"And I was born in the backseat of a Greyhound bus rollin' down highway 41." Ramblin' Man, Dickey Betts
Highways have personalities. The personality of a highway is unique to each of its travelers. We like or dislike certain roads depending on any number of factors. But for better or for worse we have feelings about them. I have warm fuzzy feelings for US 78 north of Birmingham, Alabama. The girl I would marry and I spent many hours on hwy 78 in 1975 and 76 between Birmingham and Jasper, She lived there, I had a job there, we both went that direction every week from college, so why not car pool? Because of I-22 I don't often travel that way, but just thinking about that road feels good.
I have good feelings for Alabama 167 from Troy to Enterprise, Alabama. The right turn from US 231 from wherever I was traveling meant that I was forty miles from home. Continuing south, Hwy 167 becomes Florida 79 about twenty five miles south of Enterprise. Hwy 79 holds fond memories because of the multitude of family trips to Florida over the years along that road. Besides quaint Florida towns, five miles north of the Gulf of Mexico hwy 79 crosses the West Bay Bridge. Until recent years it was a draw bridge. Growing up we always hoped a boat was coming so that we could watch it in action. As excited as we were to get to the beach, waiting for a boat to pass was never an inconvenience.
Some highways have personality because of their history. Route 66, for example, is a national treasure. 66 was one of the original highways in the US Highway System. From Chicago, Illinois to Santa Monica, California it became a major east-west corridor in the United States. Established in 1926 it was removed from the highway system in 1985 because the interstate system had made it obsolete. A few years ago a Route 66 revival was born and gained momentum with the Pixar movie Cars. For those willing to look, traces of the Mother Road are still visible all along the original path.
Until recent years I had no feelings at all for US 41. US 41 is a north-south corridor from Lake Superior at Copper Harbor, Michigan to Miami, Florida. The highway covers 2000 miles through seven states. I had driven on it a few times to avoid traffic near Atlanta and occasionally between my house and Ringgold, Georgia. But I had no particular emotional connection to it. I do now. Although Hwy 41 parallels I-75, more often than not coming home from work I choose hwy 41. Besides the fact that it takes me through my quaint town of Ringgold, it's just fun to drive that way. Just south of Ringgold the authorities post a very generous 55 mph speed limit. I find it hard to believe that it's 55 and not 45, but that's what it is. So that's what I do. The sensation of speed on any highway is a relative thing. If you're traveling the speed limit of 85 mph across New Mexico's vast expanse, you feel like you're sitting still. 55 mph on hwy 41 between Ringgold and my house is exhilarating.. In the first place the road is flanked by a lot of stuff not far off the road. When you're going 55 mph south all that stuff is going 55 mph north. And then there are a generous number of curves. Curves produce Gs. G means good. In the unfortunate event I find myself behind a slow poke (you know, 50), there is one passing lane that provides an opportunity for acceleration. Acceleration is fun. And for the record, I'm not in a sports car. I drive a modest four-cylinder Nissan Altima. A family car. But it accelerates.
So am I driving recklessly? No, I'm not driving recklessly. Am I driving dangerously? I'm driving the speed limit. The rest of it happens by itself. You wouldn't want me to hold up traffic, would you?
Unlike Route 66, US 41 is alive and well. When I travel the ten miles that I frequent, I'm aware of the fact that I am touching 41. I sense its length and its history. I'm aware that there is much more to hwy 41 than I have experienced. I consider the possibility of a south-north adventure. I've only been to Miami once and I've never been to Copper Harbor, Michigan. I like saying it's on my things-to-do list rather than my bucket list. I prefer to think that I'm about to live instead of I'm about to die.
But if I do meet my unfortunate demise on Highway 41, let my epitaph read, "He was driving the speed limit."
Sunday, July 31, 2016
Saturday, July 30, 2016
I feel therefore I am.
"I must be the best worrier in the world. Nothing I worry about ever happens." Will Rogers
I read a lot about worry and anxiety. I do this for two reasons, 1. I enjoy reading about the brain and 2. I have issues with both of them.
I could get rather technical, but I won't for two reasons 1. You probably aren't too interested in the technical inter-workings of the brain and 2. I would have to Google every sentence because I haven't memorized the technical details.
So what I'm going to write is just from my head (so to speak). The human brain, it has been said, is the most complex organism in the known universe. Nothing comes close to the incredible capacity of the brain. No amount of research and study, for example, has cracked the surface of the brain-mind argument. Are the brain and mind the same thing? Are they separate? Does one control the other? Are we born as Carl Jung, Joseph Campbell and others have suggested with "archetypes", the "collective unconscious" prerecorded in our brain and nervous systems? And are we to believe that these have been handed down for millions of years from our oldest ancestors? And are a part of our dreams and imaginations?
I'm just getting started.
All of the chemical and electrical wiring of the human brain basically control three things, the automatic functions that keep us alive such as heart beat and breathing, our thinking ability (decision making) and our emotions. Memory is for another lesson.
Our limbic system, which is a part of the oldest reptilian brain, and includes the amygdala and the insula, primarily control our emotions. Our brain processes our emotions before it processes our cognitive functions. In other words we feel before we think. And unless we learn to override our feeling with our thinking, our emotions control us.
Cognitive-behavioral therapy is a complex and effective method of intentionally training the emotions to react to our thinking instead of giving in to the brain's pre-wired ability to feel first. If you struggle with worry and anxiety there is little hope of getting better without conscious effort.
I have often thought that movie animations are primarily for the adults who bring the kids. How are children able to appreciate the subtle puns and innuendos that are scattered throughout the movie? I think Pixar's Inside/Out is one of the most brilliant movies ever produced. If you've seen it you know that Riley's five emotions actually exist. They all work together to help her function. To help her be Riley. I thought the movie was brilliant before I read this morning, "The insula has an important role in the experience of basic emotions including anger, fear, disgust, joy and sadness." liquisearch
My intention this morning is not to tell you what to do about your worry and anxiety. I'll leave that to the professionals. My intention is to make you aware of what the problem is and where the problem lies. There's nothing wrong with you. Fear, worry and anxiety are as natural as falling off a log. You can't help being on the log. The trick is to improve your ability to balance.
So the next time you express your concern about something to someone and he says, "It's all in your head." Just say, "Yeah, I already knew that."
I read a lot about worry and anxiety. I do this for two reasons, 1. I enjoy reading about the brain and 2. I have issues with both of them.
I could get rather technical, but I won't for two reasons 1. You probably aren't too interested in the technical inter-workings of the brain and 2. I would have to Google every sentence because I haven't memorized the technical details.
So what I'm going to write is just from my head (so to speak). The human brain, it has been said, is the most complex organism in the known universe. Nothing comes close to the incredible capacity of the brain. No amount of research and study, for example, has cracked the surface of the brain-mind argument. Are the brain and mind the same thing? Are they separate? Does one control the other? Are we born as Carl Jung, Joseph Campbell and others have suggested with "archetypes", the "collective unconscious" prerecorded in our brain and nervous systems? And are we to believe that these have been handed down for millions of years from our oldest ancestors? And are a part of our dreams and imaginations?
I'm just getting started.
All of the chemical and electrical wiring of the human brain basically control three things, the automatic functions that keep us alive such as heart beat and breathing, our thinking ability (decision making) and our emotions. Memory is for another lesson.
Our limbic system, which is a part of the oldest reptilian brain, and includes the amygdala and the insula, primarily control our emotions. Our brain processes our emotions before it processes our cognitive functions. In other words we feel before we think. And unless we learn to override our feeling with our thinking, our emotions control us.
Cognitive-behavioral therapy is a complex and effective method of intentionally training the emotions to react to our thinking instead of giving in to the brain's pre-wired ability to feel first. If you struggle with worry and anxiety there is little hope of getting better without conscious effort.
I have often thought that movie animations are primarily for the adults who bring the kids. How are children able to appreciate the subtle puns and innuendos that are scattered throughout the movie? I think Pixar's Inside/Out is one of the most brilliant movies ever produced. If you've seen it you know that Riley's five emotions actually exist. They all work together to help her function. To help her be Riley. I thought the movie was brilliant before I read this morning, "The insula has an important role in the experience of basic emotions including anger, fear, disgust, joy and sadness." liquisearch
My intention this morning is not to tell you what to do about your worry and anxiety. I'll leave that to the professionals. My intention is to make you aware of what the problem is and where the problem lies. There's nothing wrong with you. Fear, worry and anxiety are as natural as falling off a log. You can't help being on the log. The trick is to improve your ability to balance.
So the next time you express your concern about something to someone and he says, "It's all in your head." Just say, "Yeah, I already knew that."
Thursday, July 28, 2016
The Power of a Compliment
com.pli.ment "A polite expression of praise or admiration."
To get a compliment is a wonderful thing. To give a compliment is even better.
This morning after a business meeting, a friend complimented me on my writing. I have not known her for very long and she has known my writing for an even less time. She not only said something nice about something she had read that I had written, but she asked me several questions about my blog. Follow up questions such as these are compliments too.
To those of you who are totally confident of yourselves you will not understand this. Most people are very insecure. Most people need constant positive feedback and affirmation to feel good about themselves. You have an opportunity every day to provide that. A genuine and well-placed compliment can be all the difference for the way someone feels about himself or herself on any given day.
