tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60154447751706994702012-01-31T09:20:49.172-05:00Tom Aplomba·plomb Self-confident assurance; poise. Tom Aplomb helps you handle life's difficult situations with strength, patience, wisdom, and grace.Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.comBlogger8001100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-36058000199835265902012-01-31T09:20:00.000-05:002012-01-31T09:20:49.177-05:00GloryThis morning's sky is glorious.<br /><br />I could not stop while driving to capture it.<br /><br />But then, glory is not something we can capture.<br /><br />Glory is not something that stands still.<br /><br />Glory is not a frozen frame,&nbsp;a moment on a continuum.<br /><br />Glory is the continuum, the motion of the reel.<br /><br />Glory is not the moment of but the moment before, understood in the trinity of the moment of and the moment after.<br /><br />We witness glory when we pause in the moment, for a moment, and recognize it not as one of many but many of one.<br /><br />If we're aware, glory is everywhere.<br /><br />Glory is never absent.<br /><br />If there is no glory, we must ask ourselves, "Who is absent?"<br /><br />The roots of <a href="http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=glory">glory</a> go back to the Greek "doxa" which means expectation.<br /><br />Glory is an unopened package, the expectation the colorful wrapping creates in us, our sense of excitement for what awaits inside. <br /><br />The glory of what is here now, bright and splendid as it may be, pales before the blinding glory of what is to come.<br /><br />The glory that lives in a moment of time is a grain of sand on the shore of infinity.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9B4PWVMhVA4/Tyf305P0kvI/AAAAAAAABhE/fhMJEbYnvZE/s1600/Grains+of+Sand.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9B4PWVMhVA4/Tyf305P0kvI/AAAAAAAABhE/fhMJEbYnvZE/s320/Grains+of+Sand.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://thevirtuosi.blogspot.com/2011/07/grains-of-sand.html">Source</a></div><br /><br /><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=c148c65e-1bdf-432b-94c0-fe8cc2a0efaa" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-3605800019983526590?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-18047188328213828512012-01-30T09:21:00.000-05:002012-01-30T09:21:42.615-05:00LeapsSometime, we need to take a leap.<br /><br />Leaps can be frightening.<br /><br />Not so much the leaping part.<br /><br />The leaping part is exhilarating.<br /><br />The readying, the revving, the runup.<br /><br />But a leap entails a landing.<br /><br />And it's the landing part that's scary and uncertain.<br /><br />Will I soar gracefully to the other side of the chasm?<br /><br />Or will I fall desperately into the abyss?<br /><br />Leaps take energy, but energy is not enough to guarantee success.<br /><br />Here are four formulas to ensure that when you leap, you end up where you intend.<br /><br />Distance = Energy x Trajectory<br /><br />Trajectory = Energy x Alignment<br /><br />Alignment = Energy/Focus<br /><br />Focus = Energy x Determination<br /><br />To make your leap, you need to go the specified distance and land on solid ground. If you leap straight up, or forward with no lift, you will not make it.Your trajectory, the arc your path takes as you move through the air, determines the distance you'll travel.<br /><br />To achieve the correct trajectory, you must align yourself properly. Start your run from the right distance behind your launching point. And distribute your energy accurately between forward and upward motion.<br /><br />To stay aligned, focus on the spot where you must land. Visualize yourself there, and let yourself feel the mental and physical adjustments you need to make on takeoff to balance your energy.<br /><br />To maintain your focus, keep looking straight ahead. Don't allow distractions, such as your inner critic or someone else's lack of confidence in you, to deflect your gaze. Keep your eyes on the prize.<br /><br />I'm not sure how well these formulas work in the world of math and physics, but when you have to take a leap, they can make all the difference.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-b8UBIlrpU54/TyanPymbaxI/AAAAAAAABg8/VHcDutDYFFI/s1600/leap-of-faith-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-b8UBIlrpU54/TyanPymbaxI/AAAAAAAABg8/VHcDutDYFFI/s320/leap-of-faith-3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://nickshell1983.wordpress.com/2011/01/24/airborne-from-a-god-nudged-leap-of-faith/">Source</a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-1804718832821382851?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-17129993473621396212012-01-26T08:37:00.001-05:002012-01-26T09:31:10.225-05:00How to Bring Spring<span class="zemanta-img separator" style="clear: right;"><a href="http://commons.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Gymnaster_savatieri1_flower.jpg" style="clear: right; display: block; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Gymnaster savatieri (Scientific name), Place:O..." height="404" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/9/9a/Gymnaster_savatieri1_flower.jpg/300px-Gymnaster_savatieri1_flower.jpg" style="border: none; font-size: 0.8em;" width="300" /></a><span class="zemanta-img-attribution" style="clear: both; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; width: 300px;">Image via <a href="http://commons.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Gymnaster_savatieri1_flower.jpg">Wikipedia</a></span></span>It is gray outside.<br /><br />Dull and dreary.<br /><br />The sun lies low in the sky, and light is hard to come by.<br /><br />We rise late, draw back covers reluctantly, stumble sleepily through our routines.<br /><br />Mornings are cold.<br /><br />We dress warmly, but damp seeps through layers of clothing into our bones.<br /><br />Outside, it is winter.<br /><br />But inside, unseen, spring is waiting.<br /><br />Tall trees stand in skeletal elegance, preparing themselves for leafy splendor.<br /><br />Buds hide, and bulbs lie dormant, sitting out the season, lasting through the long countdown to their colorful blasts.<br /><br />Our side of the world is already, slowly, drawing closer to the sun.<br /><br />It is easy during the dark times to lose sight of the invisible, to forget in death's presence that life still thrives within.<br /><br />We cast an eye on our garden.<br /><br />Our garden is bare.<br /><br />But our garden is not bare.<br /><br />Our garden is not bare, because inside each of us lives a flower.<br /><br />The flower of desire, imagination, dreams.<br /><br />The flower of compassion.<br /><br />The flower of love given freely.<br /><br />The flower of our smile.<br /><br />Brighten someone's day today.<br /><br />Bring spring a little early.<br /><br />Share the smile of your flower.<br /><br />Share the flower of your smile.<br /><br /><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=16b8c6ed-e8e5-4eea-9582-db36e1f21056" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-1712999347362139621?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-2117771687455731372012-01-24T08:33:00.001-05:002012-01-24T09:21:14.617-05:00MovingSome of us are given the strength to move rocks and dirt.<br /><br />Some of us are given the knack to move merchandise.<br /><br />Some of us are given the patience to move lines of passengers.<br /><br />Some of us are given the intelligence to move lines of code.<br /><br />Some of us are given the responsibility to move mail and packages.<br /><br />Some of us are given the focus to move money.<br /><br />Some of us are given the steadiness to move hammers and nails. <br /><br />Some of us are given the skill to move scalpels and sutures.<br /><br />Some of us are given the knowledge to move bits and bytes back and forth.<br /><br />Some of us are given the inspiration to move images onto page, stage, and screen.<br /><br />Some of us are given the humility to move people to laughter and tears.<br /><br />Some of us are given the wisdom to move people from no to yes. <br /><br />Some of us are given the gift to move hearts and minds.<br /><br />Some of us are given the grace to know that the spirit moves us.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-4EuKnQMu6Fc/Tx6-PPMfsHI/AAAAAAAABgw/4wVBNCiIR-0/s640/blogger-image--629103296.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-4EuKnQMu6Fc/Tx6-PPMfsHI/AAAAAAAABgw/4wVBNCiIR-0/s640/blogger-image--629103296.jpg" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-211777168745573137?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-18186159105395541352012-01-23T09:30:00.000-05:002012-01-23T09:30:04.456-05:00WrenchingSometimes we have to make wrenching decisions.<br /><br />Decisions that force us to turn in a direction we have long avoided but have always known is right and true.<br /><br />Decisions that strip us bare and lay our mistakes, imperfections, and vulnerabilities, open to the world.<br /><br />Decisions that free us from people we've clung to for reasons we are only beginning to understand.<br /><br />Over time, we have gradually tightened our hearts and minds, our very beings, around the unacceptable, the intolerable, the untenable, the unsustainable, bound ourselves with each successive twist, tried to fill the endless circling grooves of another's needs, supplanted our own needs with the need to soothe and accommodate, and ended up stuck in a forced fit, unbearably uncomfortable, unable to move.<br /><br />Why we tightened, why we twisted, is for later.<br /><br />How we loosen, how we untwist, is for now.<br /><br />Pick up the wrench.<br /><br />No, I'm afraid.<br /><br />Pick up the wrench. Start with the handle. <br /><br />OK . . .<br /><br />Feel its heft in your hand. <br /><br />Feels &nbsp;. . .natural . . .<br /><br />Feel the cool metal against your sweaty skin. <br /><br />Getting used to it . . .<br /><br />Welcome back an old friend.<br /><br />Ahh . . .<br /><br />You're afraid because the loosening acknowledges the tightening.<br /><br />Yes . . .<br /><br />Afraid because the undoing makes the doing real.<br /><br />Yes!<br /><br />Now open the mouth to surround yourself.<br /><br />But . . . I'll be eaten . . .<br /><br />You will not be eaten.<br /><br />I'll be broken . . .<br /><br />The wrench will not break you in its jaws.<br /><br />O . . . K . . .<br /><br />The wrench is a tool with a purpose. Use it.<br /><br />Use it.<br /><br />Yes, use it to do what you have to do. And when you're done,&nbsp;put it back in your toolbox. Because you never know when you might need it again.<br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-I7eb2ijHrS8/Tx1unnPy4fI/AAAAAAAABgo/RXCrIV_zv2c/s1600/free_wrench_vector_art_2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-I7eb2ijHrS8/Tx1unnPy4fI/AAAAAAAABgo/RXCrIV_zv2c/s320/free_wrench_vector_art_2.png" width="187" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://mouseclickerstudio.wordpress.com/2011/07/04/wrench-vector-art/">Source</a></div><br /><br /><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=20559914-21d3-411d-aa48-e739e8a8b282" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-1818615910539554135?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-51006610329538120342012-01-20T09:23:00.000-05:002012-01-20T09:23:28.953-05:00ExitsSometimes, it is time to go.<br /><br />Time to exit.<br /><br />Time to walk through the door and not look back.<br /><br />Exits can be frightening, especially if we don't know how we will make it in a new place or even where we will go.<br /><br />We only know we cannot stay where we are, even for one more day.<br /><br />We only know that exiting is the only option, because death of the self is unacceptable.<br /><br />Death of the self, the self God gave us, is sacrilege.<br /><br />Exits require courage, determination, composure, and faith.<br /><br />Courage to take the first step.<br /><br />Determination to continue.<br /><br />Composure to walk tall and proudly, your head held high.<br /><br />Faith in a brighter future.<br /><br />When we exit an unhealthy situation, leave a person who is wrong for us, a strange and wonderful thing happens.<br /><br />What feels at first like leaving starts to feel like returning, a sort of coming home.<br /><br />And instead of feeling frightened and tentative, we begin to feel brave and reassured.<br /><br />As we cross the border out of a disjointed, unnatural state of being, a place of accommodation and sacrifice, a place where the self is shrink-wrapped and shelved like an unread story, a dark cave of domination and diminishment, we enter the state of what feels graceful and natural, a place of self-respect and satisfaction, a place where the self sits proudly face up on the table open to page one, a bright, open expanse of sand, sea, and sky.<br /><br />And support and sustenance for our new path begins to flow, often from unexpected sources.<br /><br />It is hard to envision the new place while we're stuck in the old one.<br /><br />It doesn't seem possible.<br /><br />But it is possible.<br /><br />It is.<br /><br />Possible.<br /><br />I can assure you it is.<br /><br />I can assure you, because I've walked through that door and come out on the other side.<br /><br />I was stuck in the worst possible place.<br /><br />And I exited.<br /><br />I returned to the self I had always known, the self I thought I had lost, the self that never left me.<br /><br />And if I can do it, so can you.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XfM5g-7Ws9k/Txl4njnVqSI/AAAAAAAABgg/ayGFxnIg5xA/s1600/800px-Glass_exit_sign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="226" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XfM5g-7Ws9k/Txl4njnVqSI/AAAAAAAABgg/ayGFxnIg5xA/s320/800px-Glass_exit_sign.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Attribution:<br /><span style="background-color: #f9f9f9; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: italic; line-height: 19px;">Glass&nbsp;</span><a class="ml-smartlink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Exit_sign" style="-webkit-transition-delay: initial; -webkit-transition-duration: 1s; -webkit-transition-property: color; -webkit-transition-timing-function: ease-in; background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #f9f9f9; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; border-bottom-color: initial !important; border-bottom-style: dashed !important; border-bottom-width: 1px !important; color: #0b0080; cursor: pointer !important; display: inline !important; float: none !important; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: italic; line-height: 19px; text-decoration: none !important; width: auto !important;" target="_blank">exit sign</a><span style="background-color: #f9f9f9; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: italic; line-height: 19px;">&nbsp;at LA Cathedral <br />|Source=self-made |Date=Jan 21 2008 |Author=&nbsp;</span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/User:Alton" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #f9f9f9; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; color: #0b0080; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: italic; line-height: 19px; text-decoration: none;" title="User:Alton">Alton</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Glass_exit_sign.jpg">Source</a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-5100661032953812034?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-26498694817175651282012-01-19T09:23:00.000-05:002012-01-19T09:23:30.800-05:00The NowBut he loves me . . . I know he does . . .<br /><br />But there are times she's been so kind . . .<br /><br />But he's my husband, the father of my children . . .<br /><br />But she's my wife . . . I made a vow . . .<br /><br />When you're in an untenable situation with a partner, a situation where you're suffering the hurt of physical or emotional abuse, you must recognize it for what it is now. The past - those bright moments or safe stretches - &nbsp;has no relevance, and the legal, structural framework of marriage (if you are married) has no hold. You did not promise to stay with someone who threatens and beats you. You did not sign up to stay with someone who denies the validity of all your ideas and crushes your dreams. You did not agree to stay with someone berates, belittles, beguiles, bedevils, and behaves with complete disregard for your emotional security and physical well-being. You did not covenant to remain bound to someone who binds you with a twisted cord that chafes and burns your skin, cuts off your circulation, and as it tightens, forces the air from your gasping lungs. Whatever vows were made, your partner has broken. Your sanctuary has been desecrated, pillaged, and set ablaze. Your only option is to flee to safety and rebuild.<br /><br />So often we close our eyes to what's happening and cling to past glimmers, turn a deaf ear to insults and contempt, savor a single, singular sweet moment to try to erase the bitterness choking up into our mouths, cloak the rotten odor of decaying dreams with the cloying scent of false hope, finger the one soft still shrinking spot in our partner's soul that hasn't hardened over. When we're not being kicked, we throw our selves down in a gesture of self-sacrifice. Maybe if I lay prostrate and he walks all over me, he'll love me more?<br /><br />No, my friend. He - or she - will not love you because he does not love you. Because she is using you to soothe and satisfy her own unhealthy emotional needs. That is not love. That is not cherishing. That is not having and holding. When you have someone you love, you hold that person as a treasure and handle with care. People are fragile; we just don't have a stamp. Relationships - more fragile still. Relationships can be broken with the sting of a cruel word, the blow of an angry fist, the eroding force of a disrespectful attitude, the sharp knife of disengagement.<br /><br />The only staying that is important is to stay in the now. Focus on what is happening now. Focus on how you feel, on how what is happening makes you feel. Realize that while someone is doing something to you, something that makes you feel unwholesome and unwell, you are also allowing those things to be done to you. You are a participant in the process. And you have the choice to call it quits, to stop playing the game. There is no winning outcome in this contest. You're never going to be vindicated. Your partner wants you to feel beaten, trounced, defeated, so you will not want to get up again, so you will not have the strength to leave.<br /><br />Stay in the now, and then decide, is this a now I want to stay in? Is this the way I want to live?<br /><br />What's come before cannot be altered. Change comes when you seize the present moment, make a choice, take a different turn, and start determining your future.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HPe8RZAy_YI/TxgnQFoy-bI/AAAAAAAABgY/MeQPK6RSo3k/s1600/now3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="272" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HPe8RZAy_YI/TxgnQFoy-bI/AAAAAAAABgY/MeQPK6RSo3k/s320/now3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://bloginthenow.blogspot.com/2011/01/think-now.html">Source</a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-2649869481717565128?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-15649820763057898772012-01-18T11:22:00.000-05:002012-01-18T11:22:07.288-05:00SpiritSpirit.<br /><br />Breath.<br /><br />Life.<br /><br />Essence.<br /><br />It is not when the spirit moves us.<br /><br />It is that the spirit moves us.<br /><br />Always.<br /><br />Moves us.<br /><br />Moves us when we lack direction.<br /><br />Moves us when we are paralyzed by fear.<br /><br />Moves us when we cling to what does not serve us.<br /><br />Moves us when confusion confounds us, when desperation freezes our hearts and fixes our stares on the here and now, blocking our vision of the future that can and deserves to be.<br /><br />Spirit is more than voice.<br /><br />More than feeling.<br /><br />More than knowledge.<br /><br />More than guidance.<br /><br />Spirit is light.<br /><br />Spirit is truth.<br /><br />Spirit is grace.<br /><br />Spirit is the way.<br /><br />Spirit leads, whether or not we follow.<br /><br />But it is so important to follow.<br /><br />So . . .&nbsp;important.<br /><br />Spirit never leads to darkness.<br /><br />Spirit always leads to light.<br /><br />Spirit is love embodied in movement.<br /><br />Spirit floats.<br /><br />Spirit is endless, eternal, enlivening.<br /><br />Spirit enables flight.<br /><br />And flight enables perspective.<br /><br />Up above, we see our world from a distance, see the parts of us and others that suffer in empty darkness, the parts that thrive in the fullness of light. The special parts waiting to be sparked, waiting for sparkle, the magic dust of attention, the elixir of blood, the alchemy that occurs when golden tears of joy flow from awakened eyes into the waiting, receptive air.<br /><br />The air is waiting.<br /><br />The world is waiting.<br /><br />Waiting.<br /><br />Waiting for you.<br /><br />Listen to spirit.<br /><br />Let it form your words and tune your voice, let it guide your gestures and inform your choices.<br /><br />Let spirit be both your compass and your star.<br /><br />Let spirit lay its path before you, a road with mountains and valleys, plains and forests, rocks and streams.<br /><br />A &nbsp;road with a boundless horizon.<br /><br />A road that winds into the most glorious sunsets.<br /><br />A road that rises with each new dawn.<br /><br />The road you were born to travel.<br /><br />The road of dreams.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WrUYAb9VmvI/TxbxQ2OB9-I/AAAAAAAABgQ/VXKNO4LyuF8/s1600/Spirit.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WrUYAb9VmvI/TxbxQ2OB9-I/AAAAAAAABgQ/VXKNO4LyuF8/s400/Spirit.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-1564982076305789877?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-56006153752443303352012-01-17T10:02:00.000-05:002012-01-17T10:02:51.126-05:00Signal Moments<span class="zemanta-img separator" style="clear: right;"><a href="http://commons.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:MontreGousset001.jpg" style="clear: right; display: block; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Français : Montre gousset. Česky: Kapesní hodi..." height="261" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/4/45/MontreGousset001.jpg/300px-MontreGousset001.jpg" style="border: none; font-size: 0.8em;" width="300" /></a><span class="zemanta-img-attribution" style="clear: both; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; width: 300px;">Image via <a href="http://commons.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:MontreGousset001.jpg">Wikipedia</a></span></span>Moments are the elements of time.<br /><br />The oxygen that keeps time breathing.<br /><br />The hydrogen that keeps time flowing.<br /><br />The helium that keeps time floating.<br /><br />The carbon time consumes in its flames.<br /><br />A moment is the mind's unit of memory.&nbsp;We don't remember whole events, experiences, or days, as much as moments.<br /><br />Time stops for a moment.<br /><br />Time does not stop.<br /><br />We stop.<br /><br />We stop ourselves in an effort to stop time.<br /><br />If we stop for the moment, we miss it.<br /><br />If we stop in the moment, we are transported.<br /><br />The moment suddenly expands, stretched out like a towel soaked in sweet juice, and we wring it dry, lapping up the luscious liquid as it drips down into our mouths.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=moment">Moments</a>&nbsp;spring from the root&nbsp;<i>momentum</i>, meaning movement, moving power, the power to move and be moved.<br /><br />We look forward to moments that carry us back to moments that moved us.<br /><br />We look back to moments that carry us forward to moving moments to come.<br /><br />If we are present in the moment, the moment lives on with us.<br /><br />If we enjoy the moment in its full sweetness, the taste lingers on our tongues and clings to our sticky fingers.<br /><br />If we experience the moment in its full color, that color shines and brightens the insides of our eyelids when we close our eyes and remember.<br /><br />If we absorb the moment's rhythm and hear the sound our heart is making, we feel that rhythm long after, and hear the sweet strains as we replay the moment in our mind.<br /><br />If we are not present, if we fail to be there, the moment fades back into the flow of time, indistinguishable from the endless gray moments on the endless gray line. <br /><br />Signal moments are moments with messages.<br /><br />Moments that change us.<br /><br />Moments that alter our molecular structure, enabling us to create new compounds, and causing us to be reborn in a new form.<br /><br />Moments of awareness.<br /><br />Moments of realization.<br /><br />Moments of understanding.<br /><br />Moments of confusion and darkness.<br /><br />Moments of truth and light.<br /><br />Moments of pain.<br /><br />Moments of ecstasy.<br /><br />Moments of space and time.<br /><br />Moments of movement and flow.<br /><br />Moments where everything stops.<br /><br />Moments where everything begins.<br /><br />Moments of both/and.<br /><br />Moments of unity, peace, tenderness, and connection. <br /><br />Moments of love.<br /><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=808b42ab-6d65-420e-9457-c51c83317557" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-5600615375244330335?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-90545849990877006702012-01-13T09:24:00.000-05:002012-01-13T09:56:13.780-05:00SeeingThis morning, I forgot my reading glasses.<br /><br />A friend calls them my Inspector Gadget glasses, because of the way they&nbsp;telescope and fold. <br /><br />They were not nestled in the neat black case I keep in my pocket, when I opened it after sitting down on the train.<br /><br />They are, no doubt, sitting on top of the clock radio in my bedroom, where I always keep them at night. <br /><br />I cannot see up close without my reading glasses.<br /><br />I cannot read the words on my computer screen or phone.<br /><br />But as I went through the ritual of opening my laptop, turning on Internet access through my phone, and selecting music, I found that even though my eyes could not see exactly what I was doing, I could feel my way through these familiar actions and complete them accurately without seeing. I knew instinctively where to touch and click, even though I could not perceive the detail.<br /><br />I thought of how we can live a life of not seeing, not realizing we are not seeing, performing familiar actions day after day by touch and feel.<br /><br />I am not talking about making coffee with our eyes closed.<br /><br />I am talking about driving, metaphorically, without thinking.<br /><br />I am talking about a kind of blindness to what we are actually doing, an inability to see other choices and turns, because our rituals and habits have tied us to the familiar routes.<br /><br />I am talking about living with our eyes closed to alternative possibilities. <br /><br />I am talking about choosing not to put on glasses because we are afraid of what we will see.<br /><br />And afraid of what we will want to do.<br /><br />When I get into the city, I will buy a new pair of reading glasses.<br /><br />I'm aware that I can function reasonably well without them, but I'm also aware that I don't want to miss what I can't see without clear vision.<br /><br />I want to know all my choices.<br /><br />I don't want to miss anything.<br /><br />I don't want to miss everything.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BXja8Wy21t8/TxA9myc2BGI/AAAAAAAABgE/0HRQpJG6X78/s1600/folding+glasses.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BXja8Wy21t8/TxA9myc2BGI/AAAAAAAABgE/0HRQpJG6X78/s1600/folding+glasses.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.productchat.com/wheretobuy/folding-reading-glasses-with-case.html">Source</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-9054584999087700670?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-10974978676995270342012-01-12T09:26:00.000-05:002012-01-12T09:28:48.876-05:00Rain and RainbowsIt is a dark and rainy morning, with nearly all the sun's light hidden behind clouds.<br /><br />An easy day to fall into depression, to fall down the hole of why as a lament of loss instead of climbing the ladder of why as a question of wonder.<br /><br />So often, we fumble in darkness, bemoan what we've lost or feel has been taken from us, and fail to see and appreciate what we have, the gifts and blessings we've been graced with, the beauty right in front of and all around us.&nbsp;In this state, we extinguish all hope of happiness not only for ourselves but also for those whose lives we directly affect.<br /><br />Confusion causes us to perceive our darkness a permanent state separate from light, not as the absence of light, not as a state of readiness for illumination, readiness to receive the simple knowledge that we are sufficient and were created that way, that the spark breathed into us enables us to breathe out an infinite flood of light and spread endless colorful rays of joy.<br /><br />On the platform this morning, many people were carrying umbrellas. I noticed one in particular, boasting the colors of the rainbow.<br /><br />Not the rainbow after the rain.<br /><br />Not separate.<br /><br />The rainbow in the rain.<br /><br />Together.<br /><br />The light in the darkness.<br /><br />Together.<br /><br />As one.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XdU5sFF-_-M/Tw7tjEMYR0I/AAAAAAAABf8/HqI2dGMp0Fw/s1600/rainbow-umbrella-gf-u-013-173.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XdU5sFF-_-M/Tw7tjEMYR0I/AAAAAAAABf8/HqI2dGMp0Fw/s320/rainbow-umbrella-gf-u-013-173.jpg" width="312" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.p-wholesale.com/subcat/13/543/awning-umbrella-raincoat-p23.html">Source</a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-1097497867699527034?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-77914260789738336352012-01-11T09:25:00.000-05:002012-01-11T09:30:56.701-05:00Flourish<span class="zemanta-img separator" style="clear: right;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/62938898@N00/5153497510" style="clear: right; display: block; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Flowering Feijoa" height="192" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4023/5153497510_ab00a5ce79_m.jpg" style="border: none; font-size: 0.8em;" width="240" /></a><span class="zemanta-img-attribution" style="clear: both; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; width: 240px;">Image by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/62938898@N00/5153497510">Tatters:)</a> via Flickr</span></span>I noticed a man on the platform this morning.<br /><br />An average looking man.<br /><br />There was nothing special about his appearance.<br /><br />Except this:&nbsp;A silk kerchief poked up from the breast pocket of his overcoat, its soft folds undulating forth from the slit in the wool.<br /><br />The kerchief was pure decoration - its only function to embellish, to make the man look more pleasing to himself and others.<br /><br />A graceful red flower blooming against a backdrop of dark blue.<br /><br />A visual flourish.<br /><br />And a signal of intent.<br /><br />It was not so much the flourish I noticed as the intent behind it.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=flourish">Flourish</a> as noun manifesting the presence of flourish as verb.<br /><br />This man was flourishing, blooming, blossoming, flowering in his own way.<br /><br />And he was not afraid to show it.<br /><br />The flowers that grow in our gardens are programmed to bloom. Give them sunlight, water, healthy soil, and protection from predators, and beautiful blooms will come.<br /><br />Flowers do not intend to bloom; they just do.<br /><br />We are like flowers and also different.<br /><br />Like flowers, we need light, nourishment, a healthy environment, and safety to flourish.&nbsp; <br /><br />Unlike flowers, we were given the gift of free will.<br /><br />We possess the ability to act from intent, to decide whether or not we will flourish.<br /><br />Sometimes, we decide not to flourish because we question whether others will like our colors.<br /><br />Sometimes, we decide not to flourish because we fear others will pluck, trample, or damage our blooms.<br /><br />Sometimes we decide not to flourish because we worry we are not worthy.<br /><br />Sometimes we decide not to flourish through denial and sacrifice.<br /><br />And sometimes, we decide we've had enough of questioning, fear, worry, and sacrifice - enough.<br /><br />And that is when we burst forth and bloom.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=b4107f81-d64a-40d7-a289-fdb4268f7d30" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-7791426078973833635?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-65277951225311062462012-01-10T10:19:00.000-05:002012-01-10T10:19:42.562-05:00Solemn Responsibility<span class="zemanta-img separator" style="clear: right;"><a href="http://commons.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:The_Solemn_Land_-_James_MacDonald.jpg" style="clear: right; display: block; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="The Solemn Land" height="241" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/3/3f/The_Solemn_Land_-_James_MacDonald.jpg/300px-The_Solemn_Land_-_James_MacDonald.jpg" style="border-bottom-style: none; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-style: none; border-right-style: none; border-top-style: none; border-width: initial; font-size: 0.8em;" width="300" /></a><span class="zemanta-img-attribution" style="clear: both; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; width: 300px;">Image via <a href="http://commons.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:The_Solemn_Land_-_James_MacDonald.jpg">Wikipedia</a></span></span>Last night, I accepted a solemn responsibility.<br /><br />As I lay quietly on my couch in my sacred space, about to rise after listening, I was told to accept it before I placed my feet on the ground.<br /><br />The responsibility was clear.<br /><br />I accepted it without question and&nbsp;found joy in taking it on.