At fifteen, little black strings penetrated my baby face to declare that I was a member of the male subset of the human race. I felt special. I was growing up. I was no longer a child needing to be told what to do.
Some called it peach fuzz. Others asked if the cat licked my face. It didn't matter.
I was a man.
There was the goatee experiment. My facial hair was like a pair of women shoes. I could do different styles with different outfits. Three days after a shave and the follicles would re-emerge from their hiding place to take their rightful place on my face.
My first job out of school did not permit beards. I was allowed to have a moustache but I felt sleezy with one. Too many bad 70's memories reinforced a decision that I didn't want to be associated with THAT crowd.
So I went bare face as the wishes of a job. During my time at the anti-beardite company, I met a wonderful woman who became my wife.
She didn't like facial hair because it irritated her face when I kissed her. I liked kissing her, so I had no problem with compromising with a daily shave.
20 years have passed. I still like kissing my wife, but I wanted one last beard. One last beard to end all beards on my face. It's winter. There are no worries about tan lines. They are no concerns about it being too hot. I am still a man. So I let it grow.
Some of the black hairs have retired and moved to warmer climates. The new owners of my face don't take care of their property. They lack personality. They are bland in their colourless environment. They co-exist with their black brothers. But they're taking over. Each day, more of their white friends are moving into the neighbourhood.
Worst is they're moving to other parts as well. Soon they will control the whole territory. I could paint the neighbourhood. But that would be fake. I am a man so I take it like one. I'm an older man.
Better to have hair still growing than not have any at all.
For one last hoorah, my beard continues to grow. It is the longest it has ever been. I feel like a different man when I look at myself in the mirror. I don't like it more or less. It's just different.
And different is what I needed right now to get my butt in gear for this year.
It's working. Now to figure out the kissing thing...
Thursday, January 15, 2015
Wednesday, January 14, 2015
Winners vs losers in pro sports
I love watching the sports highlight package every morning. Watching the finals in any sports competition is something that gets me excited. The storylines, the individual players, the characters create a play suitable for Broadway or Hollywood. The excitement and exuberance with winning is a vicarious moment.
In observing recent interviews by two professional athletes I saw the difference between a winner and a loser. Both athletes are considered all-star performers at the elite level. Both have had personal success in their respective journeys. Neither have won the championship in their elite sport yet. One is destined for greatness and one is going to struggle to get his name remembered with the passage of time.
Phil Kessel is a professional hockey player. He is a consistent point per game player, which puts him in the top 5% of all players in the NHL. He has been criticized as a selfish player, a player that can't make others around him better. In his sixth year with the Toronto Maple Leafs, his coach got fired. When asked what he could have done different to prevent his coach's dismissal, he called the reporter an idiot. He asked the media scrum if they thought the firing was his fault. He got mad. If this was the only flare-up, I would not pass judgement. But it's not. The team's leadership, which Kessel is included, stopped saluting fans after a fan tossed a jersey on the ice in disgust for their poor play.
His attitude to the media may be an indicator to his attitude in the dressing room. If it is, a poisonless team cannot be built around him. He's rotten. He's a good player, but probably a bad teammate. His character is now being questioned.
Andrew Luck is a professional football player. He was drafted first overall in 2012 NFL entry draft because of his total package as a player/professional. Even as a 21 year old kid, his professionalism makes Kessel look like a child.
Last weekend, Luck had to play a football battle which could have been scripted the "Best quarterback of all time" vs "The next one". Luck is "The next one".
In the media scrum, one reporter asked Luck if he could take the "Great" one. Luck's response was one of quickness of wit. He asked, "Do you mean like one on one?". With a reference to a boxing duel or a basketball match, he broke the question with humour. He then said, "I don't face him, our defense does. If our defense does a great job and I do what I'm supposed to, we could beat their team".
He rephrased the question to a team approach. He didn't look at individual glory or praise. He knows it's a team game in which he plays a leader's role.
Luck used the media to promote his team. Kessel is used by the media to promote the media.
Luck will win a championship because he already thinks like a winner. Kessel may not. He thinks like a loser.
