Playing little league baseball was a fun and educational experience. Hanging out in the sun, joking around with my friends, I got to learn a wide variety of skills, from the proper throwing technique, to how to track a pop fly, to the value of being a good teammate.
I also learned that, because of my pre-game nausea, I needed easy access to a bathroom approximately 10 minutes prior to the first pitch.
And while I benefited greatly from all of those (who needs vomit in center field?), there was another lesson in particular that stood out above the rest:
Try your best.
In a world of fanatically possessed coaches and my-son-is-the-next-A-Rod parents, you would have thought the primary message would’ve centered on stats and scoreboards. But from a young age, I was taught the only thing that mattered was that I tried my hardest.
I mean, even when we lost, we still got a Capri Sun after the game.
As I've gotten older, that lesson has stuck with me, but it’s continually gotten harder to determine what my “best” is. Dealing with open-ended, grown-up situations, the measurement of maximum effort is more complex than simply diving for every ball or running out every grounder. The line that separates “giving up too soon” from “time to move on” can be a blurry haze, leaving me constantly wondering:
How do you know when you’ve given something your best?
We’ve all been there before. Sometimes it’s with a dream, an out-of-the-box ambition. Maybe you are trying to start your own business. Maybe you move to a new place. Or maybe you…I don’t know…quit your secure, Corporate America job to go wait tables and play competitive golf.
Sometimes it’s with a relationship. You meet someone who moves you, someone you connect with, and thoughts of falling in love and living happily ever after begin dancing through your head.
In both instances, you are putting your heart on the line in hopes of achieving something great.
After a while, though, you hit a wall. Things stop progressing. Your intentions are right, and your effort is full, but you are just not seeing the results you want to see.
Frustrated and discouraged, your steely-eyed conviction begins to waver. What was once something you were certain of is now not so clear.
With your plan at a standstill, embarrassment sets in. Looking in the mirror is enough of a challenge, so being around others can be especially distressing. It’s like you’re carrying around the “elephant in the room” on your shoulder, and everyone has an opinion. Even if they don’t say anything, you imagine what they’re thinking, projecting your insecurities onto them. And while you know they mean well, and you know they want you to be happy, you long to be anywhere but here.
Eventually, the ping-ponging between those outside voices and your inner-dialogue becomes too much. On the verge of taking orders from your neighbor’s dog Son-of-Sam-style, you can’t help but ask yourself:
Should I hang in there and keep trying? Or is this simply not meant to be?
It’s only natural – and oftentimes healthy – to question the state of your union, to conduct your own personal review. Like Forrest Gump looking at a person’s shoes, you can see where you’ve been and where you’re going, giving you a fair assessment in determining what to do next.
Unfortunately, we often end up focusing on all of the wrong angles, from our preconceived notions of how things should be progressing to our daunting fear of the what-ifs. We turn up the volume of the naysayers. We compare our circumstances to others, and we wonder why it can’t be as easy and effortless for us.
The process leaves us even more perplexed than before.
What we tend to forget, though, is that each situation has its own path and its own timeline, both of which are unique and completely independent from anyone else’s. Just because a friend knew her guy was “the one” because he took care of her when she was sick doesn’t make “playing nurse” a universal soul mate indicator. And just because you weren’t on national television at age two like Tiger Woods doesn’t mean you can’t be a successful golfer.
These matters of the heart – the things we truly care about – are messy, and they don’t adhere to any hard-and-fast rules or married-by-30 mandates. They’re illogical and irrational and unpredictable, and the more we try to make them objective, the more we spin our wheels, because matters of the heart cannot be solved with our head.
You can apply all of the logic and pros-and-cons lists to them you want, but when it comes down to it, you just have to go on that indescribable, individual sensation of what feels “right.”
And you’re the only one who knows that.
People may think you’re crazy, and some may question your level of self-respect. But luckily, you don’t have to answer to any of them...you just have to be honest with yourself.
So the next time you’re faced with a fight-or-flight predicament, picture the future version of yourself, lounging on the porch in a one-piece jumpsuit, with the story of your life in the rearview mirror. Will you be able to look back at this moment and know that you didn’t leave anything on the table?
If you can do that, you can move forward without any regret and enjoy a hard-earned Capri Sun in peace.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Tell Me About It
Working in the year-round office of a summer camp, you can have some interesting conversations with parents. Whether they’re trying to convince you that the well-established rules should not apply to them, or they’re complaining about their little Timmy not having enough hot water in his shower last year, they all have a story.
So it was no surprise when this mother called in to pay off her account balance – then began grumbling that, given these difficult economic times, camp was too expensive. We went back and forth for a minute, as I tried to ease her concerns and remind her how valuable the experience would be for her child. Once she agreed, I thought I was finally out of the woods.