I come from a long line of kidders. We kidders mean well. We really never intend to hurt people's feelings. However, because people are insecure, we do make people uncomfortable and hurt their feelings. "Hello, my name is David. And I am a kidder." "We love you David." My Dad kidded and he also gave "backhanded compliments." If I, for example, showed him a report card that was all As and a B+. he would say, "Crockett, is that the best you can do?" (smile). I took it as a compliment. I may as well have because that was as good as it was going to get.
I'll never forget the first straightforward, genuine compliment my father gave me. I was 37 years old. I had done something fairly incredible. It even now is one of the most incredible things I have done in my life. I was proud of myself then and I'm proud of myself now. I had recruited and rehearsed 80 local youth to perform a musical by Ken Medema at the Tivoli Theater in Chattanooga. Ken was there to play. His manager was there to conduct. There was a sound and lighting crew. Ushers in the aisles. Stage hands on the wings. I even had a publicist! And about 1500 of Chattanooga's best were there to listen. The very successful production was all to benefit Habitat for Humanity. It raised a significant amount of money and even more awareness. I had plenty of help but for the most part, I did it. Mom and Dad had come up from Enterprise to participate in the event. The next day they were getting in their car to go home. Dad hadn't said anything to this point. Dad looked at me and said, "Son, for years you've told about this genius friend you have named Ken Medema. And I can see that. But in my opinion the real genius is the person who put all that together. And that was you." My mother and I both understood the significance of the moment and we both started crying.
Selah.
Another aspect of compliments that is very important is how to receive a compliment. Did I mention that most people are insecure? Because of that it's many times difficult for people to accept a compliment. No matter how you feel about whatever affirmation this person just gave you, the only proper response is "Thank you." That's it. Don't start telling them all the reasons why "it was nothing" or why you don't deserve it. Just say "Thank you." However, because of this phenomenon, the compliment you give will not always be received well either. Give it anyway.
I really appreciated my new friend's compliment this morning. It made me feel good about myself and my ability to write. You are reading this because of a compliment. In the fall of 1973 as a freshman at the Enterprise State Junior College, Mr. Smith, my composition teacher said, "David, you can write. You are very good at this." I was too busy in college for several years writing reports and research papers to write anything for fun or publication. But I never forgot his vote of confidence. It always meant a lot to me that a gifted teacher appreciated my writing.
And now I'm a professional writer. A youth ministry magazine paid me $50 for an article they published so that makes me a professional. One of these days my name will be on a book. And you'll have to buy it to read it. But for now my words to you are free. Meanwhile, just like this morning, for you to tell me that my writing means something to you goes a long, long way.
To get a compliment is a wonderful thing. To give a compliment is even better.
This morning after a business meeting, a friend complimented me on my writing. I have not known her for very long and she has known my writing for an even less time. She not only said something nice about something she had read that I had written, but she asked me several questions about my blog. Follow up questions such as these are compliments too.
To those of you who are totally confident of yourselves you will not understand this. Most people are very insecure. Most people need constant positive feedback and affirmation to feel good about themselves. You have an opportunity every day to provide that. A genuine and well-placed compliment can be all the difference for the way someone feels about himself or herself on any given day.
I come from a long line of kidders. We kidders mean well. We really never intend to hurt people's feelings. However, because people are insecure, we do make people uncomfortable and hurt their feelings. "Hello, my name is David. And I am a kidder." "We love you David." My Dad kidded and he also gave "backhanded compliments." If I, for example, showed him a report card that was all As and a B+. he would say, "Crockett, is that the best you can do?" (smile). I took it as a compliment. I may as well have because that was as good as it was going to get.
I'll never forget the first straightforward, genuine compliment my father gave me. I was 37 years old. I had done something fairly incredible. It even now is one of the most incredible things I have done in my life. I was proud of myself then and I'm proud of myself now. I had recruited and rehearsed 80 local youth to perform a musical by Ken Medema at the Tivoli Theater in Chattanooga. Ken was there to play. His manager was there to conduct. There was a sound and lighting crew. Ushers in the aisles. Stage hands on the wings. I even had a publicist! And about 1500 of Chattanooga's best were there to listen. The very successful production was all to benefit Habitat for Humanity. It raised a significant amount of money and even more awareness. I had plenty of help but for the most part, I did it. Mom and Dad had come up from Enterprise to participate in the event. The next day they were getting in their car to go home. Dad hadn't said anything to this point. Dad looked at me and said, "Son, for years you've told about this genius friend you have named Ken Medema. And I can see that. But in my opinion the real genius is the person who put all that together. And that was you." My mother and I both understood the significance of the moment and we both started crying.
Selah.
Another aspect of compliments that is very important is how to receive a compliment. Did I mention that most people are insecure? Because of that it's many times difficult for people to accept a compliment. No matter how you feel about whatever affirmation this person just gave you, the only proper response is "Thank you." That's it. Don't start telling them all the reasons why "it was nothing" or why you don't deserve it. Just say "Thank you." However, because of this phenomenon, the compliment you give will not always be received well either. Give it anyway.
I really appreciated my new friend's compliment this morning. It made me feel good about myself and my ability to write. You are reading this because of a compliment. In the fall of 1973 as a freshman at the Enterprise State Junior College, Mr. Smith, my composition teacher said, "David, you can write. You are very good at this." I was too busy in college for several years writing reports and research papers to write anything for fun or publication. But I never forgot his vote of confidence. It always meant a lot to me that a gifted teacher appreciated my writing.
And now I'm a professional writer. A youth ministry magazine paid me $50 for an article they published so that makes me a professional. One of these days my name will be on a book. And you'll have to buy it to read it. But for now my words to you are free. Meanwhile, just like this morning, for you to tell me that my writing means something to you goes a long, long way.
Monday, July 25, 2016
Cellphone Hookup
No, it's not that kind of hookup. Your mind's in the gutter ! I'm talking about the kind when you are meeting someone with no particular place to meet or time to meet. They drive toward you and you drive toward them staying on your phone from time to time. Then you finally find a place to meet. That's the hookup I'm referring to.
I don't enjoy this kind of rendezvous, but family circumstances and driving distances between us sometimes makes this method the best option.
For me short of an unfortunate accident, these are the four possible outcomes of such a meeting. 1. Very good. 2. Good. 3. Bad 4. Very bad. 1. Very good is when the rendezvous point involves a nice restaurant where we can all meet, eat and take a break from driving. 2. Good is when we find any rendezvous point, possibly a travel center or fast food. Bad is when you both overshoot the hoped for mutual exit and somebody has to backtrack. Very bad is when you lose your cellphone connection about twenty miles from the hookup and have no idea where the other party is. There is no possible way to hook up so you are both in Neverland. So far, after dozens of these hookups, only good and very good have happened. But it's the possibility of Bad and Very bad that keeps me from totally relaxing on the trip.
When the calls start and math skills are employed, Bad and Very bad come into play. And for me, adrenaline comes into play as well. If you've done this you know how it works. Party A calls Party B to see where they are. Party B tells Party A the mile marker where they are. And Party B does the same. Since you're both moving towards the other then you just cut the difference between the markers in half. Assuming about a mile a minute for each party, you estimate the hypothetical exit number where you can meet. If you're both in the same state, dealing with the same mile markers then this is fairly easy. If you're across state lines then the time and distance calculation can be tricky.
If we are 500 miles apart, for example, that means that each of us will be driving three and a half hours or so to the drop point. So for a couple of hours Bad and Very bad really don't exist. It's just a drive. When the calls start it's no longer just a drive, it's an adventure.
As I said in the years of doing this, Bad and Very Bad have not happened. But my nervous system knows that both have nearly happened and that either could happen. Regarding Bad, as I approach the drop point I try to tell myself, "If the hypothetical exit doesn't exist when our paths cross, then what's the bid deal? Somebody will just have to take the next exit and turn around." My thinking brain understands this. My reptilian brain does not. My reptilian brain shouts, "This is BAD!"
Several years ago Very bad almost happened. With about 40 miles between us, or about 20 minutes of drive time,we lost our cellphone connection. Very BAD! We were both over three hours from home with no contingency plans in place. We were also in territory that was totally unfamiliar to me. For the next fifteen minutes my thinking brain and reptilian brain took turns at the wheel (reptilian brain 98%. Thinking brain 2%). My struggling thinking brain kept running scenarios, but my reptilian brain was screaming louder and louder "THIS IS VERY BAD!!" Miraculously with one exit left between us we regained the connection and were both able to take the exit. Within minutes we were talking and laughing at a McDonalds where we exchanged human cargo and headed toward our respective homes. No Very bad and not even Bad happened (except in my nervous system).
Yesterday exits had been plentiful for about 30 miles, but with 15 miles to go they were quite scarce. If we had failed to hook up, the "next exit" past the "hypothetical exit" would be several miles and very time consuming.This is BAD! As it turned out, an exit appeared out of nowhere. We all talked and laughed, exchanged cargo and were bound for home.
So what's really at play here? What makes this method actually work out in every situation? Is it just luck? Or is the Divine involved? Hermes was one of the Greek gods of travel. He was the god of transitions and boundaries. "Travelers sought his protection as they made plan to venture about." Or is it Janus who helps me, the Roman god of travel with two faces--one facing forward and one facing back? Or Jehovah? It's not like they had cellphones and a GPS to cross the wilderness. They eventually found the Promised Land.
I don't recommend cellphone hookups. I advise you, like in the olden days, to have a definite time and place to meet. But if you want to add a little excitement and adventure to your trip, just head out with your fate residing in the little black box in your hand and your basic arithmetic. Just have plenty of time, plenty of gas and a god or two in your pocket. And a little Xanax never hurts.