In observing recent interviews by two professional athletes I saw the difference between a winner and a loser. Both athletes are considered all-star performers at the elite level. Both have had personal success in their respective journeys. Neither have won the championship in their elite sport yet. One is destined for greatness and one is going to struggle to get his name remembered with the passage of time.
Phil Kessel is a professional hockey player. He is a consistent point per game player, which puts him in the top 5% of all players in the NHL. He has been criticized as a selfish player, a player that can't make others around him better. In his sixth year with the Toronto Maple Leafs, his coach got fired. When asked what he could have done different to prevent his coach's dismissal, he called the reporter an idiot. He asked the media scrum if they thought the firing was his fault. He got mad. If this was the only flare-up, I would not pass judgement. But it's not. The team's leadership, which Kessel is included, stopped saluting fans after a fan tossed a jersey on the ice in disgust for their poor play.
His attitude to the media may be an indicator to his attitude in the dressing room. If it is, a poisonless team cannot be built around him. He's rotten. He's a good player, but probably a bad teammate. His character is now being questioned.
Andrew Luck is a professional football player. He was drafted first overall in 2012 NFL entry draft because of his total package as a player/professional. Even as a 21 year old kid, his professionalism makes Kessel look like a child.
Last weekend, Luck had to play a football battle which could have been scripted the "Best quarterback of all time" vs "The next one". Luck is "The next one".
In the media scrum, one reporter asked Luck if he could take the "Great" one. Luck's response was one of quickness of wit. He asked, "Do you mean like one on one?". With a reference to a boxing duel or a basketball match, he broke the question with humour. He then said, "I don't face him, our defense does. If our defense does a great job and I do what I'm supposed to, we could beat their team".
He rephrased the question to a team approach. He didn't look at individual glory or praise. He knows it's a team game in which he plays a leader's role.
Luck used the media to promote his team. Kessel is used by the media to promote the media.
Luck will win a championship because he already thinks like a winner. Kessel may not. He thinks like a loser.
Respect can not be earned
I like to zag when everyone else is zigging. The road less traveled can be frightful and a delightful experience at the same time.
One of my zags has to do with respect. Most believe respect has to be earned. I disagree.
Respect is given, whether we like it or not. I had to respect my parents. If not, there were consequences. I had to respect my boss or I got fired. I have to respect my wife or she will eventually leave me.
Get the point?
It is not respect that is earned. It is trust. If I don't know you, I may withhold trust as I get to know you better. As I observe your behaviours, your personality, your thoughts, I will grant you little bits of trust along the pathway to a trusting relationship.
We trust our parents. They cared for us when wild dogs could've eaten our eyes out. There's a primal trust there.
I respect my parents because they respect me.
Giving respect to a complete stranger's thoughts, actions, beliefs when I first meet them comes from the need to be courteous and polite. They deserve my respect until they don't. They lose my respect as they lose respect for me.
There's a simple duality. You'll have my respect on day one. Respect me back and you'll have it to the end of time.
Where this whole respect thing gets hard is when I think of the relationship with children. I love our kids. But they don't always respect us. Silly little manipulators don't know any better.
In reviewing my respect values, I found that I disrespect my little manipulators in return for their childish banter. They need my respect no matter what.
As is usual, there has to be an exception to the rule.
One of my zags has to do with respect. Most believe respect has to be earned. I disagree.
Respect is given, whether we like it or not. I had to respect my parents. If not, there were consequences. I had to respect my boss or I got fired. I have to respect my wife or she will eventually leave me.
Get the point?
It is not respect that is earned. It is trust. If I don't know you, I may withhold trust as I get to know you better. As I observe your behaviours, your personality, your thoughts, I will grant you little bits of trust along the pathway to a trusting relationship.
We trust our parents. They cared for us when wild dogs could've eaten our eyes out. There's a primal trust there.
I respect my parents because they respect me.
Giving respect to a complete stranger's thoughts, actions, beliefs when I first meet them comes from the need to be courteous and polite. They deserve my respect until they don't. They lose my respect as they lose respect for me.
There's a simple duality. You'll have my respect on day one. Respect me back and you'll have it to the end of time.