But then the call took a most unexpected turn…
“I recently separated from my husband.”
Ummm…
“Oh, no,” I muttered, clueless as to how to respond. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
She then proceeded to go in-depth about the situation, how the marriage had ended not due to a lack of love, but because of financial problems. With the uneasiness slowly enveloping my body, I realized I had to quickly transition the discussion back to camp business before she got the chance to reveal something really inappropriate – like why her ex-husband preferred Cialis over Viagra.
Don’t get me wrong…I did feel bad for her. But I was not interested in going above and beyond the standard customer service relationship to create a sing-it-sister connection.
I didn’t want to be her Dr. Phil…I just wanted her credit card number.
I was dumbstruck that this woman would share her deepest, darkest thoughts with a complete and total stranger. Maybe it was like confession for her, and she felt a protected comfort in talking to an unseen, anonymous voice.
Or maybe she had been keeping this bottled up inside, and she just needed to get it out. Coming out of a failed marriage, maybe no one had listened to her in a long time, so she jumped at the chance of having someone’s ear.
After all, everyone has a desire to be heard. We all want to express a thought or an emotion and know that it is getting through to the other person. We don’t need them to agree with us…we just need them to understand and recognize where we’re coming from.
Like the lawyer in court, it doesn’t matter whether an objection is overruled or sustained, as long as it’s noted on the record.
Unfortunately, this seldom happens in everyday life. Buoyed by our specific agendas and shaped by our own biases, personal interaction often resembles a UFC cage fight, with each participant striving to gain the upper hand. We end up having parallel conversations, where nobody truly hears what the other is saying.
To quote ‘The Living Years’ by Mike and The Mechanics, “We all talk a different language…talking in defense.”
When I was a waiter, I once had a table of a mother and her five children. Swamped and scrambling, I greeted them, filled their plastic cups with Shirley Temples and patiently stood there as they took, oh, 15 minutes to order.
(Hey, take your time…it’s not like I have other customers – who I won’t have to work as hard for – whose bill is going to exceed $17.)
Seeing that their food had arrived, I checked in to make sure everything was okay. That’s when the mother went off on me, explaining that she had ordered a corn dog for her youngest, NOT macaroni and cheese.
Now, had Billboard rated the world’s worst servers, I would have frequently appeared on the weekly Top 40, but I know I got this order correct. To this day, I still contend this woman ordered macaroni and cheese.
So that’s what I told her, and, not surprisingly, it didn’t go over well. She got mad, my manager got apologetic, and all I got was a shriveled 10% gratuity.
Maybe it’s my perfectionism, but few things bother me more than someone blaming me for something that is not my fault. It eats away at my insides, and I can’t let it go. I am not a confrontational person, but when I know I’m right, I do not back down from an argument. There’s even a part of me that takes pleasure from proving my case.
Of course, that approach has rarely gotten me anywhere besides the wrong end of a $2 tip.
Luckily, I now have a better way to handle these types of situations. A few years ago, my mother-the-therapist taught me a secret weapon that, if used properly, can not only help diffuse a majority of disagreements, it can also improve your communication skills, making you a better partner, spouse, friend or – yes – waiter:
Validation.
To validate someone’s feelings is to let them know that you hear what they’re saying…you value their opinion...you appreciate their circumstances…you understand what they’re going through.
It’s a show of respect.
Validating comes in handy in any interactive setting: a dissatisfied restaurant customer…a friend complaining about a thoughtless boyfriend…a husband whining to his wife that he doesn’t want to sit through an American Idol marathon.
Most of the time, the person isn’t looking for advice or solutions or for you to make it better…they just want to vent. So it’s typically a waste of time to dole out any wisdom, because they’re probably not ready to hear it anyway.
Instead, you can put your energy into validating, which can be very simple to do. The bare minimum only requires you to say three words at a time:
“I’m really sorry.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Must be awful.”
To take it up a notch, listen to what the person has to say, and then reflect back to them what you heard:
“Colonel Jessup, I know that you have a responsibility that is greater than I can possibly fathom. I understand that we live in a world that has walls, and those walls need to be guarded by men with guns. And since neither Lieutenant Weinberg nor I is going to pick up a weapon and stand a post, you had to order the ‘Code Red,’ because Santiago’s death, while tragic, probably saved lives.”
What you don’t want to do is immediately follow this validation with a “but,” as in, “I really do apologize for the miscommunication, but your son should eat that macaroni and cheese before I pour it down your blouse.” It’s like hitting the “backspace” key, erasing all of the hard work you’ve put in, because the only thing the person will hear is what is said post-but.
