No pain, no gain. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
The problem is, power without prudence is reckless, volatile and extremely consequential. Imagine bulldozing your house to create extra space on your property only to realize you just demoed the only roof over your head.
Like cutting off your nose to spite your face. Impulsive, rash behavior has consequences when left unchecked.
Prudence is the check and humility is the balance.
Prudence is common sense dressed to the nines for nice evening out on the town. Common sense is common because we share in the reality of the consequential outcome of such catastrophic choices. Like, I will die if I jump off a cliff without a parachute or run toward the eye of a tornado.
Prudence reasons consequential actions in real time. It balances the risk with the reward while pushing the envelope. Like hitting a grand slam in the 9th inning with the bases loaded. A statistical anomaly measured by the rarity behind the effort and successful outcome.
A win with the last swing of a bat. That is where a hero is born.
Where does humility enter the picture? Humility, the power hungry may argue, is a sign of weakness. A step toward self reflection and that vulnerable compassionate crap that is for the weak. Never let them see you sweat!
Contrarily, if we are all fallibly human, humility is noble and nobility is powerful and worthy of emulation.
If humility is worthy of emulation its power rests in the perception of the efforts hidden in the blind. The power exists not because you were told where to look but rather enabled a clear view and uninfluenced interpretation of what you witnessed.
Humility is empowering because it draws you into the power through the conduct of those that successfully exhibit the behavior.
Humility is you standing in front of a mirror reflecting back your image and the path you just conquered. It favors accountability over blame, ownership over excuses, confidence over arrogance, empathy over apathy, altruism over narcissism, and compassion over defiance.
Silent traits observed by the masses.
It creates the space and energy for successes to be successes and mistakes to be mistakes. I am fortunate to have witnessed many fine and worthy examples of humility in my lifetime.
Power without prudence and humility is ruthless. It is winner takes all without regard for those in its way or the consequences that will result. The volatility is so erratic it leaves your head spinning in utter disbelief.
Power without prudence and humility takes everyone as prisoners leaving the weakest among us hopelessly feeble. If you are up against a mile high brick wall, there is no getting around it.
Power without prudence and humility lacks the common good. It is elitist and favors no one and in the end, not even the elitist.
Power without prudence and humility invariably fails because bulldozing every last thing in the power’s path leaves nothing behind on which to stand powerfully.
It is nearly impossible today to get out of bed and face the day with 100% enthusiasm and conviction. Even on the best days, shit gets in the way. Some days, I absorb it like a sponge, while others I repel it with all my might and let it roll off of my back.
If it is learned, I don’t ever remember it being taught. If it is innate, I have the genetics of perseverant gold embedded in my DNA by the unwavering will of my grandparents and father.
Science will tell you its learned but I choose to believe it is both. When you persevere at a young age, you do without knowing you are so something innate drives that urge to persist despite setbacks and struggles.
With age comes wisdom, critical thinking, and the ability to understand the broader concepts of mindsets, perseverance is clearly developed through a pattern of learned behaviors, observations, experiences, and challenges.
Resilience is your friend pounding on the front door trying to wake you out of a dead sleep to get your ass up and moving when all you want to do is pull the covers over your head.
One cannot persevere without resilience.
If we could, our time on this planet would require absolutely no effort. Everything would just happen exactly the way you planned it. Graduate with honors – check, make a million bucks – check, score every opportunity – check, and build the perfectly infallible life – checkmate!
How is your PR treating you?
Resilience enables persistence and creates an energy that endures through the largest of challenges. Without resilience, prevailing is an accident. Like walking on thin ice hoping not to fall through. Resilience doesn’t make the ice thicker, it creates the belief that it is.
Perseverance keeps you taking one trepid step at a time knowing you might fall through at any moment. Resilience leaves you knowing if you do, you have a plan to get out. You might be cold and wet, but you get out and move on.
Just like the ole wise tale of The Tortoise and the Hare. The tortoise prevailed because it persisted in taking one step at a time. As they say, ‘Slow and steady wins the race.’
If you trip and fall do you lay on the ground writhing in agony, or get the hell up and try again?
I am not sure when in my life I understood or could recognize what perseverance and resilience even looked like but reflecting on my experiences, I relied on both very heavily to prevail in my accidental and purposeful endeavors.
How is your PR holding up?
Today, I know definitively with 100% certainty that I would not be where I am without the benefit of both. There are countless times in my life when pulling the covers over my head seemed the only way out, and yet I kept slugging along.
My PR has served me well. It laid the foundation that created opportunities in each of my endeavors and has not let me down.
A timely reminder to leave no hug un-hugged! Squeeze a little harder for a few seconds longer…
The precarious nature of our existence is never clearer than in the face of death.
If mistakes are life’s pencil sharpener, then death smacks of ridiculous frickin clarity, that is if you are paying proper attention. As with all life events innately designed to have you on your ass buried in the weeds, death attached to someone with whom you share the same DNA is the international champion of such events.
The prize, a gold-plated shovel necessary to dig the hole to wallow-dom. Welcome to the club for you have arrived.
I was 24 years old when my father died unexpectedly. Before my head stopped spinning, I had pitched a tent in wallow-dom. Second guessing took the first of many prizes pacing neck in neck with what if’s.
If the club had a secret handshake, I mastered it with my eyes closed.
Resources were scarce, and compassionate knowing nonexistent in my cavalier life that just delivered my first real job and bills to pay. In the 80’s people whispered cancer in fear of being discovered so facing death was best done alone. No RIP social media posts granting space for hashtag empathy.
Deal and move on please, you are blocking the entrance!
Through her bionic wisdom, capable of scaling mountains, climbing down deep holes and crossing oceans, my mother delivered something that helped me pack up my tent and leave wallow-dom – M. Scott Peck’s, The Road Less Traveled. Beautifully tattered and yellowed after 35 years as a reference, it is a timeless must read for those seeking a deeper meaning in life.
The Road Less Traveled
I read this book two separate times, 23 years apart. I derived separate and significant insights each time. Like a fine wine, the message aged well and spoke more broadly to me and the areas of my life that time had tested.
Immediately after my father’s death, one of my many answerless questions… Does the pain of death perpetuate death (physically or spiritually) or life? Page 133, delivered my answer. This is a glimpse of why Peck’s book has sold over seven million copies and why it is clearly, a life in death situation:
“If we can live with the knowledge that death is our constant companion, traveling on our left shoulder, then death becomes our ally and a source of wise counsel. With death’s counsel, the constant awareness of the limit of our time to live and love, we can always be guided to make the best use of our time and live life to the fullest. But if we are unwilling to fully face the fearsome presence of death on our left shoulder, we deprive ourselves of its counsel and cannot possibly live or love with clarity. When we shy away from death, the ever-changing nature of things, we inevitably shy away from life.”
Can I get a mic drop please?
Even today, these words produce goose bumps and make my heart race. What a gift! They made me feel lucky to have lived and survived a death of such significance in my young life. What a blessing, always ‘traveling on my left shoulder.’ Death’s presence perpetuates life, love, honesty, openness, expression, and the values inherent within them.
Admittedly, I have been a bit underwhelmed and uninspired of late… a bit ho hum. On the eve of the 364th day of my year, I find myself in some heavy, deep reflection.
Rut Ro.
Isn’t that what birthdays are supposed to do? Pause, reflect, embrace, and saddle up for the coming year.
So here I sit, thinking about the how, the when and the why of my countless experiences. Specifically, the one’s through which I managed to persevere. I don’t remember making a conscious choice to persevere, rather, I embraced the characteristics of one who chose the opposite of conceding defeat.
There is great discomfort in the swamp, only matched by the discomfort of trudging through it. I guess my underlying hope is/was I will eventually make my way out of it.
The problem is, you don’t know you will come out the other side, until you have arrived on the other side!
I am fortunate to have had worthy examples of such a trek in my life, but as observations rather than teachings. My Hungarian grand parents exemplified the extremely consequential necessity of NOT conceding defeat at levels that make my challenges seem like a walk through the rose garden, merely dodging thorns.
Their unwavering, resilient determination gave me my life. That is a heavy load.
Reflection is a powerful tool and my perspective is rooted in it.
It is a subjective process that includes a dash of rationalization. I would rather rationalize my way through the swamp than drowned in it. Writing has given me that pause. The time necessary to slow my roll, reflect, process, push on through, and eventually find gratitude in all things past and present.
As I have said many times, I am where I am because of where I have been. The good, the bad and everything in between. Water under the bridge is water under the bridge! I can’t push it back up stream and make it come down differently.
Embrace it and move on!
If that makes a bad thing not so bad, or something I expected, exceptional, I’ll take that every day!
Persevering is the strongest of P’s in my Pod. With a lifetime of experience behind me it’s easy to reflect on its significant impact in my life’s direction and outcomes. The fortitude, determination and will to endure has served me well.
Today’s swamp is in the distance, potentially avoidable if I navigate the appropriate detour. As they say, with age comes wisdom. Having made a life time of mistakes has sharpened my ability to avoid a wrong turn in my future.
Fortunately, my hardships are in the rearview mirror resting neatly amongst the other shiny tools in the back seat. I know there is potential to be neck deep in the swamp, gasping for each breath before I’m sucked in by the muck.
I am hopeful the tools I have employed effectively in the past will encourage balance and harmony and enable peace. And steer me clear of the muck. It is a more difficult equation when I can’t control the outcome of something so I try to focus on the things I can control.
Persevering through difficult circumstances has served me well. That persistence points me in the right direction and invariably leads me right to the light at the end of the tunnel.
My father, Frank, with just the shirt on his back, fled communist Hungary in 1956 after the failed revolt against the Russians. The Hungarian’s peaceful protest and message in opposition of the communist protocols was met with tanks and bullets.
On October 23,1956 the Hungarian Revolution was born.
At age 21, after 18 days of Russian supremacy and thousands of lost lives, my father abruptly left his country, family and the only life he knew in search of freedom and democracy. He spent 6 weeks in an Austrian refugee camp before being granted a visa to come to America.
The home of the free and land of the brave where all were embraced and welcomed. Liberty and justice for all.
It is extremely synchronistic that I was moved to write this on November 10, 2024. It turns out, November 10th was the 68th anniversary of the Hungarians claiming defeat to the Russians and 36th anniversary of when my father did. I was hours into my thoughts before I connected my writing motives with the dates.
I am still trying to reconcile my feelings. Today, yesterday, and the days before, I have been left wondering, What would Frank do?
Frank Kalapos circa 1958 in America
I am speechless, yet full of words. I feel betrayed yet embraced. I am terrified, sad, disappointed, worried, and extremely pensive. I am juggling the most consequential thoughts of my life and haven’t felt this disjointed since embracing the angst of my sexuality.
Clearly, Frank has moved me to these words despite my staunch resistance to speak to anything political or religious on this blog, yet here I go.
After sacrificing every last thing, my father immersed himself in America. He embraced freedom, patriotism, and democracy. He recognized what a gift it was and never took it for granted.
The lens through which he saw life, people, culture, and the differences that walked among them, was open and welcoming. His judgement-free, inclusive and open minded ways were the foundation of my early influences and enabled me to view the world through open eyes.
It was never explained, it just was.
My father’s best friend was a flamboyant German immigrant. He was gay. My brother and I shared our best friend, Tyrone. He was black. We didn’t know the German was gay and we didn’t know Tyrone’s blackness could be of consequence. It just didn’t matter.
Tyrone, Me and Steve circa 1972
He marched in the July 4th parade in Venice, CA.
He encouraged us at the Hare Krishna Festival on Venice Beach in the 70’s to learn and understand other’s religious perspectives.
He waived the American flag as the Olympic torch ran through the streets of L.A. in the summer of 1984.
He raised us to be open minded, inclusive, compassionate, and empathetic souls. He encouraged us to do the right thing even when it wasn’t popular. He guided us through his example and let us find our way.
He listened.
He challenged perspectives through the influence of understanding and respect. He knew it wasn’t a democracy if we were all on the same page. He believed opposites could find middle ground and he could bridge the gap of the largest crevasse with eloquence.
He was such a gift.
So here we are again, What would Frank do?
He would think we are making a Mockery Against Great America. He would be struggling to understand the callus, divisive, hateful, and misguided energy that so emboldens us against each other.
He definitely would not want us to relinquish freedoms we have earned and enjoyed for generations, rather ease up on our convoluted consequential convictions. He would want us to find middle ground, each conceding equally.
He wouldn’t wallow in the mire. Frank would want me to hang on to hope even in the face of betrayal, hurt and disappointment. It doesn’t right the wrong through those from whom I feel betrayed, rather shifts my energy in a more positive light.
Clearly, his energy is turning over in his grave as it pushes my pen.
Trust me, I am trying to get my glass half full!
I am trying to step over the crevasse before it sucks me in!
To my far right friends, I know you, I see you and I love you. I knew what I was stepping into and I chose to stay. It is as innately who you are, as it is innately not who I am, but I chose to stay despite our differences. I see that your choice is for you and not against me.
I am trying to remain hopeful that the consequences of those beliefs do not haunt us for generations to come.
I guess time will tell.
Unfortunately, it is where hypocrisy thrives that my issues remain. Duplicity, talking out of both sides of your mouth, saying one thing then doing another. Spin it as you will… that is where I feel betrayed, hurt and gutted.
Like, how could you?
I have a lot at stake as will many in our society. If making America great infringes on our inalienable rights, is it really that great?
RIP Dad, thank you for putting it in perspective for me.
Frank E. Kalapos – February 12, 1934 – November 10, 1988
I was talking with a friend recently about thoughts and perspectives and how and why we come to the reality of our positions. I wondered, is everyone’s mind in over-drive all the time or just mine?
My overthinking doesn’t render me in the abyss of indecision, rather it never leaves room for pure and utter silence.
Have you ever wondered how much ground a squirrel can cover jumping from one tree’s branch to another? Or why a No. 2 Pencil is numbered and reigns supreme?
I didn’t think so.
I split hairs, connect dots, analyze angles, sharpen pencils, pull weeds in the desert and then put it all together in one cohesive anthology. It leaves me in the space of a pretty firm opinion.
People close to me are prepared for the challenge. I am neither obstinate nor a, my-way-or-the-highway kind of gal, but you can be sure I have covered all the perceived angles.
I am a good listener, I ask a lot of questions, and I can admit when I am wrong.