Where this whole respect thing gets hard is when I think of the relationship with children. I love our kids. But they don't always respect us. Silly little manipulators don't know any better.
In reviewing my respect values, I found that I disrespect my little manipulators in return for their childish banter. They need my respect no matter what.
As is usual, there has to be an exception to the rule.
Karma
My kids' favourite expression is "curse you karma". They stole it off a cartoon they used to watch. When I'm disciplining them, they say that karma is waiting for me. Karma is their answer to right all of the wrongs of their world.
In a 9 year old's words, the definition of karma is that bad things will happen to someone who does bad things.
She doesn't see the other side. Good things will happen to someone who does good things too.
Although I believe the laws of attraction are true. We manifest into our lives what we do and want.
Karma gets blamed. Karma gets congratulated. Karma gets too much credit.
Can we agree that bad things happen to good people? And good things happen to the bad guys. Is it not our perception of those things that influences our opinions of the result?
Recently a friend complained about crap that happened to her only to be hit with an even deeper problem. She then wished bad karma on the perpetrator who caused her latest angst. I've been there. I knew exactly how she felt. The burning anger that needs to point blame on someone else. Is it not easier to blame someone else for our misfortunes than take 100% responsibility for them?
When we get beaten up, negativity distorts our vision and instead of figuring out how we can dust ourselves off, we wish ill on someone else and thus perpetually continue to attract crap into our lives.
When we are clear of anger, we know this can never work, but emotion knows how to cloud our view.
The negative thoughts are within us. They are daggers piercing our own soul. In wishing bad karma on someone else, we poison our own future. And we don't realize it.
Another friend who is a cancer survivor has a view of the world that is filled with rainbows and unicorns.. I've never heard her talk bad about anyone. Cancer slowed her down but did not disturb her eternal optimism.
Everybody has crap in their lives. Everybody has happiness. It is what we focus on that expands our universe. It's our choice what manifests into our future.
So if you have a choice, why wouldn't you choose happiness?
In a 9 year old's words, the definition of karma is that bad things will happen to someone who does bad things.
She doesn't see the other side. Good things will happen to someone who does good things too.
Although I believe the laws of attraction are true. We manifest into our lives what we do and want.
Karma gets blamed. Karma gets congratulated. Karma gets too much credit.
Can we agree that bad things happen to good people? And good things happen to the bad guys. Is it not our perception of those things that influences our opinions of the result?
Recently a friend complained about crap that happened to her only to be hit with an even deeper problem. She then wished bad karma on the perpetrator who caused her latest angst. I've been there. I knew exactly how she felt. The burning anger that needs to point blame on someone else. Is it not easier to blame someone else for our misfortunes than take 100% responsibility for them?
When we get beaten up, negativity distorts our vision and instead of figuring out how we can dust ourselves off, we wish ill on someone else and thus perpetually continue to attract crap into our lives.
When we are clear of anger, we know this can never work, but emotion knows how to cloud our view.
The negative thoughts are within us. They are daggers piercing our own soul. In wishing bad karma on someone else, we poison our own future. And we don't realize it.
Another friend who is a cancer survivor has a view of the world that is filled with rainbows and unicorns.. I've never heard her talk bad about anyone. Cancer slowed her down but did not disturb her eternal optimism.
Everybody has crap in their lives. Everybody has happiness. It is what we focus on that expands our universe. It's our choice what manifests into our future.
So if you have a choice, why wouldn't you choose happiness?
Tuesday, January 13, 2015
Eyes are windows to the soul
In public, everyone looks so serious. Their faces look like they just sucked on a pickle. As an introvert, I can look serious when my heart is clapping with joy. I love people but they tire me easily. I need an escape hatch when I'm around a lot of people to keep me energized.
When I was 20, someone told me it was important to always look at people in the eyes. I have studied eye behaviour without much luck. I watch the shifties as people look around when I'm talking to them. Do they look around because they are searching for an answer or are they looking for a lie? Body language plays a role in these observations but I gotta figure out the eyes before I go to the rest of the body. Have you ever observed the person who can't maintain eye contact and wondered if you're freaking them out or if they have something to hide? There's the shy person who is so timid that they only thing he hides is his personality. He can be mistaken for a shady character who has something else to hide.