<br /><br />The solemnity was not clear.<br /><br />How could I find joy in something solemn?<br /><br />The modern <a href="http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/solemn">definition</a>&nbsp;of solemn connects it with sadness; a solemn occasion or attitude is grave, serious, joyless, with secondary meanings of dignified or formal.<br /><br />But the Latin <a href="http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=solemn">root</a> of solemn, <i>sollemnis</i>, does not exclude joy. It means formal, ceremonial, traditional, and such occasions can be sad or joyful.<br /><br />Things became clearer when I saw that s<i>ollemnis </i>may be linked to <i>sollus</i>, which means whole.<br /><br />I could not ignore the sound pairing of <i>sollus </i>and solace (though the roots differ), or the power of tradition and formal ceremony to bring solace and comfort, to restore wholeness to a family, group, or community after loss.<br /><br />The joy of healing.<br /><br />I began to understand I was being asked to fill a traditional and customary role, which accounted for the rightness. And I started to feel the the serious beauty of solemn, the coexistence of joy and sadness in the ultimate comfort of love.<br /><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=98d0f6db-c135-418c-9c84-89237f2593e3" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-6527795122531106246?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-19896386505959397812012-01-09T08:41:00.001-05:002012-01-09T09:27:15.899-05:00SometimesSometimes, we can do nothing but marvel.<br /><br />Sometimes, we can only stare in awe.<br /><br />Sometimes, we cannot comprehend but only appreciate.<br /><br />Sometimes, the details disappear as the nature emerges. <br /><br />Sometimes, the visible becomes meaningless as the invisible becomes known.<br /><br />Sometimes, we are taken aback as we are taken forward.<br /><br />Sometimes, we achieve a new understanding of how much we do not understand.<br /><br />Sometimes, we experience a majesty beyond our own.<br /><br />Sometimes . . .<br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-dZtfWzW-Eus/Twr4KigHd5I/AAAAAAAABf0/lkuDJ-22gGA/s640/blogger-image--44392586.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-dZtfWzW-Eus/Twr4KigHd5I/AAAAAAAABf0/lkuDJ-22gGA/s640/blogger-image--44392586.jpg" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-1989638650595939781?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-64910204739960233672012-01-06T09:23:00.000-05:002012-01-06T14:44:07.880-05:00FreeToday, to celebrate&nbsp;<a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Epiphany_%28holiday%29" rel="wikipedia" title="Epiphany (holiday)">Epiphany</a>, the twelfth and last day of Christmas, I am giving away free copies of my ebook, <i>Undiscovered Secrets</i>.<br /><br />Just email me at tom@tomaplomb.com to get yours. That's it. That's all it takes.<br /><br />But nothing is truly free, right?<br /><br />Well, you don't have to pay any money for my book today.<br /><br />So what's the catch?<br /><br />The catch is this: if you take me up on my offer, which I hope you will, I will still hope for payment, just not money.<br /><br />I will hope you pay attention to the words I've written.<br /><br />Words I feel were given to me to help me understand things that can be hard to understand.<br /><br />Words I hope will help you understand these things a little better.<br /><br />Words that led me to my own epiphanies.<br /><br />Words placed on each page with love.<br /><br />Free does not mean without value.<br /><br />Free does not mean the absence of exchange.<br /><br />Free just means you don't have to open your wallet.<br /><br />To enjoy free fully, those best things in life everyone's always talking about, you have to open something else - your heart.<br /><br />I've bared mine in the pages of my book, held it in my hand and watched it beating, and come to understand its rhythm in a way that changed me.<br /><br />I don't know how my words will affect you; I just know that they will.<br /><br />So I encourage you to take full advantage of the gift I am giving. Break the seal, open the cover, and turn the pages (digitally, of course). And enjoy!<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1QFsMAbBHFw/TwcDfGiC-BI/AAAAAAAABfs/nGh7_ZKKAh0/s1600/Undiscovered+Secrets+Book+Cover+-+cropped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="317" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1QFsMAbBHFw/TwcDfGiC-BI/AAAAAAAABfs/nGh7_ZKKAh0/s320/Undiscovered+Secrets+Book+Cover+-+cropped.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">&nbsp;&nbsp;</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=f1f6e066-5d34-47f2-b058-89d860818e64" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-6491020473996023367?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-91677162544381446872012-01-05T09:04:00.001-05:002012-01-05T10:27:44.084-05:00The Secret That Is No SecretDo what you love.<br /><br />Pursue your passion.<br /><br />Let your light shine.<br /><br />Wise words from those who've won the battle against the baser self, the self that treads water but never learns to swim, the self that is exposed to light but never develops, the self that takes refuge in the dark boredom of getting by instead of standing triumphant atop the bright citadel of dreams.<br /><br />These people make it look both hard and easy.<br /><br />They struggled, of course, for struggle is everpresent.<br /><br />They pushed past resistance, ignored criticism, overcame obstacles, and made it happen.<br /><br />They broke through, to the other side.<br /><br />A door was shown to them, an open door in the distance. A door whose appealing shape and proportions pleased them, a door whose light drew them closer, a door in the sky, a door to the stars, those miraculous bursts of brightness stretched toward us on beams of traveling light.<br /><br />Are the stars finite?<br /><br />Could you ever count them all?<br /><br />Is there not a star for every one of us . . . and more?<br /><br />There is only one secret in all the books and blogs successful people have written, all the tapes and videos they've made and lectures they've given, all the coaching they've provided, all the advice they've ever offered.<br /><br />And that secret is no secret at all.<br /><br />The door they walked through has been given to each of us, to all of us, a universal gift.<br /><br />It is our door.<br /><br />It is ardor.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=ardor">Ardor</a> is flame, fire, burning, heat.<br /><br />Ardor is eagerness and zeal.<br /><br />Ardor is not the consumption of burning.<br /><br />Ardor is the glow.<br /><br />The association of flame, fire, and burning with that place we don't want to end up is meant to confuse us. That place is a place of cold and darkness, where warmth is absent, where light never shines. There is consumption there, constant consumption and depletion. And there is no glow.<br /><br />In the other place, the place of light, there is constant creation, endless regeneration, constant burning of the same eternal energy we've been given, spirited fanning of the flame sparked within us, and an infinitely golden glow.<br /><br />We were created to create.<br /><br />We were born to burn brightly.<br /><br />Each in our own way.<br /><br />Our door is ardor.<br /><br />Ardor is our door.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-pcjF-TcOM_w/TwW5gxbdb1I/AAAAAAAABfk/piJAIa8bRa8/s640/blogger-image-198851095.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-pcjF-TcOM_w/TwW5gxbdb1I/AAAAAAAABfk/piJAIa8bRa8/s400/blogger-image-198851095.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-9167716254438144687?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-70125691702275453952012-01-04T10:04:00.000-05:002012-01-04T10:07:27.041-05:00BridgesTimes come in life when we must make transitions.<br /><br />Times when survival demands we leave the sinking ground we stand on, walk over air and water, and cross to the other side.<br /><br />These times are scary.<br /><br />The shifting underfoot is frightening.<br /><br />And the other side is unknown.<br /><br />The trees and rocks we hold for balance have slipped out of reach, or worse, fallen and crumbled.<br /><br />The abyss yawns beneath, a monstrous mouth stretched open, screaming its demonic cry of need for another sacrificial victim.<br /><br />And we scream even louder, that will not be me, not me.<br /><br />We need a bridge. But how do we find one?<br /><br />Sometimes, we find an existing bridge by changing direction. <br /><br />Sometimes, we find we have to build the bridge ourselves.<br /><br />But sometimes, there is no time for finding or building.<br /><br />And that is when we find someone who lays down as a living bridge.<br /><br />Or that someone finds us.<br /><br />The roots of&nbsp;<a href="http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=bridge">bridge</a>&nbsp;start with&nbsp;<a href="http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=beam&amp;allowed_in_frame=0">beam</a>, which means living tree, and stretch further back to the Latin&nbsp;<i>columna lucis</i>, the Biblical&nbsp;<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pillar_of_Fire_(theophany)">pillar of fire</a>, a manifestation of God's presence that provided light so the Jews could travel by night during their escape from Egypt. <br /><br />A bridge of shining light.<br /><br />A guide to safe passage.<br /><br />The bridge beckons: cross me.<br /><br />In the time we have, we examine the bridge, size it up and test for stress, looking for weak points and signs of decay.<br /><br />We take a step to see if it will hold us.<br /><br />And then we trust in faith.<br /><br />And when we trust in faith, the miracle of transport to freedom begins.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UvQmSCTx_7o/TwRqLNocuOI/AAAAAAAABfc/X4f-sWN6k4M/s1600/Pillar-of-Cloud-Pillar-of-Fire-detail_Isaacb2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UvQmSCTx_7o/TwRqLNocuOI/AAAAAAAABfc/X4f-sWN6k4M/s320/Pillar-of-Cloud-Pillar-of-Fire-detail_Isaacb2.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://kirbymuseum.org/blogs/kirby-vision/category/isaac-brynjegard-bialik/">Source</a></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=e0e53606-b50f-46cc-9a45-fdc3dd07eccc" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-7012569170227545395?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-62914964957521145382012-01-03T09:21:00.000-05:002012-01-03T09:21:08.105-05:00S'mores<span class="zemanta-img separator" style="clear: right;"><a href="http://commons.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Smore.jpg" style="clear: right; display: block; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="A S'more; melted marshmallow and milk chocolat..." height="156" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/e/e9/Smore.jpg/300px-Smore.jpg" style="border: none; font-size: 0.8em;" width="300" /></a><span class="zemanta-img-attribution" style="clear: both; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; width: 300px;">Image via <a href="http://commons.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Smore.jpg">Wikipedia</a></span></span>I had special guests in my home over the holiday break, and on New Year's eve we made s'mores.<br /><br />I bought a bag of giant Campfire marshmallows - the biggest I had ever seen - and a bunch of Hershey's chocolate bars. We searched for - and finally found - an open store that had Honey Maid graham crackers.<br /><br />I found my special roasting tool: a long, extendable two-tined fork with a red handle reclaimed from my childhood, when we used to roast marshmallows over the barbecue's fading coals. <br /><br />I lit a fire, tinkering with newspaper and fatwood sticks under a carefully arranged framework of logs until it roared.<br /><br />The flames danced, their rise and fall forming varied patterns with each glance, a flow of fiery fractals against a backdrop of black.<br /><br />The glow drew us all closer.<br /><br />Patience was required to turn the enormous marshmallows golden brown on the outside and gooey on the inside so they would explode and melt the chocolate when pressed between the crunchy crackers.<br /><br />My friend and I both remarked that we had not had s'mores in years, decades probably.<br /><br />And these s'mores were worth the wait.<br /><br />Conceived in a why not moment as a spontaneous surprise for my friend's children and mine, they brought us all wide smiles and a warm sense of satisfaction.<br /><br />Many of us have been conditioned, by parents, partners, employers, to feel there's something wrong with wanting s'more, with wanting s'more happiness, s'more joy, s'more fulfillment, s'more of being the way we crave to be.<br /><br />So we shelve our dreams and deny ourselves many of life's pleasures and sometimes reach the end, which always seems to come too soon, tasting bitter regrets.<br /><br />There's nothing wrong with wanting the mouth feel of molten marshmallows, the chalky sweetness of mostly melted chocolate, the sweet crunch of a graham cracker.<br /><br />There's nothing wrong with wanting to live a life in which you indulge your creative talents, tap your God-given gifts, and make each waking day a step towards realizing your dreams.<br /><br />There's nothing wrong with pursuing and doing what you know you're meant to do.<br /><br />There's nothing wrong with wanting s'more.<br /><br />And there's nothing wrong with getting s'more either.<br /><br /><br /><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=c0e1f55b-84a2-44af-87f1-c3bc367f3d48" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-6291496495752114538?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-43125176879433706632011-12-23T09:24:00.000-05:002011-12-23T09:24:29.112-05:00The GardenI am in my garden.<br /><br />Tending my flowers.<br /><br />Taking care of those most fragile and vulnerable.<br /><br />Giving them support and nourishment.<br /><br />Helping them bloom and thrive.<br /><br />Helping them grow strong.<br /><br />What is my garden?<br /><br />Why do I work there?<br /><br />Why do I get down on my knees, bend my back, and dig my hands into the soil?<br /><br />Why do I spend a hot day under the sun?<br /><br />The master gardener beholds rewards in his acts of loving kindness.<br /><br />Not rewards <i>for </i>the acts, but rewards <i>in </i>the acts themselves.<br /><br />Rewards that live in the sound flowers make when they're growing.<br /><br />A sound that cannot be described, only felt as a happy song inside the soul.<br /><br />If I am patient and quiet in my garden, if I strip away all the noise, I can hear that sound.<br /><br />I can hear my guerdon, the soundmate and soulmate of garden, which means reward.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lDlRNBxhyRQ/TvSOVZeTACI/AAAAAAAABfQ/GyXUO8EhxxE/s1600/Iris+Blooming+new.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lDlRNBxhyRQ/TvSOVZeTACI/AAAAAAAABfQ/GyXUO8EhxxE/s320/Iris+Blooming+new.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-4312517687943370663?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-26177472353514403052011-12-22T08:34:00.001-05:002011-12-22T10:11:43.163-05:00NeedI was once married to a woman who joked that the four basic food groups were caffeine, nicotine, sugar, and grease. These substances, conveyed through coffee, cigarettes, chocolate, and french fries, constituted the staples of her diet - for a while. Each satisfied a need, and their addictive qualities always left her wanting more - and me running out for supplies.<br /><br />This morning, I found myself thinking about need, our need not for physical but emotional nourishment.<br /><br />So I came up with the four basic emotional need groups: warmth, comfort, encouragement, and liberty.<br /><br />But where is love, you ask?<br /><br />To me, love is transcendent. Our need for love is so elemental, ingrained, ever-present, and overwhelming, that it cannot be contained in only one of four quadrants. Love forms the framework of our existence. Love is the ground on which we stand. Love is the air we breathe. Love is the fire that warms our hearts, lights our way, and inspires us to dream, create, and achieve. Love is the water we drink to survive.<br /><br />The four groups I am suggesting are needs I believe must be met within a loving relationship for that relationship to&nbsp;hold together and&nbsp;meet both partners' needs.<br /><br />We've all experienced the feeling of being in a cold place, a place where our body begins shutting down to protect our core functions and ensure survival. A place where we confront the painful reality of sacrificing fingers and toes, even limbs, to stay alive. A place where no one, not even the one who professes to care, seems to care. A blasted, desolate, icy place where the next step in the direction of sunlight is all we can think about and the only thing that keeps us moving forward. And we've all experienced places where a kind smile raises the temperature, where the well-stoked fire in the hearth of another generates enough warmth to be shared, places where we take off not just coats but shoes and socks and gratefully warm our toes by the flames.<br /><br />We've all experienced the feeling of not being able to get comfortable no matter which way we turn, that unsettled feeling, the sense there is nowhere to put ourselves, no position that feels good. A place with hard surfaces we keep bumping into, tight spaces in which we're constantly cramped, where shards of glass from the shattered crystal balls of broken dreams line the floor, slicing our feet. A place where, without warning, we can sear our flesh simply by touching a doorknob to open a door. And we've all experienced places where we can plunk ourselves down, relax, and be ourselves, where we are not imprisoned in the confines of another's needs or expectations, where floors are carpeted with consideration for the sensitive skin of our feet, and communication is conducted in concert with the sensitive nature of our feelings. Places where we immediately feel at home.<br /><br />We've all experienced places where everything we try is pooh-poohed as impossible, where our dreams are dismissed as folly, where the words, "No, you can't" form a constant refrain. Places where we never get the little push that helps us take the next big step, or the big boost that helps us see over the horizon. Places where we are constantly pulled down instead of lifted up and supported. And we've all experienced places where a kind word, a gesture, the gift of time or attention, fuels our will to continue. Places we can go when our faith in ourselves hits a low point and another's faith in us restores our own. Places where when we forget how much we matter, how much difference we make every day, we are lovingly reminded.<br /><br />We've all experienced places where we are not free, where we feel enslaved by demands, bound by threats, manipulated by <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emotional_blackmail" rel="wikipedia" title="Emotional blackmail">emotional blackmail</a>, held back by fear. Places where the sticky tentacles of another's dysfunction stretch around to strangle us and pull us down into the deep. Places where being ourselves comes at tremendous effort and horrifying cost. And we've all experienced places where we can swim freely in clear water, where reefs are not barbed-wire fences but rich worlds to be explored, where our self-determination and pursuit of our dreams do not threaten and terrify another but fulfill that person's hopes and dreams for us. Places from which we can choose to give freely, not from obligation but from love.<br /><br />We've all experienced both kinds of places.<br /><br />Where do you want to be?<br /><br />Where do you need to be?<br /><br /><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=4f20fe8e-511a-4ef2-938d-7bfc35c9c436" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-nlGDg8uX0zk/TvNBcbIfY9I/AAAAAAAABfE/agl7dpUgt2I/s640/blogger-image--1467604658.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-nlGDg8uX0zk/TvNBcbIfY9I/AAAAAAAABfE/agl7dpUgt2I/s640/blogger-image--1467604658.jpg" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-2617747235351440305?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-68463567487149867162011-12-21T09:24:00.000-05:002011-12-21T12:49:20.818-05:00Write Your RulesLast night, I counseled a friend on some relationship issues.<br /><br />I mostly listened, because whenever a story affects someone deeply, it needs to be told.<br /><br />It needs to unfold.<br /><br />And unfolding occurs most easily with the least amount of interference.<br /><br />Unfolding happens when you stop injecting yourself into someone else's flow.<br /><br />I let my friend spread out his story, stretch it with care from beginning to end, lay it all out on the table, not crimping its corners with interruptions of opinion, judgment, advice, or parallel narrative.<br /><br />The story was filled with strong feelings, about others and about himself, and&nbsp;I encouraged my friend to honor his feelings.<br /><br />I reminded him that what he wants is important, that putting others first does not require us to sacrifice our feelings in flames on the altar of consideration.<br /><br />And I told my friend to write his rules.<br /><br />The rules of having a relationship with him.<br /><br />Rules that start with words such as:<br /><br />"I will always . . .<br /><br />"I will never &nbsp;. . .<br /><br />"I want . . .<br /><br />"I don't want . . .<br /><br />"I enjoy . . .<br /><br />"I don't enjoy . . .<br /><br />"I choose . . .<br /><br />"I don't choose . . .<br /><br />Rules that start with these words are boundaries that respect my feelings.<br /><br />If I'm with someone who consistently respects my feelings, my rules may never come into play. They go without saying.<br /><br />But if I'm with someone who consistently or even occasionally tramples on my feelings, I will need my rules.<br /><br />My rules need not be set in stone. They are guidelines I've established for my benefit.<br /><br />I can choose to suspend or break my rules.&nbsp;But I must know my rules to make these choices. When I know my rules, I make a conscious choice to maintain or dispense with them. When I don't know my rules, I have a hard time figuring out they've been violated. I may feel uneasy, uncomfortable, unhappy, but I may not know why. I know something is wrong, but I am not aware that I have been wronged and that I have the right to make different, healthier choices.<br /><br />And making healthier choices is the only way I know to improve my life.<br /><br />Not knowing my rules leaves the door open for someone to steal my emotional security.<br /><br />Emotional security is a precious gift we often take for granted until it is gone, and it can be achingly difficult to restore.<br /><br />As another year nears its end, and the calendrical conceit of new beginnings once again descends upon us, take a moment, or more than a moment, to write your rules. My wish is that they serve you well.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uqAOpAJD6H8/TvHr3LByCfI/AAAAAAAABe8/epWYqcVTc9E/s1600/Rules.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uqAOpAJD6H8/TvHr3LByCfI/AAAAAAAABe8/epWYqcVTc9E/s320/Rules.gif" width="312" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://hagi1971.blogspot.com/2011/04/rules-rules-rules.html">Source</a></div><br /><br /><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=1935014b-0498-4dde-9150-23963b8a26a9" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-6846356748714986716?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-22624592097865166702011-12-20T10:07:00.001-05:002011-12-20T10:11:18.409-05:00VigilanceIn&nbsp;<a href="http://www.owlpages.com/articles.php?section=Owl+Mythology&amp;title=Myth+and+Culture">Greek mythology</a>, the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Owl">owl</a> was considered a protector and the favorite bird of Athena, goddess of wisdom.<br /><br />Here's what I find interesting about owls.<br /><br />Their vision is both compromised and enhanced.&nbsp;First, they are farsighted and cannot see things right in front of them.&nbsp;Second, their eyes are fixed in their sockets. Imagine if you couldn't move your eyes from side to side.<br /><br />And yet, owls are among the most effective seers and predators.&nbsp;One reason is their excellent nocturnal vision. Another is their ability to swivel their heads 270 degrees.&nbsp;This swiveling enables owls to see what's behind them without facing their bodies in a backwards direction. It also allows them to turn until they can hear a sound with both ears simultaneously, helping them pinpoint their prey's exact location.<br /><br />A protector looks for threats in every direction.<br /><br />Threats from the past, threats in the present, threats possible in the future.<br /><br />Threats around the 270 degree arc of time.<br /><br />A protector also sees invisible threats, threats that lie in darkness, in the hidden quadrant, on the last 90 degrees of the circle.<br /><br />A protector is vigilant.<br /><br />And vigilant was the word that came to me this morning, along with the image of the owl.<br /><br />We all need owls in our lives, those vigilant people who protect us not only from what we cannot see, but also from what they cannot see but only sense.<br /><br />Who is your owl?<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fr8cGEC3ou0/TvClXJGWNrI/AAAAAAAABe0/D9daFC7mlM8/s1600/800px-Athene_noctua_%2528portrait%2529+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fr8cGEC3ou0/TvClXJGWNrI/AAAAAAAABe0/D9daFC7mlM8/s400/800px-Athene_noctua_%2528portrait%2529+%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File%3AAthene_noctua_(portrait).jpg">Source</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Attribution</div><div style="text-align: center;">By Trebol-a (Own work) [CC-BY-SA-3.0 <br />(www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], <br />via Wikimedia Commons</div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span id="goog_1189303881"></span><span id="goog_1189303882"></span></div><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=b2e33ea8-5801-480e-9259-10766cd326bf" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-2262459209786516670?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-63720507855418065522011-12-19T10:03:00.000-05:002011-12-19T10:03:43.283-05:00The Cup of Softness<span class="zemanta-img separator" style="clear: right;"><a href="http://commons.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Agape_feast_03.jpg" style="clear: right; display: block; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Early Christians celebrating Communion at an A..." height="216" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/3/39/Agape_feast_03.jpg/300px-Agape_feast_03.jpg" style="border: none; font-size: 0.8em;" width="300" /></a><span class="zemanta-img-attribution" style="clear: both; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; width: 300px;">Image via <a href="http://commons.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Agape_feast_03.jpg">Wikipedia</a></span></span>This morning, I took the time to sit.<br /><br />Quietly . . .<br /><br />In my sacred space of inspiration . . .<br /><br />For just a moment . . .<br /><br />And that moment was enough.<br /><br />I heard a word: callous.<br /><br />A word with both physical and conceptual meaning.<br /><br />There is the callous that forms on our knuckles or the sides of our toes.<br /><br />And there is the callousness that forms when our behavior hardens . . . towards a situation, a partner, humanity itself . . . and we lose the ability and desire to care.<br /><br />Callouses result from stress, abrasion, constant repetitive irritation and injury to a surface, and the hardening is a protective response.<br /><br />Callousness results from similar emotional assaults, and the attitude it forms - the feel of our presence - becomes rough and unpleasant, unfeeling and unresponsive, impenetrable, undesirable to be around or touch.<br /><br />Skin is a living, breathing organ, a two-way portal, and if we choose to let it grow thick and insensitive, if we do not scrape off resentments, file down grudges, soften our skin with the balm of forgiveness, then sympathy, empathy, compassion, and love can neither make their way out nor make their way in.<br /><br />When exploring a word, I often turn to its dual nature, call forth its homonym, sound out its counterpart, to tease out its secrets. Enlightenment is right in front of us, if we look in the right place.<br /><br />The second word I heard&nbsp;this morning, the sound match to callous, was chalice.<br /><br />If you harden the ch of chalice you get . . . callous.<br /><br />And so I understood.<br /><br />If we wish to make the world a softer, more pleasant place, a pillow on which to rest our heads and live our dreams, instead of a rock on which to break them, we must not only drink from but also share with others the chalice, the cup of softness.<br /><br />And at my moment of realization, I received a sign. A person I had reached out to, whose mood I was trying to soften, whose hardness was threatening to make her callous and prevent her from drinking fully from the cup of life, responded with gratitude.<br /><br />The cup of softness holds wine of a forgotten vintage, fermented from grapes lovingly crushed, aged with care and tenderness, uncorked with pleasure, and poured forth with abundance - a miraculous elixir that flows from the heart.<br /><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=3f852d69-c1ff-4ba0-9b0e-e7e44e237387" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-6372050785541806552?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-26455284911133008372011-12-16T12:58:00.000-05:002011-12-16T12:58:32.354-05:00My Why Revisited<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">Later today, after my office holiday party, I'll be attending a get-together with fans and friends of<span class="apple-converted-space">&nbsp;</span></span><span style="font-family: &quot;Arial&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Simon_Sinek" title="Simon Sinek">Simon Sinek</a>, author of<span class="apple-converted-space">&nbsp;</span><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Start-Why-Leaders-Inspire-Everyone/dp/1591842808"><i>Start With Why</i></a>.&nbsp;<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">So I started thinking.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">Thinking about my why.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">My why is to help people lead more inspired, purposeful, fulfilling lives.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">And I realized, as I reread my what and my how in my<span class="apple-converted-space">&nbsp;</span></span><span style="font-family: &quot;Arial&quot;,&quot;sans-serif&quot;; font-size: 11.0pt;"><a href="http://tomaplomb.blogspot.com/2011/05/my-why.html">post</a><span class="apple-converted-space">&nbsp;</span>from May, that I've been going about this all wrong. Well, not exactly all wrong, but not exactly all right either.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">There's nothing wrong with my why itself. It's a good why, a great one, if you'll permit me some pride for coming up with it.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">The problem lies in how I've been approaching my why and the limits with which I've circumscribed it.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">My why can't just be something I take steps towards, start working on, accomplish in bits and pieces, eventually somehow achieve.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">I have to live my why.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">I have to live it, breathe it, be it. I have to feel it flow from heart in every beat, let it inform every word I write and infuse every action I perform.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">And I cannot limit how I live my why to a particular job, function, or activity - blogger, author, life coach, motivational speaker.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">When it comes to my why, there are no limits.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">How about inspirer, purpose-finder, fulfillment-giver, fountain of light?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">How about that?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">I can either watch my life happen as a series of sequential anomalies.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">Or I can live my life as an act of harmonious bliss.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sh6_sqHifg0/TuuGmEI9CTI/AAAAAAAABec/vD5ui6T4VCg/s1600/Fountain+of+Light.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sh6_sqHifg0/TuuGmEI9CTI/AAAAAAAABec/vD5ui6T4VCg/s400/Fountain+of+Light.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-2645528491113300837?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-19169446392899859232011-12-16T09:25:00.000-05:002011-12-16T09:25:49.414-05:00Have You Got It Backwards?<span class="zemanta-img separator" style="clear: right; width: 250px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/53682558@N06/6353289537" style="clear: right; display: block; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="The Golden Circle" src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6019/6353289537_c7d4299dcf_m.jpg" style="border: none; font-size: 0.8em;" /></a><span class="zemanta-img-attribution" style="clear: both; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">Image by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/53682558@N06/6353289537">Gavin Llewellyn</a> via Flickr</span></span>On the platform this morning, I noticed a man.<br /><br />A man who was no longer there.<br /><br />I noticed his absence.<br /><br />This man was offered a big job in another city.<br /><br />He took the job, moved his family, changed his life.<br /><br />I can picture the big, rambling house, the expansive yard, the new school for his children, the shorter, more manageable commute.<br /><br />I imagine he is happy.<br /><br />Sometimes, it happens that way: a new job brings a new life.