I challenge other’s positions with an open mind knowing I can’t learn something new without understanding another’s perspective. It is critical to have a voice of conviction when sharing our beliefs if there is value in moving the needle one way or the other.
Nothing worse than wishy-washy.
The best orators cultivate mindsets rather than fix broken records, not just because they are firm in their conviction but because they lead and live through their example. Their passion and commitment to their belief lies beyond the words that encapsulate it.
I would very much prefer and accept someone’s counter conviction if they themselves lived, breathed and walked in the space with it. I always say, the loudest homophobes are closet-ed gays. It’s their very vocal condemnation and projection of a belief that they clearly do not subscribe to since they hide under the pretense with enormous disdain.
Swap out any 2 things and you will see the pattern.
The loudest complainers carry the biggest shovel.
Those shining the brightest spot light are deflecting their own shadow.
Those that live in glass houses should not throw stones.
You get the idea. Pure hypocrisy.
It is okay to be on 2 different pages when our beliefs are foundational to the way we conduct ourselves. It is not about always being on the same page or about being a goody two shoes, or living infallibly or being the brightest star, it’s about owning your words and your commitment to them.
Simply, our perspective should align with our conduct. Period. 100%.
It seems easier to pretend to be something we are not rather than just own the air and space in which we exist. There was a time in my life when this was more difficult than it is for me today, but if I had to pin-point it, I think it foundationally changed when I stopped giving a shit about what other’s thought.
When I let go of the frame through which I thought other’s would define me and lived more transparently, I became capable of living authentically.
When I aligned my words with my actions, life got a lot easier. Today, my not giving-a-shit attitude is not cavalier nor malicious, it simply enables a space and time to live in my words and beliefs.
It is foundational to my perspective and worldview. It is one of the P’s in my pod.
Since I learned the best lessons in my life through the mistakes I have made, this list could be seemingly infinite because I have made countless ones. There are several that tripped me up for years before I realized I had the power and ability to make a change in the behavior that was causing me so many issues.
The best description I found was looking through the lens of a victim vs a creator.
As a self-imposed victim, I didn’t necessarily blame others for my struggles, mistakes or failures, rather absolved myself from the equation by not being accountable to my actions. As if, the swamp I found myself in existed outside of my ability to see the mountain I could scale.
I didn’t necessarily mope around mumbling ‘woe is me,’ rather silently felt unworthy of progress which left me insecure and scared about my future or any potential success that awaited. I took small steps in the beginning but when I could feel and see that switching my mindset from living irresponsibly to owning and creating my direction, my life began to change.
This change began somewhere during my college years, as I realized the benefits of my focused work, and hit me smack in the face on the heels of my father’s unexpected death when I was 24 years old.
Death with no notice stops you right in your tracks. It left me reflecting on the things I had done that directly hurt others and inadvertently hurt me.
Not all of my lessons revealed themselves in this exact moment, but it sure as hell sharpened my attention and enabled me to take steps in a positive direction, correcting one mistake at a time.
In my youth, I retreated with my emotions and closed up like a clam burrowing in the sand. My mantra, ‘I don’t want to talk about’ when asked about what bothered me, did not serve me well! My father’s death taught me the significance of sharing love, telling people my feelings, speaking my truth, and asking the hard questions in real time, not with hindsight.
Otherwise, I might not get another chance.
Embracing Death Gave Me Life
Understanding and accepting the complexity of relationships and the importance of communication is never clearer than after a loss. The gleam of light in the darkness results from a knowing that life is fleeting, sacred and all encompassing. As M. Scott Peck so eloquently put it, death is my “constant companion, always traveling on my left shoulder.” His words remind me of the the fragility of life and human nature and why I need to live for today and not yesterday.
Otherwise, I might not get another chance.
Resolve, Resilience and Perseverance
This is a 3 for 1, because for me they all surfaced in the same times and places in my life where my greatest struggles thrived. Success only comes after failure by virtue of all 3. It is really difficult to stand up straight again after a gut punch that leaves you breathless, but failure inevitably and repeatedly challenged my resolve, resilience and ability to persevere. As long as I remain focused, they collectively guide me toward the most significant accomplishments in my life.
Otherwise, I might not get another chance.
Accountability
Owning my shit enabled me to feel worthy and move forward without regret. Being accountable doesn’t absolve me of mistakes or any poor choices that I continue to make, it simply defines my role in the process. Knowing I went down the wrong path makes the presence of its potential in my future much clearer, enabling me to thwart it in its tracks or rectify it before it’s a problem.
Otherwise, I might not get another chance.
Humility and Why the High Road is an Easy Climb
Humility was quite elusive for me, especially in the times in my life when I was ‘this’ or ‘that’ or had something to prove. I stumbled on the comforting feeling once I decided my life would be better lived under the radar. Arguing, complaining, bragging, or being the loudest one in the room gets one a lot of attention for all the wrong reasons. People aren’t paying attention when it’s always in their faces, so I retreat and let my actions speak for my words.
Otherwise, I might not get another chance.
So go out and screw up, take notes and do better next time.
As a kid, I lived knee deep in consequences. There were many but most resulted from defying the seemingly, menial orders-from-headquarters tasks that ran along a constant theme of being lazy around the house chores I loathed.
Need I list them?
Exactly. I travel in good company.
There was no ‘upside’ to complying, it pretty much sucked if I did the chores or didn’t. School felt similarly blah. My grades were average, and even when they were above average, I didn’t connect my ability, or lack of, with a sense of controlling my outcome. It felt more like a means to an end.
Not until I got involved in high school athletics could I emotionally and physically connect responsibility with the outcome of my actions. If I hit a jump shot at the buzzer, I would reel in glory for days and if I missed a gate and DQ’d in an important race, I sulked and moped.
Since my life did not resemble a basketball game nor ski race, responsibility and accountability eluded my internal compass. I didn’t blame others for my plight, rather excused myself from the responsibility of those outcomes.
That attitude moved right to college with me. As you might imagine, it was not the winning combination an aspiring college grad needed. If not for the academic probation I had to endure after my first semester freshman year, I might have coasted into mediocrity indefinitely. Since I associated ‘probation’ with criminals, I needed to get out of jail pronto!
Cracking down on the books is subjective, right? Not if you’re on probation! It meant mirroring things that the smarty pants did like visit the library, study, complete homework, attend class, pay attention in class, and regularly consult my student advisor.
All things I should have done from the beginning.
It meant discipline, focus, determination, accountability, and responsibility. It meant owning my outcomes and taking proactive steps toward improving them. It also meant fewer than the 16 credit hours I had saddled during the semester of my academic fiasco. Twelve credits became the magic number.
If you’re a math whiz, you quickly determined that path would not lead to graduation in the 4 years I hoped.
No offense to 5th year seniors but sitting through third grade twice lit a fire under my academic ass enabling me to successfully manage back to back semesters @ 20 credit hours. Yep, that’s 40 credits in my senior year. The equivalent to 3.3 semesters at my previous pace.
I got the shit done. I took responsibility and found accountability. If not for the consequence of my mediocre actions, I would not have found the value, gratitude and inspiration in taking responsibility for my poor results and changing course for better outcomes.
Those failures single-handedly empowered my path and solidified the ownership of my actions. They are 2 badges that I wear with pride. Despite both, I prevailed.
Profound lessons for my future self as I realized personal responsibility and accountability don’t abolish bad choices or poor outcomes, they simply remove blame and excuses from the equation. If I trip and fall, I spring back to my feet faster than I fell.
Today, my critical thinking skills are stronger than ever, and I methodically avoid negative consequential actions. If they result despite my proactive efforts, I take responsibility, reflect on where I could have done better, then press on full steam ahead.
During my stint as an adjunct instructor at the local community college, one of the classes on my schedule was Student Development – SD 125. The primary course objective was to help shape attitudes, beliefs and behaviors to enhance self-esteem and self-awareness while building confidence to move forward with a successful college and life plan.
For some, this was a required class, for others, it was encouraged by their Student Advisor. There was a consistent theme of personality characteristics that the enrolled students shared.
They were the first in their families to attend college. They were academically and emotionally insecure. They were confined by labels, had been discouraged from achieving and were ready to quit at any moment.
If I didn’t get them onboard quickly, I would lose them, and occasionally, I did.
I told them the hardest part was over by doing everything they had done to be sitting in their chair. I told them they already had an A+ and only stood to lose it. I told them to jump in with both feet. I told them that if they trusted me, we would get there together.
Shaping and changing their mindsets was mission #1.
Mindset – Carol Dweck Ph.D.
Years of conditioning is hard to undo, but it was tantamount for me to understand their setbacks, hardships, hurdles and insecurities to move them forward. I was surprised how publicly vulnerable they could be sharing in class and through their homework.
We talked about the importance of understanding and differentiating between their strengths, weakness, passions, and abilities. And why perseverance, resilience, vulnerability, and grit were essential to an enduring successful outcome.
Fortunately, the text book was full of self-assessment journal assignments which enabled a perspective on how they approached challenges. I filled in the gaps with inspiration from my personal struggles as well as Ted Talks (links follow) from the likes of Brene Brown, Amy Cuddy, Angela Duckworth, and Carol Dweck to name a few.
The biggest hurdles I confronted surrounded empowering them to believe in themselves, shed the labels others had characterized them by, and to put in the hard work. The hard work was not the curriculum per se but rather the focused efforts needed to change their patterns of behavior and mindsets.
Most often, a huge light went off when they came to realize they were solely in control of their outcomes. Some came to this sooner than others, but their discovery was palpable and often brought me to tears.
When the puzzle pieces came together it was by virtue of their new growth driven mindset. Their body language improved and class participation increased. They embraced the broader application (outside of school) of their new and improved mindset, flying high in the sky among the stars.
During this period in their mindset transformation, it always shocked me how many of their ‘people,’ (parent, significant other, friend or relative) did NOT support or encourage their growth. Not all, but many of the students were overtly rejected, shunned, and even turned away.
Truly sad when someone else’s power resides in their ability to control and hold others back. This ugly scenario reared its head every semester I taught this class. A different student roster, but the same under-my-thumb response.
So, I devoted a class discussion around why some endeavor to hold others back. A devastating reality in our society. I expressed the importance of retaining their power by not conceding to the manipulation of another, even at the cost of the relationship.
Change is difficult for many, most especially for the person who thrives in holding another back. It was critical to surround themselves with people who would set them up for success rather than those that would strip them of their personal growth.
Eleanor Roosevelt said it best, “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.”
Catch ya later hater!
Mere months before, they were on the same plane with them but through their focused efforts and hard work, emerged the difference between what was and what could be.
Positively brilliant!
So, do you set your mind or does your mind set you?
Be the goldfish that swims with the swagger of a shark!
As the head chef of my household, the primary objective with all of my culinary creations is volume. How many days can one tolerate the same meal? And/or, can I freeze it for a future delight?
Check and check!
During the summer months, those meals generally incorporate the grill, but during the winter months it means homemade soups and sauces. Naturally, all the good stuff ends up at the bottom, so my instructions are pretty clear.
Stir from the bottom!
This has become such a joke in my family that I now have a cup memorializing my sage advice.
Over time it occurred to me, this is a great metaphor for how I find love and gratitude. I stir from the bottom.
For me, love is a very broad word. At the top of the list is how you emotionally and physically feel when you share love with a partner, spouse, child, and others. For now, I am leaving that aside.
The love I am talking about comes from giving or receiving appreciation, respect, kindness, excitement, friendship, and warmth. All things that rise to the top.
It is within the contentment derived from those feelings where I find the warmth of love.
Feeling the love in those times dishes up a huge helping of gratitude because they connect to each other. Just like an amazing appetizer is the start to a great meal. When love resonates with such ease, gratitude is a natural reaction.
When I was a kid, I heard I needed to count my blessings because there are others less fortunate. My childhood was not structured around religious conformity, so I didn’t fully grasp the intention of that until much later in life when I connected blessings to love and gratitude. (This is my personal experience and in no way a disregard to religious conformity nor the religious meaning of blessings.)
Embracing and connecting them as true feelings took a lot of time and maturity.
What if all the good stuff is at the bottom?
Can we find love and gratitude in despair or heartache?
Back in the days of my life when I often threw myself a self-imposed pity-party, I couldn’t find either. My backward way was so convoluted, that I would sit in troubled agony for days until my friends asked me the precise proper question. Not until then, could I unload my burden.
When they proclaimed, ‘Why didn’t you tell me sooner?’ My reply was always the same, ‘You didn’t ask.’
Fortunately, I haven’t thrown myself a pity-party in decades.
I outgrew that egregious behavior in my late 30’s and today, my overly sunny disposition finds something to love in everything, even when I must stir from the bottom.
If I stir from the bottom, even the smallest spec of light at the end of a long tunnel consumed by darkness can change my perspective. I have faced and endured hardships but if I focus on the spec of light rather than be consumed by the darkness, eventually I emerge to find myself in the light.
Love and gratitude don’t take away the hardships that indelibly exist, rather they provide a different lens through which to view them.
I have rationalized many things in my life to overcome the darkness. In the end the facts remain the facts, it is my perception of them that changes. In those times, the spec of light becomes a beautiful ray of sunshine.
Next time you make a gallon sized pot of chili or spaghetti sauce, be sure to give me a nod when you stir from the bottom.
If you find a penny, do you pick it up and put it in your pocket or do you step over it?
After all, it’s only a penny.
In and through my life experiences, I have encountered many blurred lines between intuition vs synchronicity, and destiny vs fate. If you subscribe to the very basic principle of The Law of Attraction as I do, then like attracts like implying that energy we put forth is the energy we receive.
If you see the glass as half full, your cup shall run-ith over even if devoid of a drop. If there is always a hole in the bottom, then you will be parched and depleted.
They say, we control our destiny through our choices, and some predetermined outside force dictates our fate, but if our choices and beliefs influence outside forces then isn’t our fate our destiny?
If you believe that no matter what you do, the shit will hit the fan, then prepare yourself for a massive smelly clean-up. Is that the outside force or a conscious or subconscious choice?
When we attract those forces is that our fate or our destiny?
If you earn a penny through hard work and dedication, that is your destiny. A penny resulted from those choices. If you find a penny in the street that is your fate because you made no effort to earn it or choice to find it.
If you step over it instead of putting it in your pocket (your choice/destiny) the penny will not jump in your pocket (your fate).
So, if our fate is the penny we step over it becomes our destiny once we choose not to put it in our pocket. Choice influences outside forces when we deflect the presence of fate and the efforts, or lack of, that put us in that very moment where fate presents itself.