I don't enjoy this kind of rendezvous, but family circumstances and driving distances between us sometimes makes this method the best option.
For me short of an unfortunate accident, these are the four possible outcomes of such a meeting. 1. Very good. 2. Good. 3. Bad 4. Very bad. 1. Very good is when the rendezvous point involves a nice restaurant where we can all meet, eat and take a break from driving. 2. Good is when we find any rendezvous point, possibly a travel center or fast food. Bad is when you both overshoot the hoped for mutual exit and somebody has to backtrack. Very bad is when you lose your cellphone connection about twenty miles from the hookup and have no idea where the other party is. There is no possible way to hook up so you are both in Neverland. So far, after dozens of these hookups, only good and very good have happened. But it's the possibility of Bad and Very bad that keeps me from totally relaxing on the trip.
When the calls start and math skills are employed, Bad and Very bad come into play. And for me, adrenaline comes into play as well. If you've done this you know how it works. Party A calls Party B to see where they are. Party B tells Party A the mile marker where they are. And Party B does the same. Since you're both moving towards the other then you just cut the difference between the markers in half. Assuming about a mile a minute for each party, you estimate the hypothetical exit number where you can meet. If you're both in the same state, dealing with the same mile markers then this is fairly easy. If you're across state lines then the time and distance calculation can be tricky.
If we are 500 miles apart, for example, that means that each of us will be driving three and a half hours or so to the drop point. So for a couple of hours Bad and Very bad really don't exist. It's just a drive. When the calls start it's no longer just a drive, it's an adventure.
As I said in the years of doing this, Bad and Very Bad have not happened. But my nervous system knows that both have nearly happened and that either could happen. Regarding Bad, as I approach the drop point I try to tell myself, "If the hypothetical exit doesn't exist when our paths cross, then what's the bid deal? Somebody will just have to take the next exit and turn around." My thinking brain understands this. My reptilian brain does not. My reptilian brain shouts, "This is BAD!"
Several years ago Very bad almost happened. With about 40 miles between us, or about 20 minutes of drive time,we lost our cellphone connection. Very BAD! We were both over three hours from home with no contingency plans in place. We were also in territory that was totally unfamiliar to me. For the next fifteen minutes my thinking brain and reptilian brain took turns at the wheel (reptilian brain 98%. Thinking brain 2%). My struggling thinking brain kept running scenarios, but my reptilian brain was screaming louder and louder "THIS IS VERY BAD!!" Miraculously with one exit left between us we regained the connection and were both able to take the exit. Within minutes we were talking and laughing at a McDonalds where we exchanged human cargo and headed toward our respective homes. No Very bad and not even Bad happened (except in my nervous system).
Yesterday exits had been plentiful for about 30 miles, but with 15 miles to go they were quite scarce. If we had failed to hook up, the "next exit" past the "hypothetical exit" would be several miles and very time consuming.This is BAD! As it turned out, an exit appeared out of nowhere. We all talked and laughed, exchanged cargo and were bound for home.
So what's really at play here? What makes this method actually work out in every situation? Is it just luck? Or is the Divine involved? Hermes was one of the Greek gods of travel. He was the god of transitions and boundaries. "Travelers sought his protection as they made plan to venture about." Or is it Janus who helps me, the Roman god of travel with two faces--one facing forward and one facing back? Or Jehovah? It's not like they had cellphones and a GPS to cross the wilderness. They eventually found the Promised Land.
I don't recommend cellphone hookups. I advise you, like in the olden days, to have a definite time and place to meet. But if you want to add a little excitement and adventure to your trip, just head out with your fate residing in the little black box in your hand and your basic arithmetic. Just have plenty of time, plenty of gas and a god or two in your pocket. And a little Xanax never hurts.
Saturday, July 23, 2016
One Good Band Leads to Another
A student introduced me to Switchfoot in the spring of 2005. It was unlike any music that I was familiar with. At that time I mostly listened to Classical music and 70s music. I also enjoyed Christian contemporary music such as Amy Grant, Rich Mullins, Phil Keaggy, Jars of Clay and so many others. I didn't listen to any "hard rock" or "heavy metal." Even through the 60s I had not listened to any of that except what played on the radio from time to time. And even then I didn't particularly enjoy it and often changed stations when it played. Part of that was because my Christian world preached that this music was unhealthy and even evil. Do you remember the horrible scare of "backmasking"? Or that the beat of rock music actually tears down heart tissue? Did you know that rock music will drive you to sex and drugs? I heard much good 60s music, but I missed a lot too.
Switchfoot changed all that. Here were positive songs with positive lyrics set to "hard rock" music. And I loved it. I bought A Beautiful Letdown which contained Meant to Live, the song that influenced the direction of my vocational life. I listened to it over and over. And I bought and enjoyed several other Switchfoot CDs as well.
A couple of years after my introduction to Switchfoot, I was given an introduction to Pandora radio. I am not an early adopter of this kind of internet technology, so I didn't sign up right away. Eventually I did sign up for the free version to see what all the fuss was about. Well what it was all about was the most incredible music service of its time. As you already know, I created "radio stations" of my favorite bands and then Pandora played a steady stream of music of that genre.
One of the first stations I created was, of course, Switchfoot. Pandora then introduced me to Skillet, Red, Fireflight, BarlowGirl, and others. If Switchfoot was "hard rock", much of this was "heavy metal." Red was the hardest music I had ever listened to on purpose. I grew to love Red as much as I loved Switchfoot. There was blood in the water. Skillet and Red became my go to bands. The Red station introduced me to Thousand Foot Krutch, Kutless and other Christian bands of that type.
Roll over Beethoven was an understatement. I didn't totally abandon my love of Classical music and more traditional Christian music, but my tastes had certainly morphed. There was just something about those driving rhythms, heavy bass, radical lead guitar, synthesizers, hoarse voices and hopeful lyrics that did something for me. And it still does.
I enjoyed Pandora so much that I subscribed to the service. Now I listened to a higher quality of stereo and no commercials. Along then my son said, "Dad, you've got to download Spotify." Well I didn't have to download Spotify and I didn't. I now had the radio, the CD player, Sirrius/XM radio and Pandora. What did I possibly need with another music service? But he was persistent. "Dad, just trust me. You would love this." So I downloaded it. There in the top left corner was a search box. I learned quickly that I could type in about any song, musician or band I could think of and Spotify would find it and play it for me right then. I learned that I could create radio stations and playlists. If Pandora opened up a world of music then Spotify opened the universe. Within a few months I had subscribed to the service. and cancelled Pandora.
The thing that amazes me about the internet and music is how one good thing leads to another. And how quickly it happens. I accidentally found the Switchfoot movie Fading West on Netflix a few days ago. This morning I listened to my Fading West playlist on Spotify at the gym. I'm old enough to remember if I heard a song on the AM radio that I liked and I wanted to listen to it again, I either had to wait for the DJ to play it or ride my bicycle downtown and buy the 45 at the record store. Well it was exciting to hear the "flip side" for the first time. I bought "Turn, Turn, Turn" but "Eight Miles High" became one of my favorite Byrds songs.
So where is all this headed? I didn't know Pandora until I had it. I didn't know Red until I had Pandora. I didn't know Spotify until I had enjoyed hundreds of hours of bliss. Soon enough my son will call me and say, "Dad, there's a music service you've got to have." And I will say "No I don't." What could possibly be better than what I've got? Surely, this is as good as it gets.
Switchfoot changed all that. Here were positive songs with positive lyrics set to "hard rock" music. And I loved it. I bought A Beautiful Letdown which contained Meant to Live, the song that influenced the direction of my vocational life. I listened to it over and over. And I bought and enjoyed several other Switchfoot CDs as well.
A couple of years after my introduction to Switchfoot, I was given an introduction to Pandora radio. I am not an early adopter of this kind of internet technology, so I didn't sign up right away. Eventually I did sign up for the free version to see what all the fuss was about. Well what it was all about was the most incredible music service of its time. As you already know, I created "radio stations" of my favorite bands and then Pandora played a steady stream of music of that genre.
One of the first stations I created was, of course, Switchfoot. Pandora then introduced me to Skillet, Red, Fireflight, BarlowGirl, and others. If Switchfoot was "hard rock", much of this was "heavy metal." Red was the hardest music I had ever listened to on purpose. I grew to love Red as much as I loved Switchfoot. There was blood in the water. Skillet and Red became my go to bands. The Red station introduced me to Thousand Foot Krutch, Kutless and other Christian bands of that type.
Roll over Beethoven was an understatement. I didn't totally abandon my love of Classical music and more traditional Christian music, but my tastes had certainly morphed. There was just something about those driving rhythms, heavy bass, radical lead guitar, synthesizers, hoarse voices and hopeful lyrics that did something for me. And it still does.
I enjoyed Pandora so much that I subscribed to the service. Now I listened to a higher quality of stereo and no commercials. Along then my son said, "Dad, you've got to download Spotify." Well I didn't have to download Spotify and I didn't. I now had the radio, the CD player, Sirrius/XM radio and Pandora. What did I possibly need with another music service? But he was persistent. "Dad, just trust me. You would love this." So I downloaded it. There in the top left corner was a search box. I learned quickly that I could type in about any song, musician or band I could think of and Spotify would find it and play it for me right then. I learned that I could create radio stations and playlists. If Pandora opened up a world of music then Spotify opened the universe. Within a few months I had subscribed to the service. and cancelled Pandora.
