Minimalism, a shift in priorities and focus

This guy speaks truth. What do we really “own?” We are temporary, finite creatures on this planet. We have things we USE. He calls it a basic fact. Most people don’t get this. Can you take it with you?

Typically, for most folks, the biggest financial investments we make—homes and cars—are consumable commodities. They can be consumed, as in burnt up in flames, until they are gone. In accounting, we call them depreciating assets. Even homes that gain value over time will one day decay, become dilapidated to the point of falling in on themselves or get torn down. It will become a dump, a trash heap of debris. It’s a consumable commodity, a depreciating asset, that may serve a purpose in your life until the time you die. It won’t last forever, either. Even if you “pass it down,” the average lifespan of a home is three generations. Homes and treasured heirlooms have a limited lifespan. People who suffered through but survived Hurricane Ian understand the limited lifespan and value of THINGS, even precious things, irreplaceable things. Things that are consumable, though, and won’t go into eternity with you.

In moving back to this island among those survivors last year, that weighed heavy on my decision. I’m a minimalist and have lived that way since 2011. The six years leading up to that, I began deconstructing my sense of self, my faith and downsizing. In the year that followed I got divorced, downsizing even further and going deep into myself TO FIND ME! So that when I moved back amongst the living dead, one year and eight months after most of them LOST EVERYTHING, I believed I would be amongst like souls who had learned this valuable life lessons. Things hold no eternal value.

My girlfriend and I just went round-and-round on this very topic. The cremains of our parents do not hold their essence. The ashes of their mortal bodies do not keep them close to us in spirit. They are but a reminder of them, their essence and presence in our lives. Even less valuable things, like keepsakes from childhood, or our kids’ childhood, hold no real eternal value. They are mere pointers, physical reminders, of what we had, what once was. They stir our nostalgia and our fuzzy recollections.

I can remember our old 8mm home movie reels. Dad had a Bell + Howell movie projector and a movie screen that he’d setup in our basement and play for us early childhood memories. There I was on the movie screen at 3 years old playing football with my dad on the living room carpet, at 5 years old being walked down the street towards kindergarten by my 3 year old sister, or at 6 years old playing in the fall leaves at Broad Ripple Park (Northeast Indianapolis). I would watch those movies for years and it brought back wonderfully nostalgic feelings. But I didn’t travel back in time and become that 3 year old in an oversized football helmet. You can never go back. And now that the home movies are gone and I’m aging, those memories from long ago get fuzzier and more distant. Dad even had them digitized before the film totally deteriorated, but then he lost the disc. Unless digital copies exist somewhere in the cloud, those old movies are gone forever, lost to time. They were not eternal, either.

What’s my point? I’d give everything I have to have those digitized films back for antiquity. I’d love to hand them down to my adult daughters. I’d love to hear their laughter over me crying because I didn’t WANT to play football or wear that ridiculous helmet! I’d love to know that they could one day show their own children, should they have any. But they DO HAVE memories of our lives together. THAT will be my enduring legacy, the only thing of eternal value.

What do we really own? Our life on planet Earth is SO SHORT! We take none of the stuff with us, but as George Carlin put it, we spend so much of our lives worrying about our stuff and where we are going to store our stuff. It’s comical because it’s true. But it’s also sad. It shows us the ridiculous value we place in things and the ridiculous amount of time we spend working for and worrying about things. They are insignificant refuse meant for the garbage heap of time. Even our bodies are consumable. Mine will be burnt up in a crematory one day.

That’s not fatalism, but realism.

So where do you place value in your life? What are you working so hard for? Things that are eternal and priceless or consumable commodities, like creature comforts? Do you need them, like air and water, to survive? Then what are they really worth? What are you investing in of any significant value? Where are your priorities? What is the payoff?

 

Humility Speaks Volumes

I have been talking about humility a lot lately. I think that it has fallen on deaf ears, but it's something I've studied, before as a student of religion, as a leader of men on retreat weekends--I wrote about that here.

I've actually written quite a bit on this blog about Humility. But in the post, above, from March 2014, I'd just gotten out of a committed relationship and returned to Tallahassee to be with my girls full-time. In reading the post, it was very beautifully moving and emotional for me to read, but I just wish I had followed my own advice. Life just sometimes gets in the way. Circumstances and situations arise that take us out of our peace and we become reactive. We often react out of stress or anger or whatever, and we don't always choose humility.

But we always come back to it.

When I wrote that post in March 2014, my girls were 9 and 12. My oldest was about to become a teenager...and my biggest challenge. We went through some rough years while she was in high school and the three of us were living in their mother's townhouse. I remember the most heated exchange we ever had was one night when she was probably 17. She was in charge of dinner, but only as a result of not doing dishes the night before. That was my rule. If it's your night for dishes and you choose to put them off, they are expected to be washed and put away before dinner the next night. On this occasion, they were not. One thing led to another, and I let myself work up a load of steam before she triggered me and I flew off the handle, cussing and slamming a pot of sauce on the floor to make a point. It was an overreaction, to be sure. She left the house saying she couldn't live there with me anymore. Her's was a typical teenager overreaction, but I did not stop her. Before we went to bed that night, me in her bed and her at her best friend's house, we spoke by phone and each of us apologized for our overreactions and our part in creating the drama.

So even in our worst moment as parent-child, we came back to our senses and back to common ground. It takes humility to admit when you are wrong. So even if I didn't model it perfectly at all times, like I wrote that I would on this blog, I hope that they came away understanding that life principal. Being humble with people, especially those you love, can express to them how important they are to you. Like the last act of Jesus for his disciples, stooping down to wash their dusty, dirty feet. Humility that speaks love.

I've made so many mistakes in relationship, too many to count. But I still understand humility. Even when I don't show it, I always come back to it. In situations where I've been wronged, repeatedly, I still find a way back to humility. Even when I know that I was wronged, and I was right to call out the offender, I have humbled myself in order to preserve the relationship. It was a tough lesson that I learned from living with my Dad.

Dad grew up in a home where you had to PROVE you were right on any given topic. His surviving siblings will tell you stories of them taking dictionaries and thesauruses to the dinner table to "win" a debate with their father. They've all told the stories and bear the scars. In fact, James H. Doyle, my grandfather, was nicknamed "Preacher" in high school. No wonder where my Dad gets it. He's never wrong. And don't expect him to admit it, either. But when being "right" comes at the expense of those you love, by hurting them with your judgy nonsense, then what good is being right all the time? Where is the prize for that?

It used to infuriate me when my father would constantly argue with family members over things consequential--politics and religion--or inconsequential, like how to cook something properly. It was always HIS WAY OR THE HIGHWAY! There's only one right way (and perhaps there is for some things) and he's going to be sure to tell you what that is. He was an expert on things, just ask him. Well, no one was willing to bring a Bible, a law book, a medical journal, a dictionary or thesaurus because he'd even argue that THEY were wrong! He was always right.

There is no prize for always being right. Your ego can take the blow of being wrong once in awhile. You might serve the higher purpose of fostering relationship and peace in the home over being "right." But that would take humility. And so I would often challenge my dad, "Are you really wanting to be right on this? Or do you want to have relationship?" Because I could see him pushing away all of those he loved most dearly, over his ego and being right. Aren't those we love worthy of a little of our humility?