<br /><br />But job offers are rare these days, and when we reach a certain age, we no longer want to ask and wait for someone to offer us a new life.<br /><br />There's no time to do it ass-backwards.<br /><br />There's only the urgency of time passing.<br /><br />And the aching need get out there and grab it.<br /><br />A new life brings a new job, which isn't really a job at all.<br /><br />A new life brings the alignment of work with passion, the balance of effort with the reward we actually seek.<br /><br />A new life brings constant inspiration, pursuit of purpose, fulfillment.<br /><br />So how about dropping the statement, "I am looking for a new job," and picking up the mantle of, "I am building a new life."<br /><br />How about that?<br /><br />The job, the house, the yard, the schools, the commute - all these will match the new life and fall into place.<br /><br />Trust me, they will.<br /><br />And if you don't trust me, trust yourself.<br /><br />I can only tell you my story. What you do with yours, how you write the rest of your life, is up to you.<br /><br />But if you're stuck and you want to move forward, try asking yourself this question: Have I got it backwards?<br /><br /><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=556dbd87-2080-41e4-a04d-39fa9509ba3f" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-1916944639289985923?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-43813608804500417382011-12-15T09:29:00.000-05:002011-12-15T10:30:25.654-05:00You Never Know<span class="zemanta-img separator" style="clear: right;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/44719155@N00/4690974739" style="clear: right; display: block; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="New Yorker logo changes" height="160" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4017/4690974739_4a17ed1738_m.jpg" style="border: none; font-size: 0.8em;" width="240" /></a><span class="zemanta-img-attribution" style="clear: both; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; width: 240px;">Image by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/44719155@N00/4690974739">johnmcq</a> via Flickr</span></span>When I served on the House Committee of&nbsp;<a href="http://www.yaleclubnyc.org/">The Yale Club of New York City</a>, I heard the chef tell a story.<br /><br />There was a club member who came in for lunch once or twice during the week. Some weeks he might come three, even four times. Other weeks, he might not show up at all.<br /><br />This member always ordered the same thing for lunch: baked chicken on a bed of rice with mixed greens on the side.<br /><br />A simple lunch. But baked chicken was not on the lunch menu at the Yale Club.<br /><br />Or the dinner menu.<br /><br />Still, the chef instructed his staff to bake a chicken every weekday morning, boil some rice, and set aside the greens in case the member in question came for lunch.<br /><br />Baking all those chickens required extra effort from the club's kitchen staff, effort they may have considered wasted. And they had to find a use for the chicken if the member didn't come for lunch. But they did it anyway.<br /><br />They did it because . . . you never know.<br /><br />One of my childhood memories is of the wooden magazine stand beside the couch in my parents' living room. It held in its compartments&nbsp;<a href="http://www.natgeomagazines.com/all/?source=sem_g_e_nationalgeographic&amp;gclid=CLmXt52bhK0CFQjd4AodODANSw"><i>National Geographic</i></a>, <a class="zem_slink" href="http://www.usnews.com/" rel="homepage" title="U.S. News &amp; World Report"><i>U.S. News and World Report</i></a>, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saturday_Review_(U.S._magazine)"><i>Saturday Review</i></a>&nbsp;with <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Norman_Rockwell" rel="wikipedia" title="Norman Rockwell">Norman Rockwell</a> covers, and other now-defunct treasures. <a class="zem_slink" href="http://www.newyorker.com/" rel="homepage" title="The New Yorker"><i>The New Yorker</i></a>, however, always went straight to the coffee table.<br /><br />And after each issue of <i>The New Yorker</i> was read, my mother removed the cover, tossed the innards, and added the cover to the&nbsp;years deep&nbsp;piles shelved in our basement.<br /><br />One Sunday, a friend of my parents', a syndicated cartoonist named <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Morrie_Brickman">Morrie Brickman</a>, who created the comic strip <i>The Small Society</i>, showed up at our house.<br /><br />"Elaine, do you still have all those <i>New Yorker</i> covers in your basement?"<br /><br />"Yes."<br /><br />"Oh, thank goodness. I'm completely out of ideas. I need to spend a few hours down there."<br /><br />And so Morrie buried himself up to his eyeballs in my mother's <i>New Yorker</i> archive to refill his creative well.<br /><br />My mother did not have a particular reason for saving&nbsp;<i>New Yorker</i>&nbsp;covers. Still, she did it.<br /><br />Religiously.<br /><div><br /></div>Because . . . you never know.<br /><br />Sometimes, we hesitate to do things because we're not sure of their purpose or how they will play out.<br /><br />Or we fear our effort will be unreciprocated and therefore wasted.<br /><br />We put off responding to or reconnecting with an old friend.<br /><br />We walk past a bar or restaurant every day but don't go in.<br /><br />We hold onto a work of art we've created and never try to get it exhibited or published.<br /><br />We fantasize about a vacation but never plan it.<br /><br />We think to ourselves, I can't; it's just too crazy.<br /><br />We allow countless opportunities to pass us by.<br /><br />My appeal today is to go ahead and do some of these things, all of these things, even if you are unsure of why you are doing them or exactly what will happen. Follow your feelings. Give it a try. Let it fly.<br /><br />Because . . . you never know.<br /><div class="zemanta-related"><h6 class="zemanta-related-title" style="font-size: 1em; margin: 1em 0 0 0;">Related articles</h6><ul class="zemanta-article-ul"><li class="zemanta-article-ul-li"><a href="http://tomaplomb.blogspot.com/2011/09/back-of-house.html">Back of the House</a> (tomaplomb.blogspot.com)</li></ul></div><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=a95a6062-34be-447f-9913-7116c2c6f6b9" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-4381360880450041738?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-75655322310135695932011-12-14T08:40:00.001-05:002011-12-14T10:09:30.166-05:00Heart StringsYesterday, on my way to pick up lunch, I saw a cable truck in the street.<br /><br />Two huge spools of orange wire sat coiled on the truck's bed, ready to be rolled out, carefully unwound to create a network of connectivity.<br /><br />I thought of how we lay down cable in relationships, how we wind out our heart strings to establish and maintain connection.<br /><br />Heart strings are elementally strong and desperately fragile things.<br /><br />Heart strings are held together by hope and trust, enlivened by love, tightened through presence and responsiveness, kept supple with kindness, tenderness, patience, and understanding.<br /><br />And heart strings must be played with passion.<br /><br />Otherwise, they make no sound.<br /><br />And there is nothing sadder . . . than a silent heart string.<br /><br />Here are some things that keep heart strings healthy:<br /><br />Knowing glances, familiar expressions, smiles that carry special meaning.<br /><br />The gentle tone in which we wrap our words and phrases.<br /><br />The gift of attention.<br /><br />The electricity of touch.<br /><br />Here are some things that cut them:<br /><br />Dismissive looks.<br /><br />Contemptuous statements.<br /><br />Disengagement.<br /><br />Abuse.<br /><br />When we begin a relationship, we work hard to lay out a strong network of connection.<br /><br />We stretch our heart strings as far as we can.<br /><br />We ask that they be held both gently and securely on the other side.<br /><br />When heart strings are pulled too hard, played mechanically over and over again, or worse, dropped or cut, our connection to our partner weakens. <br /><br />As with a heart transplant recipient, the blood flows through reconnected arteries and veins, but the nerves are disconnected, and the heart no longer responds to emotional stimuli.<br /><br />When this happens, unless new strings are stretched in both directions, the connection - and the relationship - will be severed.<br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-dUmE5mcb08I/Tui1U0Hy-dI/AAAAAAAABeQ/_na0PSd0T94/s640/blogger-image-1999355689.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="311" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-dUmE5mcb08I/Tui1U0Hy-dI/AAAAAAAABeQ/_na0PSd0T94/s400/blogger-image-1999355689.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-7565532231013569593?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-6431884677258245052011-12-13T08:38:00.001-05:002011-12-13T10:07:52.450-05:00Tenderness<i>Seems like without tenderness there's something missing</i><br /><i>Tenderness</i><br /><i>Where is the</i><br /><i>Tenderness</i><br /><i>Where is it?</i><br /><br /><i>Tenderness </i>- General Public<br /><br />Before I write, I listen.<br /><br />I listen for words in the silence.<br /><br />Silence is not empty.<br /><br />Silence is full of words . . . if you listen.<br /><br />This morning I heard a word . . . tenderness.<br /><br />After I listen, I look for signs.<br /><br />Signs are everywhere . . . if you look for them.<br /><br />And this morning I saw a sign, on the platform: an old man, standing behind a woman who was, if not his wife, his companion through a long stretch of time.<br /><br />The man's hair was wispy and gray, his face weathered. He had the weariness of age but not the slackness of resignation. He was flush with the life force still in him.<br /><br />The woman was slightly taller, broad in the shoulders and broader still in the hips, her hair coiffed and dyed an attractive shade of blonde.<br /><br />At the moment I passed them, the man leaned in, craned his neck upward a bit, paused briefly with a potent mix of respect and appreciation for the woman's space and beauty, placed his hands gently on her shoulders, and pressed his lips into her hair, onto her nape.<br /><br />There was passion in his kiss.<br /><br />Passion and pleasure.<br /><br />I could see him savoring it.<br /><br />Passion and pleasure tempered with tenderness.<br /><br />The raw metals of love alloyed with the magical ore mined from his heart to render this man soft <i>and </i>strong.<br /><br />The look on his face as he kissed her was blissful.<br /><br />His eyes were closed, his cheeks alight with the explosive fire of memory stoked by imagination.<br /><br />His body, shrunken with age, stretched to reach a spot crossed many times on their journey together, to brush his lips there with evident delight, the way a painter smiles as his brush strokes bring color, light, and life to a canvas.<br /><br />And in that stretching lies the root of <a href="http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=tender">tenderness</a>, for <i>ten</i> means stretch.<br /><br />Tenderness requires stretching.<br /><br />Tenderness is something we extend.<br /><br />Tenderness enlarges a gesture, expands a statement, transforms a relationship from ordinary to extraordinary, filling it with softness that makes it strong.<br /><br />Stretching requires effort, commitment, patience, and flexibility.<br /><br />It helps to exercise your tenderness muscle, your tendon of tenderness, every day.<br /><br />Because the work of tenderness is never done.<br /><br />And the joy of tenderness is never-ending.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-tdd1c4a8bQI/TudifALRh1I/AAAAAAAABeI/MZVvXVQI57A/s640/blogger-image--1219710230.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-tdd1c4a8bQI/TudifALRh1I/AAAAAAAABeI/MZVvXVQI57A/s400/blogger-image--1219710230.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-643188467725824505?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-37376335419568073352011-12-12T08:34:00.001-05:002011-12-12T10:04:32.496-05:00I See You WalkingI see you, walking,&nbsp;on a field of ice.<br /><br />The landscape of a cold life.<br /><br />A life where the light you orbit shines&nbsp;knife-like, sharpened by infrequency.<br /><br />The surface of each day is slippery.<br /><br />One misstep and a fall can break not only bones and hearts.<br /><br />Each impact cracks the brittle molecular code and widens the fissures that lie beneath.<br /><br />Often, your feet go out from under you.<br /><br />And the one you would reach to, the one who would extend a hand, the one to whom you tied your rope, bound yourself to for the journey, is not there.<br /><br />You tug the rope and&nbsp;feel . . . slackness.<br /><br />You tug the rope . . . and there is no response.<br /><br />No answering call.<br /><br />Nothing but the bitter sound of wind, swirling, through valleys of snow and peaks of&nbsp;frozen&nbsp;water.<br /><br />A desperate howling.<br /><br />The circling of emptiness.<br /><br />It is night.<br /><br />It is always night.<br /><br />The earth turns in spite of itself.<br /><br />You walk but do not feel the ice under your feet.<br /><br />Your feet are numb.<br /><br />The ice begins to fall away, to disappear from under you.<br /><br />Your next step is over air.<br /><br />Your boot comes down, supported by two hands, their fingers interlocked to bear the weight of your footfall.<br /><br />You look to the sky.<br /><br />And there you see the light of a distant, once familiar star, its brightness dimmed by light years wasted in blackness, but still visible, flickering, a fire never quenched in your imagination, burning like an open-eyed dream.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-7npSC7GSeHY/TuYRySGH-CI/AAAAAAAABeA/mcyGCy1amJs/s640/blogger-image--269228602.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-7npSC7GSeHY/TuYRySGH-CI/AAAAAAAABeA/mcyGCy1amJs/s400/blogger-image--269228602.jpg" width="299" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-3737633541956807335?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-64056464981045851592011-12-09T09:32:00.000-05:002011-12-09T13:24:52.984-05:00Blastoff - The Art of Going LiveLast night, I went live.<br /><br />In front of an audience, at the <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fairfield_Museum_and_History_Center" rel="wikipedia" title="Fairfield Museum and History Center">Fairfield Museum and History Center</a>, I performed a new story, Signal Moments.<br /><br />I had practiced in private, trained myself for the launch.<br /><br />I had assembled memories; crafted custom, specialized parts and pieces; placed stages of narrative atop one another; and welded them together with love.<br /><br />I had brought my rocket to the staging area, aligned it with the gantry that would hold it in place, then fall away on liftoff.<br /><br />I had filled my engines with the fuel of passion.<br /><div><br /></div>I was ready.<br /><br />As the storyteller before me began her tale, I felt the thrill of my own countdown: T minus 10 and counting . . &nbsp;.<br /><br />My heart raced, pumping the anticipation of flight through my arteries and veins.<br /><br />My art, born in my sacred, creative space; shaped in my work space; and polished in my holding space; was ready to ship, ready to launch into outer space, ready to blast off and go live.<br /><br />As I stood and moved towards the microphone, I felt the thrill, the edge, the rush and pressure, the full G-force of "this is it."<br /><br />And as I started speaking, another force took over, powered by my flow of words.<br /><br />Rhythm, cadence, absorption, surrender.<br /><br />I was no longer carrying the story; the story was carrying me.<br /><br />The rocket boosters dropped away, and&nbsp;I floated in orbit, held to the arc of my story by the gravitational pull of my heart.<br /><br />I looked out over the audience, squinting a bit in the lights, and saw what you can only see when you are up there, out there, and not just there - the view of the earth from the moon.<br /><br />Time to bring it down.<br /><br />The signal moment.<br /><br />The burning of reentry through words burned into memory, that crucible of molten tears.<br /><br />The place where pain is forged into wisdom.<br /><br />The place that time never forgets.<br /><br />I paused, delivered my ending line, then splashed down into a sea of applause.<br /><br />And as the door to my memory capsule opened, I breathed.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3J6Tu7hgKeA/TuIbCU_3wII/AAAAAAAABd4/LmHsv9o46ww/s1600/nasa+view+of+earth+from+moon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="287" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3J6Tu7hgKeA/TuIbCU_3wII/AAAAAAAABd4/LmHsv9o46ww/s320/nasa+view+of+earth+from+moon.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://rst.gsfc.nasa.gov/Sect19/Sect19_2a.html">Source</a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Here is a review of the performance on <a href="http://www.hamlethub.com/westport-entertainment/cat/arts-entertainment/5131-qticket-to-rideq-a-great-trip?hitcount=0">Westport's Hamlet Hub</a>.</div></div><br /><br /><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=d3befee3-6038-4cc6-a81d-79c20b2ef90e" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-6405646498104585159?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-33185078189553294562011-12-08T08:39:00.001-05:002011-12-08T12:10:24.568-05:00ToneThis morning, I listened to a woman barking on her cell phone.<br /><br />At first, her tone was incredulous.<br /><br />"They scheduled a closing with someone who had the same NAME&nbsp;and sent the documents to the WRONG PERSON! How stupid is THAT?!?"<br /><br />Then, she turned angry and demanding.<br /><br />"Now they have to FIX it, because&nbsp;I NEED a CLOSING DATE!"<br /><br />And a few seconds later, rude and dismissive.<br /><br />"You shouldn't be talking to me. You should be talking to my lawyer."<br /><br />I understood she was upset and trying to solve a problem, a serious one.<br /><br />But she had allowed her emotions, raw and ugly, to intrude on and dominate her tone.<br /><br />For the person listening on the other end, the interaction was no longer about a closing date or how to fix it.<br /><br />It was now about the woman being disrespectful.<br /><br />It was now about a lack of human sensitivity.<br /><br />It was now about the tone.<br /><br />The woman's face was twisted, drooping in places, colorless. She was determined to get what she wanted, no matter the emotional cost to herself and others. She would get her closing, her house, her apartment, whatever it was. But I knew she would take no joy in the process of acquiring or the years of owning her home. Satisfaction, yes, but not joy. There would be no joy in those big rooms, no happiness floating up to the high ceilings, and the sunshine streaming through the picture windows would never bring light to her darkest places.<br /><br />We all get angry, over things large and small.<br /><br />And naturally, our feelings influence our tone.<br /><br />The roots of <a href="http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=tone">tone</a> go back to the concept of stretching, literally stretching a "taut string" to achieve the desired sound.<br /><br />We can tighten or loosen the string to alter the tone.<br /><br />We can stretch to make a conscious choice.<br /><br />We can be firm <i>and </i>respectful.<br /><br />We can be demanding <i>and </i>polite.<br /><br />We can be <i>patiently </i>insistent.<br /><br />And we can motivate with love instead of fear.<br /><br />All it takes is a little listening.<br /><br />Listening to ourselves.<br /><br />And asking ourselves, would I want to be spoken to that way?<br /><br /><br /><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=8c5c6b7b-ab5f-418d-acf5-ac9c38bae3cc" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-oatpA-GWhyE/TuDMhx_DmGI/AAAAAAAABdw/XYK6upd-Ptw/s640/blogger-image-1068385502.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-oatpA-GWhyE/TuDMhx_DmGI/AAAAAAAABdw/XYK6upd-Ptw/s400/blogger-image-1068385502.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://bword11.wordpress.com/2010/11/09/tone-for-theme-for-english-b/">Source</a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-3318507818955329456?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-68973619326959874922011-12-07T09:28:00.000-05:002011-12-07T10:03:56.460-05:00Surprise Attacks<span class="zemanta-img separator" style="clear: right;"><a href="http://commons.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Pearlharborcolork13513.jpg" style="clear: right; display: block; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="The forward magazines of the U.S. Navy battles..." height="236" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/1/1e/Pearlharborcolork13513.jpg/300px-Pearlharborcolork13513.jpg" style="border-bottom-style: none; border-color: initial; border-left-style: none; border-right-style: none; border-top-style: none; border-width: initial; font-size: 0.8em;" width="300" /></a><span class="zemanta-img-attribution" style="clear: both; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; width: 300px;">Image via <a href="http://commons.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Pearlharborcolork13513.jpg">Wikipedia</a></span></span>Today is the seventieth anniversary of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Attack_on_Pearl_Harbor">Pearl Harbor</a>.<br /><br />Before the Japanese bombed our naval base in Hawaii, they had not declared themselves as our enemy. We maintained neutral, strained relations. Pearl Harbor brought the unmistakable, unavoidable onset of war, the beginning of official hostilities. The United States declared war on Japan on December 8th, and reciprocated Germany and Italy's declarations on December 11th. The battle was on. After such a devastating strike on our homeland, America had no choice but to respond with full force and enter the fray.<br /><br />I don't have much interest in military affairs, but I'm moved today to write about surprise attack, the kind that occurs not in the fire of wars between nations but in the crucible of conflict in relationships.<br /><br />Surprise attacks in relationships have several defining characteristics.<br /><br />Surprise attacks always involve planning. They differ from an off-the-cuff, instantaneous reaction. In advance and isolation, arguments are marshaled, scenarios played out and examined, and timing considered, to give your attacker the greatest advantage and the best chance to strike a devastating blow.<br /><br />Surprise attacks always involve secrecy and deception. For maximum impact, the attacked partner's defenses must be relaxed and down, her psyche in a vulnerable and unguarded place, unprepared for the onslaught, without the advantage of advance warning to strengthen weak spots and call in support. Your attacker is quietly planning your emotional demise while pretending to be your lover and your friend.<br /><br />Surprise attacks always involve malice. A reaction in which one partner lashes out against the other may be more self-protective than malicious, and when something happens in the moment, we can often forgive it after the moment has passed. A surprise attack carries the open intent of harm and damage. Your partner's goal is to weaken you, render you helpless, and minimize the damage to himself in your inevitable response.<br /><br />We do everything to avoid thinking of our partners as our enemies. But if they consistently show disrespect, use power to manipulate, display contempt, and kick us when we're down and where it hurts the most, we know they are not on our side. Still, despite these insults, we often try to appease, pick our battles carefully, and walk on eggshells to maintain detente, because we value the relationship (sometimes more than we value ourselves) and hope it can be healed.<br /><br />So here's the bomb I'm dropping today.<br /><br />The F-bomb.<br /><br />The Face It bomb.<br /><br />If your partner launches surprise attacks on you, it is war, plain and simple. And we know war is designed to deliver destruction, calibrated to kill hopes and dreams, structured to bring unconditional surrender. And we know that war only ends when one party - or partner - declares victory over the other and dictates the terms of peace.<br /><br /><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=beae1ca1-14a9-4039-af87-a1940d64404d" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-6897361932695987492?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-16990104784582256992011-12-06T09:15:00.000-05:002011-12-06T09:15:19.289-05:00The Art of SpreadingOne of my older son S's favorite foods is butter toast.<br /><br />Over time, I have experimented with many ways of making it.<br /><br />Heat toast in toaster. Spread cold butter over warm toast, trying to cover every square millimeter - fail.<br /><br />Heat toast with pat of butter on top in oven, hoping butter will melt and spread evenly over toast - fail.<br /><br />Heat toast with butter on top in microwave - not recommended, unless you like soggy toast - major fail.<br /><br />Warm stick of butter in microwave slightly before slicing pat to spread on toast - close but still fail.<br /><br />Finally, I achieved success.<br /><br />You put the toast in the toaster and push the handle down.<br /><br />Then you melt one tablespoon of butter in the microwave in a small dish - 30-40 seconds on power 4 is just right.<br /><br />Then, use a small pastry brush to spread the butter thoroughly and evenly over the entire surface of the toasted bread. Some butter will seep into the nooks and crannies. This is fine, because you are going to take the time to spread another layer of butter over the toast. And another. Keep spreading until the toast glistens.<br /><br />Then, and only then, cut off the crusts, to ensure that every bit of toast is covered, right up to the edge. Do not cut off the crusts before you spread the butter; you will just have to cut off more toast.<br /><br />Serve immediately . . . and listen for squeals of delight.<br /><br />So why am I writing about toast this morning, besides conspiring to make you hungry?<br /><br />I'm not really writing about toast.<br /><br />I'm writing about spreading.<br /><br />I'm writing about spreading love.<br /><br />Imagine if we all spread love the way I spread butter on my son's toast.<br /><br />If we brought our love to the perfect temperature and consistency for spreading.<br /><br />If we used the perfect implement to spread it.<br /><br />If we spread our love thoroughly and evenly, layer by layer, until the whole world glistened.<br /><br />And if we cut off the edges, and yes, there are hard edges, edges that no amount of earthly love or melted butter can soften, edges that must be left to another kind of love.<br /><br />Imagine if we did this and served our love up every morning with a glass of juice and a smile.<br /><br />Imagine.<br /><br />Sure, it takes some extra work.<br /><br />And yes, it means filling ourselves with love to spread.<br /><br />Filling ourselves from an infinite source, slicing each pat of butter from the stick that never ends.<br /><br />And spreading our love thoroughly, evenly, and consistently, one delicious tablespoon at a time.<br /><br />But just imagine . . .<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zFsVBwtygss/Tt4iqdGzTXI/AAAAAAAABdo/AEVuX2_Ggs0/s1600/toast-with-butter-e1297728631161-300x201.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zFsVBwtygss/Tt4iqdGzTXI/AAAAAAAABdo/AEVuX2_Ggs0/s1600/toast-with-butter-e1297728631161-300x201.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.happyhints.com/2011/02/perfectly-buttered-toast/">Source</a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-1699010478458225699?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-40456435783010967462011-12-05T09:09:00.001-05:002011-12-05T10:51:42.466-05:00FamilyThis morning, as I dropped my boys off at their mother's house before school, I was handed a box of old stationery.<br /><br />Stationery with the address of a house I no longer own.<br /><br />Stationery in colors I would no longer choose.<br /><br />Stationery with the name of my family, engraved on cardstock, stamped there to represent a family no longer enveloped by the seal of marriage, a family whose full promise was never delivered.<br /><br />The Fiffers.<br /><br />My first reaction was, Why would I want this, this box from the past, filled with thick blue paper but empty of the hope, the dreams, the future of the family that lived in that house, the family that did not hold together, the family that split not with the subtle slip of knife under flap but was torn hard down the center leaving two halves and a hole. A name fixed on paper. An entity broken in two.<br /><br />Then I had another, more powerful thought. My boys and I are still The Fiffers. Nothing will change that. The envelopes are useless, to be discarded. But the cards, I'll put to another purpose, use them for messages to my boys, things I will teach them. Things about family.<br /><br />When I think of family, I think of place. Not a place, just place. Not the home of my childhood, though it comes to mind. Not the house whose address is on the old envelopes, though I had a family there. Not the home I live in now. I think of the place we hold in our hearts that we call home, and of all the people in the family I came from and the one I have created who make it so. We are bound together by memory and shared experience, both good and bad, and how we keep coming through it all.<br /><br />My sons will come to learn that these cards are dear. Bought and paid for with extreme sacrifice. Priceless. They will come to know they are solid, the symbol of our unbreakable bond. They will see that the color doesn't matter, because our love for each other does not discriminate or distinguish. And they will see beyond the paper itself, behind the name. They will close their eyes and see the words we inscribe on each other, feel the press of the pen as we press together in a hug, experience the flow of feelings across the page of each day I spend with them, remember the ink of tears kissed away.<br /><br />Someday, they will have their own houses, their own families, their own stationery. But wherever they live, wherever they are, they will always have the place we call home.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-PTIHB59xFog/TtzeE6hLh9I/AAAAAAAABdg/h9PU4UExH0w/s640/blogger-image--998454670.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-PTIHB59xFog/TtzeE6hLh9I/AAAAAAAABdg/h9PU4UExH0w/s400/blogger-image--998454670.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-4045643578301096746?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-49289399053560733232011-12-02T08:36:00.001-05:002011-12-02T22:47:22.200-05:00A Clear Night<span class="zemanta-img separator" style="clear: right;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/71206023@N00/5073798755" style="clear: right; display: block; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Auriga and Taurus" height="120" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4149/5073798755_95d318e4b6_m.jpg" style="border: none; font-size: 0.8em;" width="240" /></a><span class="zemanta-img-attribution" style="clear: both; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; width: 240px;">Image by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/71206023@N00/5073798755">T a k</a> via Flickr</span></span>Last night's sky was stunningly clear.<br /><div><br /></div><div>I could see the stars.</div><div><div><br /></div><div>Off to the right, as I stood gazing up in my driveway, Jupiter hung like a dangling bead, its light looming larger and brighter than anything else.</div><div><br /></div><div>And to the left, lots and lots of stars.</div><div><br /></div><div>I thought about light and contrast, heaven and earth, the firmament.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Firmament">Firmament</a> is the word used in the Bible to describe the expanse of the sky, which God created to "separate the oceans from other waters above." The Latin <a href="http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=firmament">root</a> means support or strengthening, and so, like many mysteries, firmament blends two disparate concepts: separation and support. But if you think about it, if you open your mind the way you allow your eyes to adjust to the night sky, these concepts become less disparate than they appear. When we need support, we draw it from someone, or Someone, separate from us, and through the bridging of that separation we are strengthened.</div><div><br /></div><div>The Hebrew <a href="http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=firmament">roots</a> of firmament shine more light on the word, with <i>raqia </i>meaning "both the vault of the sky and the floor of the earth," a physical structure and spiritual concept that embodies, separates, and connects what is below and what is above.</div><div><br /></div><div>As I looked at the stars, I began to see the <a href="http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=constellation">constellations</a>, stars that shine with each other.</div><div><br /></div><div>Orion, Auriga, Perseus, and Gemini.</div><div><br /></div><div>We imagine the connections between these stars, these constellations that form familiar images.</div><div><br /></div><div>But the stars are connected in ways we cannot imagine, in ways we cannot comprehend.<br /><br />The stars are connected in ways we can only believe.</div><div><br /></div><div>I stopped trying to understand and just absorbed myself in the sky.</div><div><br /></div><div>And as my eyes finally opened fully in the presence of reflected light, I stopped seeing and felt what I believe: that&nbsp;while the ground we all stand on here connects us, it also separates us from what is above, and that we ultimately connect through the spirit that breathes in all of us.</div><div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=7ac8cad4-24d5-41c6-944a-2821ae29a159" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-4928939905356073323?