The thing that amazes me about the internet and music is how one good thing leads to another. And how quickly it happens. I accidentally found the Switchfoot movie Fading West on Netflix a few days ago. This morning I listened to my Fading West playlist on Spotify at the gym. I'm old enough to remember if I heard a song on the AM radio that I liked and I wanted to listen to it again, I either had to wait for the DJ to play it or ride my bicycle downtown and buy the 45 at the record store. Well it was exciting to hear the "flip side" for the first time. I bought "Turn, Turn, Turn" but "Eight Miles High" became one of my favorite Byrds songs.
So where is all this headed? I didn't know Pandora until I had it. I didn't know Red until I had Pandora. I didn't know Spotify until I had enjoyed hundreds of hours of bliss. Soon enough my son will call me and say, "Dad, there's a music service you've got to have." And I will say "No I don't." What could possibly be better than what I've got? Surely, this is as good as it gets.
Friday, July 22, 2016
One Song
According to Jon Foreman "switchfoot" is a surfing term. You switch your feet and face the opposite direction.
"We were meant to live for so much more
Have we lost ourselves?
Somewhere we live inside
Somewhere we live inside
We were meant to live for so much more
Have we lost ourselves?
Somewhere we live inside" Meant to Live, Switchfoot
Have you ever been completely stuck? I got stuck in the crawl space of a mountain home in the middle of nowhere a couple of years ago. The owners were home. I could have beat on the floor with my flashlight and they would have eventually figured it out, but I was in a precarious situation to say the least. I found myself in a very dark, very cramped space and I didn't see any way out. There was a block wall on my left and seemingly impenetrable plumbing and duct work on the other three sides. I couldn't move. Because of how I got into my predicament, backing up wasn't an option either. After I got my panic under control, I found a way out. It wasn't any fun, but I did it. The whole ordeal was over in a matter of minutes, although it took a little longer for my heart rate and sweat glands to return to normal. I was very glad to see the light of day.
But that's not the kind of stuck I'm talking about. I'm referring to when our lives are stuck. We consider our options and there doesn't seem to be any good way forward. Or any direction for that matter.
In the spring of 2005 I was stuck. I was in a job that I was highly qualified and trained to do. My supervisors were pleased with my work and those I supervised were for the most part pleased as well. But I was profoundly stressed. And profoundly unhappy. I wanted to quit, but my always supportive wife was concerned about my tendency to give up on myself and my job too easily and too soon. And she had good reason to be concerned. I had an abysmal track record with "careers".
But my unhappiness deepened. My unhappiness began to slide toward despair.
I so enjoy finding good music, but every now and then good music finds me. The song Meant to Live by Switchfoot told me what I was supposed to do. The answer was not crystal clear, but it was clear enough.
Jon Foreman, the founder, writer and lead singer, is passionate about surfing. All of them are. He said "Switchfoot is about change and movement, a different way of approaching life and music." This week while looking for a movie to watch on Netflix, I noticed Fading West by Switchfoot. And I watched it. The movie, released in 2013, is a documentary/travelogue of their 2012 World Tour. Their yearlong tour included Australia, New Zealand, S. Africa and Bali. As it turned out, the movie is as much about surfing as it is about their music and their concerts. Foreman said, "Surfing brought us together and surfing keeps us together." He said that regarding the day to day stresses of touring, the water is a "reset" for all of them. "We find the water as often as possible." And if Fading West is any indication, they find the water fairly often.
It is so very good to be listening to this triumphant Switchfoot music when I'm not in any crisis or distress. I'm not looking for any answers or direction. I'm not looking for anything. I can just allow myself to be bathed by their words and music. A crisis? No. A reset? Yes.
"And we find what we're made of through the open door.
Is it fear you're afraid of? What are you waiting for?
Love alone is worth the fight." Love Alone is Worth the Fight, from Fading West, by Switchfoot
"And I was lost but not alone." The Edge of the Earth from Fading West by Switchfoot
I was in a crawl space this afternoon. It was dark, dirty and very cramped. But I didn't get stuck. If you've ever been stuck in a crawl space or in your life you have no plans to ever be stuck again.
It is so very good to be listening to this triumphant Switchfoot music when I'm not in any crisis or distress. I'm not looking for any answers or direction. I'm not looking for anything. I can just allow myself to be bathed by their words and music. A crisis? No. A reset? Yes.
"And we find what we're made of through the open door.
Is it fear you're afraid of? What are you waiting for?
Love alone is worth the fight." Love Alone is Worth the Fight, from Fading West, by Switchfoot
"And I was lost but not alone." The Edge of the Earth from Fading West by Switchfoot
I was in a crawl space this afternoon. It was dark, dirty and very cramped. But I didn't get stuck. If you've ever been stuck in a crawl space or in your life you have no plans to ever be stuck again.
Sunday, July 17, 2016
Zen and the Art of Photography
" Words such as Zen or the Buddha-Way are invariably intertwined with religious meanings. Most people have no problem with the statement that Zen is not a religion. However, I think that there are many who have some trouble with the statement that the Buddha-Way is not a religion." Unknown
"The study of the art of motorcycle maintenance is really a miniature study of the art of rationality itself. Working on a motorcycle, working well, caring, is to become a part of the process - to achieve an inner peace of mind. The motorcycle is primarily a mental phenomenon. The real cycle you are working on is a cycle called yourself." Robert M Pirsig, "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.
Photography - - "The art or practice of taking and processing photographs"
Film -- "A photosensitive surface"
Digital Image-- "A digital camera takes light and focuses it via the lens onto a sensor made out of silicon. It is made up of a grid of millions of tiny photosites called pixels (picture element).
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance was first published in l974, The publishers have sold over five million copies worldwide. After several millions copies had been sold, Robert Redford approached Pirsig asking for movie rights for the book. A good friend advised Pirsig, "If you love your book, don't make a movie". I would love to have seen that movie, but he is probably still happy with his decision.
The first time that I read Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance was, of all places, at the Southern Baptist Convention in New Orleans, Louisiana in l982. As I read the last few words of the incredible last few pages, something quite strange and wonderful happened. I had been getting up early every morning for coffee and reading in the peaceful surroundings of the atrium of the New Orleans Hyatt Regency Hotel. As I concluded my reading, I was filled with that "wonder of it all" rush of emotion that follows the conclusion of a good book. Only this rush was particularly powerful. I looked to my right and to my amazement and delight there hiding in the ferns and fauna, was a statue of the Buddha. He had been silently watching me the entire week. This immediately became for me, one of those moments of "arrival." It was a moment, like several I have enjoyed over the years, when my life flowed to and from a still point. Everything I had ever said or done up until then made sense. I was at perfect contentment and peace.
My wife had bought for me my first 35mm camera as a Christmas gift a few months prior to the trip. The film camera was a Minolta XG-M. I had read the manual through more than once, but it was still all Greek to me. I had had the camera set on automatic for all the photographs I had taken prior to that point. I may as well have stayed with my Kodak Instamatic.
We were in our room on a rainy afternoon during the convention and my wife was taking a nap. I was reading the camera manual. Since the room was dark, I was standing near the window and reading the instructions for the nth time when I read this sentence - "If you open the aperture one stop and speed up the shutter speed one stop, it is the same exposure", That meant nothing to me. Maybe it was the Buddha, or just my inner voice, but something said, "This is important. Read it again." And I read it again. Still nothing. But I read it again. If ever a light of revelation had dawned on me, it dawned on me in that instant. Distant bells rang, symphonies played, fireworks exploded, I suddenly understood exactly what the manual was telling me. I knew why that information was so important. Any photographer with an understanding of that sentence controls his or her own photographic destiny. The sun provides the light and you decide how to use it. I have seldom had a camera set on "automatic" since then.
Robert Pirsig said, "Working on the motorcycle is to become a part of the process-- to achieve an inner peace of mind."
Photography is defined as "the art or practice of taking photographs". Any photo from any camera is photography. But I would suggest that if you ever want to find full enjoyment as a photographer, it is necessary to own a decent camera and "become a part of the process". You really only need to understand and know how to use these three things, 1. Aperture 2. Shutter speed and 3. ISO. This is otherwise known as the triangle of exposure. And exposure is the heart of photography. Once you get a handle on these three settings, then you're well on your way. Now all that's left is to understand, "If you open the aperture one stop and speed up the shutter speed one stop, it's the same exposure." For that you'll need help from the Buddha.
"The study of the art of motorcycle maintenance is really a miniature study of the art of rationality itself. Working on a motorcycle, working well, caring, is to become a part of the process - to achieve an inner peace of mind. The motorcycle is primarily a mental phenomenon. The real cycle you are working on is a cycle called yourself." Robert M Pirsig, "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.
Photography - - "The art or practice of taking and processing photographs"
Film -- "A photosensitive surface"
Digital Image-- "A digital camera takes light and focuses it via the lens onto a sensor made out of silicon. It is made up of a grid of millions of tiny photosites called pixels (picture element).
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance was first published in l974, The publishers have sold over five million copies worldwide. After several millions copies had been sold, Robert Redford approached Pirsig asking for movie rights for the book. A good friend advised Pirsig, "If you love your book, don't make a movie". I would love to have seen that movie, but he is probably still happy with his decision.
