scam
Most people who read my blog know me first and foremost as an author. So they are surprised when they learn that I do other things as well. (And conversely, those whose first dealings with me center on one of those other areas are always surprised to find that I’m also an author.)
Well, one of those other things I do is designing information systems. I’ve done this since I was a child and home computers first came out. But as far this story is concerned, here’s the simple version: I build fancy stuff with spreadsheets. Often, it’s stuff that few other people can figure out. And for that reason, I always have clients who seek me out and pay me well for this work (which I fit in between my writing and marketing and mentoring and…)
You might think these two worlds are incongruous, but in my mind, they’re just different ways of helping people. And I am passionate about infusing both with core values such as kindness.
To that end, I choose to donate a little time each week as I’m able to helping answer posts on a couple of free online forums. Typically, I can only volunteer about a half hour or so per week; but I can get a lot done in that time, considering that the forums are designed to help people with relatively small stuff. A little knowledge sharing here. A formula tweak there.
Recently, I read a forum post from someone who appeared to be located in Romania, and who was requesting spreadsheet help. But in assessing things, what he required wasn’t small stuff. It was a highly customized, time-intensive solution (i.e., real work).
Usually, I’ll just pass over such posts or suggest that the person consider hiring a developer. In this particular case, however, I made the choice to “break my rule” and try to help the guy out anyway. You see, I’ve been especially aware lately of the need for tenacious worldwide kindness. And while it wouldn’t bring about world peace, going the extra mile for this stranger in Bucharest seemed a good opportunity to put feet to my convictions.
Still, it was a bit tricky. Sharing complex solutions on a free forum would create unrealistic future expectations for site visitors. In addition, I can’t offer in a free public forum the same level of complex work that my private clients pay me for.
But my mind was made up. I was going to help this guy (I’ll call him “Ivo” here).
Since Ivo’s shared spreadsheet contained his email address, I reached out to him privately rather than through the public forum. I introduced myself. I explained essentially what I’ve shared with you here: that I am a longtime forum contributor, that the help he required went beyond what I could provide through the free forum, but that I was willing to help him at no cost if he would simply share a copy of the sample spreadsheet with me.
Some hours later, his email reply popped up.
As I try to keep this blog family friendly, I’ll have to do some censoring:
“You bet. You [#&%@!] poor [*!@~$] scammer, eat [&$^#%]. Maybe that’s more useful to support your laughable existence.”
Here, I’d offered him free work —work I’d have charged any other client $150 for—and this was his response?
What would you have done at this point, if you had been me?
*****
I won’t lie. My initial reaction was to bristle. Hey, I’m human, just like you.
I mean, I owed this guy nothing. I didn’t need to help him in the first place. He wasn’t a paying client. And I would certainly have been well within my “rights” to dismiss him at this point. Just one more self-absorbed, entitled jerk in the world.
Shrug it off. Press “Delete.” Move on. Right?
Instead, right after that initial sense of self flared up at Ivo’s response—in the next moment, where choice begins—I was given a good dose of my own advice from previous books:
“Humility is a strength, not a weakness.”
“Focus on the person, not the problem.”
“Kindness still works.”
Add to this that I’m just about to release my third book, Alternate Reality (just released: April 2022!). As part of the editing process, I’ve read through the entire thing about ten times by now. And that has meant being intensely confronted with even more of my own words, including this new piece of shared advice:
“Instead of thinking the worst about people,
wonder the best.”
Right about the time I was reading Ivo’s email, you might imagine that I was applying this bit of advice to him. “Wow, here I am going the extra mile to be kind to a stranger, and he replies with such rudeness, accusing me of being a scammer?” But rather than thinking in terms of his choices, I found myself considering my own.
Would I think the worst of this guy based on his rude response? Or would I practice what I preach and make the choice to wonder the best about him?
I chose to wonder the best. I shifted my focus from what he had done—to why he might have done it. And that brought a new response: empathy.
I responded to Ivo’s email. I told him that I understood why he might be skeptical; after all, the world is a weird place sometimes. I offered him four different means of verifying who I was, for his own peace of mind, and again extended the offer of help.
I’d like to tell you that the clouds parted, that birds started chirping and that a swell of rhapsodic music began to play. Alas, it did not. My heartfelt email was ignored.