That doesn’t mean you can’t express your opinion. Once you have made it clear that you’ve really heard what the other person is saying – that you empathize with them – you can then give your perspective, focusing on how the situation makes you feel (if you’re in an argument), or how you have handled similar predicaments in the past (if you’re serving as a sounding board). Just be sure to use “I” statements – I think, I feel, I believe – to prevent the other person from instantly going on the defensive.
Since my mom taught me this technique, talking to her about my problems can be a predictable experience, as she almost always responds with one of her go-to validation moves. But even though I’m aware of what she’s doing, I still end up feeling better, because I know she’s listening.
And just think how much better the world would be if we all took the time and energy to do that. Not only would we make each other feel more cherished and valued, but we’d step out of our own cocoons and see things in a new light. The level of respect would go up. Divorce rates would go down. Who knows…maybe there’d even be peace in the Middle East.
Of course, if guys listened all the time, what would women have to complain about?
(On second thought, don’t answer that…)
So it was no surprise when this mother called in to pay off her account balance – then began grumbling that, given these difficult economic times, camp was too expensive. We went back and forth for a minute, as I tried to ease her concerns and remind her how valuable the experience would be for her child. Once she agreed, I thought I was finally out of the woods.
But then the call took a most unexpected turn…
“I recently separated from my husband.”
Ummm…
“Oh, no,” I muttered, clueless as to how to respond. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
She then proceeded to go in-depth about the situation, how the marriage had ended not due to a lack of love, but because of financial problems. With the uneasiness slowly enveloping my body, I realized I had to quickly transition the discussion back to camp business before she got the chance to reveal something really inappropriate – like why her ex-husband preferred Cialis over Viagra.
Don’t get me wrong…I did feel bad for her. But I was not interested in going above and beyond the standard customer service relationship to create a sing-it-sister connection.
I didn’t want to be her Dr. Phil…I just wanted her credit card number.
I was dumbstruck that this woman would share her deepest, darkest thoughts with a complete and total stranger. Maybe it was like confession for her, and she felt a protected comfort in talking to an unseen, anonymous voice.
Or maybe she had been keeping this bottled up inside, and she just needed to get it out. Coming out of a failed marriage, maybe no one had listened to her in a long time, so she jumped at the chance of having someone’s ear.
After all, everyone has a desire to be heard. We all want to express a thought or an emotion and know that it is getting through to the other person. We don’t need them to agree with us…we just need them to understand and recognize where we’re coming from.
Like the lawyer in court, it doesn’t matter whether an objection is overruled or sustained, as long as it’s noted on the record.
Unfortunately, this seldom happens in everyday life. Buoyed by our specific agendas and shaped by our own biases, personal interaction often resembles a UFC cage fight, with each participant striving to gain the upper hand. We end up having parallel conversations, where nobody truly hears what the other is saying.
To quote ‘The Living Years’ by Mike and The Mechanics, “We all talk a different language…talking in defense.”
When I was a waiter, I once had a table of a mother and her five children. Swamped and scrambling, I greeted them, filled their plastic cups with Shirley Temples and patiently stood there as they took, oh, 15 minutes to order.
(Hey, take your time…it’s not like I have other customers – who I won’t have to work as hard for – whose bill is going to exceed $17.)
Seeing that their food had arrived, I checked in to make sure everything was okay. That’s when the mother went off on me, explaining that she had ordered a corn dog for her youngest, NOT macaroni and cheese.
Now, had Billboard rated the world’s worst servers, I would have frequently appeared on the weekly Top 40, but I know I got this order correct. To this day, I still contend this woman ordered macaroni and cheese.
So that’s what I told her, and, not surprisingly, it didn’t go over well. She got mad, my manager got apologetic, and all I got was a shriveled 10% gratuity.
Maybe it’s my perfectionism, but few things bother me more than someone blaming me for something that is not my fault. It eats away at my insides, and I can’t let it go. I am not a confrontational person, but when I know I’m right, I do not back down from an argument. There’s even a part of me that takes pleasure from proving my case.
Of course, that approach has rarely gotten me anywhere besides the wrong end of a $2 tip.
Luckily, I now have a better way to handle these types of situations. A few years ago, my mother-the-therapist taught me a secret weapon that, if used properly, can not only help diffuse a majority of disagreements, it can also improve your communication skills, making you a better partner, spouse, friend or – yes – waiter:
Validation.
To validate someone’s feelings is to let them know that you hear what they’re saying…you value their opinion...you appreciate their circumstances…you understand what they’re going through.
It’s a show of respect.
Validating comes in handy in any interactive setting: a dissatisfied restaurant customer…a friend complaining about a thoughtless boyfriend…a husband whining to his wife that he doesn’t want to sit through an American Idol marathon.