The first time that I read Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance was, of all places, at the Southern Baptist Convention in New Orleans, Louisiana in l982. As I read the last few words of the incredible last few pages, something quite strange and wonderful happened. I had been getting up early every morning for coffee and reading in the peaceful surroundings of the atrium of the New Orleans Hyatt Regency Hotel. As I concluded my reading, I was filled with that "wonder of it all" rush of emotion that follows the conclusion of a good book. Only this rush was particularly powerful. I looked to my right and to my amazement and delight there hiding in the ferns and fauna, was a statue of the Buddha. He had been silently watching me the entire week. This immediately became for me, one of those moments of "arrival." It was a moment, like several I have enjoyed over the years, when my life flowed to and from a still point. Everything I had ever said or done up until then made sense. I was at perfect contentment and peace.
My wife had bought for me my first 35mm camera as a Christmas gift a few months prior to the trip. The film camera was a Minolta XG-M. I had read the manual through more than once, but it was still all Greek to me. I had had the camera set on automatic for all the photographs I had taken prior to that point. I may as well have stayed with my Kodak Instamatic.
We were in our room on a rainy afternoon during the convention and my wife was taking a nap. I was reading the camera manual. Since the room was dark, I was standing near the window and reading the instructions for the nth time when I read this sentence - "If you open the aperture one stop and speed up the shutter speed one stop, it is the same exposure", That meant nothing to me. Maybe it was the Buddha, or just my inner voice, but something said, "This is important. Read it again." And I read it again. Still nothing. But I read it again. If ever a light of revelation had dawned on me, it dawned on me in that instant. Distant bells rang, symphonies played, fireworks exploded, I suddenly understood exactly what the manual was telling me. I knew why that information was so important. Any photographer with an understanding of that sentence controls his or her own photographic destiny. The sun provides the light and you decide how to use it. I have seldom had a camera set on "automatic" since then.
Robert Pirsig said, "Working on the motorcycle is to become a part of the process-- to achieve an inner peace of mind."
Photography is defined as "the art or practice of taking photographs". Any photo from any camera is photography. But I would suggest that if you ever want to find full enjoyment as a photographer, it is necessary to own a decent camera and "become a part of the process". You really only need to understand and know how to use these three things, 1. Aperture 2. Shutter speed and 3. ISO. This is otherwise known as the triangle of exposure. And exposure is the heart of photography. Once you get a handle on these three settings, then you're well on your way. Now all that's left is to understand, "If you open the aperture one stop and speed up the shutter speed one stop, it's the same exposure." For that you'll need help from the Buddha.
Friday, July 15, 2016
The Beat Goes On
"Drums keep pounding
A rhythm to the brain
La de da de de, la de da de da.
The beat goes on. The beat goes on." Sonny and Cher
When I choose to listen to music, I listen to music. I give the music my full attention. When I intentionally listen to music it is in one of two places. I am either at my computer with my Bose headphones or I am in my car. At my computer I am either using Spotify or listening to YouTube videos. When I am alone in my car, I am listening to Sirius/XM radio, Spotify, or a CD. That's all. Again, these are all intentional choices.
A marketer back in the '50s decided that it would be a good idea to play music while people shopped. My first memory of this phenomenon was music played in large department stores. The music, as I recall, was rather bland and mostly non-invasive instrumental music. In 1954 the company Musak became the standard for this type of music. They are possibly who started the whole thing of department store music instead of just having been riding the wave of the trend. In either case Musak became the generic for any background music in the same way Kleenex, Frigidaire and Xerox became their respective generics.
This music, though not particularly enjoyable, was at least palatable for me. It didn't get on my nerves. On the other hand it never enhanced any shopping experience either. But as the service evolved, stores more and more used popular music complete with instruments, lyrics and singers. Now it was starting to annoy me.
Now days it's difficult to go anywhere without having to endure whatever form of music the establishment decides enhances the experience of whatever they're hoping we'll buy. Some of my least favorite venues for background music are restaurants. I use "background" loosely as sometimes the music is so loud I can't hear what the person across from me is saying. At other times it's not that loud, but it still is a distraction for me. Since music demands my attention, I can't give my friend my full attention. It doesn't help. The worst situation is when it's playing very loudly in a restroom. I never understand how loud invasive music is supposed to enhance my restroom experience. "Why don't you tune it out?" I can't tune it out because it's there.
There is a convenient store I frequent whose eternal soundtrack is loud "thump, thump" music. It's a little shop of horrors. Every song sounds the same to me--a steady beat, a monotonous and repetitious thumping in the percussion, some melody but no harmony. The beat goes on and on and on and on. The music plays outside too."Then why do you go there?" Like I said, it's convenient. Besides, where can I go to escape?
I don't know where "background music" is headed, but for me apparently nowhere good. Since I was born in '53 and this phenomenon started at least by '54, you'd think I'd be used to it by now. But I'm not. Do we ever get used to someone scratching their fingernails down a chalkboard?
I need to amend my opening statement that when I intentionally listen to music I'm only listening to music. Many times when I'm listening to an artist on Spotify who I'm not familiar with, I'm reading about that artist. But still my activity is dedicated to that music. Many times when I'm writing, I select "background music" to listen to. But again it's music I choose for reasons that I choose it. It's all intentional.
In full support of the opinion I'm offering, while writing this I was listening to nothing but the traffic down the road and an occasional airplane.
Sonny Bono wrote those words in 1967, but the beat had been going on a long time before that. And it continues with no end in sight.
A rhythm to the brain
La de da de de, la de da de da.
The beat goes on. The beat goes on." Sonny and Cher
When I choose to listen to music, I listen to music. I give the music my full attention. When I intentionally listen to music it is in one of two places. I am either at my computer with my Bose headphones or I am in my car. At my computer I am either using Spotify or listening to YouTube videos. When I am alone in my car, I am listening to Sirius/XM radio, Spotify, or a CD. That's all. Again, these are all intentional choices.
A marketer back in the '50s decided that it would be a good idea to play music while people shopped. My first memory of this phenomenon was music played in large department stores. The music, as I recall, was rather bland and mostly non-invasive instrumental music. In 1954 the company Musak became the standard for this type of music. They are possibly who started the whole thing of department store music instead of just having been riding the wave of the trend. In either case Musak became the generic for any background music in the same way Kleenex, Frigidaire and Xerox became their respective generics.
This music, though not particularly enjoyable, was at least palatable for me. It didn't get on my nerves. On the other hand it never enhanced any shopping experience either. But as the service evolved, stores more and more used popular music complete with instruments, lyrics and singers. Now it was starting to annoy me.
Now days it's difficult to go anywhere without having to endure whatever form of music the establishment decides enhances the experience of whatever they're hoping we'll buy. Some of my least favorite venues for background music are restaurants. I use "background" loosely as sometimes the music is so loud I can't hear what the person across from me is saying. At other times it's not that loud, but it still is a distraction for me. Since music demands my attention, I can't give my friend my full attention. It doesn't help. The worst situation is when it's playing very loudly in a restroom. I never understand how loud invasive music is supposed to enhance my restroom experience. "Why don't you tune it out?" I can't tune it out because it's there.
There is a convenient store I frequent whose eternal soundtrack is loud "thump, thump" music. It's a little shop of horrors. Every song sounds the same to me--a steady beat, a monotonous and repetitious thumping in the percussion, some melody but no harmony. The beat goes on and on and on and on. The music plays outside too."Then why do you go there?" Like I said, it's convenient. Besides, where can I go to escape?
I don't know where "background music" is headed, but for me apparently nowhere good. Since I was born in '53 and this phenomenon started at least by '54, you'd think I'd be used to it by now. But I'm not. Do we ever get used to someone scratching their fingernails down a chalkboard?
I need to amend my opening statement that when I intentionally listen to music I'm only listening to music. Many times when I'm listening to an artist on Spotify who I'm not familiar with, I'm reading about that artist. But still my activity is dedicated to that music. Many times when I'm writing, I select "background music" to listen to. But again it's music I choose for reasons that I choose it. It's all intentional.
In full support of the opinion I'm offering, while writing this I was listening to nothing but the traffic down the road and an occasional airplane.
Sonny Bono wrote those words in 1967, but the beat had been going on a long time before that. And it continues with no end in sight.
Thursday, July 14, 2016
Lookout Mountain
I was on Lookout Mountain, Tennessee today. I never wind up Ochs highway or Scenic Highway without remembering the first time I went up Lookout Mountain. First a little geography. When most people think of Lookout Mountain, they think of Lookout Mountain, Tennessee. Actually, only three miles of the mountain are in Tennessee. Thirty one miles are in Georgia and over fifty miles in Alabama. Most people also think that the world famous Rock City is in Tennessee. But Rock City is in Georgia.
Until 1992 when Chattanooga opened The Tennessee Aquarium, most of the local attractions were on Lookout Mountain. Rock City is in Georgia. Ruby Falls is in Tennessee, the Incline Railway is in Tennessee.
When I was six years old, my great aunt took my brother and me and several cousins from Enterprise, Alabama to Chattanooga, Tennessee. How do I remember I was six years old? When my memory is that clear that many years ago there's usually a little trauma involved. I was about to start the first grade and I had had my smallpox vaccination. Back then if you still had the scab, you were not allowed to swim. At least that was so in my family. I remember my big brother giving me grief that everybody else could swim but me. I forgave him many years ago. And we now travel together quite often.
My aunt was great in every way possible. It was not enough for her just to drive us up the mountain and see Chattanooga from the clouds. She took us to Rock City, Ruby Falls, the Incline Railway and to the Confederama. This attraction was then at the foot of the mountain and is now known as the Battles for Chattanooga and is near Point Park at the top of the mountain, She not only paid our way into these places but let us all shop and buy something in the gift shops. I bought a coonskin cap in one of those places and my Dad called me Crockett until the day he died.