Surely, now was the time to dust off my hands and forget about this guy. I mean, you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink. And I want to be exceedingly clear here: that is true. As had been the case from the start, I owed this stranger nothing. I would not have been a bad person to walk away. And on the flip side, I wasn’t earning any cosmic brownie points if I chose to stick with it. All I can tell you is that, at the time, I felt compelled to try once more.
After a few days, I emailed Ivo again. I told him that I wondered if his skepticism was based in personal circumstances that had burnt him. And so, rather than continuing with my request for a shared spreadsheet, I worked out the entire complex formula in a spreadsheet of my own and then copied and pasted it directly into the email for him. I carefully explained how to implement it on his own sheet, asking only that he not post the formula publicly, so that I would not have that conflict of interest with other paying clients. I ended the email expressing my hope that this act of kindness might help restore his faith in humanity, even if only in some small way.
No birds chirping. No clouds parting. No music playing.
Instead, Ivo took my formula and did exactly what I’d asked him not to do: he posted it on the public forum. What’s more, he asked the larger community of volunteers there to confirm his earlier assumption that I was a scammer, and that this was malicious code. And to top it off, he implied in this public forum that I’d tried to get money out of him.
I’ll admit, my resolve to be kind was fraying around the edges at this point.
But I replied to his now public commentary as gently (yet directly) as I could. I reminded him that he could click my name link and be taken to the same profile I’d already sent him via email as one of four different means of verification. I asserted that I’d made very clear that my offer of help was free with no strings attached. I told him that I felt he was now just digging his heels in, committed to somehow proving that his initial assumption about me was true: that I was, in fact, a scammer. I told him that I couldn’t recall ever having worked so hard to give someone a free gift.
And then I remembered another piece of advice from The Best Advice So Far:
“Tenacious love expressed with creativity
can work wonders.”
It doesn’t always. But it can.
Allowing that "love" can be applied in both an individual and humanitarian sense, I determined to do the least likely thing.
I set aside my self-imposed rule of not posting complex work on the public forum, went into his publicly shared spreadsheet and implemented my full solution for him there, so that he could see with his own eyes that it was producing exactly the complex result he was hoping for.
I added one more comment, once again wishing him well and hoping that this might somehow restore in him a little faith in humanity.
And then, satisfied that I’d truly done all that was within the realm of my own choice to do, I let it go and moved on.
*****
The next day, I got a ding alerting me that Ivo had replied in the forum.
“Your solution works perfectly. I misread you and your motives. I owe you an apology.”
I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting that.
Yet as nice as that was, something still felt unresolved. Empathy kicked in again. I was aware that if other forum contributors read the exchange, they might avoid offering Ivo help on any future posts of his. So I offered a path to a “clean slate”—figuratively and literally. I suggested that he back through all of his comments and delete them, after which I would do the same. I’d already spent five times my weekly allotment of donated forum time on this one issue, but this seemed important.
Within a day, he had done just that: deleted all of his comments. I followed suit. Clean slate achieved.
Cue the singing birds.
But it didn’t stop there.
Two days later, I received an email reply from Ivo. Turns out, he’s from Latvia, not Romania. He apologized again and asked if he might get a second chance to undo that negative first impression he’d made.
He said he actually considered himself to be a kind and helpful person. He recalled to me the story of a woman he’d helped at a coffee shop late one night. In his words:
She told me she was an Uber driver and had just crashed. For some reason, she had no money and no phone. In addition to losing her only means of income, she mentioned that she also had cancer in her legs, and at one point she started crying. She asked for some cash and promised that she would give it back the next day at the nearby museum where she worked as a guard. We ended up walking to the ATM together, and I withdrew a hundred bucks. I gave it to her and she cried again a little, hugged me and thanked me enormously. It felt very good to be helpful to somebody in a great need!
And he never saw her again. No such person worked at the museum.
It had all been a scam.
Oh, and in case you're wondering (as I did) about how Uber and "bucks" match up with Latvia, this all happened to Ivo during his first and only trip to the United States. It happened in Washington, D.C.—where Ivo had had to make an emergency diversion to the Latvian embassy. You see, upon arrival in California, thieves had broken into Ivo's car and stolen everything they could get at, including his passport. Still, despite his own troubles, there he was trying to help this "poor woman" at the coffee shop.
You see, Ivo really wasn’t an awful, self-centered, ungrateful person. He was a nice guy who had just been hurt one time too many before I came along.
