The Novel, Little Women

I just read a wonderful book that I want to recommend to you all, one that I might never have tried, were it not for an upcoming Masterpiece Theater series scheduled to begin in May on PBS. And it has reconfirmed my view that some of the best reading business people can do is not to be found in business books.

In an age of dystopian novels, and stories about deeply damaged and disturbed people doing awful things, it's a breath of fresh air to read a book about good people growing to be even better. And that's exactly what I've been writing in my own recent Egyptian novels, swimming hard against the contemporary tide with all my might. For a long time, we've heard that it's much easier to write about evil than good. But I've not found that to be true, and I would suppose that neither did the author Louisa May Alcott, as she composed her glorious epic story, Little Women. I just read the beautiful Puffin edition designed by family friend Anna Bond, founder of the wonderful Rifle Paper Company.

In the world of business, we need to understand the people around us. What motivates them? What bothers them? What are their ambitions, and their secret sufferings? How can we best deal with the various personalities of our colleagues and clients? Sometimes, a good novel can provide perspectives on these issues like nothing else. I came away from Little Women refreshed, energized, inspired, and wiser than when I began to read it.

Do yourself a favor. Get yourself a copy and read the 777 pages of this book (No worries: Big Print) for its deep wisdom, homey ethos, and incredibly inspiring philosophy. Just click the link below, or visit your local library. Some of the best philosophers of the nineteenth century were women who wrote novels, not philosophical treatises, and taught us a lot more about life than their male counterparts of the era. You'll love this book.

Little Women: https://amzn.to/2qzIjuj

Zuckerberg and Frankenstein

Facebook. I think there's a parallel. Victor Frankenstein was a brilliant scientist and technologist of his era. He had an audacious goal and attained it, without ever thinking through the possible consequences of his work. He created a monster he couldn't control and walked away from giving the needed guidance and direction, allowing it to do damage, create havoc, and actually end people's lives. He woke up to his responsibilities too late, and finally pursued the monster in a fruitless effort to stop him.

It's almost like the Law of Unintended Consequences had come to life, and it was eight feet tall.

It sounds like a familiar scenario that may be playing out once again in our time, doesn't it? And close by, on social media. Dial "F" for Facebook, or Frankenstein.

Mary Shelley's prescient tale can be found here: https://amzn.to/2kg9okV

Ritz Crackers

I'm newly smitten with Ritz Crackers. It's as if, in a springtime long ago, a beautiful French croissant suddenly fell in love with a sturdy American saltine. It was a surprise, and certainly a forbidden liaison. And yet, a whirlwind courtship and marriage was then inevitable, followed by the arrival of boxes full of round little cherubic children named for the place of their conception, the famous Ritz Hotel in Paris, in the 1st arrondissement, overlooking the Place Vendôme at number 15. These delightful children now bring to us the best of their parents, in a magical mix perfectly made for our own new springtime snacks.

And now, I'll end the metaphor, so as not to seem like a character in a Greek Myth or Germanic fable when I begin to eat the children. I enjoy my round delights festooned with Sun Nut Butter and Bonne Maman orange marmalade, and paired with a hot dark roasted coffee. C'est bon!

I can't always just talk about philosophy here. I like to share whatever moves or enlightens me. But now, perhaps, I'll go read some Camus. C'est la vie.

Ode to Odie

One small cat, age 5, left this world on March 14, 2018, leaving it better than he found it, and my life greatly enriched.

An Ode for Odie.

If you want to know how good a cat

he was in this world: It would be my great honor and joy

to clean his litter box twice a day in eternity, forever.

*****

He prayeth best, who loveth best/ all things both great and small: for the dear God who loveth us,/ he made and loveth all. - Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Coleridge.

Good Work

The man here is mowing a very big field. And he's accomplishing it one step at a time. Nothing he's doing is newsworthy. No one is going to be on the sidelines cheering him on. And if he were to stand still and look around, gazing over the entire field, the size of the task he has might feel overwhelming. But he's not doing that. He's moving forward, bit by bit, and with persistence through time, the job will be done. And then, of course, it will soon need to be done again. And again. And again.

Very little in life is lasting. Most of what we face and accomplish is temporary. But there is great and lasting worth in the doing, when it's done well. And that's what we're called to focus on and be responsible for: doing what needs to be done, and doing it well. If we want the result to be beautiful in every way, though, I suspect we need to do whatever we do in love, from love, and for love. That's the great motivator and goal both. Whatever the field of endeavor, that's the ultimate secret and source of power for good work.

Thought and Action

I saw this photo on LinkedIn today, with an inscription wishing us all a brave new week. I loved it, and then began to think. I wrote a comment and now will expand a bit.

I love this picture for many reasons. For one, it shows the importance of paying attention to the gaps. Don't just look at what's there before you, put in place prior to your arrival, but also attend carefully to what's not there. Every plan and path forward has gaps. And you're much better off seeing them in advance rather than, unaware, stepping into them.

Second, this is an image that can give many people inner chills. And that's good. Even when you don't do extreme sports and outdoor challenges like the one depicted, you can metaphorically confront a version of the same sort of fear as you try anything new and daunting. All genuine adventures are surrounded by fog and fraught with danger and seem to promise a precipitous fall if things don't go just right. So, it's only the equally brave and careful who can reliably get to the other side. Thought and action together work best. And those with the vision to see the unseen most often gain the most of both.