It's funny what you remember, isn't it? I remember that the Chattanooga weather report came on at a strange time. At home it came on at 5pm. In Chattanooga it came on at 6pm. I learned the words "time zone." I didn't know what that meant except that all the television shows were at strange times. Some didn't come on until it was time to go to bed. I mean why not just have things at the time they're supposed to be? Why would you want to mess with the correct time?
I am fascinated and thrilled with how our memories get all mixed up with what we are actually doing. On my way up the mountain this afternoon I drove by Rock City and Ruby Falls. The aquarium hasn't pulled all the business from Lookout Mountain. The parking lots of both attractions were full. On my way back home I went by the Incline Railway. It too was teeming with tourists about to board the train. i chuckled remembering when I took my then four year old granddaughter to ride the train. Although at six I must have appreciated the view, at sixty three I am overwhelmed. The view of the Tennessee River at Moccasin Bend is one of the most spectacular views that the southeast United States affords. I always think "People come from all over the world to see this and I live less than fifteen miles from here."
When I write and publish I try to have a point--a moral, a suggestion, a thought for the day or something like that. Tonight I am simply relating a powerful and joyful memory compliments of my incredible aunt.. And celebrating that I am alive and well to see it all again on this extraordinarily beautiful day.
But a thought for the day? Be that great aunt to some child as soon as you can and as often as you can. Long after you're dead and gone they can enjoy those priceless memories again and again.
Until 1992 when Chattanooga opened The Tennessee Aquarium, most of the local attractions were on Lookout Mountain. Rock City is in Georgia. Ruby Falls is in Tennessee, the Incline Railway is in Tennessee.
When I was six years old, my great aunt took my brother and me and several cousins from Enterprise, Alabama to Chattanooga, Tennessee. How do I remember I was six years old? When my memory is that clear that many years ago there's usually a little trauma involved. I was about to start the first grade and I had had my smallpox vaccination. Back then if you still had the scab, you were not allowed to swim. At least that was so in my family. I remember my big brother giving me grief that everybody else could swim but me. I forgave him many years ago. And we now travel together quite often.
My aunt was great in every way possible. It was not enough for her just to drive us up the mountain and see Chattanooga from the clouds. She took us to Rock City, Ruby Falls, the Incline Railway and to the Confederama. This attraction was then at the foot of the mountain and is now known as the Battles for Chattanooga and is near Point Park at the top of the mountain, She not only paid our way into these places but let us all shop and buy something in the gift shops. I bought a coonskin cap in one of those places and my Dad called me Crockett until the day he died.
It's funny what you remember, isn't it? I remember that the Chattanooga weather report came on at a strange time. At home it came on at 5pm. In Chattanooga it came on at 6pm. I learned the words "time zone." I didn't know what that meant except that all the television shows were at strange times. Some didn't come on until it was time to go to bed. I mean why not just have things at the time they're supposed to be? Why would you want to mess with the correct time?
I am fascinated and thrilled with how our memories get all mixed up with what we are actually doing. On my way up the mountain this afternoon I drove by Rock City and Ruby Falls. The aquarium hasn't pulled all the business from Lookout Mountain. The parking lots of both attractions were full. On my way back home I went by the Incline Railway. It too was teeming with tourists about to board the train. i chuckled remembering when I took my then four year old granddaughter to ride the train. Although at six I must have appreciated the view, at sixty three I am overwhelmed. The view of the Tennessee River at Moccasin Bend is one of the most spectacular views that the southeast United States affords. I always think "People come from all over the world to see this and I live less than fifteen miles from here."
When I write and publish I try to have a point--a moral, a suggestion, a thought for the day or something like that. Tonight I am simply relating a powerful and joyful memory compliments of my incredible aunt.. And celebrating that I am alive and well to see it all again on this extraordinarily beautiful day.
But a thought for the day? Be that great aunt to some child as soon as you can and as often as you can. Long after you're dead and gone they can enjoy those priceless memories again and again.
Wednesday, July 13, 2016
Self-love. It's necessary.
Self-love: "The instinct by which one's actions are directed to the promotion of one's own welfare." "Self-love is the belief that you hold that you are a valuable and worthy person."
"Love your neighbor as you love yourself." Jesus
I was incredibly fortunate to be born into my family. I never considered myself to be wealthy growing up. My father drew a modest income from his business and my mother was a stay-at-home-mom. But the resources of my extended family were quite abundant. Growing up I took all that for granted and never really appreciated it all that much.
My immediate family was my Dad, my Mom, my big brother and my kid sister. My father, a Southern Baptist deacon and church leader, was a loving man but a very strict man. He had a narrow code of ethics regarding what was right and what was wrong and held us all to that strict standard. He was the Southern Baptist equivalent of a Hasidic Jew. There are many good things about the way he raised me and other not so good things. One of the worst things he taught me, whether he meant to or not, is this-- "Take care of everyone else's needs before you take care of your own. For that matter after you take care of everyone else, if there's nothing left over for you then that's just the cost of caring. That's what Christians do."
I took four flights in four days this past weekend. As always,when the flight attendants demonstrated how to use the oxygen mask they said, "If you're traveling with children, put your own mask on first and then put on their masks."
It may be very easy for you to take care of yourself first, but until recent years it has not been easy for me at all. I was taught that self-love is selfish. Self-love, I learned, is not a Christian attribute. Your "instinct" may be to take care of yourself; my "instinct" is to take care of you. The sin from my childhood that approaches the unpardonable sin is to upset somebody. The rationale being "If you've offended someone, then it's your fault and you need to apologize. " There was a tattoo on my forehead that read, "I"m sorry. I was wrong. Please forgive me." (in very small letters).
Early in my marriage after a run-in with the church secretary, I was crying in my beer to my bride who asked rather demonstratively, "Has it ever occurred to you that you might be right? !!" Actually, it hadn't.
If you suffer from chronic other-love as I have, then I have a few suggestions:
1. Get a backbone. Consider that your opinions and perspective are as good as any one else's. Consider that you have an ego problem. You don't have one !
2. When someone is upset with you, consider that it's their problem and not yours. If you feel you were wrong then apologize. The six most powerful words in the English language are "I was wrong. Please forgive me." If you don't feel that you did anything wrong, then don't apologize. Say something like, "I can see you're upset. Our relationship matters to me. I hope that we can work through our differences."
3a. Rediscover what brings you joy. You have been concerned for everyone else's welfare for so long that you've forgotten what matters most to you. There is a newborn baby in my life. He is now nearly five months old. He brings me joy in unspeakable ways. And his joy brings me joy. His smiles and his laughter bubble up from deep within him. Joy is a gift you can give to others as well.
3b. Do something you enjoy every day. Refuse to let everyone else's priorities and demands crowd out any possibility of personal enjoyment. If you no longer enjoy anything, then remember something you used to enjoy and do that. Personal joy is not a luxury; it's a necessity. As your joy spills out, not only are you better off, but everyone around you is as well. If you have no joy, then undesirable things spill out. Another way to say the words of Jesus, "You can only love your neighbor as much as you love yourself."
The first definition above continues with "especially an excessive regard for one's own advantage." Narcissism and self-love are two completely different things. If you're concerned about becoming a narcissist, then you aren't one and will never be one. Narcissists are only concerned about themselves and use other people to their own advantage. They are incapable of empathy and genuine caring. Loving yourself first is not narcissism. It's the opposite of narcissism. The love you feel for the world simply begins with the love you feel for yourself.
About twenty-five years ago my counselor asked, "David, you would do anything in the world to help somebody else wouldn't you?" "Yes I would." "Then do you have room in your world for one more person?" "Yes I do." "Do you think you could include yourself in your world?" "Yes, I think I can." "Good, then that's what I want you to consider." His question did not bring on an immediate transformation. And my suggestions probably won't bring on an immediate transformation for you. But for me it was a start. Loving myself is something I practice every day. My family needs me. My friends need me. That five month old baby needs me. I will only love all of them as much as I love myself. My friend Julian Scott told me just a few days before he died, "Love people. It's necessary."
If I ever see my Dad again, while we're fishing for speckled trout on some salt water bay in the clouds, I'll say "Dad, I'm so glad you taught me to love other people. That has served me well. I just wish you had taught me to love myself." And he'll say, "Crockett, I wish I had. Please hand me a shrimp."
"Love your neighbor as you love yourself." Jesus
I was incredibly fortunate to be born into my family. I never considered myself to be wealthy growing up. My father drew a modest income from his business and my mother was a stay-at-home-mom. But the resources of my extended family were quite abundant. Growing up I took all that for granted and never really appreciated it all that much.
My immediate family was my Dad, my Mom, my big brother and my kid sister. My father, a Southern Baptist deacon and church leader, was a loving man but a very strict man. He had a narrow code of ethics regarding what was right and what was wrong and held us all to that strict standard. He was the Southern Baptist equivalent of a Hasidic Jew. There are many good things about the way he raised me and other not so good things. One of the worst things he taught me, whether he meant to or not, is this-- "Take care of everyone else's needs before you take care of your own. For that matter after you take care of everyone else, if there's nothing left over for you then that's just the cost of caring. That's what Christians do."
I took four flights in four days this past weekend. As always,when the flight attendants demonstrated how to use the oxygen mask they said, "If you're traveling with children, put your own mask on first and then put on their masks."