Most of the time, the person isn’t looking for advice or solutions or for you to make it better…they just want to vent. So it’s typically a waste of time to dole out any wisdom, because they’re probably not ready to hear it anyway.
Instead, you can put your energy into validating, which can be very simple to do. The bare minimum only requires you to say three words at a time:
“I’m really sorry.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Must be awful.”
To take it up a notch, listen to what the person has to say, and then reflect back to them what you heard:
“Colonel Jessup, I know that you have a responsibility that is greater than I can possibly fathom. I understand that we live in a world that has walls, and those walls need to be guarded by men with guns. And since neither Lieutenant Weinberg nor I is going to pick up a weapon and stand a post, you had to order the ‘Code Red,’ because Santiago’s death, while tragic, probably saved lives.”
What you don’t want to do is immediately follow this validation with a “but,” as in, “I really do apologize for the miscommunication, but your son should eat that macaroni and cheese before I pour it down your blouse.” It’s like hitting the “backspace” key, erasing all of the hard work you’ve put in, because the only thing the person will hear is what is said post-but.
That doesn’t mean you can’t express your opinion. Once you have made it clear that you’ve really heard what the other person is saying – that you empathize with them – you can then give your perspective, focusing on how the situation makes you feel (if you’re in an argument), or how you have handled similar predicaments in the past (if you’re serving as a sounding board). Just be sure to use “I” statements – I think, I feel, I believe – to prevent the other person from instantly going on the defensive.
Since my mom taught me this technique, talking to her about my problems can be a predictable experience, as she almost always responds with one of her go-to validation moves. But even though I’m aware of what she’s doing, I still end up feeling better, because I know she’s listening.
And just think how much better the world would be if we all took the time and energy to do that. Not only would we make each other feel more cherished and valued, but we’d step out of our own cocoons and see things in a new light. The level of respect would go up. Divorce rates would go down. Who knows…maybe there’d even be peace in the Middle East.
Of course, if guys listened all the time, what would women have to complain about?
(On second thought, don’t answer that…)
Friday, April 24, 2009
Dazed and Confused
Reading my old articles can be a stressful experience. Scrolling through, paragraph by paragraph, I feel like I’m watching the horrifying “hobbling” scene from the movie Misery – my head cocked to one side, my face cringing, fearing what I’m going to see next. How bad is the writing? What was I thinking? Did I really say that?
So I was a little uneasy when I pulled up a piece I wrote a year ago that outlined the attributes of my potential “dream girl.” While the writing wasn’t as bad as I anticipated (it was still a bit sketchy), and the overall message was true, I ended up getting pimp-slapped by a sledgehammer-to-the-ankles realization I never saw coming:
I’m the stupidest guy on earth.
Having just broken up with someone who possessed every characteristic I had so eloquently articulated, how else could one explain my actions?
That’s a question I’ve been wrestling with since I decided to end the perfectly good relationship with my sweet, warm-hearted, vertically challenged (in a good way) girlfriend.
The elaborate, expanded answer is complicated enough to be its own article – or book, for that matter – but the simple explanation is that she was the collateral damage of emotional issues I’ve been fighting since well before I met her.
An innocent bystander to my inner-turmoil, she did nothing wrong, and she didn’t deserve to get hurt, making this an extremely difficult decision. Lord knows it would’ve been easier had she been some crazy, obsessive psycho who saved my discarded hair in a shoebox.
Simply getting the words out was a challenge, my voice wavering more than a politician’s principles. After we both said what we needed to say, we just sat there for a minute, the silence a deafening contrast to the laughter that had typically filled the room.
(Although I’m sure she was screaming inside, “Get the hell out of here, you %*$&#@^!”)
I’ve been in a haze ever since, sorting through a sordid cocktail of sadness, disappointment, regret and pretty much any other negative emotion out there. It’s all that I can think about. Did I do the right thing? Did I make a colossal mistake?
If it weren’t for Tylenol PM, I would probably resemble the backup dancers in the “Thriller” video by now.
It’s during times like these, as I’m tossing and turning, and the memories are racing through my head at 100 MPH, when I question if the chance at love is worth all the pain.
Despite the persistent temptation to reach out to her, we have not talked. While I miss laughing with her and joking with her, I know that taking space is the only way for the healing process to begin. I owe her at least that.
It hasn’t been easy, though, because I’m reminded of her at every turn. No matter what I see, no matter what I hear, I somehow tie it back to her – my own, cruel version of “6 Degrees to Kevin Bacon.” I wonder what she’s doing. I wonder if she’s hurting, just like me.
Look, I’m the one who did this, and I take full responsibility for what happened. But that doesn’t mean it’s not agonizing, and it doesn’t mean I don’t care about her.