A Christmas Reflection

Christmas is about new beginnings. It's about the miraculous entering the mundane and transforming it, while also revealing its genuine nature. It's about the true power that comes in real humility. The big in the small. The most remarkable in the least expected of places. A gift that unfolds over the years. It's about the tiny beginnings of forgiveness, redemption, and reconciliation. It speaks of the great high value of the sojourner, and the power the lowest of us have to both witness and help usher in a new era. It's a call to us all. And a reminder of the joy at the bottom and pinnacle of this cosmic adventure.

Merry, Joyous, Happy Christmas, Y'all.

Elf on the Shelf and the Specter of Cognitive Decline

So. Apparently it was me. I was the one at fault. Without any shred of mindful, occurrent awareness of what I was doing, I had closed the kitchen cabinet doors, shutting in and away from view, our very own Elf on the Shelf.

I had been instructed before bedtime that our small thin and red-garbed guest would be residing overnight in the kitchen cabinet amid such items as pepper, and pasta, and assorted baking goods. And I was to leave the cabinet doors wide open so that he and his faithful steed, the silent reindeer, could be suitably discovered in the morning by our granddaughter, who has successful espied the capricious imp in creative recline, lo these many December days for countless years past.

And, apparently, when I paused a viewing of A Place to Call Home (Australian TV through subscription service) to prepare a bowl of popcorn and festoon it with fresh ground black pepper alongside blistered southern North Carolina peanuts, I grabbed the pepper mill from right under the visiting lad's dangling feet and spiced the corn, and then performed the forbidden act of closing the cabinet doors on Elf, who then had to endure the entire night in the company of boxes of uncooked pasta and sundry spices. But of course, the true crime was the rendering of him as relatively undiscoverable in the morning's dash to school.

I tell this sad tale for a reason. When confronted with the evidence of my wrongdoing, the clearly closeted Elf, I had literally no memory of having performed the heinous deed of shutting him away. Zero visual recall. And of course, I assumed that either my wife was the unintentional culprit, or that our large black and white cat had, on the prowl, decided to close the cabinet doors, but then of course, so silently as to give no hint of his mischief. It could not have been me. It was epistemically impossible that I could have done such a thing without even the slightest trace of memory. I could have accepted the hypothesis of rambunctious poltergeist before admitting that I could have been the doer of the deed.

I tell you all this for a reason. Don't worry. I haven't forgotten my point, as I had my mistake. Anyone at my age, and especially with my profession, sensibly prefers never to entertain a possible implication of poor memory, indicative as it might be of any measure of cognitive decline. It couldn't have been me! I cast a suspicious glance at the border collie. They are known for their canny intellect and prodigious feats of physical surprise. But no. All signs pointed to the philosopher. It was truly alarming.

But then I remembered the phenomenon of "selective attention." A decade or more ago, a video was being passed around of some boys playing basketball on an outdoor court. Viewers of the short clip were then asked if they had seen anything unusual. And I, like most others, replied with some perplexity that I had not. It was then revealed that a man in a gorilla suit had walked slowly through the video frame behind the action of our focused attention. We could not have been more surprised. So, perhaps, in my intense focus on popcorn and pepper and peanuts, and getting back quickly to the show, I had astonishingly not noticed the Elf of whose presence I had been warned, sitting just above the pepper. I had fixed my snack and, out of habit, closed the cabinet —a habit to whose superiority any married man will gladly attest. So that was it, not a memory lapse due to age, harbinger that it might be of untoward things to come, but merely the trick of selective attention, a weakness that can accompany any of us, whatever our age. That was it!

But then, I had been told of the Elf's location and need for fresh air. That, I had clearly forgotten in my own late night kitchen raiding activities. And this element was not about selective attention. So I had to admit to myself, the most stringent of judges on matters of evidence and reasoning, that a common attendant of age had been responsible for my lapse. And at that exact moment, I suddenly also realized I'd been waking around the house all morning without remembering to zip up my pants. Oh, well.

But then, the Elf himself comforted me with tales of his boss, and the Jolly Old Elf's own forgetfulness, after all the centuries of lists and appraisals of childhood conduct, and changes of address. You yourself may have been victim to a "naughty or nice" mix-up at some point. Mrs. Claus could only roll her eyes. And yet, still, he somehow gets the job done. And so, shall, perhaps I, despite such momentary, and at the same time, monumental, reminders that as the years pass, so will some of our capacities of mental retention. But don't yet put me on the shelf, Ok?

Rumination

Our noun comes from a Latin verb meaning "to chew." In the life of the mind, rumination is chewing over some idea or problem thoroughly. And that can be a very good thing to do.

But as with nearly all good things, rumination is subject to the Double Power Principle. The power it has for good is matched by the power it has for ill. I recently read a short article about the downside that's manifested in the mental activity of going over and over and over something that's negative in your life—mulling it, stewing over it, pondering it, trying to figure it out, repeatedly sensing anew how wrong it is, and endlessly asking, "Why has this happened to me?" Here's the problem. When the situation is something you can't control or even act on productively, rumination can become a very unhealthy habit. A better approach is to act on what you can control and walk away from what you can't control. Sure, seek to understand it. But then: Drop it. Forget about it. Move along.