It's been tough for me to read a person through the eyes until yesterday.
Yesterday, I listened to the soothe sounds of John Denver while was I grocery shopping. Not only did music give me a rhythm, it gave me the mental"exit stage left" I was looking for. The rhythm gave me peace. In that solitude, I noticed people while I tapped "Thank God I'm a Country Boy" on my shopping cart. Most importantly I woke up to facial expressions. The music was my invisibility cloak. I was alone in my musically entrenched world. Under the cloak, I noticed everyone had a rhythm. The eyes were the dead give-away.
The racy eyes were in a hurry. The tired eyes wanted to go home. The hot eyes were mad at someone or something.
Eyes are supposed to be windows to the soul. I've tried to read people through their eyes before but it's never worked. Like a voodoo magic trick I expected the eyes to tell me everything I wanted to know. My mouth got in the way. As the mouth acted like the school bully, desiring attention, my ears were the mother hen accepting all sounds as fact and nurturing every word as a child needing attention.
My ears and mouth get in the way of my eyes. My ego pushes some of this. I try to keep him in the box, but he jumps out when we call his name.
With music in my ears, not listening to anyone and not thinking about what is being said, my eyes demonstrated an inexplicable beacon that I was never able to find.
My eyes will not deceive what my mouth has translated and which my ears have accepted as fact.
Eyes are absolutely windows to the soul. I finally experienced it for the first time.
When I was 20, someone told me it was important to always look at people in the eyes. I have studied eye behaviour without much luck. I watch the shifties as people look around when I'm talking to them. Do they look around because they are searching for an answer or are they looking for a lie? Body language plays a role in these observations but I gotta figure out the eyes before I go to the rest of the body. Have you ever observed the person who can't maintain eye contact and wondered if you're freaking them out or if they have something to hide? There's the shy person who is so timid that they only thing he hides is his personality. He can be mistaken for a shady character who has something else to hide.
It's been tough for me to read a person through the eyes until yesterday.
Yesterday, I listened to the soothe sounds of John Denver while was I grocery shopping. Not only did music give me a rhythm, it gave me the mental"exit stage left" I was looking for. The rhythm gave me peace. In that solitude, I noticed people while I tapped "Thank God I'm a Country Boy" on my shopping cart. Most importantly I woke up to facial expressions. The music was my invisibility cloak. I was alone in my musically entrenched world. Under the cloak, I noticed everyone had a rhythm. The eyes were the dead give-away.
The racy eyes were in a hurry. The tired eyes wanted to go home. The hot eyes were mad at someone or something.
Eyes are supposed to be windows to the soul. I've tried to read people through their eyes before but it's never worked. Like a voodoo magic trick I expected the eyes to tell me everything I wanted to know. My mouth got in the way. As the mouth acted like the school bully, desiring attention, my ears were the mother hen accepting all sounds as fact and nurturing every word as a child needing attention.
My ears and mouth get in the way of my eyes. My ego pushes some of this. I try to keep him in the box, but he jumps out when we call his name.
With music in my ears, not listening to anyone and not thinking about what is being said, my eyes demonstrated an inexplicable beacon that I was never able to find.
My eyes will not deceive what my mouth has translated and which my ears have accepted as fact.
Eyes are absolutely windows to the soul. I finally experienced it for the first time.
Growing old
Do we stop playing because we grow old or do we grow old because we stop playing?
My grandfather was 92 when he died. He played games up until his death. He loved to laugh and thoroughly enjoyed a good teasing.
One Christmas, I vividly remember my elderly grampy lifting my wife on a set of bathroom scales to find out her weight. He was at least 85 at the time. She kicked and screamed as he hoisted her on the liar's pad.
His body failed him in his nineties. His joie de vivre did not.
I think we grow old because we forget how to play. Play like a school child. Play like no one's watching. Even if they are, who cares? Having fun is not a bad thing.