It takes humility to give second, third and fourth chances, but you are capable. I found I was until I hit my limit. After choosing relationship over being right a number of times, I had to stop and ask myself is this humility or is it foolishness. So I point blank asked my partner, when is it YOUR TURN to act humbly and choose US over your ego? Will you ever humble yourself and just say, "You know what? You're right. And I love you more than I love being 'right' all the time."

It's not always easy, but it's right.

That was my aim in 2014. Yes, I'm human and I fell short, but I do hope I imparted that lesson to my daughters. I feel that I failed to impart it to my partner. She just shat all over the idea, arguing with me until I gave up and left.

March 2014, meet October 2024.

Second Chances and Trusting the Process

It was unbelievable the way I made it back to Fort Myers Beach in May 2023. I woke up in my favorite place on Earth June 1st last year.

The first time any doubts arose about moving back here came a few months in, maybe 2.5. It was on a hot, summer night, AC barely able to cope, my mind doing too much thinking, that I began to question my future here. I put on a Reiki video and the one leading the YouTube meditation and Reiki session said, “Trust the process.” It was as if she was speaking right into my soul in that moment.

So I let go of worry and doubt and decided to TRUST the Universe. It had gotten me back here after a couple of really tough years.

It was the end of September when I learned, during Revive The Vibe, a one-year Hurricane Ian commemorative event, that my ex-girlfriend from 10 years ago was again single. A couple months later, I learned through another mutual friend that she was living on the beach…the beach we fell in love with.

I blogged in the first two months of our life together in Bonita Springs that I felt like I’d been given Three Chances at Life. It was 2013 and Lynn Farber had caught me completely by surprise and swept me off my feet. But when our relationship stalled and I moved away from our Mango Street rental on FMB, I had no hope of ever seeing her or speaking to her again. She refused to see me in April 2014 when I came back to the beach for my things. And once back on our seven mile stretch of beach last year, she made it her mission to avoid me.

That all changed three weeks ago.

And when the Universe gave us a second chance at love and reconnection, we jumped in with our entire person! “Trust the process,” I was told last summer. I did. I also followed my gut instinct and waited for her to reach out. That first text came three weeks ago, yesterday.

We are both incredibly lucky and grateful to be handed this priceless gift. We don’t take it lightly. We have both committed to giving this relationship our all! I am ALL IN, as is she.

I have my person back!

Many people never find their person. Even fewer get more than one chance to make it work. We squandered our first chance. We’ve learned and grown. We have decided to trust again and make this leap together. Where the Universe takes us is anybody’s guess. I remain open to possibility, all options on the table, no holding anything back this time.

Caring too much and carrying the weight

I had someone close to me last year tell me they are jealous of my "gypsy lifestyle." I found that characterization quite interesting and not all that far off. But here's the thing...it seems to denote a carefree lifestyle. I'm neither carefree or careless. Quite the contrary, I care TOO MUCH at times.

More recently, a newfound friend and confidante told me that I am effected by other people's energies and so I must be careful. I am careful, especially in avoiding negative energy from others. If it gets too much, I simply walk away.

But her words were true and impactful. Because I care so much (not saying I'm a total empath, but I certainly don't lack empathy), I do tend to absorb people's energy. I want to get down in the dirt with them and feel the sensation of the damp Earth. Embracing someone with the same dirt as you under their fingernails is much more impactful than someone filled with sympathy or pity. Really understanding what another is going through is monumental in fostering and maintaining strong connections.

I might live like a gypsy, but I really do care...not so much what other people think, but what they are going through in their own lives. Being empathetic and absorbing that energy is like helping to carry a heavy load. But you do that for a few close friends and the weight can become too much, unbearable even. You've heard the expression, "Carrying the weight of the world." Well, I believe that's where it came from...an empath who cared too much, absorbed too much and didn't know when to set healthy boundaries.

I said that I'll walk away from someone vibrating on a lower frequency. I don't want to absorb their negative energy. So I have learned to set boundaries. Still, I find myself taking on too much and forgetting about self-care, at times.

My new friend who seems to get me on a cellular level warned me about doing this recently. She is a great friend who I greatly admire and respect.

If you don't surround yourself with people of similar energies and frequency as you, you'll succumb to the level of the company you keep. The weight of their negativity, or just the circumstance they find themselves in, can bring you down. Be healthy. Set boundaries and stick to them.

I think I'll keep my gypsy lifestyle a bit longer. It's not as carefree as it seems, but it suits me.

33 YEARS AGO TODAY...

...the world lost a great woman, my maternal grandmother, Kathryn "Kate" Dunning/Larson/Wright...

One of my most favorite blog posts ever is the one I wrote about her 15 Jul 2010 (link in caption):

Pancakes & Smoky Links

She was diagnosed with breast cancer in 1989 when I was starting out on my own in Florida. I was so disappointed I couldn't come home for the annual Dunning reunion that October, or to see her while she was sick. It would've been bad to see her in the condition she was, so skinny, a wig and just not the robust woman she'd always been.

But happier memories, like my blog post, are of her making one of her signature pies or cobblers (apple or blackberry) with a tub of Emge Lard and the extra crust she would bake on an upside down pie plate sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar for us kids (I forget what she called it).

She'd also make a vinegar slaw with few ingredients--cabbage and green peppers, the vegetables I remember--and she'd salt the heart of the cabbage for us to share. I remember having that sweet and salty summer slaw with fried chicken and biscuits during summer visits to Princeton.

But beyond the great food she prepared for us, the most important memory--her legacy--is the love she showed to her grandchildren. Grandma Wright was one of my biggest fans, always quick with a word of encouragement. I am sure that my loud drumming would hurt her ears and be a great annoyance during the middle of the day, into the evening, but she'd praise me for figuring it out by ear and playing with such gusto...I mean, not in so many words, I'm paraphrasing. Midwesterners raised on farms were not usually verbose, at least not in their praise, but she encouraged nonetheless!

Everyone of her grandkids will tell you how she made them feel loved and appreciated. The food was just an awesome, added bonus!

So today, on this sad anniversary, I remember you with love and fondness, Grandma...rest in peace.

Perspective, Ego and Growth

In this ever expanding Universe, we are not even a grain of sand or a blip on the cosmic radar. We are truly insignificant in the galactic view of our reality...if we can call reality, reality. Isn't it just our perception of it? Are we but a dream on the tip of consciousness?

PERSPECTIVE
I think that is one thing which comes with age. And with it, comes some humility. That reminds me of a post by the Power of Positivity's Instagram Account:

I hope that's where I was going with my STILL GROWING AT 54 post. Life does have a way of bringing you back to humility. When your ego gets away with you, something inevitably happens to bring perspective back to you.

At my age, I still have things to learn and time to grow. But I'm definitely on the downhill slope on the backside of my life. Again, perspective.

I know that I'm not destined to live forever. Age is already showing in my joints, my libido, my energy levels. That's not to say that I'm done...just dying. I mean, we are all destined to become dust and rejoin the cosmos from whence we came.

The life hack is making the most of this finite journey -- enjoying the short time we exist in these mortal vessels.

I have to remind myself all the time to be present. "Quit looking back and looking forward all the time," I tell myself. The present moment is the only "reality" we have. Everything else merely lives in our mind, whether past or future.

Here's another meme I found recently that I really like:

If we're constantly in a state of looking back, living our past life over and over, how do we attain growth? There's no reason to stay in the past. We are evolving creatures. Evolution has been happening for eons. "None of us are the same as we were yesterday."