I can’t see the future, but I innately believe that I pave its way.
If you believe something can’t be done, then you won’t venture in that direction. What if you continued and persisted? Is that your destiny or your fate? Does an outside force push you there or do you push yourself there?
If our destiny is a direction we fully control then why don’t we recognize our choices as something we can fully control? If we recognize them that way, then blame, lack of accountability and the inability to see the gain in the pain would not even be part of human behavior.
Deflecting our results away from our actions creates our destiny but may be disguised as our fate if we lack responsibility for the outcomes.
Admittedly, there is sooo much gray area here, but I like to push the envelope.
Is it someone’s fate if something irreversibly tragic or bad happens as if it were predestined? Even if it happens in the blink of an eye, the steps that proceeded it put them in that exact moment and place.
Why?
How do we rationalize senseless death as one’s predetermined fate?
I just can’t put my head around that.
Those that die senselessly in tragic accidents don’t knowingly walk the path to their death, they end up in the path of someone else’s destiny and that becomes their fate.
That just seems way f-ed up.
Senseless tragedy or death is senseless for a reason. There is no rationale, spiritual or other, that justifies the abruptness of the loss and the eternal agony that burdens those left behind in the tumultuous wake.
Are destiny and fate mutually exclusive or blurred and intertwined constantly influencing each other?
Next time you encounter a penny, put it in your pocket, after all, it is a penny.
Tall tales, Pinocchio’s nose and pants ablaze were the metaphorical lessons of my youth that pointed to liars. Learning the importance of truth and trust came only after years of living in the consequences of overlooking them.
Today, I see them as the two most compelling elements of integrity, mine and yours. From the most egregious to the most benign, say what you mean and mean what you say or move on.
If I bump into the liar who lies through their example, I run in the opposite direction as fast as I can. Nothing unnerves me more than hypocrisy. The hypocrite doesn’t just speak the lie, they live the lie. Can you imagine how spiritually detrimental that is? Lying by example takes so much pre-meditated, methodical effort and energy.
Purely, dreadful.
I always say, the loudest homophobes are closeted gays. How better to hide behind your lie than to bash the shit out of it at every opportunity.
Liar, Liar if only your pants were actually on fire!
Where do we find the balance of trust over judgement and vulnerability over protection? If we need to earn these attributes, what is the cost? Are we guilty before proven innocent?
When I had my business in Chicago, highly sensitive information passed through our hands in advance of its destruction. The nature of our work required clean background checks, driving records and drug tests as mandatory industry pre-hire screenings.
A high level of trust among my employees and customers was critical to our reputation and success. During the new employee training, I explained to the newbies that they did not need to earn my trust.
Hmmm, smells like an oxymoron after jumping through all those hoops.
Think about what earning someone’s trust means… why do they need to earn it? Putting the mandatory pre-screenings aside, the human nature piece of the puzzle stood in a grey area presuming the newbies were not worthy of acceptance and trust despite the hoops through which they had just jumped.
Somehow now they needed to prove themselves to me, to earn it, to display a shining example worthy of the win. What does that shining example even look like? Showing up on time? Wearing a clean uniform? Greeting me with a smile?
Trust – Worthy or Not?
The word Trustworthy has always bothered me. It implies so many things that defy trust like lying, cheating, stealing, or misrepresenting something material are someway disproven thereby validating one’s worthiness.
I put 100% faith in what someone says unless they prove me wrong.
No test to pass, only to potentially fail.
Do you presume a new fresh face a liar before they even share space with you? If someone needs to earn our trust that is exactly what we do. Are they paying for the consequences of those that came before them? Earning one’s trust implies they are not worthy until they prove themselves worthy.
Where is the finish line, the gold medal? How far out is the test? Does the test require a No. 2 pencil?
I had a simple solution that became my go forward philosophy.
I told the newbies that they didn’t need to earn my trust, they already had it and only stood to lose it. It worked for me and gave them the confidence to do their job without having to prove anything more to me.
How can we trust without being vulnerable and how can we be vulnerable without trust? They must walk hand in hand even at the risk of being hurt or burned. Offering 100% trust to someone or thing has risks that can expose us to lies and hypocrisy, but without it we risk the fulfillment of trust and vulnerability, and the gifts that accompany them.
My intuition serves me well and for me, 100% trust is a worthy risk.
I was fortunate to be brought into this world by two non-conformists. My mother, the self-proclaimed black sheep of her family, and my free spirited, laisse-faire father and his judgement-free ways shared in the catalyst that formed the lens through which I see the world.
As a kid, my mother had the innate ability to steer a rudderless ship. Even with her eyes closed.
Her guidance provided the perfectly blended combination of suggestive influence and necessary discipline. I presented many challenges yet with the same honor and grace, she helped me find my way.
There is a fine balance between overbearing influence resulting in rebellion, and the subtlety of firm support that steers one down their own path. It was a guided path I felt like I found on my own.
Pure brilliance.
Most certainly a rebuff to his communist roots, my father was the epitome of a non-conformist. He chose a life free of all encumberments – clothes, rules and boundaries among them.
When he moved to Venice, California in the 1970’s the atmosphere, community and countless wayward souls perfectly suited his non-conformist ways. If the antithesis of communist Hungary existed, it was the melting pot in Venice, CA.
My parents blended influence, both in commonality and difference, shaped my attitudes about the values of non-conformity, individuality, inclusion, compassion, respect, and kindness. Collectively, they paved the path to my open minded inclusive ways.
I’m not sure the exact moment in time I fully understood and appreciated the value of their example, I certainly lived it before I knew there was value to be found.
Growing up I didn’t know people thought differently. Our summers on Venice Beach leveled the playing field. So many layers of inequality seemingly equal.
If we are all clones of each other, it would truly suck being bombarded by mirror images all day, every day.
Surely, we agree on that.
Social media, the sensationalized news, and the will of the closed minded jeopardize the value of our collective uniqueness. It is difficult to move about the planet without feeling jaded or apathetic or indifferent when the distant purview = the same old shit.
But, if something has value, it is not an endless resource or the same old shit. Its significance doesn’t dilute rather represents a position or vision of importance. If the color gray is a blend of black and white it is still rooted in the specificity of the individual colors.
If inclusion and acceptance are a blend of you and me, it can still be rooted in our differences. It is subjective and fluid. If we are not clones, our shoes are worn and wear differently.
The ability to walk in some else’s shoes with compassion, empathy and an open minded eye of inclusion is rooted in our differences but thrives in experiences we share in common.
So, what level of difference is accepted? Does that change when the shoes land at your doorstep?
If we are equally entitled to our freedom and independence then shan’t we be able to move about freely?
As a literal thinker I am practical, objective, pragmatic, linear, straight forward, and direct; every adjective that makes believing in fairies nearly impossible.
Left brained all the way! I like spreadsheets, order, symmetry, logic and proof. I believe it when I see it.
Rough, I know.
When I was 45 years old, I had a carotid dissection after over straining my neck. I won’t bore you with the medical nuance; a click of the hyperlink will answer any burning questions. When I had a second bilateral one 3 years later, it really got my attention.
There were more complications after the second one, and during my time in the ICU, I left my body.
My neurologist said I survived a second lighting strike; “had any other risk factors been present, smoking, weight, cholesterol, you would not have survived.”
Talk about putting the major breaks on complacency!
My already wounded brain spun like a top and I was overwhelmed with hyper anxiousness. Why was I spared? What was my life’s purpose? Am I doing what I am supposed to? I couldn’t check all the boxes and I became very anxious.
It was high level! The kind of anxiety that gets medicated.
I trusted my intuition and declined medication in favor of feeling lucid. I hoped the mental trauma would deliver answers or direction or clarity. Despite being anxious about why I was spared and alive, I was. I wanted to find my place and continue living.
I preferred books when I needed answers. I read about ESP, spirituality and synchronicity.
A handful of the books I read, others among them given away.
They all contained different yet purposeful meaning and clarity. I have an intuitive nature and always put faith in my gut feelings, but when I experienced lucid dreams, premonitions and other intangibles, my left-brained-self labeled them impractical or coincidental.
Collectively, the books softened my pragmatic ways and enabled me to feel empathy and the intangible.
Two years after my second dissection, my business was sold; and my house and most of its contents were on the market. Adios Chicago.
As I pieced together the story line for my memoir Sailing Naked, reflecting on years of ebb and flow, I let go of the practical, objective, prove-it-to-me ways in favor of seeing a pattern of synchronicities and dreams that told a much deeper story.
Carl Jung, a Swiss Psychiatrist, first introduced the idea of synchronicities, something he defines as meaningful coincidences. Jung’s belief was,
“The experience of two or more events that are causally unrelated yet are experienced as occurring together in a meaningful manner. Just as events may be connected by causality, they may also be connected by meaning. Events connected by meaning need not have an explanation in terms of causality.”
I reflected on many casual events, sometimes spanning years in separation, that contained significant meaning. Today, I embrace the illogical and impractical when the dots they connect contain meaning or tell a story. Even if only for me.
Is it a coincidence when the favorite song of your departed loved one pops on the radio after you are in deep thought about them?
Is it a coincidence when you randomly bump into someone that has been on your mind for days?
Is it a coincidence when something that nags at you for days or weeks happens?
Feathers, cardinals, songs, random happenings align with our beliefs because of how they are interpreted. Positive and insightful in favor of negative and cynical. In the end, it doesn’t even matter what others think, only what you feel and believe.
No harm, no foul.
Intuition is a powerful influence and should be trusted like your best friend. Synchronicity happens and needs only your immediate attention.
Time to trust your intuition and pay attention to ‘coincidences,’ you will be happy you did.
When I was a kid, The Bionic Woman and Wonder Woman were the strongest women I knew. Lindsay Wagner was an athletic, coyly sophisticated badass that morphed into an image of power and strength, single handedly (she did only have 1 bionic arm 😊) taking out the bad guy.
While Lynda Carter, a glamourous model who won Miss World USA in 1972, portrayed a Princess from an island in the Bermuda Triangle. She spun her way into her super powers, deflected bullets with her golden wrist bracelets and subdued her enemies with her golden lasso.
Strength and power in women today abounds and surrounds us in everyday life. Everyday, everywhere.
Our power is neither artificially implanted nor theatrically elevated. It lives and breathes within us and among us.
Wisdom, age, experience, exposure, education, success, and failure line the halls of our collective super powers. I’m not talking about taking out the bad guy, deflecting bullets, dominance or control. I’m talking about empowerment, encouragement and support.
Like spokes on a wheel, we all need to come together to keep rolling down the road.
My Grandparents – Imre and Maria Kalapos
My grandmother was one such woman. If only I had the capacity to recognize that while she was still alive. She endured 2 world wars, the Nazi’s, Russians, and the Hungarian Revolution before fleeing her country after 57 years.
She and my grandfather left everything behind.
They escaped from the worsening of continued oppressive control. Imagine a scale so out of balance it illuminated a dimly lit path that meant walking away from their lives, spirits, professions, and their material and nonmaterial possessions.
Everything they knew = the cost of freedom. A price so exponentially unimaginable, it is difficult to quantify.
The persevering resilience she exhibited empowers me. Pretty much hard to complain about anything when I think about all she endured and sacrificed to feel and be free. My life exists solely by virtue of her monumental sacrifices.
Takes my breath away every time.
So, I persist, I focus, I move forward, I endure, I give, I try, I speak, I sink, I swim, I float, I jump, I fall, I get back up.
Persevering resilience is my super power. It is time tested. If I persist, I prevail.
Or as Social Psychologist, Amy Cuddy likes to say, “Fake it until you become it.” I have faked my way through many things knowing and believing I will eventually prevail. I will become it. If you haven’t crossed paths with Cuddy’s 2012 Ted Talk on body language, linked above, it is a worthy 20 minutes of your day.
Artistry, insight, knowledge, compassion, connections, endurance, tolerance, inclusion… What is your super power? Your gift?
Whatever super power you have, give it away. Share it often. Empower someone. Help them find the confidence to step into the magic slippers and discover their own super powers.
So many of us need it. We don’t need a golden lasso or bionic arm; we need each other’s strengths.
If you need a super power, look for it. Likely, it is standing right in front of you poised to encourage, enable and empower you.
A big thank you to Julie S. for my writing inspo. Congratulations on ‘becoming it.’ Now it’s time for you to go make some waves!
RIP to the Grandest of Grandmothers:
My Grandparents grave marker. They are buried just outside of Zuirch, Switzerland
Maria Vagho Kalapos 1905 – 1983 Imre Kalapos 1901 – 1985
When change is afoot, I move slowly with intensity cross checking all the angles, anticipating the bumps or sharp curves while trying to solve problems that haven’t occurred.
I connect dots. All the bases are covered.
If I overlook something detrimental, I press on and figure it out as I go. Unfortunately, not all change can be methodically planned or even in our control. It lands at our feet and it’s either get on board or stay behind at the dock.
Routine is critical to supporting our best selves because that is how we improve and perfect. Convenience abounds and change is a growing brick wall that gets harder and harder to scale. We decide something can’t be done long before embracing the effort because change is difficult.
I have hit the brick wall at full speed in my life to ultimately embrace the needed change, more often, much to my advantage.
Why do we bump up against change with such obstinance? Will the world crumble right under our feet if we deviate one iota from our conditioned and patterned life?
Patterns and habits are the comfiest of blankets even when they don’t keep us warm anymore. As we cling to the very last thread, kicking, screaming and complaining our way to Change declaring it is ‘so outrageous, it could never work.’
David Bowe, Ziggy Marley, Michael Jackson, and Taylor Swift sing about change. We employ change agents, life coaches, and other positive influences. They abound evoking change and yet settling in our comfort zones seems the preferred pattern.
Is it the unknown? The fear of failure? The fear of deviation?
All of the above.
In business, Change = Innovation and change agents work to indoctrinate and implement change to the masses. A quick google search defines the characteristics of a change agent as, a lifelong learner, flexible, trustworthy, organized, excited by new ideas or opportunities, creative, courageous, experienced. They are good collaborators and mediators.
They get shit done and herd us where we need to go.
How do we become our own change agents to streamline and facilitate our best directions? Not everyone has bold ambition, or they might be quite comfortable right where they are, and rightly so.
There is a time in life to coast and a time in life to scale.