I was just trying to not repeat my past relationship-related mistakes. I recognized early on how special she was, and I wanted to treat her the right way. Terrified of hurting her too deeply, I chose to err on the side of caution.
But in my attempt to be fair to her, was I fair to our relationship?
I just don’t know.
Considering all of my emotional baggage, I sometimes think I should do everyone a favor and go live by myself in the mountains, with only myself to torture. That way, no one would have to worry about engaging in the excruciating experience of caring for me.
I’ll keep trying to work through this mess, but what scars me the deepest is that my personal issues ended up hurting someone else. Yes, there is an inherent risk of getting burned that you accept upon entering a relationship, but still…she deserved better.
To her credit, while she might be cursing the day she gave me her number, she has handled everything with grace and class, not that I expected anything different…
She might only be 5’1”, but she’s a much bigger person than me.
So I was a little uneasy when I pulled up a piece I wrote a year ago that outlined the attributes of my potential “dream girl.” While the writing wasn’t as bad as I anticipated (it was still a bit sketchy), and the overall message was true, I ended up getting pimp-slapped by a sledgehammer-to-the-ankles realization I never saw coming:
I’m the stupidest guy on earth.
Having just broken up with someone who possessed every characteristic I had so eloquently articulated, how else could one explain my actions?
That’s a question I’ve been wrestling with since I decided to end the perfectly good relationship with my sweet, warm-hearted, vertically challenged (in a good way) girlfriend.
The elaborate, expanded answer is complicated enough to be its own article – or book, for that matter – but the simple explanation is that she was the collateral damage of emotional issues I’ve been fighting since well before I met her.
An innocent bystander to my inner-turmoil, she did nothing wrong, and she didn’t deserve to get hurt, making this an extremely difficult decision. Lord knows it would’ve been easier had she been some crazy, obsessive psycho who saved my discarded hair in a shoebox.
Simply getting the words out was a challenge, my voice wavering more than a politician’s principles. After we both said what we needed to say, we just sat there for a minute, the silence a deafening contrast to the laughter that had typically filled the room.
(Although I’m sure she was screaming inside, “Get the hell out of here, you %*$&#@^!”)
I’ve been in a haze ever since, sorting through a sordid cocktail of sadness, disappointment, regret and pretty much any other negative emotion out there. It’s all that I can think about. Did I do the right thing? Did I make a colossal mistake?
If it weren’t for Tylenol PM, I would probably resemble the backup dancers in the “Thriller” video by now.
It’s during times like these, as I’m tossing and turning, and the memories are racing through my head at 100 MPH, when I question if the chance at love is worth all the pain.
Despite the persistent temptation to reach out to her, we have not talked. While I miss laughing with her and joking with her, I know that taking space is the only way for the healing process to begin. I owe her at least that.
It hasn’t been easy, though, because I’m reminded of her at every turn. No matter what I see, no matter what I hear, I somehow tie it back to her – my own, cruel version of “6 Degrees to Kevin Bacon.” I wonder what she’s doing. I wonder if she’s hurting, just like me.
Look, I’m the one who did this, and I take full responsibility for what happened. But that doesn’t mean it’s not agonizing, and it doesn’t mean I don’t care about her.
I was just trying to not repeat my past relationship-related mistakes. I recognized early on how special she was, and I wanted to treat her the right way. Terrified of hurting her too deeply, I chose to err on the side of caution.
But in my attempt to be fair to her, was I fair to our relationship?
I just don’t know.
Considering all of my emotional baggage, I sometimes think I should do everyone a favor and go live by myself in the mountains, with only myself to torture. That way, no one would have to worry about engaging in the excruciating experience of caring for me.
I’ll keep trying to work through this mess, but what scars me the deepest is that my personal issues ended up hurting someone else. Yes, there is an inherent risk of getting burned that you accept upon entering a relationship, but still…she deserved better.
To her credit, while she might be cursing the day she gave me her number, she has handled everything with grace and class, not that I expected anything different…
She might only be 5’1”, but she’s a much bigger person than me.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Young at Heart
Thomas Boswell’s Strokes of Genius was my first “favorite” book. I was about 12 when I found it lying around the house, and having just started to play golf, the timing couldn’t have been more perfect. My dad’s passion for the game was in my DNA, and reading about the great players, famous courses and prestigious tournaments only drew me in deeper.
While I probably re-read the whole book 100 times, the chapter that was the most special to me was the one about Augusta National Golf Club and The Masters Tournament. Titled “Cathedral in the Pines,” it painted the scene of a mythical, magical setting carved out of the Georgia woods, with rolling hills and emerald green grass; a timeless place where the soul of the game was at its purest.