It takes intention to stay present, to be in the now. Like most, I struggle to control the random thoughts that pop in and out of my head. Eckhart Tolle refers to this as the unconscious mind. It distracts us. It goes to our ego, that sense of self that is the "sum total of our experiences." But we're not bound by our ego or the unconscious mind. 

I'm trying to go with consciousness. I want to be intentional. I desire continued growth.

Part of that growth is releasing others from their past sins. I can't hold others in the past, either. I must allow them room to grow and change. They deserve the same grace I give myself. But vulnerability is hard. Letting go of the hurt and moving past it requires the same intention as presence. It also requires the loosening of ego's control. "But they did that to ME!" Really, was your ego so bruised that you cannot forgive and let go? You've done the same to others and you expect to be forgiven. Live and let live, I guess is what I'm going for.

Ok, enough rambling for today. This was as much written for myself as anyone else.

We are all stardust...and to the cosmos we will return.

Still Growing at 54

There have only been two other posts this month. It's been a month of soul searching.

When I wrote my Hell 2.0 post in early October, I was in a dark place. I was resisting what was, ignoring the signs in front of me. "Don't go back to Fort Myers Beach," they seemed to be telling me. That's what my sister said and I just thought she didn't want me to go back without her. But for right now, there's nothing to go back to.

I knew I wasn't ready to leave the country. Belize could wait.

There's been something afoot in my spirit; something holding me at bay. It's a familiar feeling I began to have about this time last year.

At that time, I was certain my future was in Colorado. I possibly had housing awaiting me there. My daughters are there. A woman I'd been pining for was there. But I didn't leave. An old flame was rekindled. I stayed to see where that was going. As I wrote, from a dark place, still shut off from love, still bitter and angry, "Then, in a state of unwellness, I did the opposite and stayed in Indiana, rekindling what I believed to be an old flame," (Hell 2.0 post). That statement ended on a really vindictive note and I said something I now regret. It was hurtful and I was called out on it recently. I repented.

Two and a half months ago, I was ready to leave Indiana. Certain my immediate future included the beach and my friends there, I was thrown a curveball when Hurricane Ian made landfall on Sept. 28th. My plans put on hold again, like last year. But at the time, I couldn't even conceive that the "old flame," could possibly be the reason. There could potentially be unfinished business there.

REALLY?!?!

I thought I'd shut that chapter of my life for good.

Recently, a cousin in Evansville was describing a family member who shuts the door on those who hurt him and like a cup being drained of water, that person was done with whomever did the hurting. I seem to do the same thing--shut down and shut out. Just like pouring water from a cup, as my cousin put it, there's no water left. I thought there was no refilling it...ever.

That's a shitty way to live.

Where's the room for grace and mercy and forgiveness? What about "do unto others?"

Watching my baby sister grow and change, I realized there was still hope for this stubborn, curmudgeony, old man! Where I saw a weakness in my sister, giving those close to her MULTIPLE chances, I saw the opposite in myself. I reckoned I was stronger, more resolute with deeper conviction. I saw it as my strength. That was convoluted. I was stubborn, angry and hell-bent on holding the hostility, the grudge against those who hurt me.

Fate saw to it that I stayed put long enough to learn a valuable lesson.

And as life always does, it brought me back to humility.

See? Old dogs CAN still learn new tricks!

But I wanted to publicly apologize for what I said in my hurt back in October. I want to make right the wrong and be a better, more humble person.

I want to remain open to love, to be pliable, teachable and humble. Still growing...at 54.

10 Reasons Why I'm Moving to Belize - #2 English-Speaking

Alright, folks, we've come to the TOP TWO reasons I'm moving to Belize! 

I need to get out of the U.S., but I am unilingual. You'd think after all my years in Florida, I would have learned some Spanish, at least enough to carry on a simple conversation. But, alas, no. I picked up some things here and there, words and phrases, but I never made the effort to learn Florida's second language.

And I didn't have my sights set on Central America. In fact, until recently, I hadn't even considered it as a destination. My sights have been on Fort Myers Beach or The Keys in Florida since living in the former 2011-2014. As I've mentioned previously, and those that know me, know this--THE BEACH IS MY HAPPY PLACE! I've also mentioned other coastal locations, outside the U.S., I had considered, like Cuba or the Bahamas. Those places are outside the contiguous States, but close enough to be a short flight or boat trip away. Heck, people have swum the 90-mile Florida Straits between Cuba and The Keys.

But a big consideration was that I find an English-speaking country. I didn't want to be fish-out-of-water in a Latin American country where I didn't know exactly what was being said. I didn't want the language barrier to cause me confusion or trouble. So I began a search for coastal destinations where English is the primary language.

Two countries that I never even considered came up in the Top 10--Panama and Belize. Nothing about Panama, other than it's proximity to the equator, appealed to me. Belize, being a little closer and a lot less political/military, became my top choice. The fact that it's economy, like Florida, was run on tourism (and the exchange rate is great/easy) was another minor factor.

It actually surprised me that language would be such a big consideration. But I was looking for ease of assimilation and this fact draws a lot of expats from northern countries, like me. I initially looked into Corozal on the northern coast. But a little more digging soon revealed that Placencia is more my speed, though much further south.

These people, diverse as they are, can understand me! I won't struggle so much to fit into this melting pot of cultures, people and dialects. That is a HUGE plus, especially considering a move outside of the comforts of home.

In my last blog post, I recapped the other eight reasons that led me to choose Belize. I won't repeat myself here...but it did surprise me that FOOD did not make the top five. Coffee, sort of an afterthought at #10, would normally rate higher, as well. But ease of assimilation by knowing the "native" language--and Belize was a British colony in my lifetime--is more important than I would have expected. The Bahamas and Cuba, due to their proximity and the former also being ruled by the UK, were other places where assimilation would be easy...but they aren't BELIZE! Also, the corruption in Cuba was a major concern.

And while I've read all the fears about crime in Belize. It is localized and central to southern Belize City where gang activity is high. My sister also worries about traveling through Mexico and the proximity to drug cartels, but as I've told her, I'll simply steer clear. I've done my homework and Belizeans are warm, friendly and welcoming. Even the gangs don't usually target tourists or expats...it's more brown-on-brown crime...and in the city.

I'm sure I'll eventually travel into the city, the main airport is there, and the port for cruise ships, but I will stick to the well-known, well-lit streets...and would probably go with a local who knows the area. But English-speaking Belize IT IS!!!

The Dance and Where I'm Going

Watch this video (listen really):
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pV-D2_G9w5c

I've listened to several Alan Watts' clips, but never this one until yesterday, after finding it on my new favorite vlogger's YouTube Channel.

When I blogged the other day about Reality TV/Vlogs, I didn't mean I was swearing them off. They are still my escape and guilty pleasure. And the last few days I've been following Alyssa Bean, aka RegretLyss (her YT and IG handle), who lives with her dog in a converted short bus. This off-grid, non-traditional "van life," or "bus life," has been her thing most of her adult life. A graduate of Purdue and social media guru, she travels the country and has a video diary where she delves into her psyche while sharing her solo wandering from mountain to shoreline.