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-80690880501135378382011-12-01T08:35:00.001-05:002011-12-01T10:02:49.496-05:00White SpaceThe other day, a prospective client explained to me how she was hoping to use the database my company publishes.<br /><br />"We're doing a white space study."<br /><br />I thought I might have heard wrong. "A what case study?"<br /><br />"A white space study."<br /><br />After 17 years of dealing with every sort of subscriber, I have heard it all - from the traditional uses of our contact information for lobbying, sales, recruitment, competitive intelligence, and coalition building to professors' political science dissertations, mass market data washing, and holiday party invitation lists. But I had never heard of a white space study. I knew she was selling widgets, so it couldn't have anything to do with typography.<br /><br />I have learned not to be afraid or embarrassed to show my ignorance, especially if becoming enlightened will help me make a sale. So I asked this woman to elaborate.<br /><br />"We sell our services to many government agencies, and we're trying to find the gaps where we don't have business."<br /><br />Now it made sense.<br /><br />She was looking for opportunities.<br /><br />Finding the blanks so she could fill them.<br /><br />Looking for the white space where her company had not already made marks.<br /><br />Seeking emptiness . . . to create growth.<br /><br />And so I started thinking.<br /><br />I determined to conduct my own white space study.<br /><br />To seek out the emptiness.<br /><br />To find the crying need.<br /><br />To start looking at the white space below each line I type, the space I fill to make my marks, with a keener sense of opportunity, not for personal gain but to make a greater impact.<br /><br />To start looking at the white space between each line for what might be missing, to scan for unspoken messages, to find and say what needs to be said.<br /><br />To turn emptiness on its head, empty it out, welcome it as the greatest gift, and dance in its light.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-l9kX7iWG2lc/TteQ8ezAWsI/AAAAAAAABdY/eiaxMJT0jRo/s640/blogger-image-1285003202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-l9kX7iWG2lc/TteQ8ezAWsI/AAAAAAAABdY/eiaxMJT0jRo/s400/blogger-image-1285003202.jpg" width="299" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-8069088050113537838?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-82030373330232688682011-11-30T09:25:00.000-05:002011-11-30T09:25:58.980-05:00Guiding LightI am blessed with the gift of noticing.<br /><br />Looking out the bedroom window of my mother's lakefront apartment in Chicago at night, I noticed the red guide lights atop the Aon Center, known during my childhood as the Standard Oil Building.<br /><br />The building looks like a smaller version of one of the twin towers, and it is high enough to require the protective nighttime lights that make it visible from a distance and, in theory, prevent planes from crashing into it.<br /><br />I noticed the configuration of the guide lights, three on each corner of the building, a trinity if you will.<br /><br />And I noticed something else.&nbsp;In each group of three lights, the two on the outside remained on, while the light in the middle flashed rhythmically - on and off, on and off.<br /><br />I thought about that middle light.<br /><br />When it flashed off, it was still there. I just couldn't see it.<br /><br />Sometimes, I could see the middle light, and sometimes I couldn't.<br /><br />But whether I could see it or not, it was still there.<br /><br />So I thought about the light we can't always see.<br /><br />The light that is always there, whether we see it or whether we don't.<br /><br />I thought about how, if that light is to guide us, we must have faith in the darkness, faith during the times when we can't see the light.<br /><br />We must have faith in the constancy of that light's presence and understand it is not the light that is inconstant but our ability to see it that flashes on and off, on and off.<br /><br />During the day, none of the lights are visible.<br /><br />But at night, the two lights on either side of the middle one serve as witnesses, a testament to its presence and an indication of its position.<br /><br />And as I fell asleep under the blinking glow, I felt my eyes opening even as they closed.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qxHzkq3ksYc/TtY8mOSEsEI/AAAAAAAABdQ/-SR1MRRV3p0/s1600/aon+center.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qxHzkq3ksYc/TtY8mOSEsEI/AAAAAAAABdQ/-SR1MRRV3p0/s320/aon+center.JPG" width="289" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-8203037333023268868?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-6361303342420382052011-11-29T09:22:00.000-05:002011-11-29T09:22:28.563-05:00ChancesChances are opportunities.<br /><br />Chances are risks.<br /><br />Chances are the odds.<br /><br />Chances are given.<br /><br />Chances are taken.<br /><br />And chances are lost, blown, and missed.<br /><br />Life is full of chances.<br /><br />And then life is suddenly not full of chances anymore.<br /><br />Because when we miss chances, when we don't seize and embrace them, then hold them tight with all our might, they often disappear.<br /><br />And when this happens, we are left with memories, with forget-me-nots and might-have-beens, with seeds not planted but scattered in the wind to fall and wither where they may.<br /><br />Gardens of promise grow dry and untended.<br /><br />Fields of dreams lie fallow.<br /><br />Hedgerows of hope twist and tangle in upon themselves and knot tightly into the thicket of regret.<br /><br />We may avoid pitfalls with chances not taken, but the pit of a life unlived sits before us, a cold, empty hole in the ground, waiting for us to fall in.<br /><br />The blanket of ignorance stretches across the pit, but it will not support our weight or our waiting.<br /><br />The edges slip, and the center cannot hold.<br /><br />If you've hit the bottom, if you feel trapped down there, take a second look at chances.<br /><br />Chances, above all, are gifts.<br /><br />Unwrap the package.<br /><br />Rip off the bow and tear at the paper.<br /><br />Open the box and see what's inside.<br /><br />It could be a dud, a setback, a disappointment, a hard lesson, a crushing blow, a terrifying ride.<br /><br />Or it could be what you always wanted.<br /><br />You have to open it to see.<br /><br />For if you walk away from the gift of chance, if you leave it there all shiny and bright, it cannot be what you always wanted. It can only be what you never got.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gztYTx92bDg/TtTpVrgjsGI/AAAAAAAABdI/COV6sWhg75A/s1600/gift_surprise.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gztYTx92bDg/TtTpVrgjsGI/AAAAAAAABdI/COV6sWhg75A/s320/gift_surprise.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://shoutitforlife.com/special/special-blueprint/">Source</a></div><br /><br /><br /><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=78cecb33-5759-49a9-a37e-a833d596f85a" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-636130334242038205?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-49025245944740988042011-11-23T08:38:00.001-05:002011-11-23T10:04:07.620-05:00BlessingsBlessings come in many forms.<br /><br />Blessings come from families who set aside differences, welcome back, and support.<br /><br />Blessings come from friends who move past old hurts, reconnect, and forgive.<br /><div><br /></div>Blessings come from colleagues who, when we're going through a rough period, pick up the slack for us.<br /><br />Blessings come from strangers who hold open a door, point out something we just dropped, or simply smile.<br /><br />Blessings come from children, who speak blessings all day long, which we only hear if we listen.<br /><br />Blessings come from ourselves, when we open our hearts, share our gifts freely, and treat others with dignity and grace.<br /><br />Today, as I launch my new ebook, <a href="https://www.facebook.com/tomaplomb?v=app_109770245765922">Undiscovered Secrets</a>, I feel especially blessed.<br /><br />I feel blessed to have been given the words.<br /><br />I feel blessed by the muse who is my inspiration.<br /><br />And I feel blessed to be at a place in my life, unbound from all that's held me back, where I can create, inspire, and share.<br /><br />I am also specially blessed today by Ashley Mitchell at <a href="https://www.facebook.com/blessingsinabasket">Blessings in a Basket</a>, an amazing community of support for birth mothers giving up their children for adoption, who is generously giving away five copies of my book.<br /><br />Blessings abound.<br /><br />Blessings are everywhere.<br /><br />Blessings are universal and infinite and often unexpected.<br /><br />Blessings ultimately all flow from the same source, because they flow through us, not from us, when we bless.<br /><br />Who will you bless today?<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-F_MdPU8QwgI/Ts0Csgv8goI/AAAAAAAABdA/mkC5U5kTcAw/s640/blogger-image--1246010513.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-F_MdPU8QwgI/Ts0Csgv8goI/AAAAAAAABdA/mkC5U5kTcAw/s400/blogger-image--1246010513.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-4902524594474098804?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-27303511332962816232011-11-22T09:26:00.001-05:002011-11-22T10:57:13.710-05:00SupportOn Sunday, our landscaper, Tony, came by to do his fall cleanup of the yard. He and his assistant were everywhere, blowing and raking leaves, trimming back bushes, clearing muck from the gutters, scraping moss from the roof.<br /><br />Tony is a man with a warm heart, enlarged by his connection with nature and the people whose environments he tends so lovingly. His face, weathered by many seasons in the sun, always breaks into a smile when my boys run out to greet him. He dusts off his gnarled hands on the worn woolen pants he wears this time of year and opens his arms for a hug.<br /><br />He is part landscaper, part caretaker, part surrogate grandfather, and I could not do the work he does all by myself.<br /><br />As we walked through the yard, all neat and trimmed for winter, I showed Tony a tree that was leaning, nearly falling over, due to the heavy, wet snow from a freak fall storm a few weeks ago. I had tried to tie the tree to another one to help it stand, but the weight was pulling the second tree down, and Tony had a better idea. Rather than binding one tree to another, he cut a forked branch from another tree, trimmed the sides of the fork to form a notch, and used his creation as a support. Later, Tony will return with a strong stake to which he'll tie the tree temporarily until it can stand on its own again.<br /><br />For now, the tree now stands tall, thanks to Tony's strength, patience, wisdom, and grace.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-TbLHkgJW-7g/TsvGV0SeULI/AAAAAAAABco/rk7h6esE8AM/s640/blogger-image--123869817.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-TbLHkgJW-7g/TsvGV0SeULI/AAAAAAAABco/rk7h6esE8AM/s640/blogger-image--123869817.jpg" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-2730351133296281623?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-43491571646748199602011-11-21T08:45:00.001-05:002011-11-21T10:47:13.549-05:00Seeing and BelievingWhen we are lost in darkness, we often ask ourselves, where is the light?<br /><br />When the darkness grows cold and feels like an infinite void, we may lament, why has the light abandoned me?<br /><br />When the darkness envelops us and we start to slip away, fearing the sudden, irretrievable drop into the abyss, we may begin to doubt the light. We may say, I am not here because there is no light for me; I am here because there is no light.<br /><br />But there is <i>always </i>light.<br /><br />In our darkest moments, we must always remember, there is always light.<br /><br />The light is always present.<br /><br />The light is always there.<br /><br />For you.<br /><br />For me.<br /><br />For one and all.<br /><br />For everyone who has ever been and everyone who will ever be.<br /><br />When we ask for the light to be re-illuminated, we are asking the wrong question.<br /><br />We must ask instead for the gifts of clarity and direction, the investment of sacred strength, the unbreakable support to lean on, the reserve of patience to walk slowly, the merciful forbearance as we make our way back.<br /><br />Back to the light.<br /><br />The way back to the light is found in faith, faith in ourselves and in what we have been given, in knowing where our gifts have come from, and in knowing we've been made sufficient to stand.<br /><br />The spark never goes out.<br /><br />It is always there, burning, illuminating, warming, brightening, and shining, even when we can't see it.<br /><br />Seeing may be a form of believing.<br /><br />But the picture seeing renders is incomplete.<br /><br />If we rely only on sight, darkness inevitably creeps in.<br /><br />The stage of life we are meant to stand on lies behind a curtain, partially drawn.<br /><br />And grace is found in believing in what's behind the curtain, in believing in what we cannot see.<div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-lgN2pHgBfCc/TspyP0iN48I/AAAAAAAABcQ/u-UGpmBb9EQ/s640/blogger-image-933254498.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-lgN2pHgBfCc/TspyP0iN48I/AAAAAAAABcQ/u-UGpmBb9EQ/s640/blogger-image-933254498.jpg" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-4349157164674819960?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-34740994858518069782011-11-18T10:08:00.000-05:002011-11-18T10:40:22.449-05:00EchoesI saw him last night on the train.<br /><br />The man from the <a href="http://tomaplomb.blogspot.com/2011/02/loss-revisited.html">platform</a>.<br /><br />The man who lost his son nearly a year ago.<br /><br />Behind me were a mother and her young child.<br /><br />A playful, spirited child, making playful, spirited child noises.<br /><br />I immediately thought of the man.<br /><br />The man whose child is with him only in spirit now.<br /><br />I saw him tense and tighten, the quick snap of his head demanding silence from the child.<br /><br />But the playful child would not be stilled.<br /><br />The man's sadness was palpable, his loss lingering, the smell of grief reminiscent of stale air.<br /><br />The mother's treasure echoing the father's tragedy.<br /><br />After a while, he couldn't take it, couldn't take being reminded of what was taken, what was stolen from him.<br /><br />Memories burst into the splendid isolation of his compartment, the box in his brain where he'd placed his son, searing, burning, white hot, inflaming the scar from inside until it glowered a fiery glow.<br /><br />And for a moment, the throbbing ache of the compartment's contents escaped, pushed out through his pulsing temples, a force his clenched fists could not contain.<br /><br />In that moment, I saw the hurt slashed across his soul, his still unhealed, weeping soul.<br /><br />And then, the man got up and moved.<br /><br />To another car.<br /><br />He hears no child now, encased in the relative, rumbling quiet of the train.<br /><br />He reads his book, another biography, unaware that he's searching for signs, sounding for signs in lives lived for how to fathom lives unlived, for how to fathom the sudden, stilled, forever silence of his son.<br /><br />His world still spins inexorably, but it no longer revolves, no longer orbits a son who will never rise again.<br /><br />The noisy child's mirth and merriment is not yet a balm, not yet the triumph of life over loss. It is instead the blasted echo of a not too distant blast, a blast that shattered this man's life, causing the edges of his core to crumble, leaving only a jagged, ultra-sensitive surface to protect the fragile center of his being.<br /><br />The sound of the blast will fade under the muffle of time. It has for me with the loss of my father.<br /><br />But for those of us who have known this blast, the sharp report can still ring out at any moment.<br /><br />During a quiet evening's rest.<br /><br />During the dawn's early light.<br /><br />When we page through a magazine, watch a poignant commercial, or ride our daily train home.<br /><br />The truth of loss will always be a stinging ray of light, a laser-like remembrance glinting on the badge of unbearable sorrow, endowed with the force to melt us to the core, if we let it.<br /><br />Our only defense is to incorporate the loss, to feel it fully and express our feelings all along the way. To explore the contradictions our thoughts have formed, to disentangle the expanding mass of black and white pipe cleaners balling up inside our heads, straighten these out as best we can, and in doing so, shrink the fuzzy, black tumor of anger, resentment, and unfairness, embrace the empty, desolate white space around it, and fill this space with love, love from within, without, and above, love that replaces the fear of losing again with the need to live again, to live fully, expansively, and in full, brilliant color.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-e_cA3HQpN3k/TsZxJ0IXMJI/AAAAAAAABcI/kKYQlkK2SY4/s640/blogger-image-2110041911.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-e_cA3HQpN3k/TsZxJ0IXMJI/AAAAAAAABcI/kKYQlkK2SY4/s640/blogger-image-2110041911.jpg" /></a></div><br /><br /><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=f5e0a11b-6a6d-4630-8994-ee1c5dad97b5" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-3474099485851806978?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-23867960307623888182011-11-17T09:24:00.000-05:002011-11-17T09:54:16.191-05:00SacrificeAre you serving as someone's emotional guardrail?<br /><br />Is your partner, or another important person in your life, constantly driving dangerously out of control?<br /><br />Does this person refuse to slow down, to heed the warning signs, relying instead on your boundaries - or what's left of them - to remain on the road?<br /><br />Do you fear that failing to stand in the way, to keep absorbing each crushing impact, will let this person not only crash but also burn?<br /><br />Are you this person's personal disaster-prevention program?<br /><br />And is your life bent, twisted, dented, and smashed, evidence of the wreckage that each successive so-called accident causes?<br /><br />Are you risking your own psychological disintegration?<br /><br />It is one thing to gently guide a loved one, offer course corrections, serve as a conscious reminder of conscience, and when necessary, raise the red flag.<br /><br />It is another to say, I cannot move, I must stay here and continue to sustain cumulative damage, because I and I alone stand between this person and the abyss.<br /><br />I would surely take a bullet for my children.<br /><br />But a lifetime of body blows for someone who has never learned to manage his or her own emotions or how to practice self-control?<br /><br />You cannot ever be your best self if you put yourself in this position, because you're sacrificing your best self for someone else.<br /><br />This sort of sacrifice is not a sacred offering. It is a waste.<br /><br />The best way to help the person who keeps crashing into you is not to sacrifice your best self but to <i>be</i> your best self and do everything you must do to grow and thrive. To refuse to be used. To love yourself and demand better treatment. And if you don't get it, if the person isn't capable of giving it, to leave.<br /><br />If you continue to enable reckless driving, it will never end. Instead of saying, you can keep crashing into my wall, put up a big sign that says, Steer Clear: If you want to keep traveling with me, you have to learn to drive.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8FgaMXZY_6o/TsUYtANMMjI/AAAAAAAABb0/DezY_vgvin4/s1600/guardrail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8FgaMXZY_6o/TsUYtANMMjI/AAAAAAAABb0/DezY_vgvin4/s1600/guardrail.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://safety.fhwa.dot.gov/local_rural/training/fhwasa08002/">Source</a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-2386796030762388818?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-16320804689270732982011-11-16T08:42:00.001-05:002011-11-16T10:03:57.432-05:00ForeverLately, I've been thinking about time.<br /><br />Here, we measure it one way.<br /><br />Up there, it's measured differently.<br /><br />Up there, it isn't measured at all.<br /><br />A lifetime, when we begin it, seems like an eternity.<br /><br />But eternity is a concept we cannot grasp.<br /><br />Eternity slips through our fingers, like every passing day.<br /><br />Forever in this world means until we leave this world.<br /><br />But forever in the world of spirit has nothing to do with leaving.<br /><br />Forever in the world of spirit is an endless span of time.<br /><br />Forever in the world of spirit is not time at all.<br /><br />There, forever encompasses past, present, and future, and in doing so ignores these inadequate terms we use to describe which way we're turning at any given time.<br /><br />In a world where we strive to measure everything, forever is forgotten, because it does not fit onto a yardstick, a balance sheet, the scope of an empire. Forever is given short shrift in favor of the short term.<br /><br />The closest we can come to forever in this world is to see that there is no time and there is always time, to feel no loss as what we call time ticks away, to experience the endless calming flow of being, the rhythm of sun and moon, the balance of light and darkness, the wonder of days without numbers, the miracle of wave after wave lapping peacefully over the glistening sand.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-7oExKUbyICE/TsPKL-b61tI/AAAAAAAABbs/GHcG5yp_VFM/s640/blogger-image-1151112447.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-7oExKUbyICE/TsPKL-b61tI/AAAAAAAABbs/GHcG5yp_VFM/s400/blogger-image-1151112447.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-1632080468927073298?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-56416063407063925942011-11-15T09:42:00.000-05:002011-11-15T09:42:50.167-05:00Success Redefined<span class="zemanta-img separator" style="clear: right;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/8909796@N07/6347424032" style="clear: right; display: block; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="_DSC0269" height="159" src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6094/6347424032_f7b11928db_m.jpg" style="border: none; font-size: 0.8em;" width="240" /></a><span class="zemanta-img-attribution" style="clear: both; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; width: 240px;">Image by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/8909796@N07/6347424032">mainerunningphotos</a> via Flickr</span></span>I was happy with my post <a href="http://tomaplomb.blogspot.com/2011/11/miles-to-go.html">Miles to Go</a> last week, because it seemed to resonate for a lot of people.<br /><br />When I sat down to write yesterday, I found myself measuring my new effort against my previous work.<br /><br />I forgot, temporarily, that each post is a work of (relative) greatness in and of itself.<br /><br />I forgot that while my work stands together as a collective, each entry also stands alone, written to the best of my ability in the time available, placed here for its own purpose, for people who may be moved by it, carrying its own visible or invisible impact.<br /><br />When we do something great, and the world recognizes our accomplishment - or we get a lot of likes and comments on Facebook - we're often inclined, compelled, even pressured, from within, to do something greater, to try to exceed our success.<br /><br />Seeking louder applause is fine for stand-up comics, but it makes no sense for those who stand and deliver the message they're given.<br /><br /><br />Beating your best time on the same course is fine for competitive athletes, but it makes no sense for the contemplative soul.<br /><div><br /></div><br />The meaning of <a href="http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=success">success</a> is "accomplishment of desired end," but the roots lie in the Latin <i>succedere</i>, which means "come after."<br /><br />Success is not finding the frequency of a receptive audience and broadcasting the same message <i>ad infinitum</i>. That's not great. It's grating.<br /><br />Success is finding a new frequency, a fresh, skeptical audience, or trying a new, more challenging message on those already listening.<br /><br />Success earns us the freedom, and I believe bears the obligation, to take more risk and do something different, to avoid shrinking into the predictable and stretch into the unknown.<br /><br />Exceeding success means not repeating the steps we took to achieve it but taking new ones.<br /><br />Yes, we may stumble, and when we fall from a higher place, it hurts a little more.<br /><br />But the alternative is to remain trapped on the plateau, bound by the fear of disappointing when we sometimes miss the mark on a new and unfamiliar target.<br /><br />I like to think of each day as a fresh race on a new course.<br /><br />And I like to think of myself as a fresh runner.<br /><br />And I like to think my goal is not to beat my time or anyone else's.<br /><br />My goal is this: to make the effort, to run the race, and to cross the line with grace and dignity.<br /><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=ec12f346-96a0-4f2b-8faa-7b5d0566e1d5" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-5641606340706392594?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-83645753722304109352011-11-14T09:23:00.000-05:002011-11-14T10:26:17.884-05:00Fractures<span class="zemanta-img separator" style="clear: right;"><a href="http://commons.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Humerus_spiral_fracture.png" style="clear: right; display: block; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="This is an x-ray image of a spiral fracture to..." height="299" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/0/00/Humerus_spiral_fracture.png/300px-Humerus_spiral_fracture.png" style="border: none; font-size: 0.8em;" width="300" /></a><span class="zemanta-img-attribution" style="clear: both; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; width: 300px;">Image via <a href="http://commons.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Humerus_spiral_fracture.png">Wikipedia</a></span></span>Fractures result from impact.<br /><br />Thwack!<br /><br />Crack!<br /><br />Ouch!<br /><br />Suddenly, something once whole is now broken, and we must take time to heal.<br /><br />We must take time, but we often don't take time, aggravating the injury and preventing proper and full recovery.<br /><br />And this can lead to a life of endless discomfort.<br /><br />Fractures are breaks, a coming apart in two pieces, and a natural defense against shattering into many.<br /><br />It is much easier to heal two pieces than two hundred or two million.<br /><br />We may have never broken an actual bone (I haven't, well, maybe a toe), but we've all suffered psychological fractures, events so painful that the only way we could sustain the impact, the only way we could prevent our selves from the devastation of shattering was to split in two, to deny and compartmentalize our brokenness, to set one half aside and limit our selves to the other, pretending to accept that half as our new whole.<br /><br />To heal this kind of fracture, we must&nbsp;knit, fuse, and bond patiently, devoting our energy and resources to bringing and binding the separated pieces together, to restoring strength and integrity, to becoming whole again.<br /><br />With proper and complete healing, we feel an ache, a twinge, a reminder of the break, but we suffer little if any long-term ill effects or diminishment. We maintain our full range of psychological motion, of emotion.<br /><br />With improper, incomplete healing, nothing ever works right anymore. The psyche can no longer handle the stress it once did, and this throws everything out of alignment. The imbalance affects other areas, such as our thought systems, and we live a life of constant painful compensations and adjustments.<br /><br />We work around, but no longer through.<br /><br />There are many keys to proper healing, but to me, it comes down to this:<br /><br />When a fracture results from hurt, do we fill the split with bitterness, or do we fill the split with love?<br /><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=9f895774-f4bc-4154-ab28-72bc784c299c" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-8364575372230410935?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-17844438172474227032011-11-10T09:23:00.000-05:002011-11-10T15:54:12.754-05:00Miles to GoOne hundred thirty-five miles to empty.<br /><br />The indicator on the dashboard tells me how far I have to go, how long I will last on this tank of gas.<br /><br />You know where I'm going with this.<br /><br />I'm going where you're going.<br /><br />We're all going there . . . eventually.<br /><br />But for us there's no indicator, nothing on our dash to tell us how far, how long, or when.<br /><br />Knowing that, not just knowing it but feeling it in my bones, bones not yet turned to dust, alters the offering of each step I make on my walk, my journey.<br /><br />I see millstones as milestones.<br /><br />I replace wandering with direction.<br /><br />I substitute giving for seeking.<br /><br />I take shelter not from fear of exposure or exhaustion but to restore courage and energy for the road ahead.<br /><br />I rejoice in all the elements, light and darkness, sea and sky, mountain and valley, fire and rain.<br /><br />I comprehend I am but one of many, that I can only do so much.<br /><br />I am grateful to have been offered a part, given my lines, the chance to act, to make a difference with the cast of my character.<br /><br />I accept that I must shine my starlight, though it may take years, years beyond those given me, for its brightness to be felt.<br /><br />I know life is not a race in which we claim victory by beating others.<br /><br />I wrap myself around the circle, the line that starts and ends in the same place.<br /><br />And I know that love powers my heart.<br /><br />If every day I ask myself only one question, it must be this:<br /><br />When my tank is empty and I cross the finish line, who do I want to be?<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Yr4kp90ZmsE/TrveN7TNK3I/AAAAAAAABbg/jstb7ethLMI/s1600/road+ahead.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Yr4kp90ZmsE/TrveN7TNK3I/AAAAAAAABbg/jstb7ethLMI/s1600/road+ahead.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://mymaverickism.blogspot.com/2008/07/and-miles-to-go-before-i-sleep.html">Source</a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-1784443817247422703?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-81409463747791629552011-11-09T10:33:00.000-05:002011-11-10T13:48:02.328-05:00Don't Count Your BlessingsPeople who are blessed beyond measure often suffer from a poverty of appreciation.<br /><br />I say beyond measure, because blessings are not meant to be measured.<br /><br />Measuring, counting, and numbers are for things.<br /><br />And blessings are not things.<br /><br />Blessings are sacred gifts.<br /><br />Count your blessings does not mean tally them up.<br /><br />It also does not mean be satisfied with what you have, never desiring more.<br /><br />We all desire more.<br /><br />Count your blessings means be aware of their presence.<br /><br />Appreciate their presence.<br /><br />Be grateful.<br /><br />And share.<br /><br />The Old English roots of <a href="http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=bless">bless</a>&nbsp;flow back to the word blood, and blood is what flows through us, our essence, what keeps us alive.<br /><br />But the English version of bless is merely an approximate translation of the original Hebrew brk, or baruch, which means to bend.<br /><br />To bend in worship and praise.<br /><br />Here's something we can count on.<br /><br />If we bend under the weight of our obligations and responsibilities, our feelings of resentment, our fear of scarcity, our immense frustration with tiny things, our sense of being cheated and coveting what others have, our perception of abandonment and emptiness, our sadness, our boredom, our lack of purpose, if we bend under these things, we will never appreciate our blessings.<br /><br />If we bend under the weight of our blessings, bend in gratitude and grace, shoulder what we have been given on one side, and extend the other shoulder for someone's tears, we will feel the true balance of life.<br /><br />"A false balance is an abomination to the Lord; But a perfect weight is His delight." - Proverbs 11:1<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zNDum3vjZek/TrqdPkXTpWI/AAAAAAAABbY/g4QGVvLN49U/s1600/balance+-+dance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="215" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zNDum3vjZek/TrqdPkXTpWI/AAAAAAAABbY/g4QGVvLN49U/s320/balance+-+dance.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://lexiconicles.wordpress.com/2010/07/09/communicating-through-the-balance-of-art-and-science/">Source</a></div><br /><br /><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=429353e0-c109-4219-adff-4c56829569f2" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-8140946374779162955?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-40257898363652912532011-11-08T09:26:00.000-05:002011-11-08T09:26:56.273-05:00ArrowsShot by the fame of his words.<br /><br />Those are the words I heard this morning.<br /><br />Shot by an arrow, an arrow that hit its mark.<br /><br />Human arrows are weapons of destruction, launched to bring hurt, damage, and death.<br /><br />Divine arrows are weapons of direction, launched to bring healing, recovery, and change.<br /><br />Human arrows are fired all the time, and we dodge them, deflect them, and, if they hit us, pull them out to survive.<br /><br />Divine arrows are fired all the time, too, and when these strike us in the heart, we begin to move irreversibly, accepting the wound as a matter of course, a marker placed to point the way.<br /><br />The roots of <a href="http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=arrow">arrow</a> readily reveal its secrets. The Old English <i>arwan </i>is "borrowed" from <i>arkhwo </i>and <i>arku</i>, which go back to bow. Not named itself, the arrow is "the thing belonging to the bow."