Sometimes, we break out of the chains of rumination best when we find other things to do, creative projects, fun activities, any alternative things to keep our minds busy. Rumination has its place. But out of place, it can turn into a destructive loop of obsessive thoughts. The good news is that our thoughts are ultimately up to us. It make take effort, but with enough work, we can keep ourselves on a healthier track.

The Coming Train

Near Clio, South Carolina
It's a clear fall day, 1960
and I'm eight and I've never
been so far from home.

I'm outside my uncle's house
that badly needs paint
in the hot dry country
that's desolate and remote.

And in his front yard,
if you can call it a yard
since it's all dirty white sand
and tall scattered weeds

There's an old railroad track
crossing the yard too close
to the porch and you can stand
on it and gaze for miles each way.

And then I see a distant train
coming toward me with its light
dim in the distance but I know
it's really bright and it scares me

And I want to cross the track
if I have time to get back again
on the side by the house before
the dark awesome force arrives.

It's an urge to run across that
no-boy's land if I dare, but why
should I care about it at all? And
as the train approaches closer

I feel the pressure inside me
to cross or not to cross.
Will I do it or try it, as the
opportunity rushes on by?

Can I catch it—the chance, not
the train—or will I wait a second
too long and dash just to be dashed
and end my world in that strange place?

And now I know I can cross tracks,
but it’s not always good, and not
ever healthy to wait too long to make
the choice if you might want to return.

Sapiens: Human Reality and Fiction

I just heard a fascinating TED talk, due to the recommendation of a friend. The young Israeli historian Yuval Harari gives a short and fascinating account of how human beings, of all creatures, rose to rule the world. The talk is reportedly a shortened version of his book Sapiens, which I have not yet read. The book is widely praised as not only historically astute but also deeply philosophical. I’m no historian, so I can’t judge that. I think his talk showed some interesting psychological and anthropological insight, but that it also displayed some overly simplistic and sloppy philosophy. We need to be able to disentangle the two.

Harari claims that we’re able to do two things that other species can’t manage. We can organize ourselves to work together (1) flexibly, and (2) on a large scale. Ant and bees can organize on a large scale, but their behavior seems determined, and not flexible in any robust sense. They don’t ever decide to displace the Queen and substitute a democratic form of governance, for example. They do what they’ve always done. Other species, like chimpanzees, can do things together flexibly, but not on a large scale. Harari gives the example of filling a large stadium with 100,000 people who come together in an orderly way to watch an event, as juxtaposed to what chaos would result with 100,000 chimpanzees in the same space.

He then claims that we are able to do both these things because of the power of the imagination. He says we imagine a God and a heaven with rewards after death for good behavior during life, and get a lot of people to believe this imaginative conception, and thereby bring about large scale order and cooperation. He calls any such story an imaginative fiction that brings people together. In his talk, he contrasts realities like a banana or a coconut or a mountain with what he calls the fictions that allow us to live in a distinctively human way. Another big example is what he calls the fiction of money. We are told that a dollar bill or a hundred dollar bill has value, and we all accept this fiction, and that’s what allows modern economies to work. We also buy into another fiction that people have rights, natural human rights, and that’s what allows modern democracies to work. But, Harari vividly and imaginatively suggests, cut open a human body and you’ll find a brain and a heart and lungs, but no human rights. Rights are a fiction, he says. But when enough of us accept the story, we can organize and do things we couldn’t otherwise have done. Chimps don’t buy into fictions. They deal with realities. But that severely constrains their possibilities.

Many others have talked about “the social construction of reality.” The great sociologist Peter Berger was the first I ever read on this topic, in his book of the same name. We do spin out stories, simple or elaborate narratives to make sense of the world and our lives, and when we come to believe them, that helps us live and work together in new ways. But why call these stories fictions? Harari’s examples seem to indicate that he accepts as realities only things that are manifest to the five physical senses, like human body parts, bananas, and mountains. But what of the postulated entities of physics that account for the manifest realities around us? What of the realities discerned by animals with senses other than ours? What of such things as love and friendship? Add up the manifest physical attributes of two people. Where is the friendship? Does it not exist? Is it a mere fiction? Why should our physical senses be in such a simplistic way the sole arbiters of reality? This isn’t science, at all, or even a sophisticated scientism, but what’s more widely known as a crude empiricism that we have no good reason to think is other than itself a fiction.

Does the imagination only invent? Or does it sometimes discover? Often, the advance of science and technology consists in someone, or many people, imagining something and then subsequently finding it to be true, or to be feasible because of what is now discovered to be true. The imagination in such cases seems to be as much an apparatus of discovery as of invention. It builds stories, yes, and in that sense, it fabricates. But are all its fabrications fictions? Of course not. The idea of a fiction, or a concocted falsehood that many people are somehow made to believe isn’t at all necessary or crucial for the story Harari is telling. Some of the imaginative narratives we tell bring us together to create conventions of usage, as in the case of money, and other stories may limn realities invisible to the crude senses on which we otherwise depend. Harari gives us no evidence or argument to the contrary. He merely asserts. But what might make us suppose that's ever been a reliable path of discovery, or a good sign of truth?

