9/11 Remembered

We do not dwell, 
but we never forget. 
A moment of silence, 
a day of remembrance, 
an opportunity to thank 
those who serve, and 
a lifetime to honor those 
who gave the last full measure of devotion.

The Parting Glass:  http://youtu.be/K8dbokWHOxU

O Captain! My Captain! OR A Curtain Call for Mr. Williams

For the past two days, my newsfeeds have been dominated by the death of the late great Robin Williams.   There is no shame in my confession that I too have turned my thoughts toward the amazing life and body of work of this prolific entertainer. 

Mr. Williams was the first A-list entertainer that I ever saw in a live performance.  To say the show was memorizing would be an injustice – he was on fire and so was the audience.  Robin Williams is to my generation what Jonathan Winters and George Carlin were to my parents’: edgy, dynamic, irreverent, thought provoking, intelligent, intense, pure entertainment. 

Like so much of his life, and the comedy the fueled his work, the death of this giant of film and stage forces us to stop and think. 

What I’ve been doing, what we’ve all been doing over the last few days has been more than thinking.  We’re mourning.  I actually miss this guy whom I’ve only seen once in real life and never actually met.  What’s wrong with this picture? 

Whether we like it or not, we live a more plugged in life.  In this screen-dominated reality, the role that entertainers play in our perception of the world seems to be shifting.

This isn’t as far a logical jump as we might think.

Consider the child who lives across country from their beloved grandparents.  When interactions with Grandma and Grandpa are facilitated through skype, video-chat, video messages, pictures sent through email and facebook peppered with the occasional visit, there is a disconnect.  Really, how much different is that relationship than one with a performer who is seen perhaps more regularly on the same devices. 

Ask yourself how many of your friends do you claim you’re “in touch with,” but in reality your interactions consist of reading each other’s blog, following on twitter, and occasionally “liking” photos and posts on Facebook.  That’s not a relationship folks, once upon a time that was called stalking.     

Taking this one step further, each year there are fewer and fewer reasonable arguments that violent video games influence acts of extremeviolence in schools, shopping centers, etc.  It boils down to an ancient idea, that messages reinforced over time eventually become reality. 

If that’s the case as Lt. Col. Dave Grossman and his research shows, then why can’t the same principle work the other way?  The loss of a beloved entertainer may seem more real than it used to.

Robin Williams was “an airman, a doctor, a genie, and ananny,” but for many he was also a companion, a babysitter, a mentor, and a message of hope.   For several days we have tried to capture the feels associated with this loss. One of the best writers I’ve ever run into happens to write a blog for my local library, and he tackled this difficult topic with a style and grace deserving of Mr. Williams, you should check it out here.  

As for me and my house, we shall remember the joy and vitality that Mr. Williams brought to millions.  He inspired a generation by his life and turned international attention to the very real dangers of clinical depression by his death. 

“But oh, to be free.  Not to have to go…Poof! Whaddya need? Poof! Whaddya need?  Poof! Whaddya need?  To be my own master.”  Genie, Aladdin

For those who have posted disparaging comments about or questioning the reality of depression – I appreciate that you don’t get it.  Until you fight that battle yourself or stand beside someone you love who wrestles those demons it’s pretty hard to grasp.  But I assure you; once you’ve witnessed the pain caused by that great abyss of mental illness you will never question its power again. 

My thoughts and prayers go out to the family, friends, and fans of Robin Williams. 

And to the man himself:  May you find peace wherever you are. 

There is no better way to end this reflection than with words borrowed from Mr. Williams’ own body of work, words which he in turn borrowed from Uncle Walt. 

"O Captain! my Captain! Your fearful trip is done…”  Rest in peace. 

Dead Poet's Society: http://youtu.be/X6y2Y9i5Sj0

Confessions of an English Major: In Defense of a Liberal Arts Education

The value of reading has always been important in my family.  My involvement in Speech & Debate, Theatre, and Alpha, Delta, Rho Literary Society, also found general favor as appropriate extra curricular activities. 

The Ah, Ha Moment:  My senior year of high school brought with it a requisite unit on Shakespeare.  We had an amazing teacher (Mrs. L) who made the language come alive and inspired us to dive in head first assuring us that the water was in fact plenty deep.  That semester changed my life.  For one man to write such timeless characters and stories that reach into the heart of what it means to be human and strike a universal chord, amazed me.  Then Mrs. L introduced us to the concept of Shakespearian Archetypes.  The lesson on archetypes came home during a research session for debate when I cam across an article about non-biologically related look-a-likes. (Here’s a more recentarticle on the same topic.) It just made sense.  My friends Nate and Z, were not related yet shared spookily similar physical features, facial expressions, and movement patterns.  And my first major realization of the crossover from literature to real life took root. 