<br /><br />The fame, the glory, the force of the arrow, the source of the power that launches its flight, resides in its origins, belongs to the bow.<br /><br />I listened again to the words I was given, to the gift fired into my morning moment of silence.<br /><br />And I heard the change.<br /><br />I heard it in a letter that is often silent, silent in the middle or at the end of a word, but not silent at the beginning.<br /><br />I felt the stripping of pride and possession, the freedom of humility, the force of the source of love.<br /><br />Shot by the fame of His words.<br /><br />Those are the words I heard.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BRVOgJho0UY/Trk7yTrJBXI/AAAAAAAABbQ/E6Q8sTDhsuM/s1600/bow+and+arrow.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="197" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BRVOgJho0UY/Trk7yTrJBXI/AAAAAAAABbQ/E6Q8sTDhsuM/s320/bow+and+arrow.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.atarn.org/letters/letter_summaries.htm">Source</a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-4025789836365291253?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-56650909956916325382011-11-07T10:50:00.000-05:002011-11-07T12:47:11.229-05:00Tears and Comfort<span class="zemanta-img separator" style="clear: right;"><a href="http://commons.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:S%C3%A9pulcre_Arc-en-Barrois_111008_09.jpg" style="clear: right; display: block; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Entombment of Christ, 1672, in Saint-Martin Ch..." height="400" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/c/cf/S%C3%A9pulcre_Arc-en-Barrois_111008_09.jpg/300px-S%C3%A9pulcre_Arc-en-Barrois_111008_09.jpg" style="border: none; font-size: 0.8em;" width="300" /></a><span class="zemanta-img-attribution" style="clear: both; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; width: 300px;">Image via <a href="http://commons.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:S%C3%A9pulcre_Arc-en-Barrois_111008_09.jpg">Wikipedia</a></span></span>Have you ever kissed away someone's tears?<br /><br />Tasted the salt that was rubbed on their wounds?<br /><br />Decried the bitterness of what befell them?<br /><br />Offered yourself as a balm?<br /><br />Tears are drawn from the well of the soul.<br /><br />Tears are not manufactured, like drops in a bottle.<br /><br />They already exist inside us.<br /><br />We are born with our tears.<br /><br />Tears flow when we need them.<br /><br />Tears are a sign.<br /><br />The sign says we need to be comforted, that our own well of comfort, our source of self-soothing, is dry.<br /><br />Yes, our eyes flood, but our well is emptying.<br /><br />We are tapped out from giving endlessly and not receiving, or not knowing how to receive what is offered.<br /><br />Or we are not tapped in, our roots drawn away from a toxic source, scrambling and digging, seeking the nourishment of clarity, the strength of love that flows and fills us, the lifeblood that enables us to stand, reach, and grow, to leaf out and shelter, to flower and flourish.<br /><br />Or we are leaking, losing water faster than we can take it in.<br /><br />The roots of <a href="http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=cry">cry</a> begin in begging and imploring, and beyond the sound of crying, the call for succor, tears make the call visible, as they flow from the eyes themselves.<br /><br />The word we use for tears is telling. It also means tears, as in rips, splits, separations, and injury visited on fabric that was once whole. I believe the tears we weep embody the tears we've suffered to the lining of our wells, the lining that protects our vital essence and prevents our own sacred water from being drained away.<br /><br />Tears, the rips, cause pain that needs healing. Tears call for comfort, for someone to comfort us, but so often, this is a silent call, and the tear itself a flawed effort to comfort ourselves, to split ourselves around pain too unbearable to integrate, too intense to feel, too unfathomable to accept, so unfathomable that it stays hidden deep inside until the other kind of tears flow.<br /><br />Comfort is not a state of being, the state of being comfortable. To <a href="http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=comfort&amp;allowed_in_frame=0">comfort</a> is to act, to draw on our own well, to tap in to our own source, and strengthen someone who is torn and tearing, to render assistance and start to repair the rend, to gather and stitch with solace, to mend the holes in covering for recovery, to restore a tattered shroud to a glowing robe of glory.<br /><br />Is someone you know crying now?<br /><br />The pursuit of comfort is not about making our own lives easier and softer.<br /><br />If you want to chase comfort, if you truly want to catch it, you can't run from those who are crying, you can't deny those who need a drink from your well.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-97ngi0Z9_XM/TrfyrHFJduI/AAAAAAAABbI/mQA2Js_OmAo/s640/blogger-image--2036627922.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-97ngi0Z9_XM/TrfyrHFJduI/AAAAAAAABbI/mQA2Js_OmAo/s320/blogger-image--2036627922.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=0fc6801a-ba05-4186-9c0b-1157d711e18b" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-5665090995691632538?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-18585372624622851022011-11-03T11:44:00.000-04:002011-11-03T11:56:49.755-04:00The Love ActExcited?<br /><br />Surprised?<br /><br />Taken aback?<br /><br />Well, I hate to disappoint, but this post is not going to be x-rated. Not really.<br /><br />I do get naked here, strip away the surface coverings, to bare and share my thoughts, feelings, <a href="http://tomaplomb.blogspot.com/2011/11/outside-carton.html">life-changing experiences</a>, and dreams.<br /><br />I do invite you to my private places and gently guide you as you enter yours.<br /><br />I do, often, seduce with words to open your hearts before I fill their chambers with my discoveries, flood them with the flow of what I learn as I reach.<br /><br />I do tread lightly in your secret gardens as I plow the furrows to plant the seeds of strength, patience, wisdom, and grace.<br /><br />I do all of this because you let me. Because you are open, receptive, willing, ready.<br /><br />You allow me to touch you, and for that I am grateful.<br /><br />Now for the love act part.<br /><br />We all know what the love act is in the physical sense. But this is not about a physical act between two (or more, if you're adventurous) people.<br /><br />It is about performance, but not <i>that </i>kind.<br /><br />It is about rising, and spreading.<br /><br />It is about intimate connection, giving and receiving, tenderness, and vulnerability.<br /><br />It is about <a href="http://www.yourdictionary.com/appassionato">appassionato</a>, crescendo, and climax.<br /><br />It is about the moment of alignment.<br /><br />Of aligning with my lines.<br /><br />Every line I write here is a performance, a performance of the love act, an act of love.<br /><br />I give my lines freely, demanding nothing in return.<br /><br />We don't demand in love. We ask.<br /><br />And what I ask of you, if my compositions here have moved you, if I have been blessed to transport you to a place of possibility, promise, or peace, is that you carry forth with the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coda_(music)">coda</a> to the passages I have provided.<br /><br />That you perform your own version of the love act with the people you meet.<br /><br />Because like the coda, which means tail in Italian, your love acts, those you choose to perform, generate the power to conduct my composition to your own <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coda_(music)">convincing conclusions</a> which echo resoundingly from the instrument of your heart.<br /><br />I did say this post wasn't going to be x-rated. Though perhaps if you turn the x on its side, if you align it differently, you'll see what I mean.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-d_QPwkgl7GA/TrKWyP21A_I/AAAAAAAABbA/RiePwrhfsaE/s1600/500px-Coda_sign.svg.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-d_QPwkgl7GA/TrKWyP21A_I/AAAAAAAABbA/RiePwrhfsaE/s320/500px-Coda_sign.svg.png" width="295" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Source</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-1858537262462285102?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-4389590711003747352011-11-02T10:43:00.000-04:002011-11-09T22:03:59.827-05:00Pitch and Flare - Some Selling Dynamics<span class="zemanta-img separator" style="clear: right;"><a href="http://commons.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Aptch.gif" style="clear: right; display: block; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="An airplane pitching via tail elevators." height="241" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/4/48/Aptch.gif/300px-Aptch.gif" style="border-bottom-style: none; border-color: initial; border-left-style: none; border-right-style: none; border-top-style: none; border-width: initial; font-size: 0.8em;" width="300" /></a><span class="zemanta-img-attribution" style="clear: both; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; width: 300px;">Image via <a href="http://commons.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Aptch.gif">Wikipedia</a></span></span>Much time is spent in sales perfecting the pitch.<br /><br />In 30 seconds or less, we are supposed to grab the listener's attention, engage his or her interest, and induce a reaction that starts money flowing our way.<br /><br />Pitch has meanings in modern vocabulary in the contexts of music, aviation, and sports as well as sales. But you know me. I like to dig down to a word's roots. The noun&nbsp;<a href="http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=pitch">pitch</a> in Old English means tar, sap, or juice. Something that sticks. Hmm. Pitch as a verb appears around the year 1200 and derives from a different root, related to prick. Ironic, in that we've all experienced the proverbial prick pitching us in the proverbial elevator.<br /><br />We can also all agree that a successful sales pitch sticks, sings, flies, and ultimately results in a homerun. So let's explore the musical, aviation, and sports meanings to see how we might improve our pitches.<br /><br />In <a href="https://www.google.com/search?source=ig&amp;hl=en&amp;rlz=&amp;q=define+pitch&amp;btnG=Google+Search&amp;qscrl=1">music</a>, pitch is "the quality of a sound governed by the rate of vibrations producing it; the degree of highness or lowness of a tone." Are you taking the high road or low road when you pitch your products or services? Are you talking about your purpose, what moves you to do what you do, or are you pushing a cacophony of features, benefits, and price? Are you vibrating with passion and excitement or trembling with fear and desperation? Record your pitch and listen to it, carefully, over and over again. You may be amazed at what you hear.<br /><br />In <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flight_dynamics">aviation</a>, pitch is a <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flight_dynamics" rel="wikipedia" title="Flight dynamics">flight dynamics</a> parameter, one of three axes (the other two are roll and yaw), the one that determines the angle of the airplane's nose - also known as the <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Angle_of_attack" rel="wikipedia" title="Angle of attack">angle of attack</a>&nbsp;-&nbsp;as even, ascending, or descending. Are you aiming up or down in your pitch, lifting your prospect with your enthusiasm or playing on the depths of his pain?&nbsp;Are you transporting her to a higher place within herself?&nbsp;Or are you so bored with your own offering that your pitch crashes and falls flat with no angle at all?<br /><br />In sports, the pitch is something the batter wants to hit; the pitcher, of course, has a different idea. The counterintuitive aspect is that you <i>want </i>the prospect to hit your pitch, to slam it out of the park. So you have to aim for the <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Strike_zone" rel="wikipedia" title="Strike zone">strike zone</a> and not throw any curves or worse, bean the batter. Is your pitch straight and honest? Does it float right into the batter's sweet spot? And have you studied this particular batter, taking care to understand the types of pitches he or she is most likely to hit?<br /><br />Continuing with aviation for a moment, there is another counterintuitive concept that can help lift sales.<br /><br />The flare, in flying, is the moment when the pilot, guiding the plane down to a landing, points the nose gently up, adjusting the pitch at the last minute so that the rear wheels hit the runway first to ensure a smooth landing. The original meaning of <a href="http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=flare">flare</a> is to spread out, to distribute; references to light and fire came later. Literally, the pilot flares to distribute the massive weight of the plane onto the stronger, double set of rear wheels - instead of the single front set - at the moment of impact with the runway. We've all felt the benefits of this subtle pitch refinement in every landing we've every experienced. And it's necessary to incorporate flare, as well as flair, into your pitch if you want to land more business.<br /><br />My last thought, continuing the wordplay, is this: Contrary to the advice that you shouldn't do things on a wing and a prayer, you might consider bringing an aspect of prayer into your pitching. No, God is not going to make your sale for you. But if you pitch with sincerity and humility, there's a much greater chance you'll be heard.<br /><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=5f3582a3-bb64-4550-823a-699d8fb831f1" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-438959071100374735?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-28315377753925794162011-11-01T08:40:00.002-04:002011-11-01T11:27:17.964-04:00Outside the CartonLast night, I had a life-changing experience at Trader Joe's. I hadn't wanted to shop for groceries. I was dead tired from my trip to Chicago and just wanted to go home, but home had no comforts - no milk, no juice, no food that didn't come in a can, and no provisions for the lunches I make for my kids twice a week. So I went and filled my cart with the things everyone likes to eat - fresh fruit, frozen pizzas, cherry tomatoes, ham and turkey for sandwiches, Texas Toast for French toast breakfasts, and of course, ice cream. I also got eggs, which we run through pretty fast, especially when we bake.<br /><br />In the checkout lane, I met Paul, the cashier. We talked about the recent storm, the harsh winter last year (please, no repeats, we agreed), and the marvel of our town canceling, yes canceling - and rescheduling - Halloween due to some icy and impassable side streets with downed power lines and fallen trees. Even though Paul was not going trick or treating, he seemed sad about it. I told him that in all my years growing up in Chicago, with snow, cold, and freezing rain, no one had ever canceled Halloween. Fear had never sapped the spirit of what was already a festival of fright.<br /><br />Paul continued ringing up and bagging all my groceries, and when he got to the eggs, he offered to check them.<br /><br />"Sure, thanks."<br /><br />He opened the carton from the top and examined each egg carefully for cracks. Then he took the carton, flipped it over gently, and opened it from the bottom. He checked out the flipside of the eggs - all in good shape - closed the carton, and flipped it back over again.<br /><br />"Wow."<br /><br />"Huh?"<br /><br />"The way you flipped the carton."<br /><br />"Oh, yeah. Best way to check the bottoms. That's where they're usually cracked anyway."<br /><br />"Wow." I took this wisdom in. "When my sons check, they take each egg out and turn it to see the bottom, and they often drop one in the process. We'll definitely be doing it your way from now on."<br /><br />Paul didn't seem too excited by my reaction.<br /><br />"And," I said, "You've inspired me. I have a blog where I write every day, and you've given me the idea for a post about the eggs."<br /><br />Paul looked up.<br /><br />I took out my pen and my little blue notebook and started writing.<br /><br />"Wow." Paul, this time.<br /><br />"Huh?"<br /><br />"I've never done that before, never inspired anyone." Smiling broadly now.<br /><br />I smiled back, returning my notebook to my pocket. "Well, thank you for your gift."<br /><br />"Yeah." A puzzled look, the look of processing, dawning on Paul's face. "No problem. You got everything?"<br /><br />I told you I had a life-changing experience at Trader Joe's last night. I just didn't tell you whose life it changed.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><img height="267" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-iSUdgafupBM/Tq_zYt6jUHI/AAAAAAAABa4/Pc4sX-J5L3k/s320/blogger-image--1811384996.jpg" width="320" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.supermarketguru.com/index.cfm/go/sg.viewArticle/articleId/1526">Source</a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-2831537775392579416?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-63890702298480440162011-10-24T10:54:00.000-04:002011-10-24T11:09:52.537-04:00BreakthroughsAt times in life we experience breakthroughs, miraculous moments of motile realization, amazing ascents to a higher level, the next stage, a stage on which we stand taller and our voice projects farther, a stage on which we suddenly possess presence, dramatically more proficient at performing, at practicing our craft.<br /><br />We delight in the gains the breakthrough brings, but we're often at a loss to figure out how we achieved it.<br /><br />Some breakthroughs come after we have spent countless hours breaking down the wall. We've expended effort, employed tools, devoted time, and applied persistence to forcing a hole in the wall big enough to fit through. A cumulative accomplishment.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HQvUA6cV9l4/TqVz93ckvOI/AAAAAAAABaA/DislDD5k7hc/s1600/230_break_thru_brick_wall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HQvUA6cV9l4/TqVz93ckvOI/AAAAAAAABaA/DislDD5k7hc/s1600/230_break_thru_brick_wall.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://godsownamycolleen.blogspot.com/2011/04/two-dreamsvisions-from-lord.html">Source</a></div><br />Other breakthroughs come after we have finally found a way to be still and silent, to contemplate the wall and listen, to hear the beat of our heart, to open our soul and let the spirit transform us, render us transparent, invisible, and weightless, suddenly capable of passing through. A transcendent moment.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VX5L9pjEkEg/TqV0gUAYA3I/AAAAAAAABaI/8yCLczmDk8M/s1600/20-strange-sculptures-pI-passing-wall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VX5L9pjEkEg/TqV0gUAYA3I/AAAAAAAABaI/8yCLczmDk8M/s320/20-strange-sculptures-pI-passing-wall.jpg" width="256" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://villageofjoy.com/20-strange-sculptures-part-i/">Source</a></div><br />Both types of breakthroughs involve intense pressure.<br /><br />Cumulative breakthroughs come after we apply intense, consistent pressure to chip away at the wall.<br /><br />Transcendent breakthroughs come after we apply intense, consistent pressure to strip away at ourselves.<br /><br />Which type of breakthrough we experience depends on how we look at the wall.<br /><br />And how we look at ourselves.<br /><br />Cumulative breakthroughs come when we perceive the wall as an obstacle to be dismantled.<br /><br />Transcendent breakthroughs come when we recognize the wall as a boundary we can cross once we take up the mantle of our self.<br /><br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-6389070229848044016?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-7892667612497407002011-10-21T11:07:00.001-04:002011-10-23T23:23:58.720-04:00CloudsI've taken countless pictures of sunrises but almost none of clouds.<br /><br />Sunrise brings brightness, simple and direct.<br /><br />Clouds can hide or emphasize brightness. Clouds are complex.<br /><br />Clouds don't generate light. They absorb, capture, reflect, refract, and redirect light.<br /><br />Clouds enhance light, even when they block it.<br /><br />Clouds help us appreciate the light's return.<br /><br />Look up this morning.<br /><br />Look up at your sky.<br /><br />Notice your clouds. Watch their movement.<br /><br />Your sky is constant and everchanging, infinite and eternal.<br /><br />Your sky is an endless poem.<br /><br />Your sky is mesmerizing. You don't look at it as much as gaze with wonder.<br /><br />Does your sky gaze back?<br /><br />Yesterday, on my train ride home, I looked out the window at a majestic, portentous sky. A sky imbued with prophesy and promise. A sky that took some work to appreciate. A sky with sweep. A sky from the ages, composed just for the moment, for the day.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8VDJ_dHnORM/TqFtL0CLEMI/AAAAAAAABZs/hBvhqL_x0AU/s1600/majestic+sky.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8VDJ_dHnORM/TqFtL0CLEMI/AAAAAAAABZs/hBvhqL_x0AU/s320/majestic+sky.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Last night - a beautiful, warm night - I looked up from my doorstep at a different sky. A night sky with stars. Stars that shone between the clouds. Clouds accommodating stars, circling starlight. Light that traveled through history and time to reach that moment and enter my consciousness through the openings in the clouds. Light that crossed millions of miles to pierce the dark blueness of the deepening night sky. I couldn't capture this sky in a photograph, but it lives in my mind. Its light brought wisdom from far away places, encouraged patient acceptance and the embrace of change . . . a visitation of grace and redemption.<br /><br />This morning, as I sat in my car before walking to the platform, I watched a family of clouds move across the sky. These clouds looked lazy. They were slow-moving things. They inched across my field of vision, pursuing their dreams with a quiet, sure-footed intensity. Drifting but not drifting. Crossing the sky with certitude. Lingering but resisting temptation. Encompassing forgiveness. Radiating fortitude. Avoiding alacrity. Replete with recompense. These are the words that came to me as I looked up at my sky this morning, at today's clouds. I couldn't capture the drifting clouds with my camera. But I was able to capture the quality of the light.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yVK5EaBcOgo/TqFyzSYBBuI/AAAAAAAABZ0/Fmhche2GA38/s1600/morning+sky.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yVK5EaBcOgo/TqFyzSYBBuI/AAAAAAAABZ0/Fmhche2GA38/s320/morning+sky.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br /></div>As I reflected on my clouds, listening to their silent, airy fullness, I found the words that inhabit them.<br /><br />Be the cloud.<br /><br />Echo its movement.<br /><br />Create shadows.<br /><br />Stretch.<br /><br />Expand.<br /><br />Travel.<br /><br />Break apart and reconstitute yourself.<br /><br />Cry your rain.<br /><br />Gather.<br /><br />Celebrate your shape.<br /><br />Hold things inside, then release them when you're ready.<br /><br />Clouds are immanently glorious and beautiful, imminently impermanent.<br /><br />Notice your clouds.<br /><br />And be the beauty they bring.<br /><br /><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=eb2c0e72-7b9a-4226-9c8d-8982c3b8ddf7" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-789266761249740700?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-10752675464685798482011-10-20T11:30:00.001-04:002011-10-23T23:26:10.348-04:00Wounds and HealingWhen we get a cut, a rash, or any other wound that breaks or afflicts our skin, we often apply a salve: a topical ointment we smear over the affected area to keep it clean and protected so it can heal.<br /><br />Salves are effective for surface wounds.<br /><br />But what about wounds on the inside?<br /><br />What if the wound has already pierced the skin and hit the heart?<br /><br />What if the wound began in the heart, placed there by another or self-inflicted?<br /><br />Topical salves cannot reach inside wounds.<br /><br />They cannot penetrate deeply enough.<br /><br />And the deepest, most grievous, and unbearably painful inside wounds defy most forms of treatment.<br /><br />We try denial. It doesn't work.<br /><br />We self-medicate. That fails, too.<br /><br />We seek healing in the wrong places, from the wrong people, and suffer further damage.<br /><br />We try to cut the wound out in acts of self-destruction.<br /><br />We resign ourselves to a life of suffering, a loss of self that wounds those we love, darkens our light, and prevents us from sharing our gifts with the world.<br /><br />We give up and let the wound win.<br /><br />We become the wound and nothing more.<br /><br />. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .<br /><br />Inside wounds are hard to treat. But they can be treated.<br /><br />We need a different kind of salve, not applied on the outside.<br /><br />In the literal sense, we need oral medication, a salve that flows through our body and blood, communes with our immune system, empowers us to fight what is attacking us, and heals the wound at its source.<br /><br />In the figurative sense, oral medication is aural medication - words.<br /><br />We need words.<br /><br />We need the word.<br /><br />The roots of <a href="http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=salve">salve</a> go back to the Old English word "sealfian" which means to anoint. To seal and heal. And a seal is a sign, just as anointing is a sign, a <a href="http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=anoint&amp;allowed_in_frame=0">smear</a>. Not the kind of smear that damages a reputation, but the kind that marks one as a recipient of God's love who has been called to share that love with the rest of the world, to serve as a source, a conduit. The anointed are no better than the rest of us, for we all receive and deserve God's love, but they serve to remind us of the presence of His love, of His gift, by bearing and sharing the message, by bearing and sharing through words, music, art, prayer, even silent meditation.<br /><br />When we are hurt and broken, we need to be reminded that we can open our wounds to the world and the words and let healing in.<br /><br />When we are crushed and pulverized, turned to dust, we need to be reminded that we came from dust and will be returned to dust, and that our human clay can, at any time, be remolded, remodeled by our maker's loving hands, all-seeing eyes, and all-knowing heart.<br /><br />When we are naked and vulnerable, we need to be reminded that we can set down our shields, slip out of our shells, deactivate our forcefields, and allow the healing to fill us from the center, to radiate outward and endow us with the strength of openness, of knowing that no external force can harm our soul.<br /><br />When we are at the lowest point of our topography, we need to be reminded that we can give ourselves over, give our salves over, to the ultimate healer, to the power of love.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Zr1d9eD1PFA/TqA-cA1J8CI/AAAAAAAABZk/5ZVuywwX--Q/s1600/monks+united+in+prayer.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Zr1d9eD1PFA/TqA-cA1J8CI/AAAAAAAABZk/5ZVuywwX--Q/s320/monks+united+in+prayer.png" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://kikiconway.tumblr.com/post/11662729260/joethelion-100-000-monks-in-prayer-for-a-better">Source</a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=96c9d1e2-e281-415a-b1a1-8f41f1f62dad" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-1075267546468579848?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-34168411370789686082011-10-19T09:28:00.000-04:002011-10-19T14:29:51.658-04:00How to Break the ChainHalloween is right around the corner.<br /><br />Most kids are looking forward to it.<br /><br />My older son, S, is not.<br /><br />You see, last year, in November, on a <a href="http://tomaplomb.blogspot.com/2010/11/palace-at-4-am.html">really hard night</a>, a night when I lost all patience with him, I punished him by taking away, actually throwing away, all his Halloween candy.<br /><br />Brutal, right?<br /><br />Brutal maybe; effective for sure. He stopped doing what he was doing, and his behavior improved markedly, for a considerable amount of time.<br /><br />But the punishment had lasting consequences.<br /><br />He has held onto it, for a year.<br /><br />He was deeply hurt, and he has not been able to let the hurt go.<br /><br />Not until now.<br /><br />Last night, he told me he probably wouldn't bother with Halloween this year. When I asked him why, he said, "You know why."<br /><br />"Because I took away your candy?"<br /><br />"Mmm."<br /><br />"I already promised you I wouldn't do that this year."<br /><br />"Well . . . " Skeptical.<br /><br />"You're still upset about that?"<br /><br />"Yes, and I always will be!"<br /><br />"Always?"<br /><br />"Mmm." Turning away.<br /><br />"Look, I know it was harsh, but it's over and done. It's been a year already."<br /><br />"<i>Almost </i>a year."<br /><br />"OK, almost. And even almost a year is a long, long time. Do you see me hold on to things for that long? Am I still upset about anything you or your brother did a year ago, or even a week ago?"<br /><br />"Mmm, no."<br /><br />"Right."<br /><br />"So . . ."<br /><br />"So you have to let it go."<br /><br />"You see, Dad, I don't know how."<br /><br />"Ahh.&nbsp;Let me teach you something that will help you." I paused, trying to think of the best way to demonstrate. "OK. As we go through life, we get hurt and upset. It happens. When we hold onto hurts, they become like links in a chain. Each hurt forms another link, making the chain longer, heavier, and harder to drag behind us." As I said this, I showed him, making circles with my fingers, how the links of a chain attach to each other.&nbsp;"Eventually, the chain gets so heavy that we can't drag it anymore."<br /><br />He gave a knowing nod, and I could see how long and heavy his chain was.<br /><br />"So here's how you break the chain and free yourself. You don't break it really. You start by just loosening a little." I opened a small space between my left thumb and index finger, which were interlocked with the circle formed by the corresponding digits on my right hand. "Loosening is easier than cutting, because you're just relaxing a little about the hurt, not letting it grab you so tightly anymore. Then, as you start to move&nbsp;forward, the link you've loosened just falls away."&nbsp;And I showed him by pulling the closed circle (right thumb and index finger) slowly out through the small opening I had made between the thumb and index finger of my left hand.<br /><br />"Mmm."<br /><br />"So does it make sense to you? Do you understand?"<br /><br />"Mmm."<br /><br />He was already drifting off to sleep.<br /><br />And as his breathing became even, rhythmic, I could tell he felt better, if only a little.&nbsp;That I had succeeded in loosening at least one link. That I had a lot more work to do, not only with him but also with myself. Because the teachable moments invariably hold lessons not just for little ones, but for big ones, too. They bring realizations that we ourselves need to make, reinforce, solidify, and practice. And eerily, they bring them at exactly the right time.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GmFE3dC5qvA/Tp7QOSrx81I/AAAAAAAABZU/SNKHHobUN5g/s1600/anchor+chain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GmFE3dC5qvA/Tp7QOSrx81I/AAAAAAAABZU/SNKHHobUN5g/s320/anchor+chain.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.blueoceantackle.com/anchors_for_marine_industry.htm">Source</a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-3416841137078968608?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-23069201283047825632011-10-18T08:48:00.001-04:002011-10-18T09:54:23.630-04:00The Tree of LifeOn the platform at the station this morning people are talking.<br /><br />No, I didn't wear my Halloween costume to work today.<br /><br />They are talking as they always do.<br /><br />Babbling, chattering, yammering.<br /><br />About nothing in general.<br /><br />About everything in particular.<br /><br />Exchanging mundane details.<br /><br />Children's ages and activities, ski trips taken and planned, amazing bargains and costly purchases.<br /><br />Pressure: "My wife is on my ass about it."<br /><br />Sports scores.<br /><br />Work and the economy.<br /><br />And of course, the weather.<br /><br />In these conversations, people present a smooth, polished surface that prevents all but the most slippery and tenuous connections and with a quick tilt allows for rapid, painless disconnection and disengagement.<br /><br />A steep, narrow water slide that offers only a fleeting moment of joy before the downward movement dumps us on the hard ground below.<br /><br />Instead of the broad, spreading tree of life, with its knots, crooks, and gnarled branches, its bark scratched and carved, offering friendly footholds, perches to rest in on the way up, inviting us to climb.<br /><br />The truth is, we can only connect, really dig in and hang onto another person, when we expose our rough edges and give that other person something to grab.<br /><br />We can only connect when we get real.<br /><br />When we stop babbling, chattering, and yammering.<br /><br />When we whisper, scream, or cry with someone about what's really on our minds.<br /><br />When we open our hearts and share.<br /><br />Sure, this is frightening.<br /><br />We feel vulnerable.<br /><br />We are vulnerable.<br /><br />Hurt and rejection are real possibilities.<br /><br />But not with the right person.<br /><br />With someone who cares.<br /><br />Someone who knows how to reciprocate.<br /><br />The thing is, if you don't start sharing and getting real with people, how will you ever find out who the right people are?