Monday, November 26, 2012
Is It Short-term or The Real Thing?
Friday, September 14, 2012
Generating Authentic Power
But when men reach a certain age or level of maturity, accomplishments are no longer the measure of worth. In the second half of life (as Richard Rohr calls it) our goal is more about creating worth through what we give rather than what we get or win. This all came to a head yesterday as I talked with a friend and contemporary (he is as old as me) who was signing up for a goal-crunching program in order for him to up his personal integrity. This man said that in his life he has seen where he has often not accomplished what he said he would and that he has not "shown up as his word" far too often.
I asked him what he though integrity meant to him and he told me that it meant doing what you say you will do. Well, that may be true, especially in an accomplishment oriented first-half-of-life society. Integrity is the consistency between what you say and what you do. But in the second half of life we lose the fascination with trophies and points, so integrity of our word takes on a different texture and flavor. "What if," I asked him, "you looked at integrity as telling the truth about where you are right now?"
The wisdom and power of integrity at that point would look like telling others how much being out of integrity in the past has cost you. You could look at the wounds and scars you have and say, "This is where I failed to do suchandso a thing, and here is what happens when you don't do that." and so on. How powerful it is to be fully present to one's failures and the lessons learned from them, instead of pretending that history didn't teach him anything and having him try to (once again) white knuckle through another program of goals and accomplishments. Doing the later would no doubt result in another imbalanced list of losses and a few wins, and further the evidence of his life that he cannot accomplish these huge piles of goals - and that therefore he must suffer one more hit to his pride and integrity in the accomplishment world.
Enough is enough! He does not need anymore evidence. What he needs, if anything, is the ability to tell the truth and to be fully aware and present to his results and lack thereof. Then, standing in the truth, fully aware of the associated pains and joys of his life, he can finally claim his authority - authority in his own life and his authority for the wisdom he dispenses. It may be hard to face the truth, and even harder to stay fully present to it, but the power that reveals is immense.
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
Defending the Caveman
Sunday, September 2, 2012
When Knowing Isn't Enough
My first instinct was to think "What advice can I give that might make a difference?" But the pivotal phrase in that sentence is "make a difference" and all the advice in the world has never made any difference - to anybody. That isn't what matters when the bomb goes off right next to you. All that matters is that you are there. All that matters is that you listen (without editorializing), just listen.
Oh to be certain, I have an opinion. I have failed at marriage and have gotten divorced and I have lived through dealing with the monster that occupies the space between failure and the final decree. And all I can really say is that it sucks - as in it sucks all of the life out of you, all of the oxygen out of your lungs - and you cannot think or breathe or move. And what is worse is that the way that felt for me is different than how it will feel for my brother or my kids or for you going through that same in-between space.
I (or you) can never know what it is like for another, no matter how well we know that person or the path they are walking. We just have no insight into what they are experiencing, and even when they tell us of that unique brand of suckitude fron which they are presently suffering, we will only understand it in terms of what we have as words and history and feelings. We won't understand theirs. So all of that knowing is for shit - it has no relevance in the space in-between.
So we laid there and stared up at the ceiling and I listened into the confusion and pain. And as quietly as I could I let the tears of remembrance slide down into my hairline so I wouldn't interfere the telling and spewing that was happening beside me. And eventually we laughed and went to sleep, so we could get up and talk and listen some more.
It's not over and I am not deluding myself into thinking that I made even an iota of difference. But I did no harm by assuming that I knew more or different or better. Sometimes the experiences and pains of life teach you that we all have those periods - those explosions - in our lives and what matters is that we aren't alone. My pain has taught me compassion for the pain of others so that I can listen without opinion - and for a short while maybe it didn't hurt as much.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Somebody That I Used to Know
Living in relationship is a process of entangling the very fibers of your being with those of another and if and when that ends in a break up the fingerprints of that relationship do not disappear immediately, if ever. In Bob Seger's song Traveling Man, he says that each love left traces on his soul. I kind of think of them as being etched into my soul. I gave my life to each one for the time we were together and is that supposed to fade into nothingness after we are no longer an item? And as for marriage - readers who are familiar with me know that these 20 years of marriage were not my first - I have been married before and fathered two outstanding daughters from that previous marriage. And is their mother supposed to be just somebody that I used to know? I think not.