A few years later, when I announced that my college majors were going to be Communication (focus in Rhetoric) and English Literature, but I wasn’t planning to go to law school, the nervous looks started coming out.  

“What do you plan to do,” nervous friends and family asked.  My answers varied, but I had faith in the skills I was developing.  It wasn’t until much later, however, that I realized the real value of my love affair with the liberal arts.  The entire sum of my undergraduate experience can be summed up into three simple elements that have made all the difference: I learned to think, research, and create.

You can reframe these skills into much more resume appropriate, human resources approved, buzz-word savvy terms but they are the foundation of my intellectual growth and professional development. 

In the liberal arts we are taught to consume and analyze words, images, ideas, processes, history.  The best teachers push students beyond to learn about the systems and climates that inspired such creations, then a step further to really understand the impact those cultural artifacts had on the world ever after.  All things come back to the human experience, and what better way to understand that experience than to study literature, art, history, sociology, political science, religion and philosophy.  Everything else stems from and returns to this foundation. 

Please understand that I’m not downplaying specialized educational tracts.  We need to have highly trained nurses, engineers, accountants, mathematicians, and even lawyers.  But let’s also acknowledge the roles of the liberal arts majors who dissect social norms and organizational systems only to rebuild them stronger and more efficient than ever before.  It’s time to acknowledge the value in teachers who change plans time and time again because not all kids learn the same way or on the same schedule (even if that’s how the state wants it).  Let the student who majored in Philosophy and Computer Science be proud that he brings a heightened ethical framework to the projects he develops from code to front end interface. 

To all my fellow Liberal Arts Majors, to anyone contemplating a course of liberal arts study, and especially to the parents and friends of those young people: THERE IS GREAT VALUE to studying liberal arts.  Are there jobs out there explicitly advertising “Wanted: Liberal Arts Graduates,” probably not many.  Are there jobs that need liberal arts majors to do them well, you bet.  You see we are used to having to reframe and interpret material in innovative and exciting ways – even ourselves. 

Special Thanks to my parents for their love and support of my crazy academic wanderings

and to a few of my teachers (sorry for everyone I missed)

Bonnie Roehrborn

Janet Smith

Betty Buchanan

Anna Leichty

Traci Andis

Jeremy Bernstein

Monty Pedon

Bob Pickell

Br. Rob Reuter, C.PP.S.
Charley Kerlin

John Rahe

Heidi Rahe

Zachary White

Maia Hawthorne

Bill Mottolesse

Fred Berger

Fr. Tim McFarland, C.PP.S. 

Rob Pfaff

Sally Berger

John Nichols

Peter Watkins

Jody Watkins

Bill White

Mark Steiner

Fr. Ed McCarty, C.PP.S. 
Fr. Dr. Bill Stang, C.PP.S.

Confessions of an English Major: The Power of Words

My buddy Canadian Greg has offered a lot of sage advice over the years, but few conversations have stuck with me more than when he shared his philosophy on the power of words.   For readers who may not know Canadian Greg, he is an extrovert’s extrovert.  He’s a storyteller at heart and has rarely met a stranger. 

Family and friends often tease Greg about his prodigious abilities to start and hold conversations with total strangers and life-long-friends alike.  This ability also makes Greg a phenomenal businessman and leader in his field. Despite all of the conversations he participates in, Greg maintains a tremendous respect for the power of words. 

On some level, Greg acknowledges that between the words involved in formal and informal conversations (not to mention contracts, business e-mails, and client letters) millions of dollars and the livelihoods of dozens of families depend on him and the words he chooses to use and not to use. 

“Words are real,” he once told me while we were hiking through a Canadian Nature Preserve.  “People aren’t careful enough, eh?” (he’s Canadian remember) “You have to pay attention to what comes out of your mouth and what you write, because those words have power.  Like electricity you can guide them, but once they’re out of your mouth (or pen) a lot can happen and you can't take them back.” 

I still talk a lot.  So does Greg.  But ever since that conversation, I’ve tried to be more mindful of what I say and how I say it.  Writing, like sculpting, is often best approached as a process of refinement.  Distilling words down to their most elegant form.  Words represent ideas, and inspire action, giving each syllable a real world power to influence lives.   