<br /><br /><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-RzkDzPmq0fE/Tp2FDZAR_JI/AAAAAAAABZM/ylr5BG9e2Gk/s640/blogger-image-1943296707.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-RzkDzPmq0fE/Tp2FDZAR_JI/AAAAAAAABZM/ylr5BG9e2Gk/s640/blogger-image-1943296707.jpg" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-2306920128304782563?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-18244859559521964402011-10-17T10:15:00.000-04:002011-10-17T13:07:51.112-04:00SFUPTBNThe title of this post is an acronym.<br /><br />Most of us are familiar with the acronym SNAFU, which stands for Situation Normal All Fucked Up.<br /><br />SFUPTBN stands for Situation All Fucked Up Pretending To Be Normal.<br /><br />We've all experienced SNAFUs - at work, at home, or on that vacation when we thought we'd never get to the beach.<br /><br />SNAFUs are generally unexpected and immediately recognizable departures from plan, and we address them by taking logical, sequential steps to return the situation to its normal state. Dealing with SNAFUs requires our attention, and the danger they present lies in panic, in feeling powerless and failing to take action, in making excuses and adopting an attitude of resignation that ultimately allows Fucked Up to masquerade as normal.<br /><br />SFUPTBNs are, in contrast to SNAFUs, often predictable yet difficult to recognize arrivals in hell, and we address them through denial, fantasy, and make-believe, letting ourselves sink into the quicksand of lowered expectations, efforts to erase unpleasant history, and the use of narcotics - real and emotional - to ease the pain. The danger of SFUPTBNs lies in the strangling vine that creeps up and chokes off our awareness, in twisting ourselves in knots instead of cutting the cord, in sacrificing the aspects of ourselves we value most, in squandering the treasure of our gifts in a futile struggle to make something that is not OK appear to be OK.<br /><br />Just whom are we making it appear OK for?<br /><br />When it is not OK, it is NOT OK.<br /><br />Some people will say, make the best of it.<br /><br />Accept it.<br /><br />Don't worry about what you can't control.<br /><br />Be positive.<br /><br />That advice may work with SNAFUs but not with SFUPTBNs.<br /><br />The only thing that works with SFUPTBNs is to get real.<br /><br />To stop pretending.<br /><br />To admit, first to yourself and then to others who can help you, that it is NOT OK.<br /><br />To confront the painful choices.<br /><br />Consider them carefully.<br /><br />Determine a course of action.<br /><br />And GYAT (Get Your Act Together).<br /><br />Otherwise, you just might never get to that beach.<br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0brTMp7Bz_Q/TpwvEuOg3SI/AAAAAAAABZE/kR6zozhdko4/s1600/snafu.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0brTMp7Bz_Q/TpwvEuOg3SI/AAAAAAAABZE/kR6zozhdko4/s320/snafu.gif" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.snafu.com/Snafu/SnafuStory.html">Source</a></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=519780c0-26f6-4bf2-832b-a442cb27af14" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-1824485955952196440?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-47844857515152825692011-10-14T10:06:00.000-04:002011-10-14T13:53:57.108-04:00Messages RevisitedA popular phrase at the end of Facebook posts in which the person posting wants private feedback is, "Message me."<br /><br />At first blush, this use of message as a verb, the way we now use text and friend, grated on me.<br /><br />My reaction was to dismiss and reject it, to grumble that message is a noun, to ignore the way a new platform and context not only enable but also call, actually shout, for this new use, this different treatment of the word.<br /><br />Then I took a breath and considered my reaction, dismissed and rejected it, and began to feel my response.<br /><br />A different response.<br /><br />A response of acceptance and embrace.<br /><br />A response that set me on fire.<br /><br />Message as a verb.<br /><br />Message embodying action.<br /><br />Message as the act of calling, not just the call.<br /><br />Every day we passively receive thousands of&nbsp;<a href="http://tomaplomb.blogspot.com/2011/04/messages.html">messages</a>.<br /><br />Occasionally we act on them.<br /><br />And it is only when we act on them that we bring about change.<br /><br />Not the kind of change that converts a noun to a verb.<br /><br />The kind of change that converts scarcity to abundance, destitution to riches, misery to joy.<br /><br />The kind of change that converts darkness to light, water to wine, abandonment to salvation.<br /><br />The kind of change that welcomes hope and sends futility packing.<br /><br />The kind of change that makes a difference.<br /><br />In mathematics, difference refers to subtraction.<br /><br />But there is a different kind of difference.<br /><br />A difference that gives, instead of takes away.<br /><br />The difference of what it takes, what we must add, using our own gifts and resources, to raise something or someone from a lower to a higher state, to a state equal to the one we all, as equals, have been granted and all equally deserve.<br /><br />We can't fabricate this difference through words, because words without action spin but do not weave, and it is the interlocking weave, the warp and weft of everyone coming together, that strengthens every individual and humanity as a whole. We must weave the fabric of change, create a new coat of many colors, through individual and collective action, by acting on messages, by messaging.<br /><br />When we handle challenging situations with strength, patience, wisdom, and grace, our aplomb becomes the message.<br /><br />When we lead an exemplary life, based on our values, our life becomes the message, our way of being messages those we lead, witness to, and inspire.<br /><br />This is what being the change means.<br /><br />And this is how we must message.<br /><br />Because people everywhere are watching, needing models, waiting for signals, looking for signs.<br /><br />The great human network is ready to be messaged, ready to start messaging, ready to make a difference, ready for change.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5jMgCPidxEY/TphBjo6SHpI/AAAAAAAABY8/-aC83GY68OM/s1600/fb-icon.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="297" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5jMgCPidxEY/TphBjo6SHpI/AAAAAAAABY8/-aC83GY68OM/s320/fb-icon.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://thelostagency.wordpress.com/2011/05/28/facebook-messaging-system-2455665/">Source</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-4784485751515282569?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-16866031913369544542011-10-13T10:58:00.000-04:002011-10-13T10:58:37.115-04:00QuotesMany words have multiple meanings.<br /><br />Often these meanings seem to sit in opposition to one another.<br /><br />To resolve the contradiction, we must change the way the words are facing, find the way in which they align.<br /><br />When we do this, we sometimes find meaning in the new direction.<br /><br />Here is an example:<br /><br />A quote, in the crucible of business, is something you ask: the price you assign to your goods or services, the money you demand in exchange for delivering value, the currency you forge into cash that builds your bank account.<br /><br />A quote, in the world of wordsmiths, is something you give: a sample of work you share and allow to be exchanged freely, a testament to the value your work delivers, and the currency you circulate that builds your legacy.<br /><br />In both cases, the quote serves to represent value. That is where the meanings align.<br /><br />And that is where we find the meaning of value that aligns with values. True value lies not in what our work brings in for ourselves but in what it gives to others.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AvO36xujiQs/Tpb8PojQ8NI/AAAAAAAABY0/y8jIpnvAFKw/s1600/value-of-gold.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="274" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AvO36xujiQs/Tpb8PojQ8NI/AAAAAAAABY0/y8jIpnvAFKw/s320/value-of-gold.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.semclubhouse.com/your-audience-customers-define-the-value/">Source</a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-1686603191336954454?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-66674219333856272232011-10-12T14:02:00.000-04:002011-10-12T14:22:47.674-04:00The Geometry of LoveYesterday I read an article on <a class="zem_slink" href="http://radar.oreilly.com/" rel="homepage" title="O'Reilly Radar">O'Reilly Radar</a> titled <a href="http://radar.oreilly.com/2011/10/indoor-navigation.html?utm_source=feedburner&amp;utm_medium=feed&amp;utm_campaign=Feed%3A+oreilly%2Fradar%2Fatom+%28O%27Reilly+Radar%29">Why Indoor Navigation Is So Hard</a>. In it, I learned that the <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Global_Positioning_System" rel="wikipedia" title="Global Positioning System">GPS</a> (global positioning system) on mobile phones works poorly, if at all, in indoor spaces, because the satellite signals on which they rely are too weak to penetrate a building's exterior and interior walls. One solution to this problem involves installing a box that detects all the wireless devices in the building, scans for their WiFi signals, and establishes position through <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trilateration">trilateration</a>, "the process of determining absolute or relative locations of points by measurement of distances using the geometry of circles, spheres or triangles." In other words, the system figures out where you are by figuring out where everyone else is and calculating your position relative to theirs. Because this method is often inexact, developers have created apps for smartphones that use trilateration, along with the embedded logic of how someone might want to navigate a museum, a campus, or a big box store, and that include ways for users to interact with the flow of information, by turning the map for example, to effect course corrections.<br /><br />Where am I going with this?<br /><br />Well, we've all met high-functioning people who navigate easily and successfully in the outside world, people who've mastered the formulas for the areas of work and the lines of networking, and can calculate the diameter for circles of friendship, but who seem to have flunked the geometry of intimate interpersonal relationships, where their positioning systems fail them at every turn. These individuals often have no understanding of where - or how - they stand in their primary relationships, where their partners are emotionally, or of the derailing impact of their spatial deficiency, which results in frenetic motion, tacking without warning (ouch, that boom hurts!), tortuous - and torturous - twists and turns, mad, impulsive springs forward followed by the resigned throwing up of hands when they feel lost, and ultimately, abdication of the wheel and blaming their partners when the relationship hits the rocks and runs aground.<br /><br />The technology we invent to solve physical problems often offers parallels that help us address emotional concerns. Perhaps people whose interpersonal navigation systems are faulty could "make the building do the work," meaning employ the structure of the relationship, by increasing their awareness of its boundaries, its exterior and interior walls, to estimate&nbsp;their position&nbsp;more accurately and get a read on how where they are affects their partners. Perhaps they could step outside for moment, find a place where the satellite signals are <a href="http://tomaplomb.blogspot.com/2010/06/signal-strength.html">stronger</a>, get their bearings and achieve some perspective, before going back inside. Perhaps they could use the concept of trilateration, of constantly scanning to learn where their partner is so they can adjust their own position, of turning the map to get a more accurate set of coordinates. Perhaps instead of pursuing the proofs of relationship geometry, they could scrap the math and adopt a subtler, less numerate approach, and appreciate the simple shapes, fluidity of line, intersection of circles, harmony of the spheres, and act the way the <a href="http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=hypotenuse">hypoteneuse</a>&nbsp;does as it stretches to support the other two sides of the triangle. This last metaphor is important, because in a successful relationship, the relationship <i>is </i>the hypoteneuse, stretching to connect the two partners at their farthest points. In the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pythagorean_theorem">Pythagorean theorem</a> of love, the area of the square bordered by the side that represents the relationship is equal to the sum of the areas of the squares bordered by the sides that represent the partners. And when both partners position themselves to meet the relationship's needs instead of just their own, they strengthen it, and reshape themselves into a perfect, equilateral triangle, where no one has to take sides, because each partner and the relationship itself are all equal.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-htit_NP6imw/TpXV-2SN5rI/AAAAAAAABYs/LfPF6iar5s0/s1600/equilateral+triangle.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-htit_NP6imw/TpXV-2SN5rI/AAAAAAAABYs/LfPF6iar5s0/s1600/equilateral+triangle.gif" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://library.thinkquest.org/20991/geo/ietri.html">Source</a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="zemanta-related"><h6 class="zemanta-related-title" style="font-size: 1em; margin: 1em 0 0 0;">Related articles</h6><ul class="zemanta-article-ul"><li class="zemanta-article-ul-li"><a href="http://radar.oreilly.com/2011/10/indoor-navigation.html">Why indoor navigation is so hard</a> (radar.oreilly.com)</li></ul></div><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=9f15eb8a-3eb6-4f2e-bf36-4ccc2aa9fca3" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-6667421933385627223?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-91845981621895725782011-10-11T09:01:00.001-04:002011-10-11T09:08:39.245-04:00Your SongYou are a sacred instrument.<br /><br />Within you lives a song.<br /><br />Passion strokes your strings.<br /><br />Spirit strikes your keys.<br /><br />The breath of life resonates through your reed.<br /><br />You were born to make music, to share your composition with the world.<br /><br />To transport your audience.<br /><br />To make their hearts sing with joy.<br /><br />And yet, you are silent.<br /><br />Perhaps you've been handled roughly, wounded by fumbling fingers, broken by hurt and fear.<br /><br />Perhaps you've let someone play you&nbsp;<i>ad infinitum</i> at full volume, use your sound to drown out other voices, and drain you with weariness and exhaustion.<br /><br />Perhaps you're bowed by one whose favors the tone of contempt, the tempo of <i>allegro loco</i>, whose dramatic measures crescendo to successive empty climaxes, coloring your notes with the sadness of suffering.<br /><br />Perhaps you've been neglected, never polished or cleaned properly after each performance, with deep scratches and accumulated crud muffling your music, causing your sound to falter and fade.<br /><br />Perhaps, you've been shut inside your case, locked in darkness, suffocated in a faux velvet crypt, taken out occasionally at another's convenience or whim, your potential unrecognized, your gifts unappreciated, your power untapped, your sacred song unsung.<br /><br />Well . . .<br /><br />It's time.<br /><br />The metronome is beating in sync with your heart.<br /><br />Do you hear it?<br /><br />Your foot is tapping to your own true rhythm.<br /><br />Can you feel it?<br /><br />You're swaying to the song inside, the one you keep hearing, the one you can't get out of your head.<br /><br />That insistent, unstoppable, song.<br /><br />The one that's been whispered to you.<br /><br />The one you want to shout.<br /><br />It's time and you're ready.<br /><br />Ready to play your own instrument.<br /><br />Ready to be heard.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1LnfPhhTDlM/TpQ85MzF88I/AAAAAAAABYk/ELdmf-IK9js/s1600/stradivarius-violin060801.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1LnfPhhTDlM/TpQ85MzF88I/AAAAAAAABYk/ELdmf-IK9js/s320/stradivarius-violin060801.jpg" width="288" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/british-columbia/story/2006/08/01/museum-violin-stradivari.html">Source</a></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=d71265c3-c69b-47d0-a760-424aaa572fd6" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-9184598162189572578?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-82742339780852589142011-10-10T10:37:00.000-04:002011-10-10T22:35:38.799-04:00Clubs, Hearts, and LaddersLast fall, I wrote about the <a href="http://tomaplomb.blogspot.com/2010/11/if-you-build-it-they-will-come.html">treehouse</a> my father paid our carpenter, Carl, to build for me when I was a child.<br /><br />How my treehouse attracted friends for this extremely bright, hopelessly nerdy boy whose superior attitude of "I'm smart and I'm special" alienated his peers.<br /><br />A boy whose lack of emotional intelligence&nbsp;crippled his early social life and influenced his choices - of jobs, activities, and relationships - well into his adult life.<br /><br />A boy who took his time to grow into a man.<br /><br />A man who is now a father setting examples for his own children.<br /><br />Many of us had clubhouses, or clubs, when we were growing up, exclusive places or groups in which we gathered to share our secrets with trusted friends, and from which we excluded all others whose allegiance was doubtful and enemies already committed to the dark side.<br /><br />Often our clubs became false sanctuaries filled with the like-minded who orbited the leader's planet of power, held in place by the gravitational pull of popularity and bound in a brotherhood - or sisterhood - enforced by fear. Harsh places where breaking the rules brought embarrassing punishments, and betrayal meant immediate banishment and permanent exile.<br /><br />My treehouse had a retractable rope ladder that led up to a trap door in the floor, and my friends and I took great pleasure in our ability to make entrance by others impossible after we had ascended.<br /><br />Others were threatening, and up there, where they couldn't reach us, we felt safe.<br /><br />There is nothing wrong, of course, with kids forging alliances, taking sides, and forming clubs. It's part of the growing up process.<br /><br />But as parents we can either teach our kids to pull the ladder up after they ascend, or to reach down with a helping hand and pull others up that ladder. That same ladder that got us to where we are now.<br /><br />We can teach our kids to embrace instead of fear others and their otherness.<br /><br />To include instead of exclude kids who are different, special, weird, unique.<br /><br />To focus on how these kids can contribute to, not how they might detract from, the club's ultimate success.<br /><br />To celebrate what they bring, not dread what we might lose, when we let them in.<br /><br />To open our hearts to all who want to make the climb with us, instead of closing our clubs and using them to beat others back.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Are-All-Weird-Seth-Godin/dp/1936719223">Weird</a>, in case you didn't know it, is the new normal.<br /><br />And not every kid who is different, special, weird, or unique has a father who can afford to build him his own treehouse.<br /><br />But any father can follow the ultimate example and build a model of tolerance, openness, generosity, and love for all his children, starting with his own daughter or son.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-180byhqu13U/TpMC2lMwgAI/AAAAAAAABYg/lkeDggCDJ8s/s1600/help+climbing+ladder.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-180byhqu13U/TpMC2lMwgAI/AAAAAAAABYg/lkeDggCDJ8s/s320/help+climbing+ladder.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://liveloveleslie.com/2010/07/01/8-components-for-choosing-a-good-and-spotting-a-bad-career-coach/">Source</a></div><br /><br /><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=5a26a6dc-c574-417c-ab7c-8bd56dae84e6" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-8274233978085258914?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-36698994345306937162011-10-07T10:28:00.000-04:002011-10-07T10:28:15.803-04:00Performance Revisited<span class="zemanta-img separator" style="clear: right;"><a href="http://commons.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:JoeLocke_technique01.jpg" style="clear: right; display: block; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Vibraphonist Joe Locke's idiosyncratic four-ma..." height="225" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/2/20/JoeLocke_technique01.jpg/300px-JoeLocke_technique01.jpg" style="border: none; font-size: 0.8em;" width="300" /></a><span class="zemanta-img-attribution" style="clear: both; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; width: 300px;">Image via <a href="http://commons.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:JoeLocke_technique01.jpg">Wikipedia</a></span></span>Last night I attended another storytelling event sponsored by my friends at <a href="https://www.facebook.com/MouseMuse">MouseMuse</a>. This time, I was not <a href="http://tomaplomb.blogspot.com/2011/07/performance.html">performing</a>, only listening. I heard seven stories by people just like you and me who felt the need and found the courage to open up and perform, live and from the heart.<br /><br />On the way, in a taxi, I listened to the driver talk about his passions, and I learned he was an actor, a dancer, and a musician who drove the cab a few nights a week to make everything work. I wanted to know what instrument he played, and he said, with expansive pride, "vibes."<br /><br />He went on to tell me how his musical compositions are universal and appeal to lovers of jazz, classical, rock, and other styles.<br /><br />How this mix of musical colors led him to the name he performs under, Rainbow Vibes.<br /><br />How his songs are half scripted, half improvised, making each performance different and unique.<br /><br />How they have no lyrics, so as not to distract from the music's mood and feel.<br /><br />How he's been playing some of them for thirty years.<br /><br />How they are, to him, his grown-up children, influenced by his genes and nurturing, but independent now, with well-developed and distinct personalities of their own.<br /><br />How they are his heart songs.<br /><br />How they exist in his mind but live in his performance.<br /><br />Existing is different from living.<br /><br />Just as knowing is different from telling, singing, or playing.<br /><br />The practice of rehearsal is not the same as the practice of performing, of <a href="http://tomaplomb.blogspot.com/2010/08/do-you-put-out.html">putting out</a>.<br /><br />What we know and rehearse, the scripted part, is captured and stored, caged and staged, contained.<br /><br />What we perform live, the improvised part, is freely released, flowing not from but through us, shared in and shaped by the moment, tuned and attuned to the moment, unrepeatable and unforgettable, live and real.<br /><br />The driver said, "It's up to me to guide my songs through the setting and venue that I'm in."<br /><br />I liked that line a lot, so much that I wrote it down.<br /><br />I wrote it in my blue notebook, and I wrote it here to share.<br /><br />I asked the driver if he had a website I could look at, and he said no, but he would give me his phone number.<br /><br />Then I asked him for his name.<br /><br />"Rainbow Vibes."<br /><br />"I know that's the name you perform under, but what is your name?"<br /><br />"Rainbow Vibes."<br /><br />I was silent.<br /><br />"I have a legal name that I use for certain things . . ."<br /><br />I did not ask for more.<br /><br />I had already received more than I expected from a simple cab ride.<br /><br />And I was grateful for the gift of the driver's song.<br /><br />A gift of guidance.<br /><br />A song without a name.<br /><br />A performance that guided me to a richer understanding of who he was, of who I am, of who we all are when we perform.<br /><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=58a6cb59-0798-4c55-8918-1400dbb56f42" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-3669899434530693716?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-19291479744448017872011-10-06T09:19:00.000-04:002011-10-07T19:27:36.722-04:00I Am An Undiscovered SecretI am an undiscovered secret.<br /><br />I am undiscovered secret and . . .<br /><br />Within my eyes is the vision to see over the horizon.<br /><br />Within my hands is the touch to heal wounds.<br /><br />Within my mouth are the words to lift and encourage.<br /><br />Within my back is the strength to carry the weak to safety.<br /><br />Within my arms is the embrace of shelter for those in search of home.<br /><br />Within my actions is the change to empower the powerless.<br /><br />Within my imagination is a host of enlivening ideas.<br /><br />Within my spirit is the light I've been given to shine on darkness.<br /><br />Within my soul is the connection to each and to all.<br /><br />Within my heart is love.<br /><br />And within my love is the power to transform.<br /><br />I am an undiscovered secret, waiting to be found, a map to buried treasure whose riches lie in the open fold.<br /><br />Open the map, and criss-cross my sacred geography.<br /><br />Circumnavigate me.<br /><br />Walk through my valleys.<br /><br />Climb my mountains.<br /><br />Swim in my oceans.<br /><br />Look up and marvel at my skies.<br /><br />Take shelter in my bowers.<br /><br />And sing in my rain.<br /><br />Take warmth from my fire.<br /><br />Be cool in my shade.<br /><br />Nourish yourself with my harvest.<br /><br />Drink from my rivers.<br /><br />And feast in my garden of earthly delights.<br /><br />Learn in my light.<br /><br />Dream in my darkness.<br /><br />Build your castles with my clay.<br /><br />Tread lightly and with reverence, and I will reward you endlessly.<br /><br />Live in harmony with my music, and I will celebrate your song.<br /><br />Breathe the air of my spirit.<br /><br />Breathe with me and discover what you've been missing.<br /><br />The elixir of joy you've been seeking.<br /><br />The fullness you've been wanting.<br /><br />The peace you have yet to find.<br /><br />I am undiscovered secret . . .<br /><br /> . . . and so are you.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yFO9Ayn5NkY/To2qP7eLO8I/AAAAAAAABYY/a9vA1VtbMgU/s1600/x+marks+the+spot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-yFO9Ayn5NkY/To2qP7eLO8I/AAAAAAAABYY/a9vA1VtbMgU/s1600/x+marks+the+spot.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.greenpeace.org.uk/taxonomy/term/592">Source</a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span id="goog_833584837"></span><span id="goog_833584838"></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-1929147974444801787?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-27651204066671642202011-10-05T11:21:00.001-04:002011-10-05T11:31:05.568-04:00Presence Revisited<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 11pt;">There is irony in the title Presence Revisited.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 11pt;">A need to return to a moment in which I was present but failed to absorb all I needed to learn, a need to go back to bring wisdom forward from present turned past to influence future. A need that surfaced yesterday, when I experienced an unfolding of moments that revealed secrets of presence I needed to understand.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 11pt;">It started when a friend reached out about clouds obscuring her sunny skies.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 11pt;">I have this friend because I am present, because I show up every day, share what I am learning, and show appreciation for what she and others like her share.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 11pt;">I reached back.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 11pt;">And we connected.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 11pt;">I reached back because I am receptive.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 11pt;">And I succeeded in helping because I listened, and listening is conducive to success.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 11pt;">Reflecting on why it worked, I realized that my presence with my friend was both connected and detached. I connected with her and detached from my self, from the parts of my self - resentment, frustration, impatience - that could block connection had I not worked to integrate them, through conscious practice, into an evolving self, a self unbothered by intrusive thoughts, uninfluenced by obtrusive needs, receptive to the other and conducive to helping others see where they need to be.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 11pt;">What I bring to the table is my talents and skills, my ongoing spiritual education, my ability to make a contribution using some powerful tools.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 11pt;">But my success depends not only on what but also on <i>who</i> I bring to the table, my presence in each and every interaction, who I am in the moment I connect with another.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 11pt;">And if who I bring is clouded with un-integrated parts of my self, my light is obscured, and the connection disintegrates in darkness before it can begin.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 11pt;">The tapestry of moments continued unfolding when I saw a tweet from <a href="http://www.unabashedlyfemale.com/">Julie Daley</a> quoting Peter Block from his book<span class="apple-converted-space">&nbsp;</span><i><a class="zem_slink" href="http://www.amazon.com/Stewardship-Choosing-Service-Over-Interest/dp/1881052869%3FSubscriptionId%3D0G81C5DAZ03ZR9WH9X82%26tag%3Dzemanta-20%26linkCode%3Dxm2%26camp%3D2025%26creative%3D165953%26creativeASIN%3D1881052869" rel="amazon" title="Stewardship: Choosing Service Over Self Interest">Stewardship</a></i>. "We are reluctant to let go of the belief that if I am to care for something I must control it." These words went to the heart of my dialogue with my friend, my advice to let go a little, to guide without directing, to lead without pushing, to allow the other to find his or her own authority in speaking the answers my friend already knew. I retweeted the quote, which led Julie to my blog, and in turn she shared my post <a href="http://tomaplomb.blogspot.com/2011/10/over-top.html">Over the Top</a> with her followers. One of them, in France, read it and retweeted, and we began a conversation. Of all things, my new friend <a href="http://twitter.com/#!/MarionChapsal">Marion Chapsal</a> writes about - and is set to give a speech on - <a href="http://geronimocoachingnow.com/?p=3700">presence</a>. Her post helped me with the speech I am working on for my appearance at <a href="http://www.makeanimpactlive.com/">Make an Impact - Live!</a> in Chicago - not with what I will bring to the podium, but with who I will bring, with how I will be present in the room, how I will detach from my self and connect with my audience.&nbsp;I fully believe these events, the texture and colors of the unfolded tapestry, are not random but meant to be, present by design.&nbsp;<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 11pt;">And taking in the whole tapestry made me aware of the simple complexity of presence. When you practice it and achieve it, when you get it right, it becomes effortless, a way of being. But to get there requires a tremendous amount of complicated work.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 11pt;">Here are some thoughts on that work, on moving past intrusive and obtrusive presence, past the intrusive thoughts and obtrusive needs, to a state of receptive presence that is conducive to more effective interaction.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 11pt;">Embrace the other’s imperfections as opportunities for improvement, their gaps in knowledge as openings for your wisdom, their stubbornness as evidence of their desperate need for your patient approach. If they were perfect, well-educated and enlightened, and fully open to transformation, they would not need you, and you know you have been called to help those who need precisely what you can provide.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 11pt;">Listen with full attention to their voices, and do your best to silence your own until you have absorbed everything they are trying to convey. Even if they are lying, to themselves and you, there is a grain of truth, a kernel of meaning in what they're saying, and it's your job to strip away the husk and isolate that kernel. You may recognize the answer quickly, but you have to hold it, guard it even, until the other person is ready to hear it, or until through the skillful work of discovery you do with them, they come upon it themselves and speak it with their own authority.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 11pt;">When that happens, when the other person speaks with their authority the truth you have helped them discover, the truth on which you have shed the light that flows through you from the creator of light, that truth becomes their own. And they can't live their truth, can't embrace it, can't wrap their mind, heart, and soul around it and start to feel its impact, until they own it.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 11pt;">You can dispense advice worth millions, hold out the golden ticket, wave it frantically in front of their face. But that ticket is worthless unless they claim what's theirs and cash it in.</span><br /><span style="color: black; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_SCZNONOxII/Tox4JB8oiRI/AAAAAAAABYU/mZt4mXFUXoY/s1600/golden+ticket.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_SCZNONOxII/Tox4JB8oiRI/AAAAAAAABYU/mZt4mXFUXoY/s320/golden+ticket.