When I decided it was time to leave Chicago the only thing I knew for certain was I didn’t want to live in the city anymore. I moved there on a whim with my 2 best friends from college, blinked my eyes a few times and found 27 years had passed.
An odd series of seemingly unrelated events occurred, the sale of my business, a new relationship, and the sudden death of my sister-in-law’s father.
His funeral took me home to Northern Michigan to say good-bye and spend some time with my family. After my week home, I solidified a direction I hadn’t anticipated taking and decided to trade city chaos and over stimulation for a comparably reclusive life filled with peace and quiet.
Five months after my trip home, my house was sold along with most of its contents, and well 10 years later here I sit, happy as a clam burrowed in the sand.
We are all Creatures of HAbit ambliNG through lifE with fervor.
May 7, 2024 was a big day for my community with a $15M bond proposal at stake for the local school district, Inland Lakes Schools. In 2022 a similar bond was proposed and failed so the outcome was critical.
In the weeks and days leading up to the vote I read strong opinions on both sides of this proposal; why a leaking roof, inefficient heating or the puddle-pond in the school’s parking lot that attracted the local ducks was a critical issue or not.
Among other concerns, the basis for ‘not’, centered around continued tax payments on an expiring debt as well as standardized test scores that fell below the average for our area.
Picture of Harbor Springs High School by Dianne Johnston
I am a proud 1982 graduate of HSHS – Harbor Springs High School in Harbor Springs, MI. I started in this school system my freshman year. By then, HSHS was the 7th school I attended in my short 14 years of life.
I was an average student but excelled in geography and math. I started kindergarten as a 4 year old and by 3rd grade was held back so I could emotionally and intellectually catch up with my peers.
One of my third grade school pictures
It was pure misery returning to the same school as a 2-time 3rd grader while I watched my classmates move on to 4th grade.
Despite that, I thrived in high school. I spent my young life active and athletic, shooting hoops in the driveway and playing catch in the yard but had never played an organized team sport. My mother encouraged me to try out for everything and I did.
I made the basketball team, ski team and started as a freshman on the varsity softball team playing left field and catcher.
I had a wicked arm.
By my junior year, my coaches and mentors, Nancy Paige, Gary Bob Morse, Bill Shepler Sr., Bill Grant, and Mike Davies voted me the Female All School Athlete. An award I received again my senior year. Their collective impact far exceeds our brief time together.
I was on top of the world and never prouder.
The safe, disciplined and regimented environment rolled into my academic life, and I THRIVED. I loved school and my grades reflected that.
There was one small yet enormous problem. The No. 2 pencil.
The No. 2 pencil meant a standardized test and I was a horrible test taker.
The distractions that put me through 3rd grade twice found their way to the tip of the pencil. When I heard the words ‘be sure to bring a No. 2 pencil to class tomorrow’ I panicked.
The dots melded together on the page, and I always floundered.
When it was time for the ACT college entrance exam, my pathway to higher education, the No.2 pencil single handedly knocked my feet out from under me.
Not only did we need to bring a No. 2 pencil, we needed TWO because they didn’t want us to get up from our seats to sharpen one if the led broke. The smarty pants in my class brought a pencil folder full of them.
UGH!
When the proctor announced there was only 30 minutes left of test time, I still had over a third of my test to finish. In a move of desperation, I began randomly filling in dots. Dot after dot so I could submit a completed test hoping a guessed answer was better than none.
As you might suspect, my score was pitiful and ultimately an encumberment that got in the way of my college selection. The score alone cost me admission to the state universities who denied my applications, even with a letter of recommendation from my coaches.
My Senior Picture
Fortunately, with a creative and supportive guidance counselor, Mr. Charles Dickinson in my corner, my 7th semester grades and my high school GPA got me over the hurdle. We found a small college where I successfully enrolled.
I fully understand the broader purpose of standardized tests, but they overlook people like me. If bond proposals are to be considered for schools, they are detrimental beyond the scope of such tests.
If schools can’t grow and innovate with the times, we risk stifling the potential and the future of our youth by attracting more ducks to the pond in the parking lot. I am where I am today with and through the struggles and successes of all my school years, including 2 as a 3rd grader.
If not for those formidable foundational roots and the teachers, coaches and mentors that guided me, my life and its successes would not be what they are today or have been in my past.
My current ‘senior’ picture
Next time you are confronted with a bond proposal for your local schools, don’t let the No. 2 pencil get in your way of supporting it. Think of all the students like me that will benefit and thrive.
As a kid I believed there was a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, that the elusive four leaf clover was magical and that the rabbit’s foot I wore around my neck while ski racing would deliver wins and keep me safe.
I remember when there was something we didn’t want to do we would draw straws and whoever drew the shortest one had the unenviable responsibility to the duty. Luck, or lack of it, in the form of the straw’s length.
No strategy there.
If everything in life was arbitrary and unpredictable then there is no point in effort, persistence, confidence, positivity, or kindness. We could just sit on the couch day after day and wait for all of the good things to fall in our laps.
How miserable!
If everything in life is systematically predictable and not left to chance, is it worth changing our focus and mindsets?
Of course, I’m not talking about gambling, because that is the epitome of chance and luck for those that win big, but rather drawing positive, seemingly lucky, outcomes to ourselves.
There are seven (wink, wink) consistent observations I see in people who seem to have all the luck in the world.
1. They are motivated as hell.
Motivation is the backbone of endless positive outcomes. If Rome wasn’t built in a day, then hard work, effort, discipline, perseverance, and motivation laid every brick. Gasping for each breath, it might be a sprint or a marathon, but motivation is what sustains us to the finish line.
2.They are quietly confident.
They do because they are. Confident people are not arrogant, they share the fortitude and focus to stay the course knowing and believing in their ability. They know hardship is part of the process. Their results are defined by who they are, not who they think they need to be.
3.They are positively positive.
If you believe like attracts like then positivity can singlehandedly transform a loss to a win. You don’t actually get the Gold medal when you didn’t even make it to the podium, rather, your perspectives on failure or not winning shape the future direction and choices. It adds another tool to the shed poised for the next venture or endeavor.
4.They focus on today not yesterday.
If yesterday’s tool is already in the shed, then we don’t need to dwell or wallow in it. We can’t look forward if we are always looking back, a path painstakingly paved with woulda, shoulda, coulda and overwhelmed by ginormous potholes waiting to swallow you whole. Focus on the now, because it is the only thing we can control and it will guide and steer the future.
5.They are tenacious and persistent.
Tenacity, grit, bravery or whatever cape you wear to enable your super powers, results from the culmination of all of the above. The willingness to take chances, think outside of the box or simply proceed because you know in your gut you can is the place where your super powers thrive.
6. They are genuine, kind, and generous with their time.
Kindness breeds positivity and deflects negativity so none of the gestures in that regard are self-serving, they are giving and genuine. Good things may come to those who wait, but better things come to those who do good things and are kind.
7. Their conduct is worthy of emulation.
Individuality is important because it would suck if we were all mirror images of each other but emulating a worthy behavior(s) is the place where role models are born and an important step in moving toward your own pot of gold waiting patiently at the end of your rainbow.
Luck is not happenstance; it is the outcome of an adaptable mindset. “Luck is when preparation meets opportunity,” a quote accredited to The Roman Philosopher Seneca.
Next time you say good luck to someone, know what might need to stand behind those words of encouragement.
If habits were easy to break, then we wouldn’t need to resolve anything with each new year! Eating better, getting exercise, taking more time for ourselves, or reading a new blog or book are things we excuse ourselves from until it’s time to flip the calendar and begin anew.
It’s the repeated pattern of behavior that hones our direction toward perfection. Since it’s NCAA March Madness time, let’s talk about Caitlin Clark of Iowa. Her dailyoff season training schedule consists of sprints and 300 shots at the hoop, 100 3 pointers, 100 mid-range and 100 free throws with a goal of 77%.
Truly astonishing, that is one high ass bar! (Btw, if you haven’t seen her play it is a must and it’s not too late. Even if you aren’t a b-ball fan check out her game.)
Practice makes perfect!
Since most of us are not elite athletes, what is realistic for our average selves?
Repetition, Repetition, Repetition!
If we can create nearly unbreakable patterns of poor behavior, then surely, we can create nearly unbreakable patterns of positive behavior!
When I was in college, I could not get out of school fast enough. Clearly, evident in the picture below, me pictured on the left in bare feet poised to get the hell out of there fast! (Thanks Wendy L. for pulling it from the archives.)
photo by: Pat di Gregorio
I busted my average-student ass and took 40 credit hours in 2 semesters to graduate with my class and be done with it. What is the one thing that sticks out most from those days, you ask?
Our commencement speaker, W. Clement Stone. Don’t let the picture fool you! I was listening!!
A self-made entrepreneur, and philanthropist with a notable mustache, he spoke of PMA – Positive Mental Attitudes as a fundamental component of success and pounded his fist on the podium each time he emphasized “Repetition, Repetition, Repetition,” in reference to creating or changing a pattern of behavior.
“Every person has the potential ability to achieve it, they just won’t pay the price to achieve it.”
So, what is the price?
Discipline, fortitude, commitment? He believes wholeheartedly that the subconscious and conscious mind have the power to achieve great things with focus, determination and Repetition, Repetition, Repetition.
So why is it so hard to break bad patterns in favor of good?
Is it simply a function of thought process and changing the pattern of behavior? I can only answer these questions for me, but hands down, my fear of failure single handedly motivated my choices through life dating back to my lack luster path as a struggling student.
I wasn’t worried about failing per se, rather quitting or giving up. When I left college on the heels of my senior year success, I had the proof in my hand. Not the hard-fought diploma but the hard-fought discipline, fortitude and determination that brought me to the finish line.
Since then, I have carried that win forward in all of my future endeavors. Not the win itself, but the pattern of behavior that lead me there. It was a pattern I repeated at every avenue of challenge, opportunity, struggle, or mystery.
I knew if I could manage ‘that’ then surely, I can manage ‘this.’
To this day, if conversation is moving in that direction, I will say it with the same vigor whilst pounding my fist on the counter, “Repetition, Repetition, Repetition.”
Thank you, W. Clement Stone, for leaving an indelible mark on my young impressionable self. Your words continue to serve me well.
After sitting on my unpublished website for almost 2 years with a folder of random writing, I saw its purpose exclusively to promote my forthcoming memoir, Sailing Naked. When I finally launched it and hit ‘publish’ on my first blog post, What the ‘F’ is Wrong with People? I hoped it would bring traffic and exposure to my book. My entrepreneurial spirit in sales and marketing put to good use, I thought.
My ambition and direction with this blog found its way more by accident than intention.
I write from and through my own personal experiences as well as things I bump into along the way. My perspective is not derived from a formal education rather the school of trials, tribulations, adversity and the angst, anxiety and depression that ensued in their wake.
I cringe each time I hit ‘publish’ knowing I am exposing more of me to all of you but publish I do.
I see the option to sink or swim in life as a choice while fully knowing others don’t have the ability to or chose not to. If my life lessons are akin to the burn of a Hot Stove then wallowing in my scars is a choice I avert with intention.
In my youth, I scaled mountains of adversity long before most of my friends knew what adversity meant. It affirmed the resilience and perseverance exhibited by my grandparents and showed me how to grow from the challenges.
While I had my share of depressive times, my darkest days appeared in the years (teens, 20’s and into my 30’s) long struggle with my sexuality (gulp, yep, I just said that, Publicly).
I suppressed much of it in an effort to be normal but felt mortified, ashamed and embarrassed to not be like everyone else. I had boyfriends, fell in love and hoped to marry to mask and repress who I knew myself to be.
By the time I was 30, I had stood up in 10 of my friends’ weddings and found a depression I didn’t know could exist in me. I was single, petrified of coming out, of crossing the line, of accepting who I was.
After suppressing it for so many years, I couldn’t carry the weight anymore, and the darkness consumed me. It took me three more years to find the courage.
One friend, a constant through my 20’s and beyond, we’ll call her AB, was there.
Always there.
She asked the hard questions and said the hard things. She didn’t judge me, rather encouraged me to find me, and supported my future’s path which eventually, years later, enabled me to embrace who I was.
While the depression waned, outside of the obscurity that living in Chicago provided, the shame and embarrassment lived through my 30’s and 40’s.
Fortunately, today I don’t give a fuck so owning my space gives me pride. I’ve found patience and gratitude. Being frank and direct is my way. Objectivity, positivity, and optimism flow like rhythms of my favorite song, and wallowing in things I can’t control along with regret are things of the past.
Why does all of that matter?
Because what I didn’t see coming through all of this was the support, feedback, resonance, validation, and acceptance that has resulted. Hearing from others about their personal experiences, enables me to persist and step out of my comfort zone with my writing by exposing things I’ve previously hidden.
It may have even saved a life.
With permission, here is a condensed excerpt of what someone wrote to me,
“This past year has truly been the toughest… the deepest depression, anxiety, no sleep. I finally called my doctor and asked for help and told my spouse…. In January, I pulled up your latest blog about suicide, which hit me so very hard. Since I have read your blog, there has been something poking and tugging at me… I didn’t want to be another person you wrote about… You both have made an amazing impact on me. THANK YOU. If I am struggling, I will say something.”
A timely New York Times article hit my in box with some surprising stats, Suicide Science, written by Ellen Barry, published 2/21/24. Excerpts below:
When an attempt fails, ‘these folks generally survive and go on to get past these thoughts, go on to live happy, full lives,’ said Dr. Paul Nestadt, a suicide researcher at Johns Hopkins.”
This isn’t about me or my blog, this is about the importance of vulnerability, bravery, connection, communication, compassion, and empathy through shared struggles and challenges where hope and the desire for positive outcomes CAN prevail.
It is a long overdue time to say the hard things. Speak your truth! Bear the benefits and the consequences because somebody needs you now!
This may not be for everyone and that’s okay, otherwise if it is, shine your bright light where the darkness lives.
There is nothing quite so troublesome as the negativity that surrounds the pessimist. Like the Peanuts character, ‘Pig-Pen’ who leaves a dark cloud of dust on every bright and shiny surface it confronts.
It must take enormous effort to spot the smallest random cloud on the perfectly beautiful sunny day or the rogue wave on the perfectly beautiful calm sea or throw a dart so high it bursts your bubble mid-flight or…
You get the idea.
100% perfection is 100% impossible so why scrutinize the most minute, irrelevant detail as if your perfect latte was not the proper temperature?