Even at such a young age, I was fascinated with this spiritual element of the sport, and getting to The Masters became my holy grail. Simply hearing Augusta-related terms like “Magnolia Lane” and “Amen Corner” would send tingles down my spine. I’d sit in class and draw pictures of the famous 12th hole. Every putt I hit on the practice green was to win an imaginary Green Jacket.
As I’ve gotten older, this dream has remained in my heart, though my inner demons have tried their best to pry it out, throwing me off track, diverting me down life paths that have made me question at times who I really am and what I really want.
But every year, when the first full week of April – the tournament’s traditional date – rolls around, and I see the azaleas blooming and hear “Augusta on My Mind” playing (yes, The Masters has its own theme music), everything becomes clear again, because I’m reunited with the most authentic version of myself:
My inner-child.
The unreserved, uninhibited spirit in all of us, the inner-child is our foundation, the most innocent, genuine aspect of our being. And no matter how mature we get or how much money we make or how powerful we become, it’s always there, whether we choose to acknowledge it or not.
As a kid, your relationship with the world is simple. An unwritten book, you are unconcerned with society’s rules and expectations, seeing everything through unprejudiced eyes. Keeping up appearances is the last thing on your mind, because you don’t even know you’re supposed to care about what other people think. All you want to do is play and have fun and be yourself.
But as you grow up and go to college and get a job, you have to slowly bury this part of you, lest you project anything but a cool and buttoned-up demeanor. There’s no place for this child-like wonder in, say, Corporate America, where the powers-that-be have determined that enforcing a dress code and a “professional atmosphere” is the recipe to get the best out of people.
What they seem to forget, though, is that the inner-child is where the imagination tends to reside. Just look at how creative kids can be. My childhood was spent dressing up in homemade costumes and playing out make-believe Super Bowls on the living room carpet. With the freedom to imagine, the realm of possibility was limitless. And no matter what happened that day at school, I always had the energy when I got home to visit my dreamland again.
Unfortunately, that’s too seldom the case anymore.
Being an adult is exhausting. If you’re not working your life away (who came up with the lopsided 5-to-2 workweek – weekend distribution anyway?), chances are you’re probably stressing about money, love or lack thereof.
That’s why it’s essential to make the time to act like a kid. Un-tuck that dress shirt and go shoot baskets. Dance freely to the song only you can hear in your head. Drop trou’ and shoot the “moon” out of your car’s back window. You might be surprised at how something so silly can take the edge off and soften your perspective on things.
More importantly, though, losing touch with your inner-child is to lose touch with who you really are.
So if you’re feeling lost or are in a rut and can’t figure out what to do with your life, do as my mom-the-therapist suggests: think back to what you loved to do as a child. Because even though you might not have known that two-plus-two equaled four, you did know what made you happy.
For me, that was always playing golf; learning, growing, challenging myself every chance I got, racing the sun to the 18th green. The Masters is my yearly reminder of what’s still possible, that my dreams are still out there.
I just have to let my guard down long enough to let the little boy inside me lead the way.
While I probably re-read the whole book 100 times, the chapter that was the most special to me was the one about Augusta National Golf Club and The Masters Tournament. Titled “Cathedral in the Pines,” it painted the scene of a mythical, magical setting carved out of the Georgia woods, with rolling hills and emerald green grass; a timeless place where the soul of the game was at its purest.
Even at such a young age, I was fascinated with this spiritual element of the sport, and getting to The Masters became my holy grail. Simply hearing Augusta-related terms like “Magnolia Lane” and “Amen Corner” would send tingles down my spine. I’d sit in class and draw pictures of the famous 12th hole. Every putt I hit on the practice green was to win an imaginary Green Jacket.
As I’ve gotten older, this dream has remained in my heart, though my inner demons have tried their best to pry it out, throwing me off track, diverting me down life paths that have made me question at times who I really am and what I really want.
But every year, when the first full week of April – the tournament’s traditional date – rolls around, and I see the azaleas blooming and hear “Augusta on My Mind” playing (yes, The Masters has its own theme music), everything becomes clear again, because I’m reunited with the most authentic version of myself:
My inner-child.
The unreserved, uninhibited spirit in all of us, the inner-child is our foundation, the most innocent, genuine aspect of our being. And no matter how mature we get or how much money we make or how powerful we become, it’s always there, whether we choose to acknowledge it or not.
As a kid, your relationship with the world is simple. An unwritten book, you are unconcerned with society’s rules and expectations, seeing everything through unprejudiced eyes. Keeping up appearances is the last thing on your mind, because you don’t even know you’re supposed to care about what other people think. All you want to do is play and have fun and be yourself.
