We need to talk

Going to get my first cup of coffee of the morning, my wife tells me we need to talk. Any time I'm informed of a need to talk, it's usually not a good way to start the day. My head sinks. My insides hurt. I want to run away shaking my head, while plugging my ears, screaming at the top of my lungs, "NANANANANANA".

Normal for a kid, but unfortunately not acceptable for me. I take my punishment. I listen. As hard as it is to keep my yap shut, I'm well aware that a talk is really her talking and me being quiet. So I bite my tongue, mute the sports highlights and I nod. I agree to as much as I possibly can. But I listen. Even when I'm not listening, I keep my eyes focused on hers. If nothing else she thinks I'm listening. 

I'm a puppy. My mind races as the subject gets boring. That goal was unreal. Too bad I couldn't hear what the announcer just said. I can't believe I listened for this long. It has to be a world record. Did anyone time me? I'm sure my wife is proud of me for listening today. Maybe I'll get a treat when she's done. Wait a minute. Her mouth is still moving. She is not done. Turn away from the TV. What did she just say? I hope she won't ask me to repeat what she just said. Just keep nodding as if you heard every word I think to myself. 

Then the dreaded question comes out, "What do you think"? as she rubs my nose in my mistake. Now that it's my turn to talk, I scroll through the possible answers.

"I couldn't give a rat's ass" 

"Whatever you think"

"I can't tell you how much I really don't care what you do"

"How much is this going to cost"

I'm screwed. I got nothing. She wants a two way conversation and I'm still trying to get a java fix, while catching up on last night's sports highlights. 

Sometimes I think I'm a terrible partner. But there are times when I think she knows I'm a puppy and she just tortures me for the fun of it.

As long as she thinks I'm cute, I should be ok. Dread be the day, she sees me as an old dog.

Growth

Isn't it normal that we want more? We may want more money, more free time, more love or more vacations.

Each one of us have our reasons for wanting these things. Did you ever wonder why some people get more of what they want while we struggle with less sometimes.

Researching emotions, I discovered a fantastic equation that puts growth into a new perspective

Growth = Change - Resistance

If we want more of anything in our lives, we're searching for growth. Growth requires change. Sustainable change requires commitment. Commitment needs us to change our thinking. 

The last variable of the equation has to do with resistance. That little voice that spews out negativity, skepticism, cynicism or anything else that slows us down is part of this resistance. Resistances could be anything from limiting beliefs, stubbornness, to inability to see someone else's perspective. We need to go into change with a completely open, positive frame of mind.

What's your favourite body part?

Let us slip back and time and ask a question you may have been asked in high school. What is your favourite body part?

I love the eyes. They tell so much about a person.

Eyes are so called windows to the soul.

Notice that I didn't mention to who's body I was referring. Someone else's or our own?

In today's world of plasticity, we have forgotten to love ourselves.

Do you have a favourite body part on yourself? Do you have an area that you think was made just perfect?

Look at yourself in the mirror. Maybe there is an area that has too much hair, too flabby, too skeletal? What do you compare yourself to? Is it an ideal that you see in a photo-shopped magazine? Is the Hollywood standard what we measure ourselves against?

It's easy for us to criticize the plastic posers that supposedly signify beauty of our generation.

I think it's normal to have parts that we are dissatisfied with. I know I have my fair share of things that I would love to change. Some things are my own doing and some are genetic.

But there's one area on my body I have always loved. Call me egotistical. Call me vain. When I'm feeling down about my aging vessel, I check my fave part out in the mirror. It always makes me feel better.

My wife laughs when I brag about it. She thinks I'm a crazy.

Before we can love someone else we have to love ourselves. Yet we look in the mirror and there are things that we would like to change. Can we be thankful for the things we have?

That being said I'm going to continue to love this fave body part on myself.

Reflections

It's been 11 months since we sold our businesses. I planned to be back at the helm of another business within weeks. It doesn't feel that long ago. But then, I didn't do much all summer. Unless getting the best tan I've had since I was 22 is considered doing something.

I enjoyed the summer. It's now over. And now I must return to my dreams.

The quiet serenity of my house has returned as the kids re-enter school. So it is with this tranquility that I reflect. Reflect where I am and the progress of my 11 month non-voyage.

Three months into my sabbatical,  encouraged that something was imminent, I hand wrote my goals for 2014. I was excited. Everything seemed possible.

Was I dreaming? Was I expecting too much? I have learned to shoot for the stars in my expectations and I'll end up somewhere near the moon. Dream big or go home.

Anyone who knows me, I mean really knows me, knows that I'm a dreamer. It's probably got something to do with when I was born. Not a fan of horoscopes, however there seems to be some truth to my Aquarius sign.

Until now, most of my dreams have come true. This one really hurts as 2014 enters the homestretch.

I know I can't force what I want. I know I can't make other people do what I want. But with all of this uncertainty, I am questioning if this is something I really want. I have pursued it for 9 months. Is there something in the universe that is holding it back from me. Am I worthy enough for this project? Am I being protected from it. Have I done everything I can to move this forward?