Check out RegretLyss on YouTube

As a non-traditionalist, wanderer/explorer, I dig her vibe. But I've been too sedentary of late. When I was living in the foothills of the Rockies, I was exploring all the time. I was very active, hiking to peaks in the 8,000-foot range, lounging at waterfalls, exploring abandoned mines...AND MYSELF! But here in the last 10 months, I've been nearly stationary, motionless and growing more and more restless. I need to wander. That's why you've caught me dreaming of Belize.

Part of that is discontent and wanting to leave this country for good. The other part is simply my wanderlust and need to find my center at the beach, in the tropics! 

But what about "the dance," as Watts puts it?

What about my day-to-day existence...my presence on Planet Earth? I haven't been dancing; I've been surviving. How much longer can I exist in survival mode? Even being sedentary as I have been, it's exhausting! It's taken a toll on my psyche. And I need to get back to dancing.

Thanks to Alyssa for the reminder yesterday. (I'll get back to "the countdown" momentarily, thanks for reading).

Serendipity...hope.

I am hoping for serendipity to take hold.

If two planets are met to collide, is there anything on this Earth, or within the realm of human possibilities, that can stop this cosmic intent?

In the not-so-distant past, I believed that someone very special was brought into my galaxy. I thought about the two of us as planets orbiting in very close proximity. I believed that we were on a crash course brought forth by destiny, or you might call it serendipity. For I never saw it coming. I certainly wasn't looking for it.

In this twist of fate that even I couldn't have written in a romance novel, I found this person orbiting in my galaxy. She was within reach. She was BEYOND anything that I could have hoped for, or even dreamed possible.

Circumstances forced me far away from her, but she was never out of my mind. Though, I sought to replace her, erased her photos from my phone, even wrote her a card basically wishing her a nice life...still...

Last night, she came to me in a dream. We hit it off like old friends. She was as familiar to me as a favorite sweatshirt when the crisp fall air of November requires an extra layer of warmth. And she fit right in with my family, as if hand to glove.

I don't put too much stock in dreams, but this was evidence of my subconscious stirring. She's always been there. Stirring. In the background.

Back when we were orbiting, I felt that it was a sure thing. Circumstance and perfect timing put us in each other's pathway. We struck a chord immediately and became good friends, but had to keep a professional distance. Secretly, we communicated electronically and shared some laughs and some tears, our joys and frustrations. In my mind's eye, I could see us planning a future together. I even prayed for guidance--to my ancestors, to the stars, to anyone "out there" listening.

There was one night in particular, I will never forget. Lying on my back in the late summer grass, looking up at a multitude of stars, I was overcome with a moment of humility and gratefulness. I thanked the Universe for being so gracious and kind to me, serendipitous, if you will. At that point in time, I just knew our two orbits would some day collide. It was written in the stars. We were on a very similar timeline, and in a similar situation in life.

So now that I am some distance away, and I've basically removed myself from her life, does that space, distance or time really mean anything? Is there really anything I could do to thwart the hand of fate? I was kind in my letter to her and I wished her nothing but the best.

But if my instincts were right, she hasn't written me off or forgotten about me. If we were meant to find each other at the most unexpected time and place, and our future is already written cosmically, is there any force on Earth that can stop that from coming to fruition? I can't fathom that there is.

Yet, it seems so wildly speculative and unimaginable at this particular juncture.

My plan is to live in Florida at the coast. Her's, as far as I could tell, was to live on the opposite coast. Will we somehow find our way back to each other? Only time will tell.

Today, all I can do is hope.

Serendipity...that's my hope.

Goodness & Mercy EVERYDAY!

 I had a revelation of sorts the other day. It wasn't a particularly good day. I'd just told the Universe I needed something to break. I was searching for a "goodness and mercy moment."

Well, I got to thinking about what that verse says, that Divine promise and Universal Truth--"Surely goodness and mercy will follow me ALL THE DAYS of my life," emphasis mine. So if that's true, then goodness and mercy aren't only present on the days I realize it, like the times those hounds of heaven have tackled me, taking me by surprise. No, they are always on my tail, like bloodhounds. I just don't always look for or recognize them.

I'm usually looking for the big surprises, the unexpected turn of events or a sudden human interaction that blesses me. But like this morning, it was a small, simple, seemingly mundane thing. I was waiting for a business to open and so I popped in my earbuds and played a song that inspires me. Today, that song hit me right in my soft spot and I began to tear up with happy tears. "The only thing I need I already have. The fullness of your mercy in my hands. The only one who loves me as I am..." and suddenly I recognized goodness and mercy were on me again. It was a gentle reminder that I am good enough, that I am loved, that I already have all that I need.

So don't always look for goodness and mercy to "attack you," to rattle you to your core. Sometimes they come gently and in seemingly mundane ways, through various media. Today, for me, it just happened to be music. Be present. Stay aware. Goodness and mercy just might surprise you.

Peace, love and positivity, my friends.

INTENTIONALITY

I am intentional with my words. I am trying to be more intentional with my thoughts, too, but they are sometimes harder to reign in. I am intentional with my actions.

Why do I say this? With intention, of course.

A couple of posts to social media the last couple of days have had me in tears. Sweet, intentional comments or posts that hit me right in my soft core. This morning, I took the time to comment on them. In the most recent one, I heaped praise on a married couple whose presence in my life, though brief in the span of time (I turn 53 in 3 months), has been impactful. I was intentional with my words and chose them carefully. I wanted them to feel honored, cherished, loved, appreciated and special. They are just those kind of people who give and give and probably do not hear enough what they mean to their friends, to the world.

I have the same intentionality with my daughters, my sister and those I highly cherish and admire.

Last night, I was intentional in my actions, passing up one opportunity for camaraderie, dancing and festive music to attend another musical event. I went to support a new friend, a great guy and musician, who was having his first gig in months. It was a more lowkey affair, but his obvious appreciation in his countenance and in his words meant a lot. It was an investment in our fledgling friendship and it was intentional. It was a worthwhile investment.

Say what you mean to say. Do what your heart is telling you to do. It will pay big dividends, some immediate and some down the road. But in life, and it is short, BE INTENTIONAL! Your words are so important, but even moreso are your actions! Let people know how important they are to you.

What struck me most this morning was that most of us would be more loving, more expressive with that love and more intentional if we knew we were dying. Well, guess what? None of us are guaranteed another hour, day or year. We are all headed toward the grave. Why not be intentional now?

I know things are coming clearer into focus now that I’m over half a century old. I get that my mortality is more real to me now than at any other point in my life. Still, it feels good to spread love, light and positivity. If I could only give my younger self one piece of advice...

Don’t hold back in this area. Be the reason someone smiles today.

Love Starts with You!

 So in my last blog post in March of this year, I wrote about important life decisions, like should I stay or should I go [Cue The Clash]. Well, the same special person who inspired that post, has me at it again...this time about love. Oh, and I've decided to stay.

Our very first concepts of love must be rooted in the care and nurture of our parents from birth. Once we are of age to conceptualize the idea, we've had years of physical touch, coddling and affirmation. But as we grow, we can sometimes forget that love starts with self.

I forgot this for many years. I craved attention, physical touch and all the things that spoke love to me--AFFIRMATION, that's a big one for me (and a lot of men, I've learned)--but I had a very critical nature. I was my own worst critic. After years of tearing myself down, giving no room to myself for growth and making typical mistakes, I really did not like myself very much. This came to a head in my 30's. I downright despised myself.