It must be such a burden to constantly carry the weight of the pessimist, lurking and waiting to trounce on the best meal, perfect date, or the most idyllic creation or experience.
There is nothing more unnerving than being shadowed by the ‘it was great, but,’ person. Any ‘but’ that follows a positive statement should be banned from the English language! No Buts about it!!
What the ‘F’ people?
Where is the light at the end of the tunnel, the glass that’s half full, the silver lining glistening brightly, the glimmer of hope we find in despair, or the tomorrow is a new day attitude?
Winston Churchill said, “The optimist sees opportunity in every difficulty and the pessimist sees difficulty in every opportunity.”
If we face difficulty with abrupt rejection and pessimism, how does one take their next step in life? Most of life’s greatest accomplishments share a foundation rooted in difficulty, despair, challenge, and often face insurmountable odds.
Sign me up! Perseverance and resilience solely exist by virtue of all the above.
Conceiving, writing and finding a publisher for my manuscript Sailing Naked, has been one of the greatest time tested challenges of my life because of the duration from start to finish it has taken, and I’m not even there yet!
Ten years!
Imagine how many times in 10 years I could have thrown in the towel, conceded defeat, or fell on my sword.
Pessimism is nearly exclusively detrimental to the pessimist because of the vise like grip it holds over their future potential and individual growth, an unknown we will never see or realize in them.
No doubt, those around the pessimist suffer too being pulled into the quagmire of doubt and negativity, but like the ‘paper’ smothering the ‘rock,’ optimism prevails.
Our mindsets singlehandedly determine our perspectives, minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day and year by year. So much of our own mental health is conceived through the lens with which we approach the world.
Imagine if the pessimist saw the light at the end of the tunnel or the glass half full. Not only would their world shine brightly, but the dust cloud they leave in their wake would disperse. How do you see the world?
Partly sunny or mostly cloudy? Be the optimist that meets the pessimist and shines on their parade.
Maybe I’ll think about that and get back to you later.
We drive instead of walk because it’s faster. We eat fast food instead of cook because it’s easier. We laze around instead of being productive because well, we can get to that tomorrow. Procrastination is our annoying friend slumped over on the couch with the remote in her hand.
“Can you please change the channel, this show sucks?”
Procrastination is a high hurdle to jump. Why now when we can do something later?
If that strategy magically willed away what we needed to do, then the time spent avoiding the inescapable is a viable investment of our energy. Sadly, spending time in its wake does not make one feel good about themselves.
Why waste any additional amount of time than the task takes in a big black cloud of dread that makes us feel shitty? Because well, we can get to that tomorrow.
Procrastination is conscious and deliberate.
It isn’t something we forgot to do or overlook, rather methodically and strategically avoid much to our own detriments. Often, it seems, the cumulative time spent in avoidance surpasses the amount of time the task might take.
Procrastination is a monumental waste of time in a life where time, (tick, tick, tick), is our most coveted commodity. It is a distraction, an energy suck, a mental destination where we wallow and make excuses for our lazy ass selves. The negative energy it produces can more broadly impact how we feel about ourselves even outside of the task(s) exacerbating anxiety and depression.
Imagine what 1-2 or 5 more hours a week of free time derived from accomplishment, productivity, accountability and proactivity might do to our collective spirits. Imagine the positive energy that thrives in that result.
Are we innately procrastinators or is it a learned pattern of behavior?
I don’t know, I’ll think about that and get back to you later.
My professional life single handedly thwarted my early life of procrastination. The consequences of succumbing to its grips were so severe it melted away like ice in the desert heat never to return. The risk of losing my house or business left no room for giving in to its life sucking grip.
Now that I have more time on my hands, procrastination rears its ugly ass head on occasion. Mostly things I loathe but must do. Even my life-lesson-loving self knows better but gets stuck in the mire of the weeds and drudges through the black cloud of dread every now and then.
So why not do today that which can wait until tomorrow? Spare yourself the agony of stepping in the swamp and running from alligators. Surely there is a 7 step program geared for the chronic procrastinator.
Hands down, being a ski instructor is the most gratifying work I have done in the 45ish working years of my life. My professional life paid my bills and supported the lives of my small staff but seemed more of a means to an end.
I enjoyed and was even fulfilled in both of my careers as an insurance broker and small biz owner. Sales is my niche, and getting people to buy from me was my strategy. It built 2 successful businesses.
When I left Chicago and returned to Michigan, I knew if I didn’t do something regularly that got me outside in the winter, the walls surrounding me would crumble. I skied most of my life and was on the ski team in high school, so well, here I am.
Despite freezing my ass off at times or sweating through layers of clothes on others, I FRICKIN LOVE IT! The rare frostbite on my nose (2 times), being drenched from the rain or pounded by a blizzard (too many times to count), is all in a day’s work.
I have encountered -25 degrees Fahrenheit, cowered in 30 mph winds strong enough to blow you back up the hill and basked in the beauty of the rare winter sun.
Northern Michigan winter weather runs the gamut.
There are times when I am so cold, I can’t take my ski boots off, or think, or formulate words, and yet we who love what we do, endure and persevere because WE FRICKIN LOVE IT!
I have wiped tears and green boogers and gotten adults out of their heads and onto their skis. On the busiest days, I teach 7 hours of private lessons with a short 20ish minute break for a few bites of food, a warm-up and the bathroom.
I try not to drink too many fluids because the bathroom is an elusive warm place one can only dream about, and yet we who love what we do, endure and persevere because WE FRICKIN LOVE IT!
Why succumb to such absurdity, you ask?
Because the experience changed my life. I suppose if you share a similar passion for your endeavors a familiar result will occur, but I haven’t found it. Writing is close, but the gratification is delayed and sporadic.
Mostly, I teach children, 75-80% of the time and the remaining lessons are adults fine tuning skills or embracing a new sport for the first time.
The kids are so moldable and eager to have fun, they thrive quickly. The magic hula hoop, snow fairy’s cave, snow fairy’s dust, beads, glades, and Petoskey stones have all served me well. Powder penguins, box bunnies, turning turtles, and edging eagles find their way into the teaching fundamentals.
I ski with my favorite littles multiple times a season for consecutive seasons. It’s so gratifying to watch them grow and improve.
The adults range in skill and age. I am always impressed by their collective fortitude and willingness to overcome fears – heights, chairlifts, crazies straight lining down the hill, or just stepping out of their comfort zone.
One experience left an indelible impression that I will never forget. I was so humbled; tears found their way down my cheeks.
In February of 2021 I spent a week with 2 amazing people that exhibited such humility. Grace, we will call her, and her husband skied at Boyne Highlands (now The Highlands at Harbor Springs) for 25 years until she developed progressive dementia.
Taught to ski by a Highlands legend, BJ who passed away suddenly 5 yrs prior, she took lessons each season and developed a lasting and enduring friendship with he and his wife, Annie.
According to Grace’s husband, on one of her more lucid days she proclaimed the desire to ski again. They made the 10 hour drive from their home to spend a week skiing and I was the lucky chosen one.
Grace was 73 years old and skied proficiently for the better part of her life. We spent 2 hours a day for 5 days together. Our lessons were from 11-1 (not a standard booking window) to accommodate the time her husband needed to get her ready; awake, fed and dressed for skiing took 2 hours each morning. He sacrificed his time on the slopes to ensure she could have this moment.
We went back to square one.
For 5 days, each time we stepped on the snow it was as if it was her first time. To load the moving carpet (conveyor belt designed for uphill transport), I took off my skis, locked my arm in hers to maintain her balance, and walked beside her while she rode, not standard protocol.
As we made our way, she needed reassurance about how we would get to the top, how to exit, and which direction we should turn. From one ride to the next she didn’t remember.
Her unwavering determination and commitment to persevere as well as her husband’s selfless devotion left me virtually inconsolable the first day.
Her muscle memory, understanding of the moving carpet, ability to make a wedge, turn, or even keep her balance were all things she relearned every single time we went up and down the hill.
It is truly the most humbling experience of my life. Her husband warned me from one day to the next, she may not return, but she did each day with the full desire to do it again.
I am grateful to have shared that time with her and to witness the patient selflessness of her husband. It was truly remarkable. I haven’t seen them sense then, but hope Grace is ripping down the hill in her dreams.
Humility is a powerful gift.
Honoring Grace, next time you feel the urge to complain, inhale deeply and find gratitude. It is quite humbling.
This is why I succumb to such absurdity. I endure the cold and persevere for everyone that crosses my path, especially people like Grace because I FRICKIN LOVE IT.
This post will be as difficult to read as it has been to write but we must prevail in the name of support for those struggling with their own mental health.
Please don’t shy away.
I recently compiled a list so troubling that I am having difficulty sleeping.
The recent loss of an acquaintance to suicide led me down this path. A path that ends with abrupt devastation.
On the outside, this person seemingly had everything. She was smart, savvy, humble and worthy. She was a spouse, mother, grandmother, friend, mentor, employer, and community advocate.
We breathed the same air. We walked in common space. We shared cheerful words. We bonded over barbells and burpees. We exchanged smiles and contact information. We looked down the same road but saw its end at a different intersection.
Sadly, what appeared on the outside is not what lived on the inside.
Where are the signs? How do we find them? What can we do?
I always say, “Perception is reality.” Is it in the realm of suicide?
When we lose someone famous, we gasp in despair while scratching our heads wondering why someone who couldn’t possibly want for anything, die at their own hand.
Clearly, perception is not reality when the turmoil on the inside can be disguised by accolades, fame, the perfect family, the perfect career, beautiful smiles, and warm hellos. The projection of normalcy keeps us at a distance that we can’t see or perceive.
How can we navigate the quagmire to extend a lifeline, offer support or help?
My beautiful friend was so close and yet so far.
She joins 6 other friends or family that I know personally who seemed to ‘have it all’ but could no longer face their internal torment. Imagine the vast magnitude of darkness, anguish and despair so broad and unmanageable that it extinguishes such brilliant lightness in all of them.
Devastating.
Why can’t we see such dark despair on the outside when it pervades so powerfully on the inside?
Suicide prevention must be congruent with mental wellness and human connection. As our society continues to isolate itself in the name of absolutes, we exacerbate the turmoil and disconnect from those who feel different or troubled or wounded or lacking in some perceived way by the global masses.
988 The Suicide and Crisis Lifeline (formerly The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline), receives over 2 million calls a year. It’s difficult for me to quantify that number. Imagine how many struggling souls don’t make that call.
Everyone should be entitled to be free of the encumberments of judgement and angst and the perceived isolation that it generates. If we didn’t stigmatize depression or other mental crisis’s just maybe the 7 people in my life would be living and breathing today.
It troubles me greatly when I hear others lament about suicide as thoughtless and selfish or short sighted and feeble, that they didn’t try hard enough to be happy or hopeful.
We all need to be accountable to those around us by embracing their individuality and engaging in supportive wellness, not only for the others in our lives but for ourselves.
Loss survivors of suicide live in their own torment. In the cross hairs of shame, guilt, grief, sorrow, helplessness, and an insurmountable anguish. The list of questions we carry will never be answered and the abrupt loss remains with us indefinitely.
It changed me forever. Now I see things others don’t and say things they shy from.
I don’t have the answers, I live in the wake of the ship as it sinks to the bottom grasping for reasons why it sank in the first place. If only there was a telling sign or symbol that could indicate crisis and distress alerting those close enough to make a difference.
I imagine compassion, courtesy, kindness, empathy, understanding, inclusion, acceptance, expression, forgiveness, vulnerability, and trust, just might be the olive branch, the extension of peace, the bridge that narrows the gap, the love and connection that heals and ultimately suffocates the demons.
They are all cherished souls whose lives we need. Suicide may be closer than you think, we must band together to suffocate the demons.
BeThe1To.com outlines 5 steps we can all take if we encounter someone who may be suicidal.
You just might save a life.
#BeThe1To Ask, Be There, Keep Them Safe, Help Them Connect, Follow Up.
I left my first job out of college because it lacked inspiration and stimulation. Even though it provided tools enabling my future success, finding creative ways to push in my chair at the end of the day left me dizzy and bored.
I spent my entire life proceeding that moment preparing for exactly what I had yet felt lackadaisical and full of dread. Mediocrity feeds monotony, but moving past it requires trepid steps, risk and a possibility of failure.
Is it safer to be bored by the dull and tedious?
Is the pie in the sky there for the taking or merely a distraction leaving us constantly grasping for something just out of reach?
Do we persist in the mundane because we must or because we don’t see a choice?
I walked both ends of that tight rope. I thrive in routine and structure as long as it is stimulating, but wheels spinning in the same direction lack vision and creativity and leave me feeling ho hum and weary.
Why do we continue to spin on the hamster wheel when our path’s destiny is fully within reach and at our discretion? Is it easier to stop short of the finish line and settle in ho hum-dom?
I can only answer those questions for me, and the fear of stagnation is my motivation. Slime accumulates on still water because it’s not flowing. If we flow, we move down stream eventually making our way to bigger waters.
Fortunately, passing time delivers light to many things. It is the reflecting pool where hindsight and foresight come together in harmonious balance.
If the tools from our past mold and shape our futures, then monotony is a viable contributor by shedding light on what we don’t want. I left my job and found my career solely because I knew what I didn’t want. It defined what I wanted in a clear and tangible manner and that place in time was not it.
Unless you are a farmer, you may prefer to smell the roses rather than the cow pies in the pasture, but you only know that because you have smelled both.
As I often say, ‘We are where we are because of where we have been. We can’t push water back up stream to make it come down differently.’ The past, present and future shape our in-trepid best selves to guide and direct our futures.
Monotony and stimulation coexist together and can’t stand independently because you only know one feeling by virtue of its opposition. I know how to thrive exclusively because I have floundered.
As with much of my way of thinking, time has provided clarity and the ability to reconcile my behaviors with their outcomes, narrowing the gap between what works and what doesn’t. I am humbled and grateful to grant it worthy space and attention.
My brother likes to say, “If it were easy, everyone would be doing it.” Flounder in the monotony of the mundane so you can thrive in the exhilaration of stimulation. Do it because not everyone is!
In my early life, believing I could do anything I set my mind to, was akin to understanding a foreign language. No hablo ingles! Not only was I incapable of conceptualizing that, I was disconnected from the idea that my life and its future was within reach or within my control.
As a young High Schooler, I had a strong overwhelming sense of my imminent and immediate demise. My death anxiety did not hover over me like a cloud, rather, it loomed and lingered around my excitement.