When we do think flexibly and on a large scale, we discover logic and the many dynamics of evidence assessment related to truth. And we come to see that assumptions like those Harari makes are more than merely questionable. They’re simply indefensible. Unless you want to think like a chimp.

For the book that Mark Zuckerberg loves and is recommending to everyone, and that I hope to read soon, click: http://amzn.to/2ur8xDR

A Work of Hope

Most businesses cater to either our realized needs, our desires, or our fantasies. And of course, these three categories are connected in various ways. Some businesses cater to our fears, and a few, to our hopes. Commentators have told me over the years that one reason my talks and books are successful is that they bring people hope. They display the wisdom we need to spark and ground our hopes for a better future. And today, I've realized for the first time that this may also be true of the new novels I've been writing.

I've enjoyed or benefited from various types of dystopian literature at times in my life - from Orwell's books to The Handmaid's Tale to The Hunger Games and the Divergent series. And in troubled times, people often turn to such books as needed cautionary tales, and as instructive explorations into the dark side of human nature. After the Arab Spring of 2010 and 2011 worked out so badly, at least in the short run, writers in North Africa began a sudden turn toward darkness in their own poems and fiction. I certainly understand that. But there's a big part of me sensing now that what we most need in turbulent times is a literature of hope, well grounded, thoughtful, responsible hope. And as I deepen in that realization, I come to see that this is exactly what I've been writing and editing for the past six years—an epic adventure series of books, set in Egypt in 1934 and 1935, that explores the best in our nature as it responds to the worst. Issues of courage, friendship, love, and the power of the mind weave through the books and cumulatively create the elements of a very powerful worldview, anchored in ancient thought and yet responsive to the best of modern science. Without realizing what I've been doing—other than writing as fast as I could to get onto the computer a vivid movie I was seeing in my head each day—I was bringing into the world precisely the sort of literature I think we now most need, in our nation and globally. And that gives me a new sense of excitement and personal adventure about continuing to bring these novels into print for their growing audience. After being told by my agents repeatedly that I'm a nonfiction writer, not a fiction guy, even without looking at the fiction, I decided to create my own imprint and a business to bring these new books into existence in our time. And a new publishing imprint unconnected from the major New York houses that I've worked through in the past gets no publicity, but then provides many distinctive gratifications. And, again, as I've said here before, I deeply appreciate those of you who are reading and writing me your impressions of these books. May we together launch something very new into our time. www.TheOasisWithin.com

Fear. And Love.

What should we think about fear? Maybe Aristotle can guide us in the way he assessed the very different, but often related, emotion of anger. He believed the value of this powerful state of mind and heart could be revealed by such questions as: Toward what or whom? In what measure? For how long? And to what end? We should probably ask the same questions about any instance of fear. When there are real dangers, fear is rational. And it can be reasonable for us to allow it sometimes to call the shots, determining our thoughts and actions at a particular moment, or in a certain fraught situation, and thus guiding our behavior then and there. But this should not be a common occurrence. And there could be a better alternative.

A courageous person never lets fear unhinge him or her and always seeks to do the right thing, regardless of any dangers that might loom and threaten. Sometimes, that means listening to fear and accepting its guidance to pause, or stop, or retreat, or avoid. There are times when it's wise to be moved by fear. But in modern life, this emotion tends to intrude into our thoughts and feelings much more often than its help is needed. Practical wisdom, or prudence, demands that we respect a wide range of values in our actions, and those values encompass proper concerns for our own health and self preservation, as well as for those we love, and even to consider and protect a positive reputation among at least the wise in our communities. But fear is often a bully in its warnings that we may lose what we value, and is as subtle as any insidious force can be.

Fear has a thousand faces. It quite often presents itself as something other than what it is—as perhaps a common sense and reasonable desire for safety, or security, or comfort, or simply for what's known, as distinct from what might be clearly uncertain and unknown. It can make itself look like altruism, or moderation, or sheer rationality, and even when it's the polar opposite of these things.

I've let fear influence my choices far too often in life. But I never recognized it at the time. I was a master of self-deception. And, whether I know you well or not, I can imagine that you are, too. We all have this unfortunate skill. We can rationalize almost anything. And the smarter we are, the more convincing we can be, not only to others, but to ourselves. We allow fear to mask itself as a proper concern for another person, or as the voice of reason, when it's not that at all. And we need to learn the form of discernment, a component of wisdom that allows us to spot our emotions and motivations for what they are, rather than being moved around by what they appear to be. It's almost as if negative emotions can be illusionist shape-shifters and masters of disguise. Part of the Platonic program of stripping away illusions and getting beyond appearances means unmasking them and refusing them illegitimate power.

Fear can present itself as any reasonable person's primary concern. After all, what's more important than survival, it asks us. Well, perhaps a lot. I've come to see fear as being, at best, a rare and secondary motivator along the course of an imperfect life. Yes, it can be helpful. And for that we should thank it. By I now refuse to allow it to call the shots as often as it would like. I'll feel its cousin anxiety arise within me, but nowadays I'll spot it, and question its validity in the moment or the situation, and dismiss it from my heart and mind when it's counterproductive, or in other ways uncalled for. I hope you will, too.

Salespeople are trained in some organizations to act on the fact that most people are much more motivated by a fear of loss than by a desire of gain. And I have a corresponding suggestion: We should not be among those fearful people, and thus, by our own independence, diminish their numbers. No one has ever attained excellence or greatness by following a path of fear. No one ever made his or her best contribution to the world from a place of fear.