But the kindness I’d shown actually had turned the tide inside him. Again in his own words:
I think this experience will stick with me and will teach me a good lesson in the future as well.
Ivo and I have been talking back and forth for a little while now, having terrific conversations about stuff that matters. As it turns out, we have a lot in common. Yet we’re also learning from one another. Stretching our perspectives. And we’re just having fun getting to know one another.
Is kindness always rewarded with a happily-ever-after ending? Nope.
Will some people turn out to be as mean as they at first appeared? Yes.
Are scammers still out there scamming? They are.
But what, then? Should we all decide to live within the confines of our own little self-protective bubbles?
To never show spontaneous kindness again, because of those who might take advantage of it?
To just give up on hope? On humanity?
To me, that seems like the biggest scam of all.
Here’s another tidbit from The Best Advice So Far:
“Whatever you choose to do,
do it without expectations,
simply because you believe in doing it.”
Where that limit lies for each person and in each situation will vary. But my encounter with Ivo serves as yet another reminder that “you always have a choice.”
A choice to look beyond the what to the why.
A choice to focus on the person and not the problem.
A choice to trade thinking the worst for wondering the best.
Quite often, I’ve found, those “best wonderings” will be closer to the truth.
even though
I was talking with a friend recently. I’ll call him Ralph here. Ralph’s relationship with his brother has been on the outs of late, and he was trying to understand what had happened and what he might be able to do at this point to improve the relationship.
I asked a series of questions. This revealed that the rift had started when Ralph had voiced his stand (e.g., opinions, religious views, moral position and, dare I say, judgment) on some of his brother’s recent personal decisions.
I asked Ralph, “How do you think you’d handle it if you were in the mix with a flamboyant gay guy?”
At first, Ralph looked bewildered, like he thought I hadn’t heard him clearly or that I was having a flashback to my famed Amnesia Episode of 1999. But trusting that I usually have a point to my rabbit trails, he answered. “Well, a few years ago, I actually was in the mix with a flamboyant gay man that I needed to interact with at an annual event. And we got along great.” It was clear from the phrasing that this was one of very few such people Ralph had ever known, if not the sole example.
I continued, “So, would you say it would feel comfortable for you to use the words ‘even though’ in describing your relationship with that person? For instance, could you easily complete this sentence, ‘I liked the guy even though…’?”
Ralph straightened up, answering quickly and confidently. “Yes, absolutely. I feel comfortable saying that I liked him even though he was gay, flamboyant and married to a man.”
The slump to his shoulders told me that he wasn’t expecting what I said next.
“I thought that might be the case, Ralph. And that’s a problem.”
*****
I love words.
There’s an inherent power in words. The right word or phrasing used at the right time can earn a first date or seal the impossible business deal. Likewise, a word used carelessly or at the wrong time can start a war.
My curiosity is continually piqued by connotation: the implied meaning or feelings that become associated with a word or phrase over time among a particular group of people. One example I cite often is rocking chair. Here’s the dictionary listing:
rock·ing chair
/ˈräkiNG ˌCHe(ə)r /
noun
a chair mounted on rockers or springs, so as to rock back and forth
Nothing particularly earth-shattering for a native speaker to learn there.
However, answer the following questions to yourself:
- What is a rocking chair made of?
- What color is a rocking chair?
- Who sits in a rocking chair?
Cultural connotation all but guarantees that the majority of people will form an instant mental image paired with the following connotations:
- Rocking chairs are made of wood.
- Rocking chairs are brown or white.
- Elderly people (usually “grandmothers”) or young mothers sit in rocking chairs.
If you “saw” something different, it’s either because you yourself had or have a rocking chair that came to your mind—or because you are simply trying to be contrary.
However, there is nothing about the actual definition of rocking chair that in any way prohibits it from being plastic, being purple with green polka-dots, or being used by a teenaged boy.
Ignoring the connotations of language causes us to falter in our communication (or to choose willful deceit).
With this in mind, let’s dig a little deeper into that two-word transitional phrase that had my friend Ralph feeling so confused: “even though.”
*****
Looking up “even though” in a dictionary, here’s basically what you’ll find:
e·ven though
/ˈe ˌvən ˈTHō /
conj. phrase
despite the fact that
Not very helpful.
Here’s where diving a little deeper gets interesting. And please know…I realize that not everyone is a linguistic nerd like I am, so I’ll try not to get too crazy here.