But as you grow up and go to college and get a job, you have to slowly bury this part of you, lest you project anything but a cool and buttoned-up demeanor. There’s no place for this child-like wonder in, say, Corporate America, where the powers-that-be have determined that enforcing a dress code and a “professional atmosphere” is the recipe to get the best out of people.
What they seem to forget, though, is that the inner-child is where the imagination tends to reside. Just look at how creative kids can be. My childhood was spent dressing up in homemade costumes and playing out make-believe Super Bowls on the living room carpet. With the freedom to imagine, the realm of possibility was limitless. And no matter what happened that day at school, I always had the energy when I got home to visit my dreamland again.
Unfortunately, that’s too seldom the case anymore.
Being an adult is exhausting. If you’re not working your life away (who came up with the lopsided 5-to-2 workweek – weekend distribution anyway?), chances are you’re probably stressing about money, love or lack thereof.
That’s why it’s essential to make the time to act like a kid. Un-tuck that dress shirt and go shoot baskets. Dance freely to the song only you can hear in your head. Drop trou’ and shoot the “moon” out of your car’s back window. You might be surprised at how something so silly can take the edge off and soften your perspective on things.
More importantly, though, losing touch with your inner-child is to lose touch with who you really are.
So if you’re feeling lost or are in a rut and can’t figure out what to do with your life, do as my mom-the-therapist suggests: think back to what you loved to do as a child. Because even though you might not have known that two-plus-two equaled four, you did know what made you happy.
For me, that was always playing golf; learning, growing, challenging myself every chance I got, racing the sun to the 18th green. The Masters is my yearly reminder of what’s still possible, that my dreams are still out there.
I just have to let my guard down long enough to let the little boy inside me lead the way.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Impossible is Nothing
We all have our go-to web sites. Whether it’s CNN.com, Facebook or some other random address on the internet, logging onto them is part of our daily routine, a non-negotiable requirement that must be met before we can do…you know…actual work.
As a lifelong University of Texas fan, http://www.orangebloods.com/ is at the top of my list, a one-stop-shop for everything Longhorn athletics. Game analysis, practice reports, recruiting updates – it’s the perfect fix for the I-care-way-too-much UT sports addict.
Recently, I was scrolling through the message boards when I came across a thread titled “Cool Video.” Typically, the videos posted aren’t anything remarkable (unless you’re like me and get excited over highlight tapes of high school football players), but this one was different…
Nick Vujicic was born without any limbs. Doctors have never been able to give him a medical explanation why.
Seeing him, my first reaction was, “How do I have any problems?” This guy was dealt one of the worst possible hands in the deck – no arms, no legs, no reason – and here I am, blessed with an embarrassment of good fortune. My day-to-day existence has to be as challenging as a first-grade spelling test compared to his.
But then I quickly stopped myself. While this was a great reminder to be appreciative, I’ve never believed in living by the motto of "It could be worse." Not only is it an attitude that tends to make light of people’s pain (regardless of outside opinion, whatever you’re struggling with is very real and very hurtful for you), it can be a crutch on complacency.
There was a time not long ago when my life appeared just fine on the surface. I had a job, I had friends and I could afford to go to Chik-Fil-A on Saturday night.
But in reality, I was in a rut, paralyzed by fear and anxiety, wondering if I’d ever find a way out. I felt just like Mr. Vujicic looked.
Emotionally, I didn’t have any limbs.
With my cheery face and fake laugh, though, I’d be surprised if anyone knew I was hurting. How could they? I wasn’t even being honest with myself, hiding behind these society-celebrated comforts, rationalizing that things weren’t so bad.
But no matter how many times I forced a Joker smile – and suffered from the sore jaw that developed afterwards – it didn’t change the fact that, deep down, I knew my life was not going as I hoped.
As a kid, I had always dreamed of living outside the lines, believing that I really could do anything I set my mind to. But as an adult, I couldn’t get out of my own way, fearing the uncertainty of it all. What if I failed? What if I – gasp! – succeeded? What if I embarrassed myself? What would happen then?
These questions loomed, taunting me every time I tried to get in the game. So I kept bailing out, scurrying to the security of the sidelines whenever the anxiety would kick in.
All the while my life dripped away, moment after wasted moment.
Finally, I realized I had a simple choice to make: continue to live a lie and go through the status-quo motions, or stand in there and fight for my dreams.
Because the truth is that there’s ALWAYS a reason why you can’t do something. That’s too hard…it’s not realistic…I have a mortgage…We’ve got a nice little Saturday planned at Home Depot and Bed, Bath & Beyond…there’s no shortage of excuses to justify the standard operating procedure.