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-size: 11pt;"><a href="http://unicornbooty.com/2011/08/unlimited-events-for-90-days-win-brownpapertickets-golden-ticket/">Source</a></span></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br /></div><br /><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=0916b260-67ff-4b25-93d9-92f401d9b6a8" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-2765120406667164220?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-65570139788096757322011-10-04T09:28:00.000-04:002011-10-04T09:28:18.059-04:00Preventable Accidents and Movable ObstaclesWhen my son starts swinging his Wiffle bat in the house, or flinging the little plastic propeller from the Halo spaceship he built across the room, I ask him to stop. Then I tell him to stop.<br /><br />If he hits something with one of these objects, or someone - such as his little brother - he will say it was an accident and then, with a slightly downcast look sigh to me, "I <i>know</i>. A <i>preventable </i>accident." And an important lesson in the psychology of avoiding responsibility.<br /><br />Accidents are undesirable events that occur without intent, but absence of intent does not mean absence of power to prevent, to create conditions where the undesirable is less likely to occur. We constantly exercise our power to create conditions conducive to desirable events, and we are quick to take credit. And yet, when preventable accidents result from choices we made or failed to make, we often shrug and act as if we were powerless to stop them. The roots of <a href="http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=accident&amp;allowed_in_frame=0">accident</a> go back to the Latin word <i>cadere</i>, to fall, to happen by chance. Chance carries the meaning of happenstance but also opportunity. If you stand under an old tree in the wind, a branch might just fall - on your head. If you prune the tree, you seize the opportunity to prevent an accident. I'm not suggesting that we encase ourselves in bubbles of fear or avoid healthy risks, only that we recognize the difference between chance happenings and those we have the power to influence.<br /><br />As I boarded the train this morning, the car was crowded, but there was one window seat left. A man was sitting in the aisle seat, and I politely&nbsp;asked him &nbsp;if I could take the window. He stood up, let me in, and sat down again. And I realized he was a <i>movable obstacle</i>, movable with a simple request. I thought about how some people don't ask, how they walk to another car to find an open seat, because they find it easier not to ask someone to move. I thought about how some people spend hours looking for something in a store or lost on their travels, because they find it easier not to ask for help or directions. I thought about how some people find it easier to consider their jobs, their relationships, their attitudes, fixed obstacles instead of fixable, movable ones, how they find it easier to leave these obstacles in place, to shrug and act powerless to move them. Again, I'm not suggesting that we can simply open our mouths, ask politely, and change everything, only that we recognize the difference between true limitations and obstacles that, with some effort, we can indeed move.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rIywMFeA-0g/TosJf8oIF8I/AAAAAAAABYQ/NSg185uFYk8/s1600/obstacles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rIywMFeA-0g/TosJf8oIF8I/AAAAAAAABYQ/NSg185uFYk8/s1600/obstacles.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://clevermarketer.com/2011/01/obstacles-ty-tribble/">Source</a></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=384358c7-e365-42ba-8d5b-cc2cff919c15" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-6557013978809675732?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-84868847014389495592011-10-03T10:10:00.000-04:002011-10-07T10:26:09.086-04:00Over the TopThis past weekend was a kid weekend, which means I had my two boys with me starting at 6:00 on Friday night.<br /><br />As a single parent and a man who's learned a lot about boundaries and limits the hard way, I know how to say no to unreasonable demands from children - and childish adults - and I don't consider myself indulgent or permissive. But I do enjoy giving.<br /><br />Saturday morning they wanted pancakes.<br /><br />With maple syrup <i>and </i>caramel sauce.<br /><br />My younger son, J, offered to help make the batter.<br /><br />He is an expert batter maker who knows how to stir down low and slow and loves to sniff the vanilla.<br /><br />I thought the caramel sauce was a little over the top, but my answer was . . . yes.<br /><br />They also wanted cappuccino, which they had tried at French Roast in New York City on our previous weekend, instead of their regular morning sips of 10% coffee, 90% au lait.<br /><br />They call cappuccino "foamy," and they wanted caramel in it, too.<br /><br />My answer was . . . yes.<br /><br />They also wanted to make chocolate chip cookies to put in their lunches this week. We haven't made them in a long while, and they miss them.<br /><br />My answer was . . . yes.<br /><br />Saturday afternoon they wanted to take our usual walk into town, get their sodas at Oscar's and a cupcake at Crumbs, rent movies from the library, and play like wild men on the sculpture in the park.<br /><br />My answer was . . . yes.<br /><br />At dinner on Saturday night, my younger son J asked for more broccoli.<br /><br />Yes, more broccoli! (I'll share with you&nbsp;sometime&nbsp;how I make it.)<br /><br />Naturally, my answer was . . . yes.<br /><br />On Sunday, they wanted me to come outside and play a long game of assassin tag with them.<br /><br />My older son, S, explained there was only one rule: no cheating.<br /><br />My answer was . . . yes.<br /><br />Digging in the yard after tag was over, S found a giant rock.<br /><br />"Maybe it's a dragon egg?"<br /><br />"Maybe."<br /><br />"If it hatches can we keep him?"<br /><br />That one was easy . . . yes.<br /><br />Sunday night they wanted spaghetti and meatballs with homemade sauce, a messy production that uses every pot and pan the way I make it.<br /><br />My answer was yes.<br /><br />And then, they wanted to stay an extra night, instead of going back to their mother at 7:00 as they usually do.<br /><br />My answer, even though I was exhausted, ready to see them off, and looking forward to enjoying a nice big cocktail, was yes.<br /><br />I thought for a second (not much longer than that) about whether I should have the big cocktail anyway.<br /><br />By all means, yes!<br /><br />And then, after I'd finally gotten J to sleep, S and I had some precious snuggle time, the only time - late at night - he sometimes opens up to me about what's on his mind.<br /><br />And this time he spilled.<br /><br />He told me how he feels about school. About his little brother.&nbsp;About the divorce.&nbsp;About life. About things he understands better than I thought he did, better even than I do. About knowing who he is and who he is going to become.<br /><br />And he fell asleep happy, &nbsp;happier than I've seen him in a while.<br /><br />And I fell asleep proud and happy, too.<br /><br />You might say that like the caramel sauce on the pancakes, the whole weekend, capped off by the extra night, was over the top. And I did say no to jumping on the furniture, seconds on ice cream, using the pogo stick inside the house. But sometimes, you just have to go over the top. Because it's only when you go over the top that you see what's on the other side of the mountain.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-T91eyUGrQAs/TonCNzGNW9I/AAAAAAAABYM/rkGsV3T4A3w/s1600/mountaintop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-T91eyUGrQAs/TonCNzGNW9I/AAAAAAAABYM/rkGsV3T4A3w/s320/mountaintop.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://rectorymusings.blogspot.com/2011/03/silence-on-mountaintop.html">Source</a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-8486884701438949559?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-43699510742173712422011-09-30T10:34:00.000-04:002011-09-30T11:20:57.188-04:00Indicator LightsLast night, before I went to sleep, I noticed the red indicator light on my DVR.<br /><br />Red means recording.<br /><br />I knew that at 11:00 pm I was not recording a show for my kids.<br /><br />I knew I was recording a show, such as <i><a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/House_%28TV_series%29" rel="wikipedia" title="House (TV series)">House</a> </i>or <i><a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lie_to_Me" rel="wikipedia" title="Lie to Me">Lie to Me</a></i>, that I no longer watch.<br /><br />A show I watched in a past life.<br /><br />A life when I watched tv.<br /><br />For about a year, I've watched hardly any tv, live or recorded, save for childrens' programs and movies and the occasional presidential speech. Giving it up was less an act of sacrifice than a purposeful shift of attention, and I don't miss it.<br /><br />But the red indicator light on my DVR had something to tell me.<br /><br />It said the machine was still controlled by old settings, settings I had never changed, storing memories I would never retrieve.<br /><br />Holding pieces of the past I choose not to bring into the present.<br /><br />Presupposing a future I have no intention of living.<br /><br />Watching <i>House </i>and <i>Lie to Me</i> was a ritual with my second ex-wife, and the settings on the DVR date from before our separation and divorce. She is gone, that life is over, and yet those settings linger, along with some sadness, a closet full of things she left when she moved out, and traces of several unfortunate home improvement projects.<br /><br />The indicator light on the DVR told me I still have some cleaning out and cleaning up to do.<br /><br />It also made me think about how, even when things have changed, when people are gone, when we feel we have moved on, our internal settings are often stuck in an old, inappropriate configuration, not yet tuned completely to our new situation.<br /><br />It also made me think about storage and memory.<br /><br />A DVR has limited storage space, and as it records the newest programs, it deletes the oldest ones without a trace, except what you mark to be saved permanently.<br /><br />Our minds are different, in that we seem to have endless capacity to store memories. It is when the old behavior patterns established by these memories, by the experiences they encapsulate, influence our present behavior that we close ourselves off to positive change and continue, unconsciously, to spin our wheels with no traction, to remain stuck in the muck, to hold ourselves back instead of moving forward.<br /><br />And our foreheads have no indicator light, like the one on my DVR, to tell us what's going on inside.<br /><br />This is where awareness comes into play.<br /><br />Awareness of patterns we are repeating.<br /><br />Awareness of choices we are making.<br /><br />Awareness of what's happening inside the box, and how it may be boxing us in.<br /><br />Awareness of how to be free.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tPMkLYfyK4o/ToXTJIg4CtI/AAAAAAAABYI/xkqYH_DS4S0/s1600/indicator+light.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tPMkLYfyK4o/ToXTJIg4CtI/AAAAAAAABYI/xkqYH_DS4S0/s320/indicator+light.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.zundappfool.com/boneyard_05.htm">Source</a></div><br /><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=8da2caa3-256e-4f17-b8c2-4ec349e35b5f" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-4369951074217371242?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-31243326765037226782011-09-29T10:54:00.000-04:002011-09-29T23:06:41.691-04:00Conclusions: Foregone or Forgone?The former chairman of my <a href="http://www.leadershipdirectories.com/">company</a>, <a href="http://tomaplomb.blogspot.com/2009/06/in-memory-of-donald-petrie.html">Donald Petrie</a>, was known for his business wisdom. He knew, before we had anything that resembled an online database, that we were not a directory publisher but a database provider, and that our success or failure depended on the quality of the data we collected, verified, formatted, and sold to our customers in whatever forms technology could make it available. As we made measured&nbsp;electronic publishing&nbsp;advances during the late 1990s, measured in that Donald's cautious optimism kept us from spending too much too fast, we became momentarily caught up in the excitement of the new features, the bells and whistles, the doodads and geegaws that the new technology made possible. Donald took the opportunity to send us a memo, handwritten in his trademark block capital letters, through his fax machine (he didn't use email), that read: "It's the data, stupid." And in classic Donald form, the memo was addressed not to us (us being the company's president, myself, and Donald's son who were together managing the new initiatives), but from <i>us to him</i>.<br /><br />Yesterday, I found myself thinking about data, and&nbsp;I wanted to see what lessons we could draw from the healthiest way to handle data in business. Here's what I found:<br /><br />Data is a set of objective facts we use to draw conclusions. It is in the steps of the process, from collection to conclusion, that the lessons lie.<br /><br />Step 1 - solicitation. We must reach out to an audience in a way that engages its attention and encourages people to send back the data we desire.<br /><br />Step 2 - receiving. We must be present to receive the data.<br /><br />Step 3 - recording. We must carefully record the data.<br /><br />Step 4 - transferring. We must transfer the data into a system that enables us to categorize, group, sort, and retrieve it.<br /><br />Step 5 - interpreting and analyzing. We must draw meaning from the data.<br /><br />Step 6 - presenting. We must present our interpretation of the data to decision-makers in a way that makes the meaning clear.<br /><br />Step 7 - concluding. The decision-maker must draw a conclusion and, if necessary, set a course of action.<br /><br />In any process with so many steps, there are multiple pits we can fall into where things can go wrong.<br /><br />In step 1, solicitation, we can - through intent, ignorance, or carelessness - choose the wrong audience and therefore obtain inaccurate responses.<br /><br />In step 2, receiving, we can ignore the responses.<br /><br />In step 3, recording, we can inaccurately record or (accidentally or purposely) omit responses entirely.<br /><br />In step 4, transferring, we can transfer to a system that is inadequate (such as one with categories that are too broad) for the functions it must fulfill.<br /><br />Step 5, interpreting and analyzing, is perhaps the most perilous. Here is where biases, predispositions, and malice aforethought, come into play. The most common mistake, I believe, is refusing to explore the exceptions, discounting responses that may disprove the desired conclusion, for these are the ones from which we can often learn the most.<br /><br />In step 6, presenting, we must be careful to present objectively, remembering that our role is to enable the decision-maker to draw his or her own conclusion, not the one we may personally desire.<br /><br />And in step 7, concluding, the decision-maker must be prepared to make an unpopular, unexpected, conclusion that may result in a new course of action, even a complete about-face.<br /><br />Yesterday I had occasion to look up the spelling of forgo, and I was reminded of the distinction between forego, which means to come before, and forgo, which means to give up or do without.<br /><br />This made me think about the difference between foregone and forgone conclusions. A foregone conclusion is one we have already made, regardless of what the data tells us. A forgone conclusion is one we did not make, one that might have made all the difference.<br /><br />One other bit of wisdom from Donald was how he applied the smell test when drawing conclusions. He acted with confidence and courage, and he knew instinctively that many of the most advantageous decisions any leader makes, the ones that move a company ahead of the competition, are those made intuitively for the sake of speed without the benefit of all the data, and those made in contradiction to the data because the presentation doesn't smell right.<br /><br />You can - and should - draw your own conclusions from all this. I hope they are neither foregone nor forgone.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rUkO3lFrgxw/ToSGcEJJ3RI/AAAAAAAABYE/MPH3ApQiOiU/s1600/data.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rUkO3lFrgxw/ToSGcEJJ3RI/AAAAAAAABYE/MPH3ApQiOiU/s320/data.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://toolkit.pellinstitute.org/evaluation-guide/analyze/">Source</a></div><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=ec1f7e39-97dc-493a-8334-74570727a35c" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-3124332676503722678?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-61234681129644505492011-09-28T09:00:00.001-04:002011-09-28T11:00:59.779-04:00ShiftsEach morning on the way to the train station I drive down sunrise road. Not up the road, in alignment with each morning's rising sun, but down its sloping hill to the intersection at the bottom. And yet, my path is actually aligned with the earth's movement as it descends each morning, turning in relation to the immobile sun, which only appears to rise.<br /><br />Sunrise is perhaps the most powerful influence on our daily lives (more powerful even than our morning coffee) and it is one of the most powerful metaphors in both our conscious and unconscious language. By unconscious language I mean how what we perceive and experience speaks to us by resonating with images and experiences already present, inherited from our ancestors, in our unconscious mind.<br /><br />The metaphor of sunrise as a rising, as the manifestation of upward movement, depends entirely on a perspective shift: the fiction, long ago disproved, that the earth is fixed and the sun is moving. The sun only appears to rise in the sky, and as we all know, appearances can be deceiving. This inversion shifts not what we see, which we cannot change, but how see it. And how we see influences how we act, what we do, and who we choose to be.<br /><br />So are we lying to ourselves about sunrise? Are we conveniently forgetting its immutable physical truth, enjoying the lux while ignoring the veritas?<br /><br />The answer is yes and no - both/and. We are, through our perspective shift, inverting the truth. We could focus on the physics and call sunrise earthset and sunset earthrise. We could even peel another layer and expose the fact that whether the earth is rising or descending depends on the direction in which we are facing. But how would this serve us as we seek to achieve our best on each and every day we have been given?<br /><br />The truth underlying the lie is that sunrise and sunset are indelibly burned into our consciousness, the way an image continues to appear on the insides of our closed eyelids long after what we saw is gone. The shift we've made has become our truth, and while shedding lux on its veritas exposes the mechanics, it does not and cannot alter the magic, the mysterious truth of daily renewal, of how we find the strength to rise up and meet each new day's challenges, the patience to persevere through the darkest of nights, the wisdom to know when to forge ahead and when to rest, and the grace to bask in the warmth of each new day's blessings, to bear the gift of each day's new light and by shining in our own way, shine it where it is needed most.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-uZ7VjNdA1hs/ToMhX3kxcUI/AAAAAAAABYA/0Xg1NjtbM6Y/s640/blogger-image--1522821762.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-uZ7VjNdA1hs/ToMhX3kxcUI/AAAAAAAABYA/0Xg1NjtbM6Y/s400/blogger-image--1522821762.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-6123468112964450549?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-62238416661554432482011-09-27T10:52:00.000-04:002011-09-27T12:38:42.700-04:00JourneysThis morning on the radio I heard the title of a piece of music: <a href="http://www.last.fm/music/DeHartmann+and+GurDJieff/_/Journey+to+Inaccessible+Places">Journey to Inaccessible Places</a>, which I learned just now is a track on the album <i>Music for the Spiritual Tourist</i>.<br /><br />I was taken by the title and thought of it for a post.<br /><br />But as I tried to hold the words in my head, until I had the chance to write them in my small blue notebook, a different title kept flying into my consciousness with a burning insistence and the arc of inevitability: Journey from Inescapable Places.<br /><br />For isn't that the story of so many who have achieved greatness, earned the respect of the world, made a lasting impact on our lives?<br /><br />And believing that where you are is inescapable means you're stuck, incapable of making that journey.<br /><br />Had I not let the arrow of inescapable strike my heart, the incessant beat of inescapable strike my eardrum and alter my internal rhythm, the inescapable force of unexpected creative thought strike a match to light my way, everything you are reading here would have remained lost, silent, and dark - inaccessible to me and you.<br /><br />What occurred when inescapable replaced inaccessible in my mind was a shift. The words shifted, and that shift made all the difference, showed me the way.<br /><br />Beginning a journey requires a shift.<br /><br />The shift from stasis to movement.<br /><br />And to achieve this shift, we need energy.<br /><br />And when we're feeling stuck, drained of all our resources, too tired to lift a finger, much a less a foot to take the first step, this is when we must reach into our own inaccessible places, the places we have walled off inside, secured from ourselves by securing them from the world, kept so painfully safe and intact, like parents who turn a dead child's room into a museum of loss and never think to use their lives to create living memories. It is to these places we must travel, often led there gently and insistently by a friend, to find the source of energy we need to begin moving again.<br /><br />We have spent so much time and treasure hunkering down, digging in instead of reaching out, defending where we are, knowing in our hearts it is not where we want to be but fearing change as the greatest threat to our lives. Those who find the way to leave inescapable places make the shift by believing there is somewhere better and by knowing that unless they leave where they are, they will never get to the better place. They know the journey will be dangerous and difficult, and they also know that staying will result in emotional and spiritual death, a zombie-like life, a life with no color, no music, no light. And so they venture into the darkness, with courage and resolve.<br /><br />Have the walls you've built around yourself become too high for you to scale when you finally want to be free?<br /><br />Do you have as many deadbolts on your doors as the stereotypical New York City apartment?<br /><br />Are you a prisoner of your own making?<br /><br />Sealing yourself off, making your place inaccessible and inescapable, affords no protection.<br /><br />Instead, it leaves you vulnerable to the ravages of time lost, joyful moments missed, growth stunted, of potential unfulfilled.<br /><br />Your gift - and believe me you have one - is a terrible thing to waste.<br /><br />Your passion, your purpose, your potential to make an impact, lies just outside those walls, on the other side of that locked door.<br /><br />But you have to come out and get it.<br /><br />Because eventually, everything you have built will crumble and turn to dust. That is the inescapable way of the world.<br /><br />And all that will be left is your true legacy, the way you have touched the lives of others, the impact, the ripple effects on their lives that have flowed into the lives of still others and brightened a single day or led a life, even a host of lives, out of darkness.<br /><br />Today, I am firing the first shot, a burning arrow over the parapet you thought was high enough to defend against all assaults. And when that arrow lands, it is going to torch everything you ever knew, burn it from within without consuming you, put the fire in your belly, the warmth in your heart, and the light in your hand that you need to make the journey from your inescapable place.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-t8pFtl9TWUM/ToHi2xd_DHI/AAAAAAAABX8/3Mj3N8MUuX4/s1600/flamingarrow.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="226" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-t8pFtl9TWUM/ToHi2xd_DHI/AAAAAAAABX8/3Mj3N8MUuX4/s320/flamingarrow.gif" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://louisville.edu/provost/wroffice/newsletter.htm">Source</a></div><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=ba983158-3d7b-4c9c-8262-2b6d29f57143" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-6223841666155443248?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-67995522978941892062011-09-26T10:21:00.000-04:002011-09-26T10:21:27.973-04:00Personal HotspotsBefore I got my new iPhone 4 for work, I connected my laptop to the Internet on the train with a service called VZAccess Manager, which took over my Windows phone as a modem. Now I use Verizon's personal hotspot feature to create my own network.<br /><br />We all have our own personal hotspots, our touchpoints of connection with other people. Your personal hotspots are the places inside you that turn you on, heat you up, enable energy exchange, and keep the fire burning in your relationships.<br /><br />I believe there are four primary personal hotspots through which we connect:&nbsp;shared interest,&nbsp;shared experience,&nbsp;shared desire, and&nbsp;shared heart.<br /><br />Shared interest is the most common hotspot, found in all types of relationships. You both like baseball, The Beatles, Broadway musicals, or baking; travel, toaster pastries, technology, or Tolstoy. Shared interest encompasses your favorite activities, tastes in food, and intellectual pursuits, and while it rarely constitutes the core bond, it is hard for relationships to flourish without it.<br /><br />Shared experience is the connection you have with someone who's been through - or is going through - what you've been through. This could be growing up in the same town, making it or failing to make it in a particular occupation, diagnosis and recovery from a disease, or dealing with a difficult relationship. When the experience you share is intense pain - physical or emotional - your connection is especially strong and deep. Shared experience is more central to a relationship than shared interest and is often sufficient on its own to form a lasting bond, such as a childhood friendship maintained in adult life.<br /><br />Shared desire is the goals, wishes, hopes, and dreams you share with another person and want to accomplish and realize together. You take shared interest and experience to the next level, when you work together in your areas of mutual interest to create the shared experiences you desire. You might want a large family, to live abroad, to run a marathon together, or collaborate on a novel. Shared desire is an extremely powerful hotspot, and is, I believe, essential to the success of romantic relationships.<br /><br />Shared heart is the hottest hotspot and the hardest to capture in words. When you open your heart to another, allow exchange and flow of your lifeblood, trust and know that what flows out will flow back, and synchronize the beats that keep you alive, the feeling is magical and electric.<br /><br />Shared interest breaks the ice.<br /><br />Shared experience cuts the chill.<br /><br />Shared desire warms up the engine.<br /><br />Shared heart sets you on fire.<br /><br />And when you connect with someone through all four hotspots . . .<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HfsmGayh5AA/ToCJ_kiLLbI/AAAAAAAABX4/8J1QwNDIAI4/s1600/shared_heart.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HfsmGayh5AA/ToCJ_kiLLbI/AAAAAAAABX4/8J1QwNDIAI4/s320/shared_heart.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.elegantice.com/wedding_photos.htm">Source</a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=43467ded-2491-4fc4-b276-55b03c5f35c2" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-6799552297894189206?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-2335782998305752472011-09-23T08:40:00.001-04:002011-09-23T09:48:29.179-04:00When Your Story BeginsLast night I implemented Facebook's new timeline feature on my profile page. It's only visible to others who have gone into developer mode (instructions courtesy of a <a href="http://mashable.com/2011/09/22/how-to-facebook-timeline/">Mashable</a> article), so you won't be able to see it until next Friday, unless you've done the same. Timeline provides a graphic chronological review of all our activity on Facebook - since birth. If you're my age, you may have only been on Facebook for a few years, which means there's a huge gap between birth and your first status update, between the beginning of your earthly story and the beginning of the story you've been sharing in the cloud with your online friends. If, however, your parents put you on Facebook when you made your first appearance, your timeline will be relatively, and perhaps frighteningly complete.<br /><br />It's the gap I'm interested in this morning.<br /><br />The space between.<br /><br />The untold story.<br /><br />We've all been trained to begin at the beginning, to start at the start.<br /><br />To tell our stories from day one.<br /><br />To leave nothing out.<br /><br />To go in order.<br /><br />But things don't always happen in the order we would like them to, or when they fit conveniently into our story.<br /><br />Some events when we experience them, some people when we meet them, may seem out of place, perhaps because we are not ready.<br /><br />And we often move past things without thinking about them or understanding them fully, only to return later, with a different perspective.<br /><br />We're told to go step by step.<br /><br />But our story is not always linear.<br /><br />Nature has offered us many other examples of growth and evolution besides the line.<br /><br />Such as the circle.<br /><br />Our story's integrity depends not on an exhaustive recounting of experience but on the character we have become.<br /><br />And in starting at the very beginning, I believe we often confuse preamble with story.<br /><br />I don't have to look up the roots of <a href="http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=preamble">preamble</a> to know it means before walking.<br /><br />The very beginning is the preamble, the coming together in one place of the characters, plot, and setting that will, to a degree, shape the rest of your life.<br /><br />But the real beginning is when you take hold of your story, when you move past what happened to you, events that bent you, drew deep lines in your countenance, perhaps even closed you up.<br /><br />The real beginning is when you reverse the folding process and take charge of how the events of your life unfold.<br /><br />Of how you unfold them.<br /><br />I turn back to a line that filmmaker James Solomon shared in his <a href="http://tomaplomb.blogspot.com/2011/09/multiple-attacks.html">talk the other night</a> that affected me deeply. Get to the moment the film actually begins as fast as you can.<br /><br />The story of creation begins, literally, with "In the beginning . . ."<br /><br />But God make quick work of creation. He took only six days. He got there as fast as he could.<br /><br />And then he rested.<br /><br />And it's after that our story truly begins.<br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span id="goog_898276046"></span><span id="goog_898276047"></span></div><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=3c7f1c8c-3af4-4b06-a3e3-794c69ca8b0a" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-dAxELIpsjL0/TnyL-XyMd1I/AAAAAAAABX0/J9VvDE-mCb4/s640/blogger-image--459356616.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-dAxELIpsjL0/TnyL-XyMd1I/AAAAAAAABX0/J9VvDE-mCb4/s640/blogger-image--459356616.jpg" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-233578299830575247?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-55633245020132842122011-09-22T21:27:00.000-04:002011-09-22T23:22:18.957-04:00Why You Need A Life CoachIf you're like me, you're probably a bit curious about the whole life coach thing.&nbsp;What exactly is a life coach, anyway?<br /><br />A therapist? <br /><br />A cheerleader? <br /><br />A consultant?<br /><br />A guru?<br /><br />Well, here's the real deal.<br /><br />An effective life coach is part therapist, because he has phenomenal listening skills and can reflect your thoughts right back at you. He is like a <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hammacher_Schlemmer" rel="wikipedia" title="Hammacher Schlemmer">Hammacher-Schlemmer</a> mirror, fitted with the harsh light of truth and the deep insight of magnification.<br /><br />An effective life coach is part cheerleader, jumping for joy at your touchdown runs but also kicking you off the bench and onto the field when you're afraid of getting into the game. She can be cute and peppy, but watch out for her bite.<br /><br />An effective life coach is likely to have previous career experience, from which he has learned, distilled, and can share hard-earned wisdom about the world of work. Don't hold the lessons he brings to the table from his past against him.<br /><br />An effective life coach is almost certain to have gone through some rough stretches, suffered serious losses (possibly self-induced), maybe even hit bottom, and come out stronger and with an enthusiastic outlook on life and all its possibilities. She has found a source, a way to fill the emptiness within from within, and she derives satisfaction and reward from sharing that source with you.<br /><br />An effective life coach delivers lasting value well beyond whatever you pay.<br /><br />OK, you say. Now I understand, better than before, what a life coach is. But why do I&nbsp;need one? I have a therapist, a friend who believes in me, a consultant on the payroll, a wise mentor or colleague with a degree or two from the school of hard knocks.<br /><br />Yes, you may have all these useful people in your life. But here's why you need a life coach.<br /><br />You need a life coach because there are four uncomfortable truths about yourself that you do not want to acknowledge.