At the most basic level, “even though” shows contrast. In this way, it fits into the family of meanings similar to “but” in logical flow.
Here’s the example sentence given by Merriam-Webster:
“She stayed with him even though he often mistreated her.”
We have two facts here:
- He often mistreated her.
- She stayed with him.
The phrase “even though” is used to join the two facts while adding a logical (or in this case illogical) connection.
What would be considered the parallel or expected or natural course of action resulting from “He often mistreated her”? I think most of us would consider it to be something along the lines of “She left him.”
By pairing the two facts with “even though,” we show a contrast between the actions of the two people—and, in fact, between the people themselves. We’re not concerned in this sentence with exploring why she acted as she did. But by using “even though,” we’ve essentially created opposites:
abuser / victim
too mean / too nice
As such, while it’s not expressly stated in the sentence, “even though” asserts the following strong implication:
She did not often mistreat him.
In other words, if the speaker of the sentence knew that the woman had also mistreated the man, to use “even though” would have been an intentional act of deceit aimed at making it seem that she had not.
Coming full circle, I’ll say it again: “even though” shows contrast.
Opposite qualities or expectations.
Yeah, so?
Well, let’s revisit Ralph’s reply to my probing question:
“Yes, absolutely. I feel comfortable saying that I liked him even though he was gay, flamboyant and married to a man.”
And here’s the diagnostic element. Since using “even though” felt comfortable to Ralph, he had set up a foundational separation between himself and the other man. In fact, he’d created logical opposites, not merely “differences.”
Make sure you grasp that. It’s key.
When we say (or think, or would feel comfortable saying or thinking)…
“I [nice / positive / right thing] even though that person ________________,”
…we’ve revealed that we believe whatever fills that blank is not nice / not positive / not right.
We are in short saying, “I am good but you are bad.”
Certainly, in some cases, that dichotomy is true and accurate:
“Nora loved her brother even though he had murdered a man.”
It would be good and kind and noble of Nora to continue to love her brother. And we would consider that her brother was, at least in this regard, not good or kind or noble.
Or consider this one:
“I love my kids even though they are messy.”
That’s terrific. But make no mistake: a contrast—an opposite comparison—is being made here. I am not messy (which, by implication, is the right way to be), so it’s mighty big of me to overlook the flaws of my kids. The use of “even though” casts me in a favorable light and, therefore, my kids in an ugly one.
The problem comes in when we deceive ourselves into thinking that our expressions of love or acceptance for someone “even though”… is somehow an indicator that we’ve become a beacon of true equality. In fact, it reveals quite the opposite about us.
So when someone who identifies as Christian says, “I get along fine with my neighbors, even though they are Muslim,” it’s really saying…
“I am right and good and so big a person that I can get along with those wrong and bad people.”
And when my friend Ralph expressed, “I liked him even though he was gay, flamboyant and married to a man,” he was really saying…
“I—being a straight person of reserved demeanor whose family is doing things the only correct and acceptable way—am by default the moral standard; and yet I'm such a good person that I found it within myself not to mention the flaws and wrongness of that other morally depraved person who really should change to be more like me.”
Still not convinced? Then please accept a challenge.
If you don’t think this type of comparison is being made when you have an “even-though” view of others—if your claim is that it does somehow reflect true equality and that I'm just nitpicking—try flipping your statements around so that you are on the other side of “even though”:
“My kids love me even though I…”
“The Muslim family next door gets along with me even though I…”
(And if you're a teen, or you are Muslim, put your parent or Christian neighbor first in those examples.)
When I asked Ralph to swap the order of his “even though,” here’s how he completed it:
“My flamboyantly gay associate liked me even though I…am a self-righteous and judgmental jerk.”
Kudos to you, Ralph. You’re on the road to enlightenment.
The fact is, “even though” statements feel bizarre where a mindset of true equality exists. Consider:
“We have been friends since childhood even though she has brown hair.”
Weird, right? But why? Well, the reason such a statement likely feels off to you is that, in your heart of hearts, you truly don’t care about hair color. You may notice it. You may even appreciate or admire it. But at the core of your being, where truth lies, hair color simply holds no connotations of right or wrong, good or evil. It just is.
True equality draws no lines. But neither does it draw attention.
True equality is invisible to itself. It forgets that it even exists.
“Even though” isn’t just about the words you happen to say aloud.
It’s an attitude, a mindset, a revelation of self.