Yes, all of these hurdles are real, and yes, they are intimidating. But when you transform them from peripheral molehills into Class 5 Mountains, they end up being the only things you can see.
At the end of the day, though, they are nothing more than details, and details should never stand in the way of happiness. Instead, if you can focus on what you truly want and immerse yourself in the process of making it happen, the positive energy that’s generated will help you get through the inevitable challenges you’ll face.
There may be times when your mind hurts and your heart aches and your inner demons are doing the “wave” in your stomach. It’ll be tempting to give up and crawl back to your safe, comfortable existence.
And that’s when you need to remember Nick Vujicic.
The man was given every conceivable reason to never get out of bed, yet he spends his life traveling the world, spreading hope and inspiring others. Because he knows – he personifies – that it doesn’t matter how impossible the odds are, or how many times you’ve failed, or how hard you’ve fallen…
All that matters is that you keep getting back up.
As a lifelong University of Texas fan, http://www.orangebloods.com/ is at the top of my list, a one-stop-shop for everything Longhorn athletics. Game analysis, practice reports, recruiting updates – it’s the perfect fix for the I-care-way-too-much UT sports addict.
Recently, I was scrolling through the message boards when I came across a thread titled “Cool Video.” Typically, the videos posted aren’t anything remarkable (unless you’re like me and get excited over highlight tapes of high school football players), but this one was different…
Nick Vujicic was born without any limbs. Doctors have never been able to give him a medical explanation why.
Seeing him, my first reaction was, “How do I have any problems?” This guy was dealt one of the worst possible hands in the deck – no arms, no legs, no reason – and here I am, blessed with an embarrassment of good fortune. My day-to-day existence has to be as challenging as a first-grade spelling test compared to his.
But then I quickly stopped myself. While this was a great reminder to be appreciative, I’ve never believed in living by the motto of "It could be worse." Not only is it an attitude that tends to make light of people’s pain (regardless of outside opinion, whatever you’re struggling with is very real and very hurtful for you), it can be a crutch on complacency.
There was a time not long ago when my life appeared just fine on the surface. I had a job, I had friends and I could afford to go to Chik-Fil-A on Saturday night.
But in reality, I was in a rut, paralyzed by fear and anxiety, wondering if I’d ever find a way out. I felt just like Mr. Vujicic looked.
Emotionally, I didn’t have any limbs.
With my cheery face and fake laugh, though, I’d be surprised if anyone knew I was hurting. How could they? I wasn’t even being honest with myself, hiding behind these society-celebrated comforts, rationalizing that things weren’t so bad.
But no matter how many times I forced a Joker smile – and suffered from the sore jaw that developed afterwards – it didn’t change the fact that, deep down, I knew my life was not going as I hoped.
As a kid, I had always dreamed of living outside the lines, believing that I really could do anything I set my mind to. But as an adult, I couldn’t get out of my own way, fearing the uncertainty of it all. What if I failed? What if I – gasp! – succeeded? What if I embarrassed myself? What would happen then?
These questions loomed, taunting me every time I tried to get in the game. So I kept bailing out, scurrying to the security of the sidelines whenever the anxiety would kick in.
All the while my life dripped away, moment after wasted moment.
Finally, I realized I had a simple choice to make: continue to live a lie and go through the status-quo motions, or stand in there and fight for my dreams.
Because the truth is that there’s ALWAYS a reason why you can’t do something. That’s too hard…it’s not realistic…I have a mortgage…We’ve got a nice little Saturday planned at Home Depot and Bed, Bath & Beyond…there’s no shortage of excuses to justify the standard operating procedure.
Yes, all of these hurdles are real, and yes, they are intimidating. But when you transform them from peripheral molehills into Class 5 Mountains, they end up being the only things you can see.
At the end of the day, though, they are nothing more than details, and details should never stand in the way of happiness. Instead, if you can focus on what you truly want and immerse yourself in the process of making it happen, the positive energy that’s generated will help you get through the inevitable challenges you’ll face.
There may be times when your mind hurts and your heart aches and your inner demons are doing the “wave” in your stomach. It’ll be tempting to give up and crawl back to your safe, comfortable existence.
And that’s when you need to remember Nick Vujicic.
The man was given every conceivable reason to never get out of bed, yet he spends his life traveling the world, spreading hope and inspiring others. Because he knows – he personifies – that it doesn’t matter how impossible the odds are, or how many times you’ve failed, or how hard you’ve fallen…
All that matters is that you keep getting back up.
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About Me
- Brent
- "It's not a lie, if you believe it." Those were the words of one of my generation's great sages, George Costanza, and the more of life I experience, the truer they ring. And while I still haven't found what I'm looking for, the search for my own personal "truths" is never-ending. Care to come along for the ride?