In anticipation of life’s great accomplishments, getting my driver’s license, graduating from high school or going to college I faced a real and legitimate fear of death. I couldn’t visualize my death or the potential action which may cause it, I just knew I would die before I could relish in the pride of my accomplishment.
Those thoughts did not have a voice but thrived in silence.
Truly believing I could do anything I set my mind to took years to develop. It required a fervent conviction that surfaced only after seemingly endless tribulations I believed were out of my control and left me at the starting gate long after the race had begun.
There are several notable steps that reframed my perspective and changed my attitude. Unfortunately, I couldn’t see them coming when they arrived, but I undoubtedly found them after they left thanks to my lifelong friend Hindsight.
Surprisingly negligible and simple, I slowly started accomplishing things I feared I couldn’t and began collecting small successes. This pattern of accomplishment enabled room for confidence and pride while illuminating what I did to get there.
The small successes showed me what confidence felt and looked like in a time in my life when I didn’t even know what it was.
It’s impossible to teach someone how to be confident and proud, they are both innately inherent components of the process of success and accomplishment. Feelings, outcomes and results. We do because we are.
That’s why we feel shitty when we fail. It sucks! Even if failing eventually enables success, the feeling in the moment is deflating and defeating.
Fortunately, despite my self-imposed angst, I eventually started to believe in myself. The shift in mindset highlighted the connection between positive efforts and actions with positive results and outcomes and laid the foundation for future accomplishments.
It single handedly extinguished my premature and unwarranted fear of dying.
Again and again and again in my life, this pattern of thought has delivered everything I set my mind to. I knew if I didn’t quit or give up, I would get there. Forward, backward, up, down, straight or winding, it didn’t matter.
With persistence the result was delivered as ordered.
The power of believing I can do anything I set my mind to created the limitless belief exemplified by the resilience and perseverance my Hungarian grandparents so humbly illustrated. They had so much more on the line than I ever have or will ever dream to have. I won’t let them down.
Every day I strive to reach higher than I did the day before even if what I want is beyond my grasp. If I don’t, how can I do better tomorrow than I did today? Believing I can do anything I set my mind to supports endless possibilities and endless outcomes.
If that was the measured duration of time it takes for a car to reach a top speed, your vehicle would be an obsolete pile of rusted dust sitting in a junk yard.
Fortunately, with all the ‘Cares,’ carelessly, carefreely and carefully covered, I’ve managed to avoid rusting in a junk yard.
In 60 years, there are nearly 2 billion seconds, 31,556,926 minutes, 525,960 hours, and 21,915 days for which to have cared.
That’s a lot of frickin time.
Generally, birthdays have never really been a big thing for me. I don’t like being the center of attention.
Ironic, isn’t it?
As I lap the sun for the 60th time it seems surreal to reflect on the years of passed time. I have often said to my friends with kids, their children are the barometer of their own age since they can see and feel their age through their kids’ age.
Kid-less, my life feels like, Holy shit, how did I get here so fast?
Let’s see, shall we?
Random facts in 6 decades of life:
I’ve lived in 3 countries, 14 different cities with 20 addresses, 7 were in Chicago.
I attended 10 different schools – K through College, 7 preceded high school.
I spent 2 years as a 3rd grader.
I took 40 credit hours my senior year of college to avoid being a 5th year senior.
I’ve had 13 jobs and 2 careers.
I’ve loved 7 dogs, 2 parakeets and a bowl full of gold fish.
After driving the infamous ‘Blaze’ in high school, I’ve owned 4 Chevy Blazers.
Knowing the location of bathrooms in every place I shop.
Hearing my mother’s tone and pitch in my voice.
Getting married.
Not giving a shit.
Loving asparagus.
Wrinkles.
The dreaded colonoscopy.
Blood pressure medication.
Plucking rouge hairs from my chin.
Plucking rouge hairs from my nose that seem to be growing to my chin.
Not feeling the need to bathe every day.
Feeling relaxed and slightly more patient.
Being publicly vulnerable.
Doing a cartwheel on the beach on my birthday!
Writing this blog!
In the nearly 2 billion seconds that I’ve breathed air on this plant, I am grateful to all who have shared in my 60 laps around the sun. I am where I am because of where I’ve been and with whom I have been there. All in!
Every second has influenced and guided me to this precise place. Foibles and all, this path was the intended journey.
Time to lay more bricks. Ready or not, here I come.
Literally, passed away peacefully on December 3, 2023 as a welcomed and long overdue gift to its number one critic. An adverb born to the English language from its literal origin, Literally regarded itself as an emphasis to facts in intelligent conversation.
Before arriving in great excess in daily conversations as a filler word, Literally struggled for years working its way into the minds of the masses as slang in the English language lurking around every corner of conversation patiently waiting to trounce on a perfect and proper figurative sentence.
After diligent and focused work, Literally made a name for itself literally everywhere from random conversations with friends and family to life on the big screen in news broadcasts, TV shows and blockbuster movies.
Best known for standing out in crowd in both figurative and factual statements, Literally shared the stage while stealing the limelight from the likes of Actually and Totally. Literally, left an indelible mark on our language. It was one hell of a life lived.
Literally expressed gratitude to Actually and Totally, thanking them for assisting in their contribution to the English language and carving out a viable place for Literally to steel the stage.
Before Literally fell ill, it was seen signing autographs literally everywhere.
Photo by Willian Justen de Vasconcellos on Pexels.com
Whispered quietly in the waning moments of life, Literally expressed thanks to literally everyone for bringing such bright and vibrant life into being, and appreciated the mention in every sentence to which it was ever referred.
Literally is grateful for its legacy, the hashtags, mentions, and chronic misuse.
Literally apologized for the undue duress it may have caused the literal thinker and hoped we can resume normal conversation and spare the literal thinker the constant reminder of their literalness.
Literally, was surrounded by those regaling in its peaceful passing, Actually and Totally, among them. They shared equal dread for the contribution Literally made to the demise of proper, common conversation while grateful to welcome the future with hope for a day free from Literally imposing itself everywhere.
Literally, is survived by its siblings Actually and Totally, cousins Um, and Like, as well as its equally annoying step brother, Right?, formally known as Right.
At the request of Literally, in lieu of donations or flowers, an indefinite moratorium will be imposed effective in the new year for literally everyone.
I learned in my adult life that I am a literal-visual thinker. It wasn’t until I googled the words that it quickly popped up in the pre-filled field. It lead me to a blog post that read as if it were describing me. Not until then did I know it was a real thing or that others struggled with it too.
Literal-visual thinkers process what is said based on the exact meaning of each word and then see it in pictures.
What?!?
Others don’t?
As a literal-visual thinker, I can’t hear ‘I want to blow my brains out,’ without seeing brain spatter everywhere. I shudder every time and need minutes to recover. There are times when I anticipate what’s coming and close my eyes and cover my ears to avert the suffering.
If there is a scale, I fall in the 80-85% range. Not because I’m not always 100% literal, rather I have adjusted to repeated idioms, metaphors, humor, vagueness and have learned to recognize the nuances. I was surprised to learn literal thinking is associated with Autism or Asperger’s and exists on the spectrum.
I have never been more conscious of my literalness than when I am in the company of the masses who are ‘literally dying’ all around me, but rather, are very much alive and well.
We are drowning in ‘literallys.’ They lurk in the most unsuspecting sentences from the most unsuspecting sources.
Let us imagine for a moment, that the next time you say ‘literally’ to emphasize a figurative statement or even a fact, you get slapped in the face as an odd reflex perpetrated from your own hand, then perhaps you might cease with this nonsense.
Can’t you see Molly Shannon and Kate McKinnon in a SNL skit catching up over coffee and slapping themselves every time they say ‘literally?’
Curiously hilarious, I say!
In the seas of today’s language environment, you can’t enjoy a random conversation with family and friends or turn on the TV without hearing its annoying chronic misuse. It makes me shudder every time!
“It was literally 80 yesterday and today it’s 30.”
“That house was literally there a few hours ago and now it is literally gone.”
Those are two very clear and distinct facts that need not be re-emphasized as fact. Like ‘ums’ and ‘likes’ ‘literally’ has become a filler word.
Even more egregious is using it out of context. If you were ‘literally dying’ you would be gasping for your last breath! It is a distressing and tiresome reminder of the real struggles we literal thinkers face.
The inadvertent agony created by the non-literal masses coughing up ‘literally’ everywhere is a fate worse than the high-pitched screech of metal on metal. It’s akin to constantly reminding an empath that they are being overly sensitive.
Duh…
Partly sunny or mostly cloudy?!
Are not they the same? I get why water under the bridge is an important metaphor. We can’t push it back upstream to make it come down differently. Or why a glass half full is better than one half empty even though from a volume standpoint they are the same.
I process information from long drawn-out stories of mundaneness to analytical equations in the same manner. I connect dots and put things in order. It must be clear and sensical. It must lack implied details, inuendo and nuance.
Throw in a half dozen or so ‘literallys’ and I stop listening and start counting.
Tell me a joke? I get painfully uncomfortable whilst mustering a fake laugh or an eye roll. Say something that isn’t true because it is funny. I wince and cringe in agony. Present a ‘hypothetical’ and I begin spiraling in confusion.
“Wait, so you did tell your boss to fuck off or you didn’t.”
I am painfully gullible.
Clarity, please. It is the only path I know.
There are endless examples. Fortunately, most fly under the radar and go unnoticed by those around me, especially if we don’t share the same roof. However, the more daily interactions I have with someone the harder it gets.
My mother recently had a malignant growth removed from the shin of her leg. The directions from the Doctor required her to clean it with bar soap once a day, Ivory, Dial, it didn’t matter.
Of course, I asked.
The next morning, “Mom, did it bother you to clean it?”
“No, I rubbed a bar of soap on it.” Gesturing with her hand toward her shin for added effect.
“Did that hurt? Maybe you shouldn’t rub a bar of soap over it and use a washcloth.”
Her innocent reply, “I didn’t! I used a washcloth! What do you think I am, stupid!?”
Concern and compassion with a dash of literal interpretation is a recipe perfectly formulated to look like an A-hole. Sadly, a place I find myself inadvertently landing too often.
Them, “I don’t like that restaurant, I don’t eat fried food.”
Me, “They don’t serve fried food.”
Them, “Well you know, when they sauté it in a pan.”
“That’s not fried food.” Me = A-hole.
You get the A-(w)hole idea.
My responses are not premeditated for A-hole conformity, but rather to my natural interpretation to the very statements being made. Like a train speeding down the track, I don’t see it coming until after it flattens me on the ground.
Fortunately, not all my literalness flattens me on the tracks. Years ago, I was on a plane headed to the islands for vacation and read an article in the airline magazine about the entrepreneur who developed the Big Ass Fan.
A bold ass name, I thought.
When we landed, the open-air airport had no A/C and I looked up and there it was… the biggest fan I had ever seen – A BIG ASS FAN. Thank you for living up to my literal expectations!
I am a planner and a doer, pragmatic and focused. Committed and loyal through the cloudiest of ends. Visually, it’s black and white, not gray. I see you standing over your boss’s desk telling her to fuck off. I contrive visual images of conversation details and when I can’t connect the dots, I interrupt with questions.
This annoys people. Some more than others.
The unaware may never skip a beat, on with the next anecdote of their tale, while others are clearly annoyed. As we near ‘The End’ if I don’t get it, I just can’t let it go. “Huh, what? I don’t understand.” Back to chapter one, we go.
I remember everything and expect that what is said is what will result. Say what you mean and mean what you say and don’t ask me a question you really prefer I don’t answer. I am painfully direct and frank. I call it like I see it. To the point, no mincing words.
This annoys people too. Some more than others.
People who are close to me expect and appreciate this from me. No sugar coating, just a big bitter pill to swallow with no water to wash it down.
Cough, cough… ok.
To the outsider, I imagine this reads like a demanding bitch who isn’t worthy of friends and conversation. If that’s your thought, we agree.
If you are literal like me, painstakingly connecting dots, visualizing stories with images, responding directly and frankly, it can be a distressing way to live, often being misunderstood. I am quite the opposite of a demanding bitch, and struggle with the consequences of my literalness regularly.
Fully understanding this about my nature gives me clarity and a better understanding of my communication style but doesn’t necessarily help those around me.
Sadly, being misunderstood is a literal thinker’s way of life and being reminded of it regularly is excruciating.
Thank you
Why should you care, and how might you help, you ask?
Next time you are ‘literally dying’ or need to say literally five times in each sentence, first, make sure you don’t slap yourself in the face, then pause for some brief reflection and recognize the inadvertent agony you may be causing us literal thinkers. It just might curtail your flagrant behavior.
When you think of the commonalities you share with another person, what comes to mind? Most likely, things like interests, hobbies and passions.
Can we bridge the gap in areas of emotional distress? Why can’t we talk about death or tragedy without people feeling sorry for us or reluctant to welcome a difficult conversation?
Common tragedies bring people together from a sense of knowing. Compassion, empathy and patience are automatic.
The more we talk, the more we gather, the more we grow.
I originally wrote this in the summer of 2021 after lunch with two former high school classmates. I was so troubled and moved by their shared tragedy, I went home to write this for them.
Sadly, in the time since that day, there are other friends who, tragically and with great despair, have reluctantly joined the club.
This is for anyone who has lost a child.
I recently shared a meal with some high school mates among whom time and distance has put a few decades of space between. Life happens and so does death. How did we move from the bleachers of our high school gym to a table in a restaurant discussing the death of each of their sons?
Catching up on our years since takes a vastly different direction when one has lost a child. I only know this from afar because not only have I never lost a child, I do not have one to lose. In the reminiscent realm of these gatherings, ‘yea, me too’ is not something one might consider hoping to share.
I do know death intimately, though. We are old acquaintances. I have felt the air sucking deflation of every ounce of purpose and faith. When I met death, disguised as hope and a glimmering light, it felt like falling off a cliff waiting for the bone crushing end that continued in perpetuity.
A bone crushing crash that never ends. Yes, can you imagine?
This is a path where second guessing intersects why me. A winding path full of questions that offer no answers and ends in a place where the entrance to the club requires a secret handshake.
They know the nature of fragility. They met at a dead end road.
They remain in turmoil while they stumble towards peace. They seem to rationalize the absence but not the loss.
How does one even reconcile the loss of a child?
How does one not say, ‘God should have taken me?’