Thankfully, that was just a dark period...which we won't go into. As I approached my 40's, and realized I was just human, I began to cut myself a little slack. Then, after my marriage crumbled, I had all this time on my hands. I did a lot of reading and soul-searching. I was 43 about to be 44, the Summer of 2012. With my wife and kids several states away, I had time on the beach to do a lot of both. The watershed moment came when I found a book at the Fort Myers Beach Public Library titled, "The Mindful Path to Self-Compassion," by Dr. Christopher Germer.

This book was transformational.

I began to see myself again as a little child. I began to cut myself way more slack and speak to myself as if I still was that frightened little boy. I found so much grace and mercy. I learned the effects of years of negative self-speak and I determined to change my inner dialogue. The Summer of 2014, I decided to start loving myself.

It's been seven years since then.

I really do see myself in a totally different light. I give myself all the grace in the world for being human. I laugh at the silly little mistakes now instead of beating myself up internally. Life has become so much sweeter to me as a result. Problems tend to roll off my back instead of becoming insurmountable obstacles.

Now, I still get overwhelmed at times. I still don't know how I'm going to overcome everyday obstacles from time to time, especially when 3-4 "must conquers" pile up. I still obsess over shortcomings and failures. But the biggest change in this "coming of age," has been NOT FEELING LIKE A FAILURE. I don't allow any of my shortcomings, my procrastination or my mini-failures to define me. These human foibles don't make me a "failure." They make me human. And I'm okay with that.

All that to say that I now love myself. And that's huge. If you don't love yourself, you have nothing to give to others. You are deficient in the "love quotient." Many of us are. We just haven't mastered the art of positive self-speak, i.e. self-compassion. Thank God, it took me 40+ years, but I did!

Now that I love myself and know how to allow myself room for error, I am able to do the same for others. That nurture that I learned as an infant, I can now pass along to others, to see them as hurting young children. I can now give love because I know love, at a cellular level.

Thank you to the special someone who I mentioned at the outset, for speaking my love language, affirming me and reminding me that I'm worthy of love. I have a lot of love to give because of the fact that love starts with oneself. I love myself, therefore, I have (in Dr. Gary Chapman's words) a full love tank from which to share with others. That's another good self-help book, Chapman's "The Five Love Languages," so add that and Germer's "The Mindful Path..." to your reading list, please.

Love yourself first. That's the moral of this blog. Once you've filled up your own tank, you have plenty to go 'round.

STOP CHASING SELF-ESTEEM

A GREAT INTRODUCTION TO THIS TOPIC...



I was a chronic self-doubter. I grew up in a cynical, critical, religious home with parents who didn't love themselves the way they should. This isn't an indictment of them, it's just a part of my story that shaped who I became as an adult. There's no blame in this. It's just my perception of the problem and the toxic environment in which I was raised.

It took YEARS to break free from that harmful mindset--that I'll never measure up, never be good enough, never be deserving enough, etc. That disillusionment with self came crashing down in 2012. I picked up a new book by Dr. Neff's (video above) colleague, Dr. Christopher Germer, "The Mindful Path to Self-Compassion." I've written about it more than once, including this blog post in Dec 2012.

Again, it was a game changer for me, this concept of loving myself and accepting both the good and bad, the yin and yang of my being. The chastisement and critical behaviors began melting away. The will to do self-harm became less and less. I saw myself sabotaging my relationships less frequently, but mostly the self-sabotage was replaced by understanding and mercy. I was able to start healing by forgiving myself for perceived failures and shortcomings. I began to focus more on the goodness inside of me, the parts I really admired about my personality, my being.

I was up late last night because I couldn't sleep. Journaling has become an effective therapy for me, so I did so last night at 3 a.m. I was led back to this concept of self-compassion and how it's altered the course of my life the last 8 years.

I recommend this video as a good starting point. Here's to your journey of self-discovery. Be well, friends!

White Privilege Breeds White Nationalism

If I could start any non-profit I wanted tomorrow, I think it would be an educational program to treat middle-aged (and older) white males in denial. Their disease? Denial of white privilege. It's an epidemic that seems to only affect that demographic.

Disclaimer: I'm a 50-year-old white male who has benefited from white privilege my entire life.

My co-patriots would like to claim that I'm a guilt-ridden, self-loather who thinks reparations are in order and we should all self-flagellate. Sure, make me a victim in this scenario. But isn't that what "they" do? If you listened to all the alt-right propaganda, it's people like me, in the media, on the streets, waging a war against whiteness! Their way of life, their race and even their gender are under attack!

Poor little white dudes.

The predominance of white privilege has shown it's ugly face throughout history, but I don't need to prove it's existence. To me, it seems as obvious as the nose on my face. To others who've benefited from it THEIR WHOLE LIVES, it's become a "dirty word." We don't like to face our own prejudices and shortcomings. I get it. But denying it's existence would be like spiders denying that they benefit from webspinning, or lions denying their royal jungle lineage. To further this metaphor, white men have existed at the top of the cultural food chain for so long, we even mold our deities in their image. Have you seen most portrayals of Jesus Christ?? I grew up believing that Jesus was a fair-skinned, blue eyed Westerner with a British accent.

Anthropologists best guess


Fighting the denial of the blatantly obvious would be the mission of my non-profit. I would force my target demographic--men who look like me and a lot less like the Jesus pictured above--to look into the mirror and get real with themselves.

In thinking on this idea yesterday, I had a moment of real gratitude. I said thank you to the Universe for my health, my intellect and my good looks. Yes, I'm a frumpy, aging, white man with graying brown hair, wrinkles around my green eyes and a gray goatee. But I could walk into any establishment, even after a long period of unemployment, and talk my way into a job. No one would bat an eye as I sauntered into the building because I fit the model of "normal" in our white-bred, Chrisley Knows Best society.

All I'm asking of my Wonder Bread, milk toast brethren is to walk a mile in someone else's shoes; consider for one minute what their world might look like if they looked like confused, Arab Jesus (see photo above). What would their middle class American suburban experience have been like if they'd been born with brown skin, a disability or even as the opposite sex of their OWN race? Because even white women have been marginalized throughout world history. EVERYONE EXCEPT WHITE MEN HAVE!

But to accept that truth would be to accept all the baggage that comes along with it--from patriarchy to slavery to abominations of every sort (think Hitler and Nazism). We've got a barbaric past. But why own any of that when you control the narrative? See my post last year in the wake of "kneegate" in the NFL.

Men, since the dawn of time, have controlled the narrative. We wrote all of the ancient, sacred texts, the basis for our morals and laws. Then, we made all the rules, we enforced the rules and we protect that patriarchy with a fierceness not even matched by the Spartans (or the Nazis). And because we were simply born into the ruling class--dominant gender, dominant race--we believe we get to continue making all the rules, writing the white-washed narrative and keeping everyone else in the margins. That has been our man-given right since the dawn of time, right?

And all I want is for my brothers all of white mothers to own up to it. Well, that's the first step, anyway. I really want them to go further and consider what this world has been like for people outside their Truman Show bubble. Understanding breeds compassion and empathy.

Denial of white privilege breeds the opposite. In today's American political climate, it's given us the resurgence of white nationalism. It's that militant side of white America who is ready to take up arms to stave the non-white onslaught. You know, all those rapist Mexicans that want to steal our jobs! Too much? Sorry, not sorry. Those are the outlandish claims being made (mostly on Fox News) by the alt-right.