The relationship did not end well. I was stupid and made very stupid choices that left my ex no alternatives but to divorce me. But when I came to, I realized that I was still deeply committed as a father and that meant I needed to forge a relationship with their mom. It took work and it took time, but it has been worth regaining her as someone I still know and cherish. Recently one of our adult daughters did something pretty spectacular, something about which I knew we were both deeply proud of. I took the occasion (as I have done many times in the past) to call up my ex-wife and praise her for the magnificent job she did as a mother. She tried to deflect and say I had a part, but I would not be deterred. I knew that the bulk of parenting through their formative years had hers - and I just wanted to thank her for what she had done.
But the point of this story is that I am clear that she is not just somebody that I used to know. I know that she and each lover I have known has become an inextricable part of who I am. And I am just another man. We men do that. Women think we fear commitment. But nothing could be further from the truth. We commit hard and we commit fully. And when that relationship ends, our commitment somehow does not. It lingers and hangs out in the deeper recesses of our memory. Their traces on our soul are pretty much permanent.
So when asked by your current (wife, lover, girlfriend - you fill in the blank) if you are "over" your last love, you can lie and say you're done. But if she is a normal woman with their uncanny sixth sense that sees through walls and senses even the slightest change in mood or temperature, she will eventually know someone else is still in there. And if she is hung up on being the exclusive tenant of your soul you may end up singing along with Gotye and Kindra that she's just somebody you used to know.
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Understanding Women
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Connecting the Dots
Saturday, March 24, 2012
Lessons Learned
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Entering the Ring
I am an elder. At least that is what I would be classified as by virtue of my 62 years of age and because of the number of men I have mentored over the last decade or so. And as an elder I am not supposed to be doing what I am presently in the act of doing – entering into a combat. The distinction of elder usually is bestowed on those who, having completed the elements of the first half of life, are now busied with passing those lessons on to others. Intrinsic with that definition is the idea that one is done with the contests and conquests associated with the first half of the life journey. And yet, the reason I am writing this is that I am currently aboard an airplane headed out to engage in one more “first half” endeavor – to engage with other men my age in martial arts competition.
We are told that life is divided into two elements: the first half is focused on gathering and building, and the second more focused on giving and applying. I like Richard Rohr’s division. Rohr says that the first half is about building our container and the second half about using it, the first half concerns finding our purpose and then we must live into that in the remaining years of our life. So as young warriors we venture out into the world to conquer it and bring home our trophies and medals – signs of accomplishing our tasks. We define our space, build our container, as Rohr would say, by doing and winning. Then, having secured our place in the world, we move into a role of helping others from the wisdom of our contests, our failures and victories. Most importantly we teach from our scars and our wounds.
So why am I setting out once again to compete? Have I not won enough, accomplished enough, failed enough, been wounded enough? I dearly hope that those are not the reasons I am doing this. No. As I searched my inner wisdom for some answer, I saw only one thing: my son. I have a late life son (my other children are grown and married with kids of their own) who as a young teenager is perhaps looking at this elder man in wonder. He wonders how I can relate to him. He wonders what it would be like to have a young thirty-something father – to learn from, to model and even joust with. He, like all boys his age wants a hero, and that usually is their father. And that is why I am on this quest.
It’s not for me this time, no medals or trophies are needed anymore, not for me. And I really don’t think he needs me to bring one home for him. But to know that his dad, despite injuries and aching bones could one last time do what it takes to be in the ring, to even qualify, perhaps shows him some element of what a father hero is all about. I want to teach my son that it’s never too late to try. I want to teach him that giving your best may not result in the gold medal, it may not even be enough to place. But I want to teach him that there is something special and valuable in putting all you have into the quest, no matter what the outcome may be. I can tell him this as many times as I like, but it will never register as anything more than words. SO I am doing it to the best of my ability.
I have dropped 15 pounds in the last month. I have doubled up my practice sessions and over the next few days I will be training and practicing and preparing to be able to say that this one, this time, I gave everything I could in his honor. This one is for Jesse. This is so that you know, my son, that giving your best is all that it takes and is all anyone can ask of you – in scholastics, in athletics, in music, and art and in all of life. Give it your all, my son. This is for you.