It's often been said: Two forces motivate us—love and fear. I recommend love. It's a vastly better guide, overall, than fear. It can give us the true safety that fear always pretends to care about, and yet without the illusions, constraints and deceptions of fear. Love, understood properly and done right, should be our prime mover and most consulted guide.

I think of love here in the deepest spiritual sense, and very differently from the popular understanding—not as an emotion at its core, but as a perspective and commitment to certain positive values, and to the good of all souls. Love is, on this perspective, the main application of wisdom, which is both love's fount and guide. If you value the right things, and embrace those values properly, if you have the right perspectives and insights, you don't need the goad of visceral emotions like fear or anger to motivate proper action. Love wins over all.

On this view, fear is merely a substitute motivator for those who have not fully developed love. And the tug of this pretender can misfire frequently and actually keep us away from the path of what we ought to do. Sometimes, the visceral electric shock of the snake at your feet or the sound in the night simply prevents the right exercise of the mind and the quick action you need. That's why the quintessential hero has a calm mind and a good heart. She does what needs to be done not from fear but love.

And in the end, I think that the deepest spiritual love is a mark of true courage. That's why we hesitate ever to attribute this virtue to suicide bombers or any terrorists, despite the actions that intentionally take them to danger and death. Their fanaticism may mimic courage and produce a counterfeit that's convincing in the minds of their fellow fanatics, but that's because they fail to understand the nature of genuine courage, by their blindness to true love. Any of us, in lesser ways, can make the same mistake. Love puts fear in its proper place. And as the Gospel says, perfect love casts out fear. When love is perfected, this alternative motivator is not needed in any way. It’s left behind. And this is a state of being for us all to hope for and to seek to attain.

Great Summer Read!

I just read a book you will love. It has 35 short chapters written by some of the most successful public people over the past few decades—in sports, journalism, politics, and many other walks of life. The book is What Made me Who I Am, and is brought to us by Bernie Swain, a co-founder of the famous Washington Speakers Bureau. The book starts with Bernie’s own story of overcoming all odds and creating a mammoth enterprise that has benefitted millions of people, and yet started out in the cramped space of an office supply closet, which was his first office.

You’ll hear from Olympic Gold Medalist Mary Lou Retton about how she great up in a small coal mining town in West Virginia and found her way to inspiring the world with her gymnastic exploits. The very things she was criticized for as a child (always jumping and cartwheeling and such) became the keys to her future greatness. Even her small stature, which had seemed a weakness, became in gymnastics a strength.

Terry Bradshaw went from a southern university football team where he was on top of the world, to being a first round draft pick in the NFL with the Pittsburgh Steelers and then, in his words, he got to the big city and managed to “hit the ground stumbling.” He tells about the early failures and terrible humiliations he suffered in the big show before turning things around, in a way that provides a lesson for us all.

Madeline Albright, Tony Blair, Tom Brokaw, James Carville, Doris Kearns Goodwin, Lou Holts, Mike Krzyzewski (and I still can’t believe that’s how you spell it), Colin Powell and a big cast of other great people tell you their stories, and reveal the inflection points where tragedy could become triumph, or failure could turn into fame and fortune, largely through attitudes of service, hard work, and persistence.

I was endlessly fascinated and inspired by these stories. I think you will be, too. They’ll give you a bigger and broader sense of the possibilities for your own life, and especially when things are not going great. These high achievers were not ashamed to speak of their flaws and failures, their heartbreaks and mistakes and turnarounds.

You know how, every now and then, you come across a passage in a book and have to run and tell someone about what you just read? There were dozens of places like that. I’m sure my wife got tired of me telling her the story of the girl who went from homeless to Harvard, or what it was like for Scott O’Grady to be shot down behind enemy lines and evade adversaries for days, murderers who would shoot him on site, and often walked within a few feet of where he was hidden. How do you keep cool in a life or death situation? How do you succeed? This book is full of amazing stories that will wow you and motivate you. I wish I could tell you about 20 of the stories right now!

Bernie Swain himself has meant a lot to me. Because of him and his great colleagues, I’ve shared the stage or the program as a speaker with many of the great people whose words are featured in this book, and so many inspirational others. In the early days of my career, I was always coming home to tell my wife that I had shared the podium with Colin Powell, or General Norman Schwarzkopf, or President George HW Bush and Barbara, or James Carville and Mary Matalin, or Mary Lou Retton, or Tom Peters, or Tom Brokaw. And I’d tell her about the thunderstorms that kept me from getting to Dallas in time for a talk and how the football great Terry Bradshaw drove across town to fill my slot so there wouldn’t be a blank stage for an hour. Or that I had just spoken on a program with an astronaut, or the Blue Angels, or The Thunderbirds, or the coach who just won the National Championship, or The Super Bowl, or the World Series. In my early days out of the classroom, Bernie and his associates made it all possible. And now, so many of his friends and my fellow speakers tell stories here that will delight you as they have me, throughout the years. Treat yourself to a great read!

http://amzn.to/2q7CYsh

Joyful Mediocrity

Joyful mediocrity. It's a thing. It's what I feel when I’m playing my guitar, amped to the max. I don't need to be the best at it. It can bring me joy even if I’m just Ok.