"They" are so worried that someone else is going to usurp white control of everything and take with it all the power, the pen and the privilege. They will rewrite the rules and the narrative--this mythic, monolithic "them" (non-whites). Diversity of skin tones, gender identity and ideas scares the ever-loving shit out of the white aristocracy, especially those on the alt-right. They literally feel that they are in the fight of their lives. The world has turned against them--their government, the media, the people they've oppressed and marginalized for eons.

Maybe they SHOULD be scared! Maybe it'll make them re-evaluate their stranglehold on society and all of it's "norms." But, sadly, it hasn't. It's made most of them dig foxholes in their mostly white, cookie cutter, McMansion suburbs. It's forced them to drag us back, as a nation, into the white ages of Cleaver-land. I'm talking 1950's black-and-white sitcoms, where Father Knows Best and you can Leave It To Beaver.

Life was so much easier for whitey back then, wasn't it? We didn't have "the blacks" rioting and burning down their own neighborhoods and scaring us half to death. We didn't have "the gays" pushing some gender-twisting, liberal agenda down our throats. We didn't have "the gentler sex" demanding equal pay or speaking out (think #metoo). We didn't have "the godless atheists" challenging our WASPy ideals and core beliefs. It's SO scary being a white person these days!

The threat to white privilege has caused this huge backlash and talk of border walls, national (meaning white) security and bringing God back into the classroom. And it's not just non-whites under attack anymore. We have to dominate and control our women, once again, by rolling back advances like abortion rights (Roe v. Wade), voting rights (women are incarcerated, as well) and affirmative action (it benefited women, too). We have to continue to marginalize the voice of gay, white men, even, save their voice be heard and their "chosen lifestyle" be normalized (think recent PBS show, Arthur, debate). Everything non-Christian, non-white, non-male is in the crosshairs because White Privilege Breeds White Nationalism!

It's akin to someone's most deeply entrenched personal issue becoming exposed. The defenses go up immediately. Fight or flight in full effect. Same goes for WASPy, white America. They are deeply afraid of exposing their sacred right (think Manifest Destiny) and having it trampled. Because you understand that to give ANYONE else rights (think #blacklivesmatter) is to somehow diminish THEIRS! Anything that threatens their centuries of control is to be pushed back, demonized and utterly defeated.

I don't feel guilty about it. I didn't make these rules and I certainly don't defend them. My white ancestors were not slave owners. They were immigrants from all parts of Europe, some who were literally despised when they got here (think Irish potato famine refugees). I've totally enjoyed and benefited from my white man card and all the privileges it served up to me. But I wasn't raised to despise anyone who didn't belong to the club (membership certainly has it's privileges). I was raised in a multi-racial, middle class, Midwestern city neighborhood. I walked to school and/or played with neighborhood kids that were African-American, Asian-American, European-American...notice these all have qualifiers. We are all immigrants from somewhere else...NON-natives. So PLEASE, I BEG OF YOU MY WHITE BROTHERS, get over yourselves!!!

Let's end white nationalism today and embrace all cultures, all Americans and even those trying to become Americans. Let us willingly lose our privileged status, the us and them labels and be more courageous. Get out of your foxholes, lay down your defenses and embrace diversity. It is about to be 2020 for God's sake! Let's let go of 1950's stereotypes (ding, ding, ding...it wasn't THAT GREAT back in the old days!) and fully embrace the moment we live in. It's not scary. It's exciting. Change is good. Lay down the crack pipe. Let love rule!

Value and Worth

We ascribe value to so many things, important and unimportant. We apply labels--good or bad, sacred or evil, worthy or unworthy. Think about the activities you feel are worthy of your investment; the causes that are worthy of your sacrifice. These are the things that hold supreme value in our life. We call the ideals and attributes we treasure, "our values."

The problem in our thinking is the skewed perspective and faulty definition we hold of wealth. For instance, we consider Fortune 500 executives as wealthy simply because of their financial value. But think about that. What value does a dollar bill really have? Only that which we ascribe to it. There was a time when that value was based upon the gold standard, and our currency held value in direct correlation to the gold our government held in reserve. But the U.S. Dollar's value in correlation to world currency fluctuates all the time. So what is a dollar really worth? The paper it's printed upon? The ink and artwork? The time and manpower it took to print?

Currency is merely the paperwork that allows us to trade commodities. It is consumable. Some people hold more power than others, but does that mean they are wealthy? It does if you ascribe value to currency. Those Fortune 500 execs are certainly powerful and wealthy, if their value is only found in the amount of currency they possess. But what do we know about any of those people and their core values? Do they have great familial relationships? Do they possess humility, vulnerability and emotional courage? In essence, are they "good" human beings and do they possess a high sense of self-worth?

In my opinion, the people who possess a high sense of self-worth are those who feel loved and accepted. They have a sense of belonging. They are connected to others and to causes that are worthy of their time and investment. I would consider relationships highly important. Financial currency would be, on my classification scale, very UNimportant. Why?

Because as the old saying goes, "You can't take it with you." And even if you amass great financial fortune, pass that fortune onto your children and grandchildren, it will at some future generation lose value, depreciate and/or deteriorate until it lacks any value at all. Conversely, the values that you impart to your offspring will carry them through life. And if those values are cherished and honored, then they will be passed down for many generations without losing value.

Let me ask you this--how many funerals have you attended where the eulogy was all about the financial wealth of a person? How many obituaries or virtual memorials give a spreadsheet of someone's assets and liabilities? How many tombstones are inscribed with words like, "He amassed great financial fortune." Highly unlikely, right? In all my years of genealogical research, I've seen thousands of tombstones and they'll have inscriptions, such as "Beloved husband and father," or "United in life and in death" (for couples). And at the end of nearly every obit or online memorial, you'll read, "In lieu of flowers or memorials, please donate" to this worthy charity or cause. Because the value, the worth, is not in the unimportant things, like how much cash they left behind, it's in the important things like relationships and giving back to the world.

How we define wealth, defines us.

Are you ascribing value to things of great import? Are you investing in yourself and in others? You are worthy of love, belonging and acceptance. We all are worthy.

CHOOSE LOVE! Start with you!

BEING CHURCH

Last Sunday, I checked in at GoodSam on Facebook with a status, "Being church with Makenna." That's my youngest daughter and the reason I am even in church. But that status stuck with me all week. So when I was asked to write a blurb for this week's e-Newsletter, I titled it "Being Church, Clothing Christ" because we were seeking donations of kids' clothes for a widowed mother of two. It warmed my heart that the congregation I now call family wanted to help this woman in our community who is not a member. I don't know if this woman even goes to church, but she works at a grocery store nearby. Sunday, they are giving me a Mother's Day Card to present to her with a check to help with her financial burdens, now that she is a single mother. What an awful thing for her to spend this Mother's Day with two grieving children, as she herself grieves the loss of their father. But what a blessing to be a conduit of God's love, grace and mercy, through my church family.

Beyond the warm feelings I got when the church offered to help and asked me to be the messenger, I was inspired and awed by the universal truth that we are, indeed, God's hands and feet at work in the world. In reality, that's what "being church" means. We are to be the conduits that carry the essence (call it Holy Spirit, if you will) of God into our homes and communities. That should cause you to stop and reflect, as it has me all this week.