"Even though" is a worldview.
And true equality finds little use for it.
fear: two
The previous post wound up being a sort of flight of ideas on fear. I had no intention of taking it further than that when I hit “Publish” last week. But the theme of fear has continued to rear its … well … rather common head in the time since then. So it seems worthwhile to take another walk on the dark side.
*****
I wound up getting to the gym quite late last night — 4:15AM to be exact. (Yes, that was late, not early, considering my usual arrival is between midnight and 2:00.) As you might imagine, the place was pretty empty. Other than myself, there were only two people working out.
One of them was a woman. We were busy at opposite ends of the gym, but I noticed her. She was quite thin, perhaps in her mid to late fifties. Her gait was unsteady, hinting at a neuromuscular disease. And she was tearing the place up (in the best of ways). She moved non-stop between machines, taking only minimal breaks between sets before she was back at it.
By the time I moved that way to use the cables, she was on the mats doing bicycles (an ab workout) for durations that would make me cry. I thought about wandering over, introducing myself and telling her that she was putting me to shame. But she was wearing headphones; and so I kept my admiration to myself for the time being.
We both finished up about the same time. The sky was still black with just a hint of cobalt on the horizon as I headed out to the parking lot, only a few yards behind the woman. I walked a bit faster, thinking now might be a good time to introduce myself. Perhaps hearing my footsteps on the pavement, she cast a wide-eyed glance over her shoulder and then turned abruptly, quickening her own pace.
I decided to let the moment pass, heading for my car instead. By the time I got my things inside and was finally situated, the woman was in her own vehicle and slowly rounding the corner in front of me. Just then, she hit the Caution: Pedestrians crosswalk sign. There was a * thunk * as the plastic yellow tower tipped to the side and scraped along her rear fender before righting itself. She stopped, her face worried. She craned around backward but still couldn’t see what she’d hit.
I knew that getting out of the car and back in would be no mean feat for her. So I hopped out to tell her there was nothing to worry about, that there was no damage to the sign or her car. Our eyes met in her rearview mirror. Her brow furrowed more deeply, so I smiled and waved, moving toward the side of her car where she might be able to see me more clearly.
She gunned the gas, tires chirping, and hightailed it out of there.
As I stood there holding my good intentions, it felt odd to consider that anyone would see me as a threat — that I could ever strike fear into someone.
On the drive home, an interesting thought occurred to me. I wasn’t offended at the revelation. In fact, it made sense when I put myself into the woman’s shoes. But all the same, there it was, as plain as day…
I’d been stereotyped.
That is to say, muscled guys who approach woman after dark are up to no good.
In Logic, this belief is what’s called a universal categorical proposition. Here’s the For-Dummies version:
It’s all or nothing.
All muscled guys who approach women after dark have ill intent.
No muscled guys who approach women after dark have good intentions.
*****
Some parental axioms never seem to go out of style:
If you keep making that face, it’ll freeze that way.
As long as you live under my roof, you’ll abide by my rules.
Nothing good ever happens after midnight.
In the case of the latter, we find another all-or-nothing belief that’s somehow embedded itself into society. And yet when I subject this statement to even the most rudimentary of consideration, it falls apart pretty quickly.
As I mentioned, I work out after midnight, and that seems pretty good. Some of the best conversations I remember from across a lifetime have happened after midnight. Nearly every good song of mine was written after midnight. In fact, it’s fair to say that virtually all of my book The Best Advice So Far was also written after midnight. I’ve walked on the beach, planned surprise parties and dropped off items for charity all after midnight.
And yet, consider…
The terrorist attacks of 9/11. The Boston Marathon bombing. The recent Las Vegas killing spree, NYC rush-hour incident and Texas church massacre. Every school shooting. They all happened before midnight.
So, if they aren’t true, where do universal categorizations like “Nothing good ever happens after midnight” come from? How do they start? And why do they persist?
I’d like to proffer that the underlying cause of such unfounded beliefs and negative stereotypes is the same.
Fear.
Moreover, unpredictability appears to be a major ingredient in fear. You see, if something is unpredictable, then I can’t control it. And I need to feel like I’m in control. So I begin placing people and situations into black-and-white categories that at least allow me the illusion of predictability and control.
I cannot allow for “some” to exist outside the bounds of my categories, or even that “most” exist within them, because either would reintroduce that dreaded unpredictability.