It may be very easy for you to take care of yourself first, but until recent years it has not been easy for me at all. I was taught that self-love is selfish. Self-love, I learned, is not a Christian attribute. Your "instinct" may be to take care of yourself; my "instinct" is to take care of you. The sin from my childhood that approaches the unpardonable sin is to upset somebody. The rationale being "If you've offended someone, then it's your fault and you need to apologize. " There was a tattoo on my forehead that read, "I"m sorry. I was wrong. Please forgive me." (in very small letters).
Early in my marriage after a run-in with the church secretary, I was crying in my beer to my bride who asked rather demonstratively, "Has it ever occurred to you that you might be right? !!" Actually, it hadn't.
If you suffer from chronic other-love as I have, then I have a few suggestions:
1. Get a backbone. Consider that your opinions and perspective are as good as any one else's. Consider that you have an ego problem. You don't have one !
2. When someone is upset with you, consider that it's their problem and not yours. If you feel you were wrong then apologize. The six most powerful words in the English language are "I was wrong. Please forgive me." If you don't feel that you did anything wrong, then don't apologize. Say something like, "I can see you're upset. Our relationship matters to me. I hope that we can work through our differences."
3a. Rediscover what brings you joy. You have been concerned for everyone else's welfare for so long that you've forgotten what matters most to you. There is a newborn baby in my life. He is now nearly five months old. He brings me joy in unspeakable ways. And his joy brings me joy. His smiles and his laughter bubble up from deep within him. Joy is a gift you can give to others as well.
3b. Do something you enjoy every day. Refuse to let everyone else's priorities and demands crowd out any possibility of personal enjoyment. If you no longer enjoy anything, then remember something you used to enjoy and do that. Personal joy is not a luxury; it's a necessity. As your joy spills out, not only are you better off, but everyone around you is as well. If you have no joy, then undesirable things spill out. Another way to say the words of Jesus, "You can only love your neighbor as much as you love yourself."
The first definition above continues with "especially an excessive regard for one's own advantage." Narcissism and self-love are two completely different things. If you're concerned about becoming a narcissist, then you aren't one and will never be one. Narcissists are only concerned about themselves and use other people to their own advantage. They are incapable of empathy and genuine caring. Loving yourself first is not narcissism. It's the opposite of narcissism. The love you feel for the world simply begins with the love you feel for yourself.
About twenty-five years ago my counselor asked, "David, you would do anything in the world to help somebody else wouldn't you?" "Yes I would." "Then do you have room in your world for one more person?" "Yes I do." "Do you think you could include yourself in your world?" "Yes, I think I can." "Good, then that's what I want you to consider." His question did not bring on an immediate transformation. And my suggestions probably won't bring on an immediate transformation for you. But for me it was a start. Loving myself is something I practice every day. My family needs me. My friends need me. That five month old baby needs me. I will only love all of them as much as I love myself. My friend Julian Scott told me just a few days before he died, "Love people. It's necessary."
If I ever see my Dad again, while we're fishing for speckled trout on some salt water bay in the clouds, I'll say "Dad, I'm so glad you taught me to love other people. That has served me well. I just wish you had taught me to love myself." And he'll say, "Crockett, I wish I had. Please hand me a shrimp."
Monday, July 11, 2016
Here, (T)here and Everywhere
I was putting the finishing touches on this post when I hit something on the keyboard and it vanished. I had saved it all along the way, but when I chose the article from the history it was blank. Too bad; it was pretty good. I'm not writing it again. So all you get is this synopsis.
I've been thinking a lot lately about our tendency to want to be somewhere other than where we are. We use drugs and alcohol, music, television, movies, planes, trains and automobiles to transport us to there from here. The truth is, when we get there we aren't there, we're (t)here. We're still here. We can't get away from physically being here. Mentally you can be anywhere. This ability is not all bad and it's not all good. Which is what I wrote about.
New information (not in first draft) that is happening now (since I wrote what was lost) --Strange thing . I just spent eleven hours in the last four days on four flights. And as I sit here my desk and my computer are moving. It's all moving up and down and back and forth. It's moving a lot and not just a little ( no drugs and very little alcohol involved). So before I preach too hard about mindfulness and learning to be here instead of there, my here seems to still be there.
Need coffee.
I've been thinking a lot lately about our tendency to want to be somewhere other than where we are. We use drugs and alcohol, music, television, movies, planes, trains and automobiles to transport us to there from here. The truth is, when we get there we aren't there, we're (t)here. We're still here. We can't get away from physically being here. Mentally you can be anywhere. This ability is not all bad and it's not all good. Which is what I wrote about.
New information (not in first draft) that is happening now (since I wrote what was lost) --Strange thing . I just spent eleven hours in the last four days on four flights. And as I sit here my desk and my computer are moving. It's all moving up and down and back and forth. It's moving a lot and not just a little ( no drugs and very little alcohol involved). So before I preach too hard about mindfulness and learning to be here instead of there, my here seems to still be there.
Need coffee.
Sunday, July 3, 2016
An Update from the NICU
Com.pen.sa.tion--The money received by an employee from an employer as a salary or wages.
I have now been volunteering in the neonatal intensive-care unit of a local hospital for a little over two months. I don't get there as often as I would like, but I have spent many quality hours in the NICU.
What I have done is somewhat different than what I thought I had signed up to do. I thought I had gone through the approval and orientation process to hold newborn babies. After all, the program I responded to is the "Cuddler Program". As it turns out, they don't always need me to cuddle or feed babies. Many times they just need me to answer the phone or answer the door. Sometimes, like today, all of the babies were in isolation or parents and family members were there. Can you imagine this scenario? "Excuse me mom, there is a volunteer who has driven twenty miles to hold your baby, Would you mind letting him hold her for a while?" "Sure. I'd be glad to. Thank you for your service."
This morning, because there were no babies available to hold and there was a tech answering the phone, there was nothing for me to do. And I just left. So was it a wasted trip? Not at all. The charge nurse has told me I can call before I come, but since the situation in the NICU changes minute by minute, it's worth the drive for me just to show up and find out.
Being associated with the NICU in any capacity has altered my perception of reality. Until two months ago, when I woke up in the middle of the night I was only aware that there were six Waffle Houses within ten miles of my house and that I could get dressed and get a waffle and a bottomless cup of coffee at any of them. Now when I wake up at 1:23 or 2:46 or 4:16 before I think about the Waffle House, I think "There are distressed babies in the NICU being cared for by a loving and dedicated staff of people right now. Those lights are blinking and the monitors are beeping on the machines that are keeping those babies alive. The doctors, nurses and technicians are attending to each one of them according to their unique needs and situation. I could get up, put on my volunteer garb, drive to the hospital and maybe help out." Then I think, "And I could stop and get a waffle on the way home." I haven't done this yet, but I will.
All of these babies are in the NICU because they are distressed. Not all of them are sick; but some are. Not all of them were born addicted; but some were. Most of them are born premature and need some extra help getting started. And let me tell you, the help they get is extraordinary. The first NICU in the United States was opened in 1965 at the Yale-New Haven Hospital in New Haven, Connecticut. Can you imagine how very lucky that first distressed baby and her family were for her to wake up in a unit equipped just for her? There are now well over 1000 neonatal ICUs in the United States. Multiply a thousand times how many babies over fifty-one years to imagine the immeasurable impact of these remarkable hospital wards. How many tens of thousands of people are walking, talking and loving their children and grandchildren because of a NICU?
Of all the definitions I read of "compensation" none of them begin to approach what I get paid as a volunteer in this hospital. Yes, I quite often get to cuddle and feed distressed newborn babies. And when I do. Well, let's just say at that moment nothing else matters to me in the universe. There is nowhere else I want to be and nothing else I want to be doing. And I am at perfect peace. Nobody has to pay me. I'm paid in full.
I have now been volunteering in the neonatal intensive-care unit of a local hospital for a little over two months. I don't get there as often as I would like, but I have spent many quality hours in the NICU.
What I have done is somewhat different than what I thought I had signed up to do. I thought I had gone through the approval and orientation process to hold newborn babies. After all, the program I responded to is the "Cuddler Program". As it turns out, they don't always need me to cuddle or feed babies. Many times they just need me to answer the phone or answer the door. Sometimes, like today, all of the babies were in isolation or parents and family members were there. Can you imagine this scenario? "Excuse me mom, there is a volunteer who has driven twenty miles to hold your baby, Would you mind letting him hold her for a while?" "Sure. I'd be glad to. Thank you for your service."
This morning, because there were no babies available to hold and there was a tech answering the phone, there was nothing for me to do. And I just left. So was it a wasted trip? Not at all. The charge nurse has told me I can call before I come, but since the situation in the NICU changes minute by minute, it's worth the drive for me just to show up and find out.
Being associated with the NICU in any capacity has altered my perception of reality. Until two months ago, when I woke up in the middle of the night I was only aware that there were six Waffle Houses within ten miles of my house and that I could get dressed and get a waffle and a bottomless cup of coffee at any of them. Now when I wake up at 1:23 or 2:46 or 4:16 before I think about the Waffle House, I think "There are distressed babies in the NICU being cared for by a loving and dedicated staff of people right now. Those lights are blinking and the monitors are beeping on the machines that are keeping those babies alive. The doctors, nurses and technicians are attending to each one of them according to their unique needs and situation. I could get up, put on my volunteer garb, drive to the hospital and maybe help out." Then I think, "And I could stop and get a waffle on the way home." I haven't done this yet, but I will.