It doesn't matter your level or brand of faith. The church building where you spend your Sundays (or whatever day you worship) is of very little importance. It's the congregation of people, each individual member of "the Body," that makes us Church...and that's a capital "C" for the universal congregation of believers.

For those of us who chose to label ourselves "Christian," WE, as the spiritual descendants of Peter, are that Church built upon the rock. In fact, Peter's name literally means "rock" (Look up Petra in the Greek). WE are Church. So being Church takes on so much more of a personal flavor. There is a lot of personal responsibility to being Church. It means doing something; being something; being different.

There are a lot of people that GO to church; but sadly, it seems very few of them know how to BE.

I was one of those "goers" for a very long time, but then I fell out of practice. I stopped going. I became very jaded, cynical and lost my identity as Church, for awhile. I gradually came back to the "being" but I still wouldn't darken the door of a church building because of all the contempt built up in my heart.

It wasn't until my mom was dying of cancer that the return to "being" was completed.

She was diagnosed in early Summer 2014. Within 17 months, cancer that started in her breast had metastasized and was ravaging her 66-year-old body. She chose quality of life over quantity and enjoyed her children and grandchildren, even a great-grandchild, for that last year and a half. I was blessed to be able to spend Summer 2015 with her in Noblesville, IN. I took three trips up to see her in 2015, the last was over Thanksgiving Weekend. She died that Sunday as I was just about to come home.

Mom's dying wish was to see me and my girls back in church. We hadn't gone regularly since my youngest was born. So to honor Mom's wish, I invited my girls to church and picked the one closest to their home because it had a cool name, Good Samaritan. I didn't care that it was United Methodist, just that it had a good reputation in the community and it was closeby...walking distance, even.

In the last year and four months at that church, minus the Summer 2016 which I spent with my widowed father in Indiana, I've seen myself fully return to "being Church." My cynicism and jadedness has faded and is being replaced with hopefulness and peace. I feel that I'm part of a family of like-minded believers, again; people that aren't just there to go through the motions or talk a good spiritual game. I joined a home group of these people who took me in, fed me (in more ways than one) and have become solid friends. I've seen this family serve together, play together, let their hair down, but get serious when a need arose. They are real. I call GoodSam the church of misfit toys. But that's just what the apostles were, too. Jesus didn't hang out with the politicians, the polished, the church leaders. I feel like today, he'd be found in the pubs, pool halls and hooka bars.

I know that Mom is in heaven smiling down on me this Mother's Day Weekend. I kept my promise. My daughter was baptized in the church last year. We aren't faithful attenders, but we are getting better at being Church on a daily basis. And that's the point, isn't it?

Who I Am

I've been talking to my bus driver, Connie, who runs the SouthWood Route. She's also a full-time minister who, in addition to shuttling folks from SouthWood to downtown and points in-between, gives solicited and sometimes unsolicited bits of knowledge. Her most recent "sermon" has been on Who We Are as people of God. It's been an interesting conversation which I've engaged her in on a number of recent bus trips.

As I was walking over 4 miles yesterday, I had time to clear my head and do some meditating on Who I Am, as a person. And here's what I came up with. I didn't know who I was for a very long time. I didn't really care for myself all that much until I moved back to Florida in 2011 and had a bit of a catharsis on the beach. Self discovery that started at the end of 2011 and led me to some radical changes that brought me to where I am today--back in a town that I swore off in December 2006 when I sold my house and moved back to Indiana.

In my time of reflection and meditation, as I strolled along a barren stretch of Capital Circle SE, I realized what a pivotal year 2006 was for me. It was the beginning of what I now call my decade of crisis. I was 38, then, and I still didn't know what I wanted to be when I grew up. I found what I thought was real love for the first time. It led me away from my wife and ultimately down the path to divorce in 2012. It was an up-and-down rollercoaster ride from 2006 until 2016, which I blogged recently was one of the worst years of my life.

But things began to turn around near the holidays. And as 2017, emerged, I realized that I wasn't the same person that I was during that crisis and certainly not the 38 years before. This year, I've decided to take hold of the rudder of my life again and be the captain of this aging vessel. Whereas before I was willing to let the winds of change shift my direction here and there. I tried to be a,flexible reed letting the winds bend me to and fro, calling it "life's adventure" and taking things as they came to me. Really, I was being lazy and just settling for whatever came my way. I had stopped trying all that hard. I was still living, I was enjoying life, but I didn't feel like I was making choices that would get me to a desired destination.

That definitely began to change in 2012, when I decided to end my marriage. That was a definitive choice. It was a step in the process of finding out who I am and what I am made of. It was a very difficult hill to climb, but I did reach the pinnacle and come down on the other side. I survived. But I still didn't know exactly who I was. Today, I know.

I AM A GOOD FATHER

My daughters mean everything to me. And while they've always been a priority, I never had to sacrifice as much for them as I did in 2014 when I moved back to Tallahassee to be fully engaged in their lives again. It was a bittersweet move for me that I shed many tears over, but a great one nonetheless. I needed to be close to them to be able to continue sowing good seed into their young lives. That first year back in Tallahassee led me to a lot of soul searching. I took lots of cleansing walks, to talk to myself, search my heart and soul and to breathe again. Those girls are my reason for being--well the biggest part of it anyway.

I AM A SPIRITUAL PERSON

I am still a seeker of truth and justice. I try to be a giver, a pursuer of right causes, an advocate for others, an encourager and a more positive person. My journey has led me to broaden my faith to accept Truth where I find it, regardless of the label we place on it. That said, my faith is rooted in Christianity, but I find Truth is not bound by that label or any doctrine thereof. My spirituality embraces tenets of Eastern religions--Buddhism, Hinduism, Taoism--and the beliefs of Western Protestant Christianity. Where the Eastern mystics promote living in the present and being fully aware and fully human, I find peace and comfort in that. When they say to sow good into the world and that it'll be returned to you (i.e. Karma), I find the same teachings in the Gospels, regarding sowing and reaping. Even in the Old Testament, Nehemiah prophesies to the builders of the walls of Jerusalem, "only the builders will be paid for their labor." These Truths aren't proprietary to one sect of religion and spiritual people find great comfort in that.

I AM MUSICAL TO MY CORE

I find rhythm in nearly everything. Even my daily routines have a rhythm to them. There's a rhythm in my quick stride to the bus stop in the mornings. It's no wonder that I am a drummer. I find comfort in the steady tempo of life, in the pulse of my heartbeat (which is the backbeat and backbone of modern music, by the way) and in the rhythm of all kinds of music--from black gospel to heavy metal. Music speaks to my soul and has from a very early age. Another great decision I made in 2012 was to join a rock-n-roll cover band. Today, I find myself in one of the best bands I have ever played for. It's because I am a musical being and I need that outlet so that my soul can shine. One day, I'll even write and record my own original music, but for now I just have to play!