And so, rather than face that uncertainty in life, we adhere strictly to “All” or “None.” It’s just easier that way.
If I can convince myself and others to buy into my system, I can be at peace again. So I tell my teens that “Nothing good ever happens after midnight,” because it feels like I now have a definitive line in the sand that will allow me to protect them and not to worry. As long as they are in before the carriage turns back into a pumpkin, nothing bad will ever happen to them. I can sleep. It’s simple.
It’s not true, mind you. But it’s simple.
*****
I mentioned Logic earlier in the post. It's probably on my mind more than usual because I’m helping a young friend of mine get through his college Logic class this semester.
The field of Logic is funny. It’s clearly stated that whether a premise is true or false is irrelevant. All that matters is the form of the argument. That is to say, if my premises were all true, and if that would make it impossible that my conclusion were false, then my argument is valid.
As such, the following is considered a valid argument by the rules of Logic:
All bankers are swindlers.
All swindlers are aliens.
Therefore, all bankers are aliens.
Oddly enough, if the premises contradict one another, the argument is considered valid by virtue of the loophole that since it’s impossible for me to make all the premises true, I can’t rule out that the conclusion might be true:
All dogs are pigs.
Some dogs are not pigs.
Therefore, dogs are human.
Yup, that’s considered a valid argument.
Before you label it all crazy talk, consider how often we take this approach when we construct our arguments about people and situations in real life.
Nothing good happens after midnight.
It is after midnight.
Therefore, whatever is happening is not good.
Or…
All muscled guys who approach women after dark are dangerous.
A muscled guy is approaching me, a woman, after dark.
Therefore, the guy is dangerous.
Likewise…
All white people, including police officers, are prejudiced against people of color.
All black people are lazy, out to steal jobs without hard work or merit.
All [Democrates/Republicans] are stupid.
All Muslims are radicals plotting to harm Americans.
All gay men are pedophiles.
All highly attractive people are shallow and self-absorbed.
None of this is true, of course. Not even close. But it’s simple.
And so, like those logicians, we convince ourselves that truth is irrelevant, as long as our premises validate the conclusion that will keep our sense of control intact.
You see, if I label it and categorize it, I can avoid it. I can stay on this side of the boundary, with them all on the other side. And I can feel safe. Protected. Justified. I can control it.
Please note, however, that Logic does go on to differentiate between arguments that are merely valid and those that are sound. That is, in order to be considered sound, an argument must both be valid and actually have true premises.
Well, given this new insight, none of the arguments above is sound.
Don’t get me wrong. I’ve had “vibes” about certain people or situations, a feeling that something wasn’t quite right. Often, I’ve trusted that hunch. And though I’ll never really know whether it was accurate, I do support trusting your gut — if and only if you’re sure that there are no underlying stereotypes already in place before such an encounter, ideas stemming from categorical fear or lack of understanding.
I guess what I’m inviting each of us to do today is to consider where we might be building walls that keep out people or opportunities in our life, and then to ask ourselves whether the arguments we make in defense of those walls are rooted in fear — or in truth.
For some real-life stories of stereotype-smashing encounters, check out the following posts:
eating my words
I was in a hurry. I had company coming any minute and realized that I was out of a few things. So I dashed out to the closest grocery store, had the car door open before I’d even turned off the ignition, and made a beeline for the entrance.
However, once I’d traversed the crosswalk and arrived at the outdoor gourd display, I was stopped short by an elderly couple who shuffled, a quarter-step at a time, toward the automatic door, which opened, then closed, then opened …
The man seemed to be the root of the hold-up. His back was hunched, his head stooped and shaking, as he leaned heavily on a quad cane in his left hand while his wife supported him on the other side. Once they’d gotten through the first door, they doddered a few more laborious steps and the woman headed right to retrieve a shopping cart — leaving her husband in just about the only spot that could have completely blocked the second door.
A backup was now forming, others patrons unable to circumvent the painfully slow couple to get inside.
I sighed in irritation, feeling a pressure build behind my eyes. Why now of all times? I need to get my things and get home.
The man was too close to the door — which continued to open, close, open, close — for his wife to get the carriage around him. She let go of it, assisted him in stepping sideways a few times, then pushed the cart through the door … where she left it to block the inside of the doorway while she returned once more to aid her husband.