I'm concerned this dream is never going to be realized. I have to start dreaming of something else. So in analyzing what I want, I am told to follow my bliss. Have you ever wondered about your bliss? I don't know if I have one.

Your bliss is supposed to be that job you'd work happily at for free. Most anything I can think of would be fun for a few weeks, but then I'd be bored. My wife asked me what I'm really passionate about. I don't have an answer. Is it possible, I don't have a bliss?

I don't have any of the answers. I'm sharing my thoughts, my reflections, my insecurities.

I have to get back to work. All this reflecting is scaring the shit out of me.

Human touch

Do you have an impression of big box retailers? Is it good, bad or are you truly indifferent about them? Do you think about the level of service you receive versus the costs savings associated with them?

I do.

In my opinion they are all the same. You get cheap stuff at better prices than most other retailers. Service is questionable at best. But there is one glaring exception to this model: Costco.

What is Costco's secret sauce? As a fan, I've been noticing things I never noticed before. First off, former CEO Jim Senegal says that the only thing that matters at Costco is employee culture. He figured out that culture is more important than brand, more important than prices, more important than anything...

Recently I had the pleasure of walking by the staff area at my local Costco. I think I saw the key ingredient in their success. On a list of employee principles, the first line said, "Look at customers in the eye".

Look at customers in the eye!!! Brilliant. Acknowledge a customer as if they matter. Not another cog in an endless line of people buying disposal crap. Companies have  a hard time training staff to do just that. And it's not just the big box multinational stores.

It's also the small and medium sized businesses.

A big company like Costco treats us like people and we reward them for it.

If you own a small business, try treating your customers like people. Treat them like family. You'll be surprised by the results. You don't need to spend that ad budget on getting new customers. Just work on the ones you already have. Create raving fans. They'll do all the advertising for you.

Have I mentioned I love Costco? What does it cost to look people in the eye?

Try it. Teach your staff how to do it. I dare you.

Are you a racist?

When I was five, a man delivered a sofa to my parent's house. He didn't have the same skin colour as anyone I had ever known. I was mesmerized. My mom tells the story about an innocent kid staring at him asking questions about why.

I remember the event. I remember not understanding. I remember focussing on him. I was a kid. He was different. I was curious.

Fast forward 25 years. My wife and I wanted to grow our little family. Colour of skin was never a concern. Anyone who adopts knows this.

Morgan Freeman said that the only way we get past racism is if we stop referring to people by labelling them by the colour of skin.

I can honestly tell you that I don't see the colour of my daughter's skin. I see it when others stare at us. I feel it when she cries about feeling lonely. My daughter sometimes feels different. She has a visible difference to those who don't love her. When she was five, she asked us when her skin would become white.

Here's what hurts the most. On three occasions in the past month, three different people affirmed that they were not racist. Yet they continued to categorize all people of colour the same way. In all cases they did not know about my daughter, nor was I confronting them. We were having normal conversations.

If you make a statement that includes all people of the same race, that is the very definition of racism.

How shocking it is to know that in my circle of influence there are racists who prejudge others by the colour of skin. How simple? How ignorant?

You can hurt me with your words, but one day these words will penetrate a sheltered innocent little girl.

That will be an even sadder day for my family.

Love of softball

I'm what some would call an old fart. Not decrepit old, just not young. Some use the words more experienced. Some would say wise.

I don't care about the label that is applied to me by others. Youthfulness isn't defined by age. It isn't defined by energy. It is defined by state of mind. My grandfather was in his nineties when he died. He had a more youthful character than most people a third of his age.

Youthfulness is demonstrated in the desire to play games and tricks. I love to play games.

From a very early age, I loved the game of softball. I remember my first glove was emblazened with the Montreal Expos logo. As a kid, I would find a way to practice the sport in some way or another. A good game of catch, shagging fly balls, throwing balls against a building. The game has always been a part of my life.

When no one else would organize a team, I would do it. At thirteen, I organized games against my cousin's team in a nearby community. When my cousin couldn't put together a team, I would organize a game against the local women's team. Our team consisted of players aged 8 to 13. We were good enough to compete with the adult women.

Our team was made up of a bunch of friends. A bunch of like-minded kids who were trying to occupy their time in a community where social dangers were everywhere.

Looking back at those youthful days, I'm very proud of the kids I grew up with. Most of my friends have moved to different parts of the world. Softball brought us together. Life has torn us a part.

As my friends gave up the youthful game, I continue to play. Now in my forties, I play only once per week. It is my time. I'm in my glory on the diamond. Time stands still for a couple of hours as I relive my childhood on the field. Friends are different but the game is the same. 

It no longer matters if I win or lose. It should never have mattered but it did at one time.

Now a bunch of like minded old farts get together once per week to enjoy the passion of a game designed for youth.

I almost stopped playing this year when my son expressed interest in baseball. Unfortunately baseball was one night per week and it was on the same night as my softball night. As any good dad would do, I was ready to hang up the glove so he could enjoy the same wonderful game that I have always loved. Fortunately for me, he thought a hard ball being thrown at him was too scary this year.

So for one more year, I get to hit a ball, run around the bases with the ultimate goal of getting home safe.

There's something primal about that. Don't you think?