I'm my true self when I laugh out loud while slapping my leg. Yet I protect that laughter in fear of someone discovering the playful, youthful, lightening eyed me.
If you ask a child what they want most out of life you'll hear they want to grow up. If you ask most adults what they want most out of life, you'll hear the opposite answer. Adults want to stay young. Not the peer pressure, no experience in anything young. Adults are looking for experiences in which they can feel young.
Feeling comes from doing. What are you doing to stay young.
The older I get, the less I care about what others think about me. Dancing in the middle of the grocery isle, embarrassing my kids is so much fun. Not just because of the look I get from them. It's also from the adrenaline rush of doing something I would never have done as a young man. It's like streaking in public without removing the clothes. That's a story for a different time.
Keep playing and youth will follow you around like a hungry cat.
My grandfather was 92 when he died. He played games up until his death. He loved to laugh and thoroughly enjoyed a good teasing.
One Christmas, I vividly remember my elderly grampy lifting my wife on a set of bathroom scales to find out her weight. He was at least 85 at the time. She kicked and screamed as he hoisted her on the liar's pad.
His body failed him in his nineties. His joie de vivre did not.
I think we grow old because we forget how to play. Play like a school child. Play like no one's watching. Even if they are, who cares? Having fun is not a bad thing.
I'm my true self when I laugh out loud while slapping my leg. Yet I protect that laughter in fear of someone discovering the playful, youthful, lightening eyed me.
If you ask a child what they want most out of life you'll hear they want to grow up. If you ask most adults what they want most out of life, you'll hear the opposite answer. Adults want to stay young. Not the peer pressure, no experience in anything young. Adults are looking for experiences in which they can feel young.
Feeling comes from doing. What are you doing to stay young.
The older I get, the less I care about what others think about me. Dancing in the middle of the grocery isle, embarrassing my kids is so much fun. Not just because of the look I get from them. It's also from the adrenaline rush of doing something I would never have done as a young man. It's like streaking in public without removing the clothes. That's a story for a different time.
Keep playing and youth will follow you around like a hungry cat.
Thursday, January 8, 2015
Joy is not just a woman's name
I believe we are born to experience joy.
Joy is not found with money.
Joy is found in serving others.
Do you want joy? Help someone today.
I try to lead a healthy, helpful life. I stop to push cars out of snowbanks. I listen to others and their woes in business. I am giving of my time and my knowledge. But stuff can get in the way. I get busy and don't notice the small things. I don't always see that person who could use a simple hand. My body is here. My mind is thinking about the next thing that has to be done. I get busy with work and forget to look life in the eye.
We let joy slop around the busyness barrel, hoping to find it in some elusive cranny.
Have you ever noticed it is more fun giving a gift than it is to receive one. Joy is inside all of us exploding at the seams waiting for us to help someone out.
One of my goals for this year is to be a better person. Part of that goal is to perform 4 random acts of kindness per month. That's one per week. It can be as easy as buying the next person in line at the coffeehouse a warm beverage.
I'm sure I'll learn a lot about this random acts of kindness thing. Wish me luck. No, wait. Luck has nothing to do with it. Wish me success.
My joy depends on it.
Joy is not found with money.
Joy is found in serving others.
Do you want joy? Help someone today.
I try to lead a healthy, helpful life. I stop to push cars out of snowbanks. I listen to others and their woes in business. I am giving of my time and my knowledge. But stuff can get in the way. I get busy and don't notice the small things. I don't always see that person who could use a simple hand. My body is here. My mind is thinking about the next thing that has to be done. I get busy with work and forget to look life in the eye.
We let joy slop around the busyness barrel, hoping to find it in some elusive cranny.
Have you ever noticed it is more fun giving a gift than it is to receive one. Joy is inside all of us exploding at the seams waiting for us to help someone out.
One of my goals for this year is to be a better person. Part of that goal is to perform 4 random acts of kindness per month. That's one per week. It can be as easy as buying the next person in line at the coffeehouse a warm beverage.
I'm sure I'll learn a lot about this random acts of kindness thing. Wish me luck. No, wait. Luck has nothing to do with it. Wish me success.
My joy depends on it.
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