I saw my opening. I quickly maneuvered behind and around the old man. Yet even on tiptoes and sucking in my breath, I wound up knocking his left elbow as I passed. I slipped to the front of them and through the doorway, where I moved the cart forward a few inches to scoot around it and on my way.
Eating my words 1
A minute later, somewhere toward the back of the produce section, I heard a voice:
“Treat people as people, not as props or obstacles in your path.”
“Focus on the person, not the problem.”
“Patience is still a virtue.”
In case you don’t recognize it, the voice I heard was my own, reminding me of things I’ve written about often on this blog and within the pages of my first book, The Best Advice So Far.
I stopped.
I thought about my 93-year-old Nana, and how glad I’d be if she could manage — however slow her pace — to still get out and enjoy doing her own grocery shopping. I thought about how I’d feel if I saw some impatient, inconsiderate, self-absorbed jerk darting around her, jostling her on his way to get about his own business.
Grade-A Heel.
Eating my words 2
I don’t very much like that picture of myself; and, as a rule, it’s not who I am. What I do like very much, however, is that I have that voice speaking in my head, loud and clear.
In my role as a mentor, writer and speaker, people often thank me for the advice I share, expressing how it’s helped them solve a problem, change their perspective or approach people differently. But as I replied to one reader-friend in the comments section of a recent post:
“Trust me — I am my own reader in the sense of thinking about these things. I honestly believe that I benefit most from writing what I write. It keeps me honest. Hard to write and speak things and then ignore them.”
I went looking for the old couple, to apologize. I looked down every aisle. Oddly enough, they were nowhere to be found. I was sad about that. Still, I’d gotten yet another timely reminder about people, myself and the things that really matter in life all the same.
I took a break in the middle of publishing this post, deciding to go for a short walk to enjoy the unseasonably warm day and the fall foliage along a lakeside trail nearby. No sooner had I begun, it seemed, I came upon a woman and her old dog. The woman walked with a cane, the dog plodding along beside her. They were making their way by inches across a wooden bridge — no way around them. But you can bet that my patience, empathy and ability to see people as people had returned. I stooped to pet her friend while she and I enjoyed some light conversation as she continued to cross the bridge at her own pace. How wonderful, I thought, that despite her obvious challenges, she was making the choice to go out — and live.
Eating my words 3
None of us gets it right every time in life. But I can tell you first hand that you’ll get it right a lot more often, right your course more quickly, when you’ve got a stream of consistent and positive messages flowing in.
I’m not talking about the glut of motivational memes scrolling up our feeds between celebrity gossip and weird pet tricks. I’m talking about selective input to which we devote regular time and focus.
It's a slow and steady diet. There are no quick fixes or overnight successes. And none of us ever arrives.
Whether for you or for me, a lifestyle of positivity requires being intentional. It doesn’t happen by accident.
As with most things, it comes down to choice.
no words
It was Wednesday, somewhere between 2:00 and 3:00 a.m. I was in the middle of a shoulder workout. Joe, the sole employee on duty, was parts unknown; so I essentially had the entire gym to myself. I had just finished up a set of lateral raises and was placing the dumbbells back on the rack.
That’s when I started crying.
*****
I received quite a bit of feedback with regard to last week’s atypical post. Responses ran the gamut, with people enthusiastically supporting or decrying in about equal proportions a wide range of things — some of which I never actually said or meant.
What I found even more curious, given the nature of the topic and its accompanying challenge, was that for all the disparate thoughts shared, not a single person asked a clarifying question toward being sure they understood my intent.
And that, of course, only further underlines what the post was actually about — our seemingly inescapable inclination as human beings to perceive through the lens of our own existing belief systems what others are saying, taking as a given that our interpretations are accurate.
As it turned out, that post was one of my longest to date. And yet, for all the words, clarity still had a tendency to remain elusive.
I’ve always felt that language grants us magical powers. Yet like any tool, I’ve found it to be a double-edged sword — capable of being used for both enormous good and dire ill.
Words allow us the ability to mitigate or to manipulate.
To clarify or to confuse.
To liberate or to label.
To draw people in — or to draw lines that keep them out.
I recall having seen a movie where an inmate at a high-security prison killed someone with a plastic spoon. It occurred to me that, much like words, the spoon was not the problem. The intent of the user was.
Still, this great capacity to help or to harm only accounts for willful uses of language and words.