How about you?

Do you really have to strive to be the best at everything you do? Can’t you just enjoy whatever makes your heart sing, regardless of how good or proficient you might be? Is everything necessarily about improving, and fighting to be better than others? Is life optimization a constant duty and demand?

Maybe not. Perhaps the truth is very different from that. We should consider the possibility that life is really not an endless competition in every one of its nooks and crannies. It’s not in all respects an Olympic track where we’re supposed to be racing and struggling to beat everyone else, or even our own past and fleeting personal best. It’s often a buffet, a playground, a quiet river, a dance, a meditation mat, or a comfortable room where you can pick up that musical instrument and just mess around.

Do you have a mug that says “World’s Best Dad?” Or “World’s Best Mom?” Guess what. You’re not the only one who was presented with that noble award. And you could then ask: Was it really something like a 3 million person tie? Or is it Ok to just be a wholehearted, kind, supportive, loving dad, or mom, or spouse, or friend, or boss, regardless of any competitive metrics that might be conjured up and imposed on you?

Don't get me wrong. Personal growth is one of the reasons we're alive. Getting better at anything can be enjoyable. Getting great can be just that—great and soul stirring. But it's not necessary to import this perspective into absolutely every area of your life.

I love Frisbee, and I'm average at it, at best. Mediocre would be the right word. But it's fun, even joyful.

I love to joke around. Am I a world class comic? Not by a long shot. Do I care? No! How about throwing a football? Fun, fun, fun. How good am I? Passable. See what I mean about the humor? I like to grab my wife and dance terribly until she makes me quit, about 5 seconds into the first awkward twirl. And I could go on. But she won't let me. Just kidding.

Fun. Soul elevating stuff. My heart sings while I recite Shakespeare. And I'll never be cast. But downcast? Never!!!!!

Am I alone in championing this concept of joyful mediocrity, or do you also have an experience of it in your life? If so, what’s it for you? What’s your love and joy—regardless of talent, acumen, praise, or skill?

A friend told me recently that he’s really bad at golf, but loves it. It’s his joyful mediocrity. I know people who love to play cards, but don't even think about winning. They relish the experience, the chit chat and just the time together. Sometimes, I get a kick out of whipping up a meal. And I usually dive into the result with enthusiastic gusto, although I wouldn’t expect anyone else to do so, and I’d really hate to see any review of my culinary achievement on Yelp.

Our entire culture seems to goad us on to work hard at everything, hone our chops, and rise to the top. But what if there’s a different way of rising, altogether, and it has nothing to do with any top?

In a culture of striving to be the best, perhaps sometimes it's best to just be.

So. Cultivate joyful mediocrity now and then. Unless you're my airline pilot on the job. Or a president in the Oval Office. But in other things, it's Ok to be average, or even bad, if what you're doing gives you joy. And if others can take joy in it, as well, even by laughing at your wonderful, delightful incompetence, then that's good, too.

Our Choices, Our Lives.

With graduation time here again, there's something well worth our reflection. In ancient Rome, only the upper classes had much choice as to occupation. And Cicero pointed out that the age at which such fortunate youth were supposed to choose their path in life was precisely a time when they were least prepared to understand the range of their options and the consequences of their choices. Interestingly, the same truth holds today.

When my friends were seeking to pick their major at UNC, they would most often ask themselves, "What do I want to do for the rest of my life?" And many froze in fear that they'd choose wrongly. My father taught me that, by contrast, and in a Ciceronian mode, "You never have to ask what you want to do for the rest of your life, only what you want to do next. The rest of your life will take care of itself, as a result of these much smaller choices."

In my novel, The Oasis Within, young Walid Shabeezar has just turned thirteen. And as he crosses the desert with his uncle and a group of friends, he discovers something about his family and himself that he had never imagined. The discovery then confronts him with an unanticipated choice. There are certain expectations for him. Will he agree to accept them, or not?

A famous literary agent who read the first draft of the book worried to me about Walid. She said, "But he doesn't really have a choice. He does what he's expected to do. And that just seems unfair." But is it unfair at all?

For most of history, young men and women grew up to do the exact work they had seen their parents do. Hunters became hunters, farmers became farmers, and homemakers engaged in home economics. A blacksmith's son would also begin to shoe horses. A shopkeeper's child would learn that trade, as well. But in more recent decades in the developed world, there has come to be an increasing range of options open to us all. And that's become a problem. Some well-known psychological experiments have shown that if you give people too many choices, our ability to choose at all breaks down. Faced with a display of 100 different jellies in their grocery store, people simply walk away. Confronted by 12, they may make a choice.

Mondrian once said that for a painter contemplating a blank canvas, the first brush stroke is always the hardest, because it eliminates countless other possibilities.

If a young man follows his father's work, or a young woman her mother's, or there is a continuity crossing the gender divide, yet taking family activity into the next generation, has such a person abdicated choice? In my view, not necessarily at all.