They have asked those questions but find no answers. They choose to live despite them. They know time fleets, wanes and is a gift wrapped in a constantly unraveling bow.
As an empathetic spectator, it moved me to witness the grace with which they each shared their grief and pain, and ultimate compassion for the other’s loss. A sense of knowing that doesn’t emerge until you walk in another’s shoes.
Interestingly, they both attended the Catholic elementary school together but admittedly struggled finding solace in their faith. I imagine a loss so great cannot be reconciled in any form intended to comfort.
It is there that we break bread with dead people. Where shared tragedy bridges decades long gaps instantly exchanging what truly matters, for what truly does not. Tomorrow isn’t what it will be without yesterday. Forward our only choice.
My old acquaintance taught me this, and apparently, it taught my friends the same.
Perhaps, this club is not for everyone. It requires great strength, resilience and fortitude to enter and stay, but true unwavering perseverance to leave, to seek and find peace, to hope and breathe again, and ultimately, to find the parachute’s cord before the bone crushing end.
If you know someone who has lost a child, meet them at the dead end road. Welcome a difficult conversation. Check in, be present, listen and support.
When I wrote my first blog post ‘What the ‘F’ is Wrong with People?’, it was in the aftermath of one of our country’s mass shootings. I was doing the dishes and became so distraught that I found a pen and a piece of paper to release my worried mind. I had no intention of conceiving a series around it.
Can you imagine having enough material for a blog series titled, ‘What the ‘F’ is Wrong with People?’?
Sadly, in our culture of late, it’s the gift that keeps on giving. I couldn’t possibly speculate the source of the malicious angst and venom that some people feel free to spew relentlessly but there is a definitive shift in how we treat each other.
Recently, I had a troubling conversation with a friend who works in education. She has encountered something so distressing that she has taken medical leave and is considering stepping aside from her career for her last two years as an educator.
Really?!?! Are you frickin kidding me? This is what we do to people?
What can you imagine is so egregious that it might result in such an outcome? What could push someone to the brink who has spent her career in education as a principal, teacher, mentor, and tutor?
She has two master’s degrees in education: one in literacy as a reading specialist and the other in administration. She has an endorsement to teach English as a second language and currently works in the private sector educating educators. Need I go on?
These are not children on a playground (an equally hideous ritual) but grown frickin adults! How does a bully move through their career and remain in a position of authority?
My dear troubled friend is on leave in support of her mental health. This disturbs me so greatly, especially because she is on the other side of the country out of my supportive reach. Ultimately, if she steps away, the bully wins and the students lose. Or do they?
Let’s peel this back for a moment, shall we?
Bullies are weak, insecure, narcissistic a-holes that find their odd twisted insidious power belittling, demeaning, undermining, berating, shaming, and embarrassing others to feel superior. Did I overlook anything?
Their moral void so vast, the victims are cast aside at every corner.
Eleanor Roosevelt said, “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” Does that mean we give bullies consent, or do they prey on those who are sensitive, empathetic, compassionate, and emotionally curious? The precise type of person we want to educate our children!!
Sadly, by nature, educators’ gifts of emotional curiosity, concern and care are fodder for bullies.
Their gifts = their detriments.
Can’t we have a 12 step program for the bullying narcissistic a-holes of the world? Or perhaps, there is a small plot of land in Siberia suitable for the venom oozing a-holes.
Typically, I do not wish ill of others, even the a-holes of the world because their due shall come, but when the circumstance extenuates beyond the realm of reason it is time for drastic measures.
Since Siberia is likely off the table, we all need to stand in support of the next victim as the bully rounds the corner. Help them regain their power and not concede to inferiority. Their gifts should not be to their detriment but rather to their, and everyone else’s, benefit.
My friend may step aside, she may not. Hopefully, either way she gets her power back and protects her mental health. If she does step away, she leaves an accomplished and successful career in the name of her wellbeing a mere two years early.
Her legacy is worthy. Time to share her gifts where she can shine.
I was recently graced with the presence of my all-time besties from college. For those of you that don’t know me personally, that is 41 years of our collective best and worst selves settled into the north side of middle age-dom.
We have come up together. We spent our last years as teenagers together. We embraced our independence and took trepid naïve steps toward adulthood together. We morphed into responsible people, transitioning our college life from books, beers and boredom to Chicago, shit jobs and cool apartments.
Together we floundered and prospered. We were bold yet ambivalent, independent yet crazily dependent, and happy yet desperate. We ambled aimlessly and with intent. We were complacent and determined. We shared endless pleasures and a notable amount of pain. We felt the joy of hope and the agony of despair.
We laughed until we peed our pants and cried until we couldn’t shed another tear. We shared the warmth of love and coolness of contention, for there exists no greater comfort or pain than with someone who knows your greatest vulnerabilities.
We discovered our careers and our passions together. We stood in each other’s weddings as we married. We welcomed mini versions of ourselves into the confines of our friendship. We changed diapers, wiped tears and shoved the mini-mes off to college and beyond. We buried our parents.
Our early years together were the first real test of balance. We rode the seesaw up and down while eventually empowering each other to find the middle. These are people whose influence has greatly shaped my life and every step I take forward. I am where I am with and because of them.
After years as roommates, and decades in the same city, we are now in different parts of the country, so our time together is planned. Aside from the occasional one off we make a concerted effort to get together a few times a year. Is it fair to have expectations around these monumental visits?
Depends on which of us replies. Certainly, expectations are the breeding ground of disappointment, a no-win perspective masked in hope which seems to always land itself at the feet of disappointment. Sadly, we shared such a visit.
For me that visit was so detrimental that I stepped out of our friendship for a brief period of time. I didn’t draw a conscious line in the sand but as time passed it grew harder to reconcile my sadness and disappointment.
Life is too short to hold grudges, and I for one don’t allow room in mine for them but if a grudge’s twin is indifference, then I admittedly saddled that horse.
I’m not sure there is a worse way to feel about friendship than indifferent. It is quite the antithesis of how one should feel about their besties. I did not go down that road consciously but since hindsight is the reflecting pool of our misgivings, it is certainly where I double parked.
Fortunately, our friendship’s deep foundational roots endured their pruning. Erasing decades of unconditional love, guidance, empowerment, and congruency is a feat far greater than the reach of expectations or indifference.
When a sailboat capsizes the keel rights the boat. We continue to grow and mature as a collective unit and remain afloat.
We are the keel of each other’s boat. Stay the course!
Our independence is by virtue of our continued dependence on each other. Up, down and balanced harmoniously together forever.
At what age do we really start thinking for ourselves, making plans, setting goals and believing those outcomes are ours to achieve? If it is as simple as shifting our mindset, when and how do we know to do so?
My Hungarian father and his parents’ sacrifices cast a brilliant light on what resilient and perseverance meant and the tenacity with which they approached survival and hope for a new day. They were worthy examples but as an adolescent how could I associate the direction I needed to take with that of people who left their lives behind for freedom.
Through their example, I grew to see my life as limitless. It was simultaneously encouraged by my parents, but how and when could I put it into action?
Reflecting on that now, to pinpoint a pivotal moment in time when the light went on, it was my senior year of high school on the basketball court.
Something changed, forever.
My coach towered over my 5’9” lanky body and persisted in challenging me to a close jump shot through her outstretched arms. With absolutely no effort, she repeatedly swatted my shot away before it had any hope of success.
“Again,” she commanded, as my teammates watched, grateful not to be standing in my shoes while I continued to struggle.
“Again!”
After the fifth or sixth time, I muttered “I can’t.”
“What did you say?” She was as shocked by my response as I was by the tone of her question.
Gulp, “I can’t.”
Her next words changed my life.
“Don’t you ever say I can’t,” she screamed as she slammed the ball down on the court, promptly spun on her heels and returned to the locker room. Practice over.
I can still feel that feeling today. My humiliation was overshadowed by an inordinate sense that I needed to shift my mindset. Verbalizing my negative thoughts allowed me to quit, give up and stop trying.
One of many quotes from Eleanor Roosevelt that I love; “Nothing has ever been achieved by the person who says, ‘It can’t be done.’”
Think about it. Believing you can’t is a cop out, a way to avert failure, an excuse that enables quitters. It’s Superman’s kryptonite.
Combining ‘I can’t’ with any hope of accomplishing something we set our minds to are opposing forces. The up and down of the seesaw has no prospect of finding balance in the middle. I knew in that moment; I could talk myself into something just as easily as I could talk myself out of it.
It became a forever mindset granting me the time and space to believe in myself, to push beyond where comfort lived and to color outside the lines. With time and maturity, it developed my critical thinking skills and furthered my confidence and pride. Attributes that were earned and not given.
After that day, I knew the sky was the limit and my life was mine to live. Sink or swim, I had control. That afternoon on the basketball court was the last time I said or believed, “I can’t.”
For as long as I can remember I have used the ‘hot stove’ analogy when I make significant mistakes in my life. You only touch a hot stove once because your skin bubbles, it hurts like hell, and you swear at the top of your lungs. Point made. I won’t do that again!
Conversely, there are mistakes that simmer on the back burner not hot enough to scorch our consciousness into change. They exist just outside of the realm of accountability and persist in variations of the same underlying theme. A self-fulling prophecy that lands us right back in the misery of where we began.
Recognizing that being numb to the consequences of our mistakes or failuresisn’t a productive place to rest, we need to greet them with open arms and a willingness to effect change.
One small catch, how do we spot them a mile away barreling in our direction? Surely, there is a pattern in our behavior that is as clear as frickin day! “Hello, nice to see you again. Shall I trip you now or next time we meet?”
We don’t know what needs fixing until we do! Repeating the same mistake doesn’t teach us anything until it results in a different outcome. If we see mistakes as the seeds of our life lessons, then hydrating them is tantamount to overcoming them.
Many of the mistakes I made in my life brought about an abrupt change in my future behavior because of the writhing pain they created. If you touch a hot stove your next move isn’t jumping in the oven!
The one and done lessons are the easier ones to learn. Those that simmer on the back burner need our focus and attention. Many of the early choices in my life were in the name of self-protection and their misguided outcomes simmered until the pot went dry.
Time and maturity enabled me to be more objective with my approach and rationale of what self-protection should look or feel like and hurting those I loved was not it.
With time and reflection on my side, I learned those choices caused me and those around me more harm than good. Consciously choosing my path became the foundation for making productive decisions. A fork in the road doesn’t continue in the same direction for a reason. Pausing and anticipating the outcomes of going left or right became the starting point for positive outcomes.
Wrangling a definitive path that proceeds in a positive direction does not mean there won’t be bumps in the road. Ultimately, we need to believe that our actions and reactions are fully within our control. How we manage them, and their potential damage will dictate how we see our futures.
It is liberating to be accountable to the choices I make even when their outcomes don’t always work in my favor. Being accountable does not absolve me of poor decisions, rather it casts a luminous light on the outcomes. It is a proactive choice that balances the direction I take with its result. No excuses, no regrets.
We thrive or flounder in our own personal experiences and what we perceive them to represent to our benefit or detriment. Life is not meant to be lived infallibly but without doubt needs to be lived absent blame, excuses and most importantly, regret.
When I think of balance the first image that pops in my head is a seesaw at the playground when I was a child. Its fluid motion lands you at the top or bottom quite abruptly, or ever so carefully in perfect parallel with the earth and the sky. These actions are not independently exclusive, but rather together in harmony with the movement.
Up, down and balanced harmoniously together. Brilliant! The challenge is putting this into action. How do we realize balance in all things we do? I have learned to rationalize many things in my life and balance brings needed equilibrium into focus.
Mark Twain said, “What is joy without sorrow? What is success without failure? What is a win without a loss? What is health without illness? You have to experience each if you are to appreciate the other. There is always going to be suffering. It’s how you look at your suffering, how you deal with it, that will define you.” (Thank you, Deb H. for the Twain inspo.)
When you trip and fall down you don’t crawl on the ground indefinitely because that is where you landed. You leap to your feet, look around to make sure no one saw you fall, then you move about as if nothing happened. Balance delivers light in the dark. It gets you back on your feet! It is capable of offsetting spite, revenge, anger, and blame by empowering forgiveness, acceptance, appreciation, accountability, and gratitude.
If we balance negative with positive, the seesaw lands in the middle. Painful lessons may appear as more evident and obvious because they are not the hopeful outcome. Conversely, joyous lessons can slip under the radar because they are our expectation.
If joy eventually results from pain, then it washes over us like a revelation. If joy results from joy, it is often our expectation and lacks some of the revelationary qualities that joy from pain exhibits. They are both equally pertinent because if we distinguish the value and power in either lesson then growth prevails, and we find balance.
I have learned that painful lessons illuminate a path to a big ass gold framed mirror… Back so soon? Time for some self-reflection. Sometimes the mirror is foggy when I arrive, but as it clears, I can see the tools shining in the background poised for battle.
For us to thrive, balance needs to be in everything we do and everywhere we look. We can’t lose sight of the choice, the choice to balance joy with pain, good with bad, freedom with struggle, strength with weakness, gain with loss, right with wrong, compassion with abstinence, acceptance with rejection, empathy with apathy.
Balance is the calm in the storm.
It is not about choosing one direction over the other per se, it is about seeing the counter balance inherent in both directions. In the moment, it is hard to not see pain as pain but if the glass is half full then there is nothing negative that does not find its way to positive.
Ultimately, it is the harmonious fluid movement of the seesaw, up, down and balanced, that heals and empowers my choices and the direction they lead me.
If you have been a young child of divorce, you know the agonizing feeling of loss buried deeply under glimmering hope, wishful thinking and a blatant aversion to reality. Pretending, escaping and willing it away with every breath, longing for the return to normalcy are efforts in futility.
If you have been a young child of divorce lucky enough to be blessed with a second father, then you know the peace and joy that can emerge out such a devastating scenario. I am grateful that one of the most unfortunate situations in my young life grew to be one of the most fortunate.
As I say in nearly every post, I am where I am because of where I have been. As such and without doubt, my two fathers have been the most influential men in my life, albeit through vastly different examples.
Frank was a non-conformist Hungarian refugee who colored outside of the lines in every aspect of his life. He was sophisticated, worldly, cultured, artistic, philosophical, conversational, passionate, carefree, and wounded. He loved the Mamas and the Papas and Picasso, the Pacific Ocean and sailing.
He lived a minimalist laissez-faire life and believed rules were meant to be eradicated.