More than any English Professor, Debate Coach, or professional mentor, I have learned some of my most important lessons about the power of words from farmers, grandma's, EMTs, secretary's, Firefighters, nurses, outdoorsmen, mechanics, and housewives.  Wisdom, when she comes, takes the least expected and most effective path.  

This post is the first in a series that will focus on the power of words, literature, writing, reading and general observations on the language that we use and misuse on a regular basis.    

The Name Game

Life gets more complicated when the lines start to blur.  As a young people we are taught to exist within structures, at home, school, and in the neighborhood.  Rules are imposed upon kids as much to teach as to govern, yet with each year the boundaries become more nuanced and judgment calls come into play.   

One simple example is the name game. 

My freshman year of college, I remember encountering faculty who insisted that we called them by their first names.  Doctor’s and Professor’s became Maia’s and Bill’s.  This request flew in the face of my upbringing in which people (elder’s especially) were referred to by their appropriate titles (Mrs. & Mr., Aunt & Uncle, Professor & Sister, Father & Brother, etc.).   I will admit I was uncomfortable with this at first, but eventually came to accept the reality of our casual college culture (though for some reason Dr. White was always Dr. White… to everyone… even to his peers… even to people who technically outranked him, but I digress).  The use of familiar names was, in fact, one of the first and most fundamental lessons of my college career that it’s important to adapt to the culture in which you find yourself. 

Now after a decade in the workforce, I’m still often the youngest person at the table and the questions remain.  The same questions come into play outside of work as well.

• When do you drop the MR. and MRS. when addressing the parents of your oldest friends?
• How about when meeting your significant other’s parents… it’s very different if you’re 16 year’s old vs. 36 years old. 
• What about when they become “in-laws” or “Ex-In Laws”? 
• When does your parish priest become Charley, instead of Fr. Smith?  
• When does your dentist become Janice instead of Dr. Ozwald? 

Where’s the balance between showing respect (Mr. and Mrs.) and using the familiar names.  Is it enough to approach everyone as equals, or does propriety demand you wait until given specific and explicit permission to address people by a less than formal moniker. 

How do you make that judgment call? 

While I’m not advocating that we get too caught up on labels and titles there still needs to be a measure of respect.  Your culture and the culture of those you are addressing will come into play, but that is very hard to determine in an initial meeting.  And the answers to this question may lie with the culture in which we were raised.  I have very distinct memories of my Mom sharing a little Irish prayer with us in times of social distress.

“May those who love us, love us

and if they do not love us,

May God turn their hearts

And if he does not turn their hearts,

May God turn their ankles

so we may know them by their limping.”

Now, I don't suggest that we give a limp to anyone whom we feel doesn’t love us… that’s called assault children.  Rather, I encourage that we have faith that good people will take our efforts as a genuine desire to communicate and establish rapport.  We are going to make mistakes.  Err on the side of formal and you may offend someone who doesn’t feel as though they are old enough to be “Ma’am.”  Err on the side of approachable and your attempt to connect may be seen as a disregard of the hard earned title of “Doctor.”   It’s the intention that’s important, and the faith that those who love us will love us. 

Fallen Angels & Living Saints

We often hear about limitations and pain… of corruptions and the sins that drive them.  “Turn on the news and what do I see, a whole lot of people crying don’t blame me.”  Nothing sells newspapers and boosts ratings like stories about sinners and saints.  Especially when the darlings of our public persecution stumble, trip and fall flat on their face.

Celebrity addiction, Hollywood domestic disturbance, and the rattle of skeletons in famous closets are rarely in short supply.  Even when a person seems to be destined for greatness the fall can come.  Remember Lance? One day a pillar of athletic integrity and a testament to overcoming adversity, the next day a liar.  Shame. 

We encounter fallen angels in less grandiose theaters as well: in the face of the once promising professional who chose to drink away career and family; in the shattered pieces of the workaholics home where spouses and children simply co-habitat the same space forgoing any sense of unity; in the wake of those who compromise anything in order to win. 

Nothing stirs the heart of America like the story of overcoming adversity, but that same heart turns a sour shade of scornful when our heroes fall. 

And it would seem that even the angles fall… hard.

We forget that it is in the fall that we can be raised up again.

No one is perfect, and we know this because, saints walk amongst us.

In the last week, two wonderful women (Eleanor and Helen) passed from this life to the next.   These were not tired old ladies.  No, they were classy, feisty, and both flirting with their 100^th birthdays. 