Let's consider for a moment the most extreme case. A couple wants to pass on to their children a business they've created. And all but one of the siblings prefer instead to do other things. Will the youngest then face a level of pressure that eliminates any real freedom of choice? Certainly not. Of course, the young person may opt to do something different, however challenging that may be. But suppose, by contrast, that this young adult child does agree to take on the family business and tradition. There are clearly two ways to do "what's expected of you." One way is to defer unwillingly, give in, and allow the choice to be made for you. This is of course a path to resentment and diminishment. But there is another way. And that is to freely embrace what's set before you, and take it up as your own chosen path. In this modality, you take emotional and existential ownership of what's been offered you, and you make it your own. It's a path of career choice that nowadays is rare, but there's nothing inappropriate or inauthentic about it when it's done in full knowledge of options, and with courage as well as compassion.

In like manner, many of us feel a sense of mission in what we're doing. I've felt that since one day in college, when, on a walkway near the math building at UNC, I experienced a sense of calling that was not yet fully specific, but almost an alert that I had a special mission upcoming, one that was soon to be assigned to me. This experience gave me great hope and confidence and enthusiasm about the future. And I immediately embraced whatever this specific mission would be, wholeheartedly and with great gratitude.

Did I not have a choice? Certainly, I did. But I responded ultimately to something that felt given to me, and yet I took my own ownership of the adventure to come, and have so ever since. There's a false view of freedom that we have to make up everything ourselves from scratch in order to preserve the entirety of our integrity. But there's another perspective in accordance with which authenticity means respecting who you most deeply are and what you're most deeply given to do, and then working with that to the utmost of your ability.

I hope for our current graduates that they can come to make such choices well, and in the way that will lead to a deep sense of gratification and fulfillment for them, as well as a greater good for us all.

Self Examination

In a talk I gave this week to the 160 top executives in a great company, I began with some drawings I had done of Socrates, Plato, Aristotle And William of Ockham. I mentioned what I think of as their greatest gifts to us, gifts we would use in our hour together.

Socrates called us to self examination and self knowledge. He even went as far as to claim that "The unexamined life is not worth living." He taught me that we should examine our beliefs, assumptions, values, emotions, and attitudes on a regular basis, and relentlessly.

Plato clearly expressed the difference between appearance and reality, and pointed out that most of us live our lives in bondage to illusions that constrain us and hold us back, distorting what we're able to know and do in this world.

Aristotle called us to dig deep in order to rise high, and base our lives on the virtues, or strengths, that we can ideally bring to any challenging situation, the chief of which is courage.

Ockham helped us to understand the importance of simplicity. In any complex situation, however complicated, there is a simple core. If we can grasp that essence, we can deal more properly with all the other issues.

For the first time in a talk, I suggested that we could all heed these pieces of advice in an interesting way. We should at some point take some time and do a personal inventory of the general beliefs and assumptions we have about life and work that we may never have examined before and that just might be among those illusions that Plato suggested affect us all. What have I been assuming or taking for granted? Is it really true? Or is it a mere illusion I need to shake free of? This sort of self examination, testing appearances and pursuing realities, will require a dose of Aristotelian courage and may bring us to some simple truths that might be liberating.

It's worth pondering.

A Few Elementary Thoughts.

Elementary Weekend Thoughts.

The Four Elements: Earth. Air. Water. Fire. We have each in us. And one will most often dominate a personality. Which is yours?

Fire people are passionate. Earth people are solid workers. Water people flow forth to nurture. Air people convey new things. Which are you?
We need friends who range across the elements - fire people to inspire us, earth people to help us get things done, air people to bring us new insights, and water people to nurture and encourage us.

Nothing enriches us like good friends. Aristotle would say virtuous friends, because only the virtuous can be a true friend, and not a user.

If we pay attention, what we read and hear and observe changes us, however slightly, whether we can later recall it or not. We are moulded and grow.

Education doesn't depend wholly on conscious recall. It's about drawing out the best in us (that's the etymology of the word). It's alchemy.

I try to learn something new every day. New perspectives and insights build up my ability to think creatively and well.

Nice can be a superficial facade, a patina or laminate of manners hiding the ugly truth. But the currency of kind is accepted everywhere.
Wisdom brings compassion. Kindness brings wisdom. The end of the stick easiest to pick up is kindness. So be kind to become wise. It works.

There are two kinds of simplicity - the obtuse sort and the sagacious sort. Sagacious simplicity is one of the greatest powers on earth.

Forgiveness is a form of moral and spiritual judo that disarms negativity and renders it inert.

Danger comes in many forms and a multitude of disguises. The wise see it as what it is. The courageous know how to handle it.

How often do you have a new idea, an insight that's never before entered your mind? It can make your day. A relaxed consciousness allows it.

When you stay on your proper path, others will join you for the adventure. Stray off it, and you're often on your own.
The most wonderful things most often happen at the most unexpected times and in the most unanticipated ways. Be open. Be receptive.

Difficulty can lead to ease, defeats to victories. Life offers us a profusion of such turnarounds, if we keep the faith and move forward.

Wisdom is like anything else of substance. Small acorns can grow great oaks.

** More on The Four Elements and their application to life is to be found in my book The Oasis Within.

I'll Rise Up and Fly

When I was young
I thought I could fly.
If I ran just right,
I'd rise into the sky
and go over the yard and the house
and the trees
until, floating a bit,
I'd catch a good breeze
and neighbors would see
and squint into the sun
and say "Come here and look
at what this kid has done!"
I'd continue to rise
and with such a big smile
my grin could be viewed
at least for a mile.
And, even today
I think, if I try,
the time may yet come
when I'll rise up and fly.