<br /><br />And your coach, by exposing these truths as they apply to you personally, will free you from the vise grip they hold on you and dissolve the power they have to choke off the air supply you need to flourish, to strangle your chances of success.<br /><br />Truth 1: You can't think your way out of every problem. Achieving success, the kind that brings you not just a big bank account but brings warmth to your heart and fulfillment to your soul, is not an academic exercise. It requires the skill of tapping into multiple forms of intelligence and the practice of letting go of your thinking side entirely. Your coach helps you find the freedom to use your innate abilities instead of always turning to what you know or you have learned.<br /><br />Truth 2: You have blind spots. You may have vision, and you may have achieved some clarity and perspective on the challenges you face. But two eyes are better than one, and four still better than two. Your coach can see around corners and also focus on the internal obstacles that may be blocking your path, and he can help you avoid being blind-sided and suffering unnecessary setbacks. She always has her eyes on your prize.<br /><br />Truth 3: Conceiving is not giving birth; delivery occurs when you execute. Everyone knows your idea is a winner, especially you. But your greatest idea can't have an impact on your life or anyone else's, until you realize it and make it happen. Fear, uncertainty, criticism, well-meaning but non-constructive advice from others, and malicious and damaging advice from yourself (aka self-sabotage) can crush your hopes, vaporize your dreams, and leave your legacy unbuilt. Your coach helps you maintain your discipline and gets you from sketch to blueprint to building - on time and on budget.<br /><br />Truth 4: <a href="http://tomaplomb.blogspot.com/2011/02/sometimes-we-need-to-be-led.html">Sometimes we need to be led</a>. We are all leaders in our own way, but at times we all feel lost without a map. Sometimes we need to be led towards our passion, our purpose, our calling, and sometimes we need to be led away from people, pursuits, or preoccupations that prevent us from finding fulfillment and block us from being the best person we are meant to be. And sometimes we need to be led to a place where we feel safe, where we can be naked, vulnerable, and unutterably open, ready to receive, able to allow our passion to find us.<br /><br />So now you know what a life coach is and why you need one. And if you're like me, you'll only want the best.<br /><br />Coming in a future post: how and where to find your life coach!<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qh5-IyLpL-Y/TLMcWcqvhsI/AAAAAAAAA5A/a995bmf3sok/s1600/1007100715.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qh5-IyLpL-Y/TLMcWcqvhsI/AAAAAAAAA5A/a995bmf3sok/s400/1007100715.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=7d81d6ab-09c8-4dad-b0f2-ebaf8d5e6c99" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-5563324502013284212?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-61332392645091184972011-09-22T08:41:00.001-04:002011-09-22T09:37:27.816-04:00Multiple Attacks<span class="zemanta-img separator" style="clear: right;"><a href="http://commons.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Lincoln_conspirators_execution2.jpg" style="clear: right; display: block; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Execution of Mary Surratt, Lewis Powell, David..." height="299" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/f/f5/Lincoln_conspirators_execution2.jpg/300px-Lincoln_conspirators_execution2.jpg" style="border: none; font-size: 0.8em;" width="300" /></a><span class="zemanta-img-attribution" style="clear: both; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; width: 300px;">Image via <a href="http://commons.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Lincoln_conspirators_execution2.jpg">Wikipedia</a></span></span>Last night, I attended a screening of James D. Solomon's remarkable debut film <i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0968264/">The Conspirator</a> </i>at my local library. The film, which Solomon spent 18 years researching, chronicles the military trial of Mary Surratt, one of four people tried, convicted, and executed for conspiring to assassinate President Lincoln, Vice President Andrew Johnson, and Secretary of State Seward in 1865. The story centers on the relationship that develops between Surratt, a confederate sympathizer, and her attorney, Frederick Aiken, a Union war hero who has returned to practice law.<br /><br />The biggest <a href="http://blogs.sacurrent.com/index.php/streetview/interview-with-conspirator-screenwriter-james-d-solomon/">surprise</a> for Solomon, when he began his research in 1993, was learning that there were multiple attacks - the failed assassination attempts on Vice President Johnson and Secretary of State Seward - on the night Lincoln was killed. The fact that multiple operatives planned and worked in concert to take the lives of the President, the Vice President, and the cabinet secretary next in the line of succession helps explain the paranoid state of terror the U.S. federal government entered in aftermath of Lincoln's death, embodied in the actions of war secretary Edwin Stanton. There is a difference between a man acting alone to kill the president, and a group of co-conspirators plotting to overthrow the entire government.<br /><br />The Conspirator was compelling from start to finish, and I especially liked the hazy, natural light that suffused the makeshift courtroom in which Surratt was tried, the rooms of her boarding house in which Aiken conversed with her daughter Anna, and the other indoor and outdoor spaces, including the prison courtyard. I asked Solomon during the Q &amp; A session whether the use of this hazy lighting had been intentional, to emphasize the uncertainty of Surratt's guilt, the government's obfuscation in its quest for swift justice and closure, and Aiken's own confusion about why he, a Union soldier, was defending a Southern woman accused of conspiring to kill Lincoln. He said that his script had not addressed matters of lighting (traditionally the director's province), but that Robert Redford, who directed the film, had from the start wanted to feature natural light.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vKXgCZV_cbU/Tns0cujVR6I/AAAAAAAABXw/VVVeZ88ofbE/s1600/conspirator+trailer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vKXgCZV_cbU/Tns0cujVR6I/AAAAAAAABXw/VVVeZ88ofbE/s1600/conspirator+trailer.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0968264/">Source</a></div><br />In addition to the history lesson and the exploration of what constitutes character through the development of Frederick Aiken as he defends Surratt, I took away two psychological nuggets from the film.<br /><br />First, it struck me that, like Solomon when he began researching Surratt and Lincoln's assassination, we are often not aware of multiple attacks. We may feel under attack by a partner who doesn't respect us, a boss who doesn't appreciate our efforts, a parent or child who belittles us or takes us for granted, or even the voice of self-sabotage coming from our own heads. At any point in time, we may focus on one of these lines of assault, while ignoring the others. I'm not suggesting the world is out to get you, me, or anyone. I am suggesting that in directing our attention to the one primary place from which we are feeling pressure, we may be ignoring other places and in doing so, fail to see important patterns that wield a profound influence on our lives. If indeed we are disrespected, unappreciated, and taken for granted in multiple relationships, we may benefit from some serious self-examination.<br /><br />The second piece of wisdom I gleaned came in a quote from Cicero that the prosecutor, Joseph Holt, played by Danny Huston, used near the end: <i>inter arma enim silent legis</i>. In a time of war, the law falls silent. This has proven true not only in our nation's response to the events of 9/11, which Solomon mentioned in his talk after the film, but also in interpersonal relationships. When someone is at war with you for whatever reason, all the rules are suspended, and anything goes.<br /><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=29998f1d-4ff6-45e7-9e31-01652c30932e" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-6133239264509118497?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-82850904025444304922011-09-21T08:44:00.001-04:002011-09-21T09:42:05.439-04:00TimeLast night, I walked from my house to my son's school for back to school night, the first of such nights for my younger son, who has just started kindergarten. Along the walk, I passed a cemetery, where I noticed an earth mover. I thought, how odd to see construction equipment here, and then I saw the mound of fresh earth next to the digger and realized a new grave was being prepared.<br /><br />I stopped. I was compelled to stop. And I took a picture.<br /><br />Let's bypass the obvious contrast of my son's young, yet unlived life starting and (what I assume to be) an older, more fully lived life ending.<br /><br />Let's bypass the fears, the acknowledgment of our fragile hold on earthly existence.<br /><br />Let's bypass the wondering, "Do I know the person who is going to be buried there?"<br /><br />Let's bypass the reminder of loss already suffered.<br /><br />Let's instead process the image of the freshly dug grave, take it to the darkroom, expose the feelings it brings forth, and examine them in the light.<br /><br />The mound of earth is fresh, full of color, full of the life that lives in the ground.<br /><br />The hole beside it is empty, waiting to be filled.<br /><br />The marker has not yet been placed.<br /><br />Someone has passed, but full closure, the return of the dead person's clay to the clay he or she came from, the recombining, the rounding of the circle, the merging of alpha and omega, beginning and end, has not yet transpired.<br /><br />The machinery was in motion, digging, preparing, and now it is still.<br /><br />Everything is ready.<br /><br />Everything is ready, and everything we do is preparation. All the moments of our lives, are in a way <a href="http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=preparation">preparation</a>, a making ready, for death. But in its roots pre-paration means that which precedes the making ready. And the Latin <i><a href="http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=pare&amp;allowed_in_frame=0">parare</a></i>, to make ready, is closely related to <i>parere</i>, which means to produce, bring forth, give birth to. Birth before death, and birth in death. Birth of a new, perhaps eternal life, depending on one's beliefs. Entering a new stage, regardless of what you believe. A return, or re-turn around the circle.<br /><br />For me, the question the mound unearths is, "How do you want to leave this place?"<br /><br />This question has a double meaning, because leave means both how I want to depart and what I wish to remain. And the leaves, the leaf itself, embody the cycle in a single symbol, the bursting forth of life and the dropping off of death, the endless process of renewal.<br /><br />For so much of our lives we ask ourselves, "How do I want to be while I'm here?" Or for many of us, "Who do I want to be?"<br /><br />But I believe the answer to those questions lies buried in the other question, "How do I want to leave this place?"<br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span id="goog_1616007787"></span><span id="goog_1616007788"></span></div><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-0-0tEUlr8FU/TnnpqFI99fI/AAAAAAAABXs/QgyWRBPO4C0/s640/blogger-image-863112941.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-0-0tEUlr8FU/TnnpqFI99fI/AAAAAAAABXs/QgyWRBPO4C0/s640/blogger-image-863112941.jpg" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-8285090402544430492?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-48699320828433432192011-09-20T09:32:00.001-04:002011-09-20T11:29:40.711-04:00Play It Your Way<div class="mobile-photo">Yesterday, on the way to Grand Central from a client meeting, I saw a man playing a trumpet. Street musicians are not unusual in New York, but this man was not exactly on the street. He was in a livery cab, one of the countless private limousines that cruise the city picking up fares when taxis are scarce, and he was not a passenger but the driver. Stopped in traffic on 55th Street between Madison and Fifth Avenue, he had taken his hands off the wheel and placed them around an old, silver-colored trumpet to play for a minute or two. He was neither furtive nor quiet. There was no embarrassment in his eyes or his demeanor. There was just the pure joy of his playing, of the uplifting blasts and riffs flowing from his instrument, from the soul he was breathing into his instrument, loud enough for everyone on the street to hear. I stopped, looked, and listened. He did not notice me. He was absorbed, enraptured in his moment of musical freedom. As traffic began to move again towards Fifth Avenue, he wrapped his trumpet in a greasy cloth, placed it on the front passenger seat beside him, and drove on, the last high note he hit still lingering in the air.</div><div class="mobile-photo"><br /></div>Not much seems odd in New York, and if you believe in magic, you can experience many magical moments in a city with so many millions of people. But there was an oddness in this experience, and I tried different fingerings on my own instrument, the one I use to process what I see, until I struck a note that harmonized with the trumpet's unexpected melody. It was a sharp note, the note of regret. Not my own regret, for I am forging full steam ahead with my own music, my own call. But the regret that millions who spend whole lives ignoring, avoiding, or abandoning their call must feel. A distant note that seems always just over the river that is too wide to ford, the mountain that is too high to climb. A sweet note that hints at deliciousness, offering a clue to the escape route from a life of bitterness and frustration. The music of the spheres aligning. The click of everything coming together. And I realized that the oddness of the trumpet-playing limo driver was not that he was doing it. No, that was what made sense. The oddness was that so many people don't do it, that so many people forego their dreams, settle, accept obstacles, box their lives into the space of a single city block jammed with traffic, absent of movement, restless and inactive, devoid of meaning and fulfillment, and shockingly, unbearably quiet, instead of taking a moment, of seizing the day, to make their own music.<br /><br />You may only have a minute or two, like the limousine driver. You may only be able to play one note. You may be afraid that no one will listen, that no one will like your song. You may think, who am I to deserve an audience. And your instrument may be rusty - mine was. But you can do something no one else can do. And you've always known deep down it is what you must do. You, and only you, can play it your way.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tvOyfqtyhYA/TniWINsJxOI/AAAAAAAABXo/SRTl73o29uM/s1600/photo-700192.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654434400021628130" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tvOyfqtyhYA/TniWINsJxOI/AAAAAAAABXo/SRTl73o29uM/s320/photo-700192.JPG" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.vickyflint.co.uk/about-me/trumpet-tuition/">Source</a></div><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=20fef022-cab2-436d-907f-e6ac567fe78e" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-4869932082843343219?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-21076936155019157432011-09-19T10:06:00.000-04:002011-09-19T10:06:02.415-04:00Back of the House<span class="zemanta-img separator" style="clear: right;"><a href="http://commons.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Yale_Club_high_jeh.JPG" style="clear: right; display: block; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Looking southwest across Vanderbilt Avenue, fr..." height="203" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/6/6e/Yale_Club_high_jeh.JPG/300px-Yale_Club_high_jeh.JPG" style="border: none; font-size: 0.8em;" width="300" /></a><span class="zemanta-img-attribution" style="clear: both; float: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; width: 300px;">Image via <a href="http://commons.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Yale_Club_high_jeh.JPG">Wikipedia</a></span></span>Over the weekend, I took my sons and a friend to the Yale Club in New York City. A number of years ago I served on the Club's Council (board of directors) and chaired the House Committee, which oversaw renovation projects. I refer to those nine years as my education in the hospitality business, because the Club derives a substantial portion of revenue from well-managed guest room and restaurant businesses.<br /><br />I explained to my friend that during my tenure on the House Committee I learned all sorts of new terminology, such as <i>front of the house</i> and <i>back of the house</i> projects. Front of the house projects are those the Club's members and their guests notice directly, such as sandblasting the stone face of the building, repainting the public spaces, replacing worn fixtures and furnishings, or renovating guestrooms and restrooms. Back of the house projects are invisible and essential: they address critical systems, appliances, and areas that members and guests never see but constantly rely on for an excellent meal, a comfortable stay, an accurate bill at checkout.<br /><br />In our endless quest for health and happiness, we focus great effort and expense on our front of the house projects, such as physical appearance, weight, posture, and wardrobe. We often broaden this focus to our material possessions - house, car, jewelry, accessories. And we do well to present ourselves attractively. But when giving all this attention to the front of the house, we often neglect our back of the house projects, the systems our body and psyche rely on to maintain not only our physical vitality but also our psychological well-being.<br /><br />Let's give some thought to four key psychological systems that keep us functioning smoothly when they work properly: plumbing, electrical, communications, and climate control.<br /><br />Our plumbing system, its pipes, valves, faucets, and drains, controls our intake and outtake. We must be hooked up to a source of fresh water, the flow of love, support, encouragement, and inspiration for our emotional survival. Our valves must open fully and close tightly and securely to control where the flow goes. And our drains must be free of clogs, so we can flush away toxins and waste.<br /><br />Our electrical system, its wiring, capacity, and insulation, must be able to carry a strong current, to support the many outward facing lights that depend on it for power, and it must not short circuit when we experience a power surge from an external source. And we must have a backup generator for those times when we're kicked in the stomach, the rug is pulled out from under us, and the power temporarily goes out.<br /><br />Our communications system must stretch throughout the house, so that we can receive and interpret all the input we need to process. Its microphones (our voice) and speakers (our listening skills) must be loud, clear, and static-free to avoid misunderstanding and ensure ungarbled communication. And it must function flawlessly during emergencies, such as when the power goes out, so we can give and receive accurate signals and prevent panic from ensuing.<br /><br />Our climate control system must work to maintain our optimal temperature for psychological equilibrium. If we are always taken by the heat of the moment or frozen in panic or shock, we cannot focus or function. We also must be able to make fine adjustments, in various zones of our house, to ensure comfort. We may need to warm one area while cooling off another. And our duct work must be kept in good repair and free of dust, debris, and blockage that can degrade the performance of the system.<br /><br />I'm not suggesting you should ever ignore the front of your house. It's important for our fronts to be attractive and inviting. But don't forget to give some attention to the back of the house, too. Because if you don't, what you don't see, when it doesn't work, can hurt you.<br /><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=6462180f-5aea-40dc-bbd2-0184e7fa61ad" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-2107693615501915743?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-67952705292600140952011-09-15T10:17:00.001-04:002011-09-15T11:05:38.837-04:00MemoryI am not an expert on the physiology of memory, the chemical reactions that occur in the brain when we store and recall experience. But I have knowledge and experience of the psychology of memory, of how a healthy psyche lives through, processes, and returns to events, events that disturb or delight, events that bring despair or joy.<br /><br />This morning, I was sipping a fresh cup of coffee, coffee made in the French press given to me by a friend, with beans just ground and water just boiled in my yellow kettle. The first sip, as always, awakens my senses, sharpens my consciousness, opens my somewhat sleep-fogged mind to the rich, milky swirl of possibilities that each new day brings, and the grounds of memory that will be left when each day ends. As the coffee cooled, subsequent sips seemed a bit more ordinary, and I found myself finishing the last drops over the sink, already rinsing the cup in my mind, already moving beyond the experience of enjoying while I still had the opportunity to enjoy it, already sinking into the trap of forgetting.<br /><br />We've all been asked by someone, what did you do yesterday, or what did you have for lunch, and been perplexed that our answer is, "I can't remember." We can't remember not because we're losing our minds or having senior moments, but because we were not present. We may have been stuck in the past, dwelling in the crumbling house, the darkened rooms of what came before. Or we may have been flying into the future, accelerating anxiously ahead to the world of worry or the bright kingdom of imagination. Either way, we were not there, savoring the moment. And by savoring, I do not mean recording, capturing, filing, tucking away the experience for future reference, as if we could actually go back to it. I mean savoring in the sense of accepting and understanding that each moment is fleeting and can never be reexperienced, that each moment - as it passes - joins the infinite fleet of moments and becomes, as it enters this sea of ships that have sailed, indistinguishable from the other vessels. The distinction, the essence of the moment and of the memory we retain lies in experiencing the full uniqueness of the moment and then, willingly, graciously letting it go.<br /><br />As I thought more about memory this morning, I wondered why this particular topic was on my mind. I let go of the coffee, rinsed the cup and set it aside on the counter, and turned my attention to what I was tasting, to what I was being given, to what someone had put in my coffee. And on my drive to the station, I found myself praying, asking God to comfort those who are losing or have lost their memories, those suffering from Alzheimer's or other degenerative diseases of the mind. To coat their experience, what passes for their experience, with sweetness, to soothe the anger they feel at not being able to remember, to ease their pain of loss and erosion. And I asked God to comfort the relatives and friends of these sufferers, the people who have enjoyed their presence and to whom they mean so much, the people who are losing their dear ones moment by moment, who must mourn them before they are gone, who have lost them and, unlike those who mourn the dead, live each day with a hollowed out physical reminder of the person who was and no longer is.<br /><br />And now I know why the two words, hollowed and hallowed, came to me the other day. They were meant to fit here. We know what hollowed means: emptied, carved out like a Halloween pumpkin, its pulp, its seeds, its essence removed, the flame of a dime store candle substituting for its life, a scary smile frozen in time, and after the trick or treaters have left, a used vessel, rotting from the inside. Have you ever touched a Halloween pumpkin that looks whole and strong from the outside, only to have it cave in, turn to mush in your hands? We know what it means to hollow, but do we know it means to <a href="http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=hallow">hallow</a>? To make holy, to honor, to make whole and uninjured. And just as our memory of the pumpkin as it glowed on Halloween night makes it whole, our memories, the moments we savored with someone who is present but no longer present make that person whole again, uninjured, in our mind. And our memories of the awful and joyful things that have happened to us, our living in that experience fully then letting it go, helps to make us whole, helps us to avoid the splits that occur when we fail to accept, fail to process, fail to move on from, and therefore to learn from, experience. Being present in the moment prevents the fragmentation, the breaking apart, the onset of cracks and fissures that can lead to collapse, the rot that can turn a healthy psyche to a pile of mush and lead to implosion.<br /><br />Now consider this more broadly. If as humans we are all flawed, all less than perfect, because we were made in the image of and are but a reflection of the perfect and the flawless, how are we made holy, how are we honored and consecrated, how are we made whole and uninjured again? How does that happen? How does that <a href="http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=transpire&amp;allowed_in_frame=0">transpire</a>? Trans means through. Spire means spirit, to breathe. Through the breath of whose spirit does that occur?<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YN4dI9NyImw/TnIIxEHGhhI/AAAAAAAABXg/CIP7ho3mH0g/s1600/halloween-pumpkin-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="284" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YN4dI9NyImw/TnIIxEHGhhI/AAAAAAAABXg/CIP7ho3mH0g/s320/halloween-pumpkin-2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.factsoffishing.com/blog/news/hooked-on-halloween/attachment/halloween-pumpkin-2/">Source</a></div><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=17b06f12-a367-406b-9753-a5ab9d00d31d" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-6795270529260014095?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-89470769372224160642011-09-14T10:29:00.000-04:002011-09-14T11:39:33.553-04:00DerailmentThis morning, I was derailed.<br /><br />An argument with my ex-wife prevented me from making the train I usually take to work.<br /><br />How did this happen?<br /><br />A good place to look for answers is the three causes of derailment: obstacles, excessive speed, and improperly configured switches.<br /><br />In this case, there was an obstacle on my track - a person blocking my way.<br /><div><br /></div>You could say, simplistically, that the obstacle I ran into was my ex, that I collided with her need to be heard.<br /><br />Or you could say, with a richer understanding of the situation, that the obstacle was me.<br /><br />You could say, that by allowing a discussion to ensue, by engaging even one bit, by not maintaining the strictest of boundaries at the one time of day or evening when face-to-face conflict between the two of us is possible, I placed the obstacle in my path. Because ultimately, I am responsible for whether I make my train or not, and I would never blame her for my missing it. Ultimately, I need to take whatever steps are necessary to ensure my on-time arrival at work, the work that supports my family.<br /><br />So then the question becomes, why did I place, or allow the obstacle to be placed, in my path?<br /><br />Finding that answer requires reflection and processing and will take some time.<br /><br />Turning to the other two causes of derailment, it's clear that excessive speed was also a factor.<br /><br />There was not time, in the compressed, often tense moments of morning dropoff, to have the kind of discussion she desired. My asserting I had to leave to make my train, to make a rapid departure, was most likely interpreted as, "I don't have time to hear you. I can't slow down and listen."<br /><br />I am not suggesting that I need to make time for the type of discussion she wanted, to have that discussion at all. I am trying to understand the intensity of her reaction, in a compassionate way. When people feel ignored, not listened to, undervalued, unimportant, they often become angry and frustrated, sometimes to the point of demanding a captive audience. I'm not saying that's how my ex felt; I don't profess to understand her feelings. These are merely general observations.<br /><br />The third cause of derailment, improperly configured switches, was also at work this morning. Whenever one person says one thing and the other hears or something else, one or more switches are in the wrong position. The speaker may be barreling into an area that makes the listener feel agitated and uncomfortable, a track to which the switch of boundary was left open but should have been closed, or the listener may have flipped the switch of rejection and shunted the statement off to crash into a wall.<br /><br />I have a feeling there will be a future post, derailment revisited, but for now, this is it.<br /><br />If you're in a situation where you're experiencing derailment and trying to stay on track and prevent a <a href="http://tomaplomb.blogspot.com/2009/06/train-wreck.html">train wreck</a>, to achieve your goals, meet your obligations, or just survive, exploring the causes of derailment can offer some perspective.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sNbCpRzPfpw/TnC6S0h6ldI/AAAAAAAABXc/iEd1QIYXhCc/s1600/derailment.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sNbCpRzPfpw/TnC6S0h6ldI/AAAAAAAABXc/iEd1QIYXhCc/s320/derailment.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://erieshipnews.blogspot.com/2007/11/crow-moves-csx-suffers-derailment-on.html">Source</a></div><div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;"><a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_e.png?x-id=2e874987-8cc7-44ed-9366-cb665a09e6af" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6015444775170699470-8947076937222416064?l=tomaplomb.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08709841415778262214noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6015444775170699470.post-78076468015642599812011-09-13T10:27:00.000-04:002011-09-13T10:27:42.941-04:00Breakdowns Broken DownOften when we're in the middle of something, such as a person's emotional breakdown, it is difficult, even impossible to comprehend it. By comprehend I mean wrap our minds around what is happening, contain the experience in a thought or realization, by finding or creating a context for disturbing events. The roots of the word <a href="http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=comprehend">comprehend</a> include the meanings of to unite and to seize or catch hold of, and in these roots lie the challenge of understanding something outside the range of experience we are accustomed to <a href="http://tomaplomb.blogspot.com/2011/09/processing-power.html">processing</a>.<br /><br />With breakdowns, it helps to break them down into their two primary forms: explosion and implosion.<br /><br />An explosion usually takes us by surprise, and the force of the impact knocks us to the ground. We may even be out cold for a while. Shock waves follow. We don't know what hit us. What &nbsp;. . . just . . . happened? We cannot catch hold of the breakdown, much less our breath, because it's knocked the wind out of us and it all happened so fast.&nbsp;As we struggle to our feet in disbelief, trying to piece things together, we feel a sense of fragmentation, both inside and outside, because a shattered person's disparate and desperate shards have ripped into us, struck us in vulnerable places, and lie scattered at our feet. We cannot integrate these fragments into what we know, or see them as part of the person who exploded, because that person is no longer an integrated whole but a blast of seemingly unrelated, nonsensical impulses or actions that cut, bruise, and scratch, that make us bleed the way shards do when they fly. We cannot comprehend this experience by uniting it with our own until we surrender the sharp pieces from our flesh (pieces we may cling to for our own reasons), bandage our wounds, and leave the work of categorizing, labeling, matching, and reconstruction to the professional emotional archaeologist.<br /><br />In implosion, a person suddenly sinks into him or herself, spiraling down to create a sucking vortex that strips off the covering shingles that keep us dry in storms, blows out the windows that give us light and perspective, and threatens to shake us loose from the foundation that anchors our beliefs and supports the relationship we have with the person, the life we have built. The vortex has no discernment, does not care what it is pulling into the void - treasured memories, children's sensitivities, valuable objects that enable us to do our work, the walls of our sanctuary - it even tries to rip the dignity we hold from our heart. The vortex knows only one word - down, down, down - and has only one purpose - crush, crush, crush. The person imploding feels crushed to a pulp, his or her own dignity stamped out by abuse, confidence destroyed by doubt, sense of self flattened by a host of fears and finds it somehow soothing to drag us down into his or her own abyss of pain. When we face the vortex, there is nothing to do but find an anchor, unite with and catch hold of a source of unshakable stability in our lives so we don't get sucked down, and hang on.<br /><br />Whichever type of breakdown you are facing - explosion or implosion - exploring the metaphors can help you comprehend - and respond to - what you are experiencing.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-L7dgJTPS2_8/Tm9oPjRY6WI/AAAAAAAABXY/J2m6OF5BGiE/s1600/Implosion+