All of these babies are in the NICU because they are distressed. Not all of them are sick; but some are. Not all of them were born addicted; but some were. Most of them are born premature and need some extra help getting started. And let me tell you, the help they get is extraordinary. The first NICU in the United States was opened in 1965 at the Yale-New Haven Hospital in New Haven, Connecticut. Can you imagine how very lucky that first distressed baby and her family were for her to wake up in a unit equipped just for her? There are now well over 1000 neonatal ICUs in the United States. Multiply a thousand times how many babies over fifty-one years to imagine the immeasurable impact of these remarkable hospital wards. How many tens of thousands of people are walking, talking and loving their children and grandchildren because of a NICU?
Of all the definitions I read of "compensation" none of them begin to approach what I get paid as a volunteer in this hospital. Yes, I quite often get to cuddle and feed distressed newborn babies. And when I do. Well, let's just say at that moment nothing else matters to me in the universe. There is nowhere else I want to be and nothing else I want to be doing. And I am at perfect peace. Nobody has to pay me. I'm paid in full.
Saturday, July 2, 2016
Going Steady
I don't know if it speaks to my faithfulness and my commitment or to my insecurities, but I tend to stay with whoever or whatever I like for a very long time.
People talk about their "dating days." I didn't have any dating days. During my entire adolescence and young adult life I only went out on three dates. And with two of them, the girl asked me out. Instead of assuming the risk of "asking a girl out," I tended to run in packs of boys and girls. Usually my church friends. From those friends and comfortable relationships I would then start hanging out with one girl in particular. And we were "exclusive" until we went our separate ways. We never really "dated." We would hang out together with the pack or I would spend a lot of time with her and her family at her home. I hung out with my last girlfriend over four years. We cared about each other a lot and by then were certainly old enough to talk about "settling down". But about the time we might have had that conversation, she met the man who would become her husband and I met the girl who would be my wife. It all worked out really well for both of us.
I have been buying all my tires from the same store for over twenty years. I've been doing my banking at the same branch for thirty-six years. Funny thing about that. The bank has been bought out twice since I opened that first account in 1980, but I still go to the same location. I went to the same doctor for eighteen years but because of an unacceptable office situation, I reluctantly changed doctors. I've been with this new doctor over ten years and have no plans to change anytime soon. I've been going to the same dentist twenty-four years. Well, actually my current dentist bought the practice of the first dentist when she retired twelve years ago, but I still go to the same place. My counselor has been counseling me for twenty-four years this month. We have many good friends, but one couple has been our friends for over thirty years. We hang with them quite often. We've lived in our house for thirty-one years. I live in this house with the woman I've been hanging with for forty-two years.
I've not always done this, but I tend to go steady with my music listening. There was a time when I listened to a wide variety of artists and styles --popular, classical, Christian contemporary, 70s, etc, but not so much anymore. I do listen to a variety of 60s, 70s and Classic Vinyl on Sirius/XM but is that really variety? Spotify allows me to listen to anything I want to hear, but I tend to type the same artist into the search bar and listen to that artist exclusively until I've exhausted their repertoire. Several years ago I heard the song Shattered by a band named Trading Yesterday. The song really did it for me so I listened to it over and over again, like a child watches a Disney movie. As I listened I read. I learned that the defunct band's writer and leader was an artist named David Hodges. So I typed David Hodges into the search bar. Spotify opened a world of new music to me. For about eight months, except when I was in my car, I listened to nothing else.
Years ago a friend hooked me up with two Tori Amos CDs. Since her music had never make it to the radio, I had never heard of her. It was love at first sight. But I quickly moved on to my favorite music (whatever I was listening to). About twenty years later, through the miracle of Spotify, listening to all of her music became possible. Tori's music quickly replaced Hodges and my love affair with all things Tori Amos began, I not only listened to the music I had loved way back when on those CDs, but listened to everything she had recorded through the years. And that's a lot of music! Spotify was my primary source, but I listened to performances recorded live and to entire concerts on YouTube. This music blitz lasted well over a year.
I'm now going steady with Marc Cohn. My CD player gives me some of his music, and Spotify gives me the rest, Since he has not recorded as much as the others, I'll probably move on in the near future. This will not be a long-term relationship.
I usually listen to music while I'm writing. Which of these artists am I listening to now? None of them. I'm listening to Mark McKenzie. A Pandora station introduced him to me several years ago. It's excellent music for writing because it's all soothing instrumental movie soundtracks. No complex lyrics to distract me. I enjoyed his music so much back in the day, I sent an email to tell him. He responded with a nice note of appreciation. I sent Tori Amos an email also and got a response from her manager that more or less said "You've got to be kidding."
Life is good. Life is so very good. That girl I "dated" four years? Although we're both several hundred miles from where we were when we were together, she lives with her husband and family about twenty-five miles from where I sit. My wife and I have enjoyed dinner with them many times over the years. When her youngest son was a kid, I would take him to the movies, Recently her husband helped my wife with a very important business decision. It helped her more than we can say. It's that kind of mutual love and friendship.
Although it works for me, I'm not necessarily recommending going steady for you. There are so many wonderful people to meet and there is so much incredibly good music to hear. Date them all. Listen to it all,. Boys, step up to the plate, put your life on the line and make that call. Ask her out. Or if you can't work up the courage to do that, just ask her to ride with you from Birmingham to Jasper, Alabama since you're both going that direction anyway. You just never know what might happen.
People talk about their "dating days." I didn't have any dating days. During my entire adolescence and young adult life I only went out on three dates. And with two of them, the girl asked me out. Instead of assuming the risk of "asking a girl out," I tended to run in packs of boys and girls. Usually my church friends. From those friends and comfortable relationships I would then start hanging out with one girl in particular. And we were "exclusive" until we went our separate ways. We never really "dated." We would hang out together with the pack or I would spend a lot of time with her and her family at her home. I hung out with my last girlfriend over four years. We cared about each other a lot and by then were certainly old enough to talk about "settling down". But about the time we might have had that conversation, she met the man who would become her husband and I met the girl who would be my wife. It all worked out really well for both of us.
I have been buying all my tires from the same store for over twenty years. I've been doing my banking at the same branch for thirty-six years. Funny thing about that. The bank has been bought out twice since I opened that first account in 1980, but I still go to the same location. I went to the same doctor for eighteen years but because of an unacceptable office situation, I reluctantly changed doctors. I've been with this new doctor over ten years and have no plans to change anytime soon. I've been going to the same dentist twenty-four years. Well, actually my current dentist bought the practice of the first dentist when she retired twelve years ago, but I still go to the same place. My counselor has been counseling me for twenty-four years this month. We have many good friends, but one couple has been our friends for over thirty years. We hang with them quite often. We've lived in our house for thirty-one years. I live in this house with the woman I've been hanging with for forty-two years.
I've not always done this, but I tend to go steady with my music listening. There was a time when I listened to a wide variety of artists and styles --popular, classical, Christian contemporary, 70s, etc, but not so much anymore. I do listen to a variety of 60s, 70s and Classic Vinyl on Sirius/XM but is that really variety? Spotify allows me to listen to anything I want to hear, but I tend to type the same artist into the search bar and listen to that artist exclusively until I've exhausted their repertoire. Several years ago I heard the song Shattered by a band named Trading Yesterday. The song really did it for me so I listened to it over and over again, like a child watches a Disney movie. As I listened I read. I learned that the defunct band's writer and leader was an artist named David Hodges. So I typed David Hodges into the search bar. Spotify opened a world of new music to me. For about eight months, except when I was in my car, I listened to nothing else.
Years ago a friend hooked me up with two Tori Amos CDs. Since her music had never make it to the radio, I had never heard of her. It was love at first sight. But I quickly moved on to my favorite music (whatever I was listening to). About twenty years later, through the miracle of Spotify, listening to all of her music became possible. Tori's music quickly replaced Hodges and my love affair with all things Tori Amos began, I not only listened to the music I had loved way back when on those CDs, but listened to everything she had recorded through the years. And that's a lot of music! Spotify was my primary source, but I listened to performances recorded live and to entire concerts on YouTube. This music blitz lasted well over a year.
I'm now going steady with Marc Cohn. My CD player gives me some of his music, and Spotify gives me the rest, Since he has not recorded as much as the others, I'll probably move on in the near future. This will not be a long-term relationship.
I usually listen to music while I'm writing. Which of these artists am I listening to now? None of them. I'm listening to Mark McKenzie. A Pandora station introduced him to me several years ago. It's excellent music for writing because it's all soothing instrumental movie soundtracks. No complex lyrics to distract me. I enjoyed his music so much back in the day, I sent an email to tell him. He responded with a nice note of appreciation. I sent Tori Amos an email also and got a response from her manager that more or less said "You've got to be kidding."
Life is good. Life is so very good. That girl I "dated" four years? Although we're both several hundred miles from where we were when we were together, she lives with her husband and family about twenty-five miles from where I sit. My wife and I have enjoyed dinner with them many times over the years. When her youngest son was a kid, I would take him to the movies, Recently her husband helped my wife with a very important business decision. It helped her more than we can say. It's that kind of mutual love and friendship.
Although it works for me, I'm not necessarily recommending going steady for you. There are so many wonderful people to meet and there is so much incredibly good music to hear. Date them all. Listen to it all,. Boys, step up to the plate, put your life on the line and make that call. Ask her out. Or if you can't work up the courage to do that, just ask her to ride with you from Birmingham to Jasper, Alabama since you're both going that direction anyway. You just never know what might happen.
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