I've posted this little reflection before, and bring it to you again because of how it captures an aspiration deep in the soul for something lofty and noble. My childhood fantasy and true belief can continue to inspire me to rise high in the world of the spirit. I hope it can touch you with the same reminder of early dreams and ongoing possibilities. TM

My Favorite Book. Ever.

Yesterday, in a magazine interview over the phone, the writer asked me, “What’s your favorite book?” I actually get asked that a lot and never before knew what to say. I have lots of favorites. But I just may have discovered my favorite novel of all time and perhaps even my single favorite book, excluding of course, The Bible, which should never be a part of such comparisons in the first place, for several reasons. And I’ve learned that my new favorite book is considered a classic, though I’ve never heard of it before. It looks like a book for children, and in particular, for little girls. But it’s out now in a beautiful edition that the former little girl in our home had owned for years. Anna Bond, a family friend at Rifle Paper Company in Winter Park, Florida designed the new cover. Look them up if you don’t know their amazing work.

Anyway, the book is A Little Princess, by Frances Hobson Burnett, and was first published in 1905. It portrays the unlikely adventures of a young girl in London who, after living a charmed first stretch of life, is thrust into challenging, bleak and difficult circumstances beyond anything she could have anticipated. And yet, she uses the amazing power of the imagination, and the equally great power of good manners, and ultimately true kindness, to prevail over all. It’s one of the best books I’ve ever come across on inner resilience and the power of the mind. It’s charming, and even heartwarming, but most of all, it’s deeply wise.

Let me give you a sample, although excerpts can’t really convey the impact of the expertly told story, whose lessons often come through in subtle ways. In one scene, the headmistress of her school, Miss Minchin, speaks to young Sara, the elegant princess of our title, with great harshness, heaping on untrue and unfair accusations, while Sara listens without any sign of anger, hurt, agitation, or reply. She then muses over her own restraint, and especially on the fact that, unlike most people, she doesn’t answer the unjust accusations.

"As to answering, though," said Sara, trying to console herself, "I don't answer very often. I never answer when I can help it. When people are insulting you, there is nothing so good for them as not to say a word—just to look at them and THINK. Miss Minchin turns pale with rage when I do it, Miss Amelia looks frightened, and so do the girls. When you will not fly into a passion, people know you are stronger than they are, because you are strong enough to hold in your rage, and they are not, and they say stupid things they wish they hadn't said afterward. There's nothing so strong as rage, except what makes you hold it in—that's stronger. It's a good thing not to answer your enemies. I scarcely ever do. (Puffin Edition, 147)

And another, longer, passage, after a particularly shocking development:

Then a thought came back to her which made the color rise in her cheek and a spark light itself in her eyes. She straightened her thin little body and lifted her head.

 "Whatever comes," she said, "cannot alter one thing. If I am a princess in rags and tatters, I can be a princess inside. It would be easy to be a princess if I were dressed in cloth of gold, but it is a great deal more of a triumph to be one all the time when no one knows it. There was Marie Antoinette when she was in prison and her throne was gone and she had only a black gown on, and her hair was white, and they insulted her and called her Widow Capet. She was a great deal more like a queen then than when she was so gay and everything was so grand. I like her best then. Those howling mobs of people did not frighten her. She was stronger than they were, even when they cut her head off."

 This was not a new thought, but quite an old one, by this time. It had consoled her through many a bitter day, and she had gone about the house with an expression in her face which Miss Minchin could not understand and which was a source of great annoyance to her, as it seemed as if the child were mentally living a life which held her above the rest of the world. It was as if she scarcely heard the rude and acid things said to her; or, if she heard them, did not care for them at all. Sometimes, when she was in the midst of some harsh, domineering speech, Miss Minchin would find the still, unchildish eyes fixed upon her with something like a proud smile in them. At such times she did not know that Sara was saying to herself: "You don't know that you are saying these things to a princess, and that if I chose I could wave my hand and order you to execution. I only spare you because I am a princess, and you are a poor, stupid, unkind, vulgar old thing, and don't know any better."

 This used to interest and amuse her more than anything else; and queer and fanciful as it was, she found comfort in it and it was a good thing for her. While the thought held possession of her, she could not be made rude and malicious by the rudeness and malice of those about her. "A princess must be polite," she said to herself.

 And so when the servants, taking their tone from their mistress, were insolent and ordered her about, she would hold her head erect and reply to them with a quaint civility which often made them stare at her.

 "She's got more airs and graces than if she come from Buckingham Palace, that young one," said the cook, chuckling a little sometimes. "I lose my temper with her often enough, but I will say she never forgets her manners. 'If you please, cook'; 'Will you be so kind, cook?' 'I beg your pardon, cook'; 'May I trouble you, cook?' She drops 'em about the kitchen as if they was nothing." (pages 164-5)

Our Princess thinks of herself as protected by a sort of benevolent magic. She once says, "Somehow, something always happens," she cried, "just before things get to the very worst. It is as if the Magic did it. If I could only just remember that always. The worst thing never QUITE comes." (page 220)

If you treat yourself to this magnificent little book, you’ll be glad, and you'll feel Sara's Magic.

http://amzn.to/2pebli9