I LOVE WHO I AM

It took me the longest time to get over myself and all my perceived failures. I was a constant critic and my internal voice nagged the hell out of me from my childhood, through my adolescence and into adulthood. I just couldn't seem to shake the negativity I always felt towards myself. It felt as if I'd never measure up to my own unrealistic expectations. That, too, began to change in 2012 when I found a book by Dr. Christopher Germer, "The Mindful Path To Self Compassion." I devoured that book on the beach that summer, skipping over the long chapters on meditation practices. My soul needed to hear what he had to say about self-love and affirmation. You see, Words of Affirmation, as Dr. Gary Smalley, taught me through his book, "The Five Love Languages," is my PRIMARY love language, followed by physical touch (secondary). I've found that this is pretty common for men--well, for all people, really, but especially for men. The thing is that I was seeking that love from other people when I didn't even feel it for myself. I wasn't loving myself because I didn't like myself. I didn't know who I was. I began the discovery in my first year of crisis, 2006, and found myself again in 2012, but there were still parts of me I didn't understand, so I didn't know to love them. Today, I feel like I've fully discovered myself. And while I haven't tapped into all my raw potential, I know what lies within and I really love myself completely. No more tearing myself down. If I'm going to be an encourager and a lover of people, I must start with myself. It'd be foolish and disingenuous to be any other way.

I realized yesterday that my midlife crisis lasted a decade, from 2006-2016. It spanned my life from 38 to 48 years old. That's a long time to go through a metamorphosis where I nearly hit rock bottom twice, but it's my journey and I'm telling you that's how it happened. I'm not the same guy that I was in 2006, not the same guy I was at the start of last year, even. But today, I fully love the man that is a good, no GREAT, father, a spiritualist, a musician and a man that is fully human, in touch with the full range of his emotions and excited to be alive.

There...that felt good!

Memories with Mom I'll never forget

Just found an emotional letter I wrote to my mom on the day I turned 45 back in 2013. It was a difficult letter to write as we had not really spoken or communicated at all since my divorce was finalized earlier that year. In fact, since my estrangement from my family in the summer of 2012, things were tense between me and my parents. My mom and I had grown distant. This letter was my attempt to begin a conversation that would hopefully bridge the gap between us.

It wasn’t an apology letter or a defense of my actions. I simply told her how I’d been feeling and about how hard it was to go it alone, without the emotional support of my mom or dad. Knowing that they’d only heard one side of the story, I didn’t attempt to counter it, per se, I just tried to get my mom to walk a mile in my shoes. She was upset and hurting for my girls. She grew up the child of divorced parents, so it killed her to see her granddaughters hurting. And believe me, if I could’ve sheltered them from that pain, I would have.

At any rate, mom didn’t see things the way I did. She’d been married to my father for 45 years at that time. She never really thought divorce was an option. I was the third child of hers who went there. I hated that I let our differences of opinion cloud my judgment and keep me from speaking to her. In 2013, I didn’t call to wish her a happy birthday or a happy mother’s day. That guilt was weighing on me so heavy by the fall that I sat down on my laptop and wrote from my heart.

I don’t remember verbatim the phone conversation we had a few weeks after she received my letter, but it didn’t seem to hit its mark. I still didn’t feel that she was hearing my heart or understanding where I was coming from. But, at least, we were finally talking. That was the main thing. My letter had started the conversation.

It continued in the spring of 2014, when after moving to Tallahassee to be nearer my girls, my parents came down to Florida for Spring Break with my sister and several of their grandkids. I took my two girls over to Panama City Beach to visit with them even though their Tallahassee Spring Break had ended a week or two earlier. I sat poolside with my mom and engaged in a very difficult conversation where I tried to clarify some of the points of my letter. Mom was hearing me with her ears, but I still wasn’t getting through to her heart and it was frustrating for me. I nearly left in tears. I did leave my girls with them and return to Tallahassee to resume my search for work. At least, that was my excuse for leaving. I was having no luck reconnecting with my parents on a substantial level and I left there very disheartened.

They brought my girls home before heading back to Indiana that April. In June, I’d receive a call from mom that would bring me to my knees. She called to inform me of her aggressive cancer diagnosis and to tell me that she wouldn’t be fighting it medically. She resorted to prayer and, short of a miracle, was going to succumb to the cancer, and leaving the outcome in God’s hands. To say that I was shocked and devastated is an understatement. It shook me to my foundation. She couldn’t leave me with our relationship still in turmoil, so I determined to get up to Indiana as soon as I could.

Once my girls were out of school, they were able to go stay with their mother who was working for nine months in Colorado. I drove the aging Volvo up to Noblesville, Indiana, and spent six weeks that summer in mom’s basement. That was her literal basement, not figurative. I had begun to work my way out of her figurative basement by then. Plus, her terminal illness, I believe, had her ready to re-evaluate her assessment of me and open to listen with her heart.

That summer of sadness had many bright spots, like the long conversations we shared on her back porch, where I poured out my soul and she listened without judgment. We didn’t always find common ground, but I knew for certain that she was finally hearing my heart. Like I told her, “You’ve known me for 45 years! You know the kind of person I am, the man inside. You raised me. We grew up together.” And so there was much healing that came to our relationship on her back porch that summer.

I left there with my girls in tow. They’d flown in from Colorado to see their Grammy and get the devastating news direct from her lips. It was a bittersweet trip for us all. But I left there feeling so much relief. Years of physical separation and emotional distance were removed and the chasm between us swallowed up by understanding, grace, forgiveness and love.

I will always and forever cherish that summer as a priceless gift bestowed upon me. I was able to follow with trips to Noblesville that Thanksgiving, and three visits to Cicero, where she moved in 2015, before she died. In fact, my daughters and I were at her Cicero home the morning she died following Thanksgiving last year.

I will never, ever regret writing that letter on my 45^th birthday. It was the beginning of a new love between my mother and I and a new chapter in our relationship. I’m so glad I ran across it on my laptop today even though it was difficult to read. I miss you mom and always will. I love that we understood each other on such a deep level. It was a great joy to grow up with you and to be your oldest child, witness to so many of your joys and sorrows. Thank you, God, for the time of healing and reconciliation we shared 2014-15. Rest in peace, Mom.

Grandma Jesus and you

Since writing about Hashbrown Jesus last week, I've gotten a lot of positive response about that post. My family especially liked it. I went back the next evening for a late night snack and to see if I could catch HJ's real name (it's Gary, btw), but he wasn't working. My waitress, however, was there and she verified his story--his name, how he lives, how long he stays and works the grill at Waffle House every year.

As I reflected on that today, I remembered meeting Jesus on Christmas Day last year. Yes, just one month and one day ago. She walks the Earth, known to her contemporaries as Ms. Annie, but she lives and serves in a part of town known by locals as Frenchtown. I'm going to call her Grandma Jesus because that's what she has been to hungry people at the holidays for seventeen years.

And just like HJ, you'll find her among the downtrodden, the outcast, the poor and the marginalized because she, but for the grace of God, is one of them. We are ALL one of them. But we don't realize that in stooping down to serve, we get more out of the encounter than those we mean to serve. And do you know why? Because THOSE people are Jesus!

Did He not say that when you give your coat to warm a homeless person, you are in fact helping Him? I take those holy texts very literally. I know that when I fill a cup with water at the homeless shelter, I'm not doing it for nameless vagrant with the smelly clothes, the mussed hair and the dirty fingernails. I'm doing it because I look into that person's eyes and I see the face of the Divine.

If we will go hang with the homeless, the destitute, the prostitute, the marginalized in our society, we will see Jesus. Why are so many waiting for trumpets and a second coming? He's here, already, and He told us to be on the lookout. He's not carrying any cross this time, except the one we label Him with--homeless, beggar, queer, freak...(insert any label you want, here). He'd certainly appreciate a dollar, a warm meal, a friendly smile or someone to wash His dirty feet.

Will that someone be you?