Both had lived through the Second World War, raised families, suffered disappointments, faced hardships, and went out of their way to make sure that those around them felt love.   Both Eleanor and Helen held a special place in my heart and in the pantheon of my many Grandmas.  These ladies, my two biological grandmas, Helen, Eleanor, and several others, taught me how to become a person of character, by the way they lived.

They didn’t give up.

They didn’t give in.

They didn’t have time for self-pity.

They were about God’s work… looking out for people be they family of birth or marriage, adopted family (like me), or just those who may be in need (whether they know it or not).  All of them outlived their husbands, all of them buried their parents and siblings, many buried some of their own children – yet they found reasons to smile and laugh and love and live. 

None of my Grandmas were perfect, far from it.  Some of them might even go so far as to admit that they were spectacularly imperfect, and after each fall they rose to be saints once more. 

You may not know any of my grandmas, but I bet you’ve met them.  In the faces of the ladies at church, or the nurse who helps you at the ER in place of your own mother, or the kind person at the store who smiles for no reason at all – all of our grandmas are there. 

Living saints do walk amongst us, and it’s time for us to stop a while and appreciate the time we’ve had with them. 

This post is dedicated to my Grandmas:

Mary Catherine

Dolores

Lillian

Helen

Eleanor

Naomi

Rose

Marge

And to your Grandmas, whoever and wherever they be.

Standing Up and Living with Fall Out

“Have you ever felt the odds stacked up so high, you need a strength most don’t posses?”  There is a certain right of passage when an individual takes a stand for something in which they believe strongly.  Whether political, social, or personal it takes guts to stand up and say, “no more.” 

No, I won’t tolerate this proposed legislative agenda.

No, I won’t allow you to drive home drunk. 

No, the way your are treating me is unacceptable. 

The first challenge is standing up for what’s right.  To make a stand, we must be honest with ourselves.  We must overcome the powers of denial so ingrained in our subconscious and admit when actions and inactions are no longer acceptable.  This is especially challenging if it means drawing some lines in the sand for yourself, your kids, and in opposition to those we may respect and love.  The question then becomes where is that line between unpleasant and intolerable.    

“Every once in a while…every once in a while there’s a day with an absolute right and an absolute wrong, but those days almost always include body counts.  Other than that, there aren’t very many un-nuanced moments…”  President Josiah Bartlet, The West Wing 2002. 

There’s a lot of gray area when taking a principled stand so the weasels of self-doubt have ample room to play – scurrying in and out of our mind gnawing at our resolve.   The absolutes we crave, the situations we read about in fiction or pine for on the silver screen, are rare.  Bad guys don’t always wear black or have ominous theme music play when they enter a room.  Unfortunately, most of the important stands one makes in life involve opposing the people we care about, respect, and love.

'There are all kinds of courage,' said Dumbledore, smiling. 'It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Mr Neville Longbottom.'  Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone.

Standing up in the face of an enemy can leave one with a sense of heroic pride, but when that opposition is one whom we value as a mentor, friend, or significant other an entirely new set of emotions take hold.  In a healthy relationship discourse can facilitate understanding and reconciliation after such confrontations.  Just as often, however, standing up risks alienation and damage to the relationship. 

If taking the stand is the first hurdle, living with it is the second.  The right path is often not the easy path, so this is where our resolve is really tested. Moving forward in the wake of serious disagreement is difficult even if all parties reconcile their differences.  When one or both parties resign themselves to dissolve the relationship or reduce the association to a less perfect union feelings of betrayal and loss abound.  All the guts in the world do not cause our losses, disappointments, and failures to go gentle into that good night.  We carry them with us, even after the initial trauma is addressed

“I follow four dictates: face it, accept it, deal with it, then let it go."
~Sheng Yen

Letting go is the hardest part for me.  Part of me wants to find ways to reconcile.  Part of me wants to “be right” and “win” – whatever the hell that means.  But the larger part gets stuck trying figuring out what I did to lose control of the situation. 

Letting go is admitting mistakes.  Letting go is living with past actions, in-action, and miscalculations.  Letting go doesn’t mean forgetting what happened, it means forgiving ourselves for not being perfect and moving on.  In letting go, we dare to step up to the line and do mighty things once more. 

This post is the 3rd installment of a three part series.  See the 1st and 2nd segments here: Dare Mighty Things and 5 Stages of Grief, Plus 1

“Have you ever felt the odds stacked up so high, you need a strength most don’t posses? … I’m not a coward, I’ve just never been tested.  I’d like to think that if I was, I would pass.”  The Impression That I Get, The Mighty Mighty Bosstones