Frank was into vinyl records.
Bill was an Irish Catholic career military pilot who, before becoming a corporate pilot, retired after 28 years of service as a Lieutenant Colonel. He was disciplined, focused, strict, organized, loyal, humble, stoic, and soft spoken. He loved flying planes, fishing, skiing and tinkering in the garage or yard.
He believed rules were meant to be followed.
Bill was into encyclopedias.
By virtue of their differences, I am the best part of both. Frank, through his influence and struggles taught me resilience, perseverance and compassion. How to be aware and mindful, how to overcome adversity, what inclusion looks like and why it matters. We share the same passions for music, art, the ocean and sailing.
Bill, through his regimented influence and example taught me discipline, order, organization, humility, and loyalty. His favorite saying… ‘it’s water under the bridge,’ through which I learned not to hold a grudge, or wallow in things I couldn’t control. After hearing it so much, it got me thinking why I couldn’t push it back up stream to make it come down differently, something I reference to this day. I ski because of him. I teach skiing to others because of him.
I have five step brothers and sisters, nieces, nephews, and a vast extended family I would not know and love otherwise.
These traits were realized through time and maturity. In fact, many took years, even decades, for me to recognize and embrace. Like a diamond in the rough, time fortified the inherent truths of my traits and the source of such wisdom. With hindsight and reflection, I see that now. The tale of two fathers, their influence and infinite presence always traveling on my left shoulder!
RIP Frank E. Kalapos – February 12, 1935 – November 10, 1988
RIP Lt. Colonel, William J. McElroy III – September 5, 1927 – June 7, 2022
You can’t have lived a day of life without bumping up against failure. Real or imagined, it looms around the corner waiting patiently to trounce on your next hope filled endeavor. Whether athletic, professional or esoteric, our dreams cannot be dreamt of without the gnawing possibility of their immediate evaporation.
Do we save ourselves the agony of eminent defeat by squashing them before they are realized or exert only a halfhearted effort because we know “it just wasn’t meant to be?” A self-fulfilling prophecy whose path we laid with sparkles and walked upon with trepidation. Welcome to failure-dom. Please step to the back of the line, we knew you’d be back.
If we are where we are because of where we have been then our past failures become our future successes, that is if we choose not to concede. Losing sucks! What we do in the face of its full-on tackle will determine every step we take forward from that moment. Not the act of failing itself, more the mental concession to our subconscious and the negative energy it perpetuates. Do we kick dirt on it and turn on our heels or dust off the ole shoes and embrace the next trepid ride?
I’ve done both but favor going down kicking and screaming. Fortunately, this pattern showed me the worth of the many bumps and bruises I endured. They revealed the submission to failure grew from insecurity and thrived in hesitation. I granted permission to question my strength, my ability and my self-worth. The consequential outcome fed hesitation like a spreading cancer stifling any glimmer of hope or resolve. It kept pointing its finger right back at me, the sole saboteur of my own future successes.
Connecting me and my actions to the outcomes, seemingly simple yet elusive, changed how I moved forward. I have had endless support in my life, but there have been times in both my business and writing endeavors that I was told to quit or give up or “you can never do that.” I am grateful for the challenge that emerged from their doubt. I had a point to prove! I dug in my heels deeper and pushed harder.
Fortunately, I was raised to see my life as limitless, everything is within reach. I know in my gut that I can do anything I put my mind to and had I quit before I failed, I would have never realized success. The beauty of life’s greatest successes is they emerge from the shadows of failure.
So, fight like hell in opposition. Put every ounce of effort into failing. Quitters never win because they avert any and all opportunity to fail. An opportunity to fail is not a failure, it is a chance to win.
I am fortunate to have grown through my failures. Why not throw in the towel, fall on the sword and concede defeat? Because no growth is found on Easy Street. The glass can’t be half full if there is a hole in the bottom. Failure in effort is a great success because of the lessons it reveals.
Especially the tried your hardest, hope-to-win, feel it in your gut, but still lost, kind of losing. Even more especially if you are someone like me, a purveyor of wins. I win! I get shit done! I stay focused on the journey despite the path.
Easy, because most wins are relative, that is, unless there is a prize involved. Then it is either you’ve got it, or you don’t. You won or you lost. It is black and white, not gray. Your prize is shiny and bright. It is embossed, polished, engraved, laden in gold or adorned by a ribbon in the firsts of primary colors.
Fall short of that and it’s, “Nice try.” “Better luck next time.” “Everything happens for a reason.” The pretend compassion that reeks of cliché-ick apathy. Or worst of all, the loudest of silent voices, “What in the hell were you even thinking?”
While most of my life’s wins fall under the subjective umbrella – still a win because the glass is half full kind of win, a recent loss really sucked! It was a blow that left me gasping for every breath in my depleted worth.
I must trace my steps back to my high school athletic endeavors to even get close to this feeling. In those days, losing produced a gut ache so painful that tears found their way down my cheek. Typically, it was my shallow perspective on a specific reason that produced the loss… missed the jump shot at the buzzer, put the wrong wax on my skis, or was just simply out played.
They were not losses at the core of my identity rather ones that ran along side of it. This loss lives much closer to the core of my identity. It was full-on rejection.
I attended a Writer’s Workshop and there learned of their writing contest. Top prize, a $10 GRAND advance and a publishing contract!! Yes, please!! The only prerequisites of the contestants; attend a writer’s workshop, be a writer, submit a book proposal, and sit back to wait for the bells to ring and confetti to fall. I was confident there was no possibility of losing.
Losing, failing and rejection are the masks of opportunity. Yeah, yeah, yeah… I mean, I have gotten where I am in life believing that, but it doesn’t take away the monumental punch in the gut that lies in their wake. If we are where we are because of where we have been, then tomorrow isn’t what it will be without yesterday. Deal and move on.
While the rejection left me feeling depleted I was not to be deterred. After some time and the replenishment of my self-worth, I jumped back in the deep end and didn’t look back.
To some, it is a bit of a stretch to think of me as a writer. I mean, it seems that you either have always been one, or you are not. I landed somewhere in the middle. Dating back to the days of writing for my college paper, I have always loved the spoken leverage in the written word. Its strength and power exist without interruption, without the risk of deaf ears or a closed mind.
Writing is where I find my voice, even if only for myself. If you are reading this now, then I don’t have to worry about whether you are listening, whether your phone will ding with some notification, or if it’s time to put the laundry in the dryer. If you are reading you are listening. Agree or not with the message, at least I have your attention.
If you could change something about your past, would you? Would you if every single moment from that space in time also changed? We can’t isolate one event or interaction with an eye for a do-over without it impacting every second from that moment forward. If you haven’t seen the 1998 film, Sliding Doors with Gwyneth Paltrow, or need a refresher, check it out. It is a great theatrical example of this.
“I am where I am because of where I have been, I can’t push water back upstream and make it come down differently.” This is something I say, or at least think, a lot! This is certainly not the most consequential news of the day. Every second of every step I have taken preceding this exact moment in time holds purposeful meaning, it lands me at this precise juncture.
What happens if we can’t rationalize where we are? What if you missed the train? If we are where we are because of where we have been then everything is as it should be. As with all seemingly impractical matters of the heart and mind, such a shift in thinking is much harder than we imagine it to be. Why is it so much easier to beat ourselves up for something we can’t change than accept it for what it is?
When I think about my choices and the direction they have taken me, I can’t help but continue to remind myself that all is as it should be. Even if the outcomes are not ideal, what good does it do to labor over something I can’t control?
For me, facing adversity head on was an acquired mindset requiring thoughtful practice. Fortunately, something time was able to deliver. Prior to this, I second guessed myself, carried doubt and what if’d my days away. I have visualized my futile attempt at trying to capture the water and get it back up the stream from where it came.
Shoulda, woulda, coulda, the three most detrimental alliances capable of thwarting our hopes and dreams. The doubt that is cast over our aspirations cannot be realized in their over shadowing presence. It is unproductive and paralyzing. Regret is a heavy burden that looms around all our future endeavors.
Imagine spending your life thinking you should have done something differently. Unless you are sitting in jail for a wildly egregious crime, it is a monumental waste of time. Spiraling in the swarm of regret disables so many opportunities and possibilities.
I know this because I have done both. Fully embracing my past and the gain that arose from pain, enables me to persevere through the most trying circumstances. I would not change one thing in the past, including the most excruciating among them. Rather than wallow in regret, I choose to focus on the tools the lesson provides.
Living without regret does not absolve us of the mistakes that were made, rather it creates a space for compassion and forgiveness to emerge. Smooth seas do not hone the skills of a good sailor for a reason. If life proceeded in perfect balance and harmony, what would you do when the shit hit the fan and the boat was on the verge of capsizing?
Man the helm, ease the sheets, batten down the hatches, and ride the storm. The sun rises every day and calm seas will return.
The author shares their experience with death when their father passed away unexpectedly at the age of 24. This led to self-questioning and emotional struggling, referred to as ‘wallow-dom’. In dealing with this grief, the author found solace in M. Scott Peck’s book, ‘The Road Less Traveled’. The book’s message about the presence of death, as an ally and counselor, helped the author embrace life more fully, drawing explicit connections between death, life, love, honesty, and expression.
The precarious nature of our existence is never clearer than in the face of death. If mistakes are life’s pencil sharpener, then death smacks of ridiculous frickin clarity, that is if you are paying proper attention. As with all life events innately designed to have you on your ass buried in the weeds, death attached to someone with whom you share the same DNA is the international champion of such events. The prize, a gold-plated shovel necessary to dig the hole to wallow-dom. Welcome to the club for you have arrived.
I was 24 years old when my father died unexpectedly. Before my head stopped spinning, I had pitched a tent in wallow-dom. Second guessing took the first of many prizes pacing neck in neck with what if’s. If the club had a secret handshake, I mastered it with my eyes closed.
Resources were scarce, and compassionate knowing nonexistent in my cavalier life that just delivered my first real job and bills to pay. In the 80’s people whispered cancer in fear of being discovered so facing death was best done alone. No RIP social media posts granting space for hashtag empathy. Deal and move on please, you are blocking the entrance!
Through her bionic wisdom, capable of scaling mountains, climbing down deep holes and crossing oceans, my mother delivered something that helped me pack up my tent and leave wallow-dom – M. Scott Peck’s, The Road Less Traveled. Beautifully tattered and yellowed after 35 years as a reference, it is a timeless must read for those seeking a deeper meaning in life.
The Road Less Traveled
I read this book two separate times, 23 years apart. I derived separate and significant insights each time. Like a fine wine, the message aged well and spoke more broadly to me and the areas of my life that time had tested.
Immediately after my father’s death, one of my many answerless questions… Does the pain of death perpetuate death (physically or spiritually) or life? Page 133, delivered my answer. This is a glimpse of why Peck’s book has sold over seven million copies and why it is clearly, a life in death situation:
“If we can live with the knowledge that death is our constant companion, traveling on our left shoulder, then death becomes our ally and a source of wise counsel. With death’s counsel, the constant awareness of the limit of our time to live and love, we can always be guided to make the best use of our time and live life to the fullest. But if we are unwilling to fully face the fearsome presence of death on our left shoulder, we deprive ourselves of its counsel and cannot possibly live or love with clarity. When we shy away from death, the ever-changing nature of things, we inevitably shy away from life.”
Can I get a mic drop please? Even today, these words produce goose bumps and make my heart race. What a gift! They made me feel lucky to have lived and survived a death of such significance in my young life. What a blessing, always ‘traveling on my left shoulder.’ Death’s presence perpetuates life, love, honesty, openness, expression, and the values inherent within them. No room for complacent wimps. Next in line, please step to the front.
The author reflects on the importance of self-reflection, compassion, and critical thinking in navigating life’s challenges. Drawing from experiences as a refugee’s daughter and observing the impact of diversity, she underscores the importance of co-existing amidst differences and challenges the avoidance of meaningful discussions in favor of harmful actions. She also highlights compassion and empathy as vital to understanding different perspectives, and encourages accepting diversity and individuality.
I stopped watching the sensationalized news years ago. Unfortunately, there is no escaping the onslaught of the despicable and their fallacious or malicious ways. I am perfectly fallible ambling through life hoping and trying not to be. Is there any other way? We all make mistakes and I have made my share. Like slippery ice on the sidewalk that sneaks up on you before you realize you are already on the ground writhing in pain.
Sometimes I don’t see the ice. Other times I see it glistening from miles away but keep walking in that direction. What draws us to the wrong direction? Hope or Hate? Hope that we might be able to sidestep the ice in the distance. Or hate for the ice and whoever the ‘F’ put it there. Both choices lead us down the wrong path but one teaches us how to avoid slipping in the future while the other perpetuates the inevitable. It’s clearly out of our control and someone else’s ‘F’ing problem not mine.
How did we become incapable of self reflection, critical thinking, objective decision making and most importantly, loving thy ‘F’ing neighbor?! If you could walk 10 feet beyond every choice you made before you actually took the steps, would you? Is your opinion or action really that important if the hurt it projects, real or perceived, not only crushes your audience but chips at your own soul?
As the daughter of a political refugee, I was exposed to different cultures, ethnicities and skin colors through a lens that projected everyone as equals. I guess, when you have fought for your freedom and have walked in other’s shoes judgement is irrelevant and unnecessary. At the time, I didn’t realize the value of my father’s worldly ways and the broader exposure it supported. A true gift lived by example.
As I grew older, I witnessed the contradiction to this gift as it shed a bright and luminous light on the consequence of our collective actions, good and bad. How did we become a collection of diversity now needing to be like everyone else? Why do we kill people that don’t share our beliefs? Why do we kill children before they can form theirs’? Why do we reach for a gun instead of objective reflection? Critical thinking with a serving of rational understanding in the name of acceptance for why your opinion matters. A simple recipe best served without a measuring cup.
Can’t we just agree to disagree? I saw somewhere recently that anger will shorten your life by 15 years. Hmmm, die early or be happy and kind. Not much of a stretch there. Life would truly suck if we stood as mirror images of each other. Qualities that are different and unique are the antithesis of ambiguity for a reason. Why be ambiguous or indifferent when you can stand proudly in your spoken or unspoken individuality without risk of retribution.
Expanding our horizons is not about clearing the trees, rather seeing the beauty among and beyond them. You be you and I will be me. Embrace the ugly, different and outspoken the same way you might hug your puppy after he took a runny, messy poop all over your new living room rug.