Some years back, I read a memorably strange news article. A woman had waded out some distance from shore at a beach and was dunking herself under, perhaps seeing how long she could hold her breath. Suddenly, a pelican dove, apparently mistaking the bobbing hair on the surface of the water for an injured fish or squid. But instead of finding an easy dinner, it collided at high speed with the woman’s skull.
Both the woman and the bird died.
Neither of them meant the other any harm. Neither was good or evil, right or wrong. It was just bad timing. Faulty perception. Miscalculation. Nonetheless, great damage was done.
Words are sometimes like that, I’ve found.
*****
I visited Paris for the second time in October of 2012. I posted this to social media on October 11 of that year:
We entered through one of the back gates of the Louvre and into the central courtyard. The rain had stopped, but the square was virtually empty. From the shadowed archway of an alcove, a single cellist played "Ave Maria." As it echoed through the towering stonework and courtyard, a woman stood for a fashion shoot on the edge of one of the fountains in an exquisite couture dress, the diaphanous scarlet train of it billowing in the wind.
If I close my eyes even now, I’m right there again. Sitting astride a rented bicycle. Soaked through from the rain that had been relentless until then. My own heat causing mist to rise from my body as if I myself were evaporating into the moment that unfolded in that courtyard. Breath suspended. Throat tight. Trembling for more than the damp and cold. Turning to see the dearest friends of a lifetime smiling silently back at me with tears brimming. Knowing that we were a part of something almost sacred, something that would never be repeated again. Anywhere. For anyone.
Something we would never be able to convey to another soul as it truly was.
Even now, as I read the words I wrote in my best effort to try to capture the scene that unfolded there, I know full well that they don’t come close to actually explaining that window of time. What I felt. And whether I were to have spent another hour or another decade trying to perfect my written account — no words in any combination or volume could ever recreate the reality that existed for those few fleeting and precious moments.
As powerful and wonderful as words and language may be, they remain dim reflections of direct experience — shades of truth, but not truth itself. That is to say, for all intents and purposes, words may be true — spoken or penned with a goal of conveying truth — and yet another’s understanding of those words may very well be false. Unclear. Incomplete. Check the box marked “OTHER.”
Last week’s post was words about words. This week, I’m going to attempt to use words to talk about no words.
I’m aware of the conundrum I face here, as I set about using words to describe the depth of an experience that was devoid of them — one that had a profound effect on me, even without so much as an internal dialog.
All the same, I’m going to try. Because even if only some of you get some of the impact, I believe it will still be significant and worthwhile.
*****
So there I was, in shorts and a racer-back tank, crying alone in the middle of the gym’s weight area.
I wasn’t injured or in pain.
It wasn’t a reaction brought about by some melancholy musing.
So … what then?
Affixed at various places high up along the walls and ceiling of the gym are plasma television units, all tuned to different stations. Now, I stay pretty focused during my workouts, so I’m not the type to stand around watching shows. And each set is muted anyway, with no closed-captioning.
But for some reason that particular night, as I was pondering my last post and the seemingly paradoxical nature of words, I found myself hyper-aware of the silent scenes playing out around the room on those overhead screens.
Much as it had all those years ago in Paris, life was happening. And all without a single word.
To my right, a man in a lab coat spoke with exaggerated facial expressions, hands forming large symmetrical gestures, an ultra-white smile never leaving his face. I needed no words to inform me that he was selling something, though I couldn’t make out the product.
Diagonally to my left, a man in a plaid button-up shirt crouched between the driver’s and passenger’s seats of a tractor trailer. Two other men occupied those seats, wearing hardhats and reflective gear. The vehicle’s steering wheel was moving of its own accord. The man in the center looked back and forth between the workers, scrunching his eyebrows as his mouth moved. The others regularly looked or pointed toward the wheel as it self-adjusted.
Suddenly, the attention of all three men was drawn to the driver’s window. They squinted downward at someone in the neighboring lane. The truck’s driver looked at the man in the center with raised eyebrows and a smirk. The eyes of the man in the center got big as saucers as a broad smile split his face. He moved forward expectantly in a crouch, stretched his arm upward and pulled something.
Instantly, his mouth and fingers flew wide — a child’s reaction to what I could only assume was the sound of the truck’s horn blast, given in answer to what I imagined was a fist-pump request from the unseen commuter. The horn puller shout-laughed, his hands holding his head in exuberant disbelief, as if his team had just pulled the Hail Mary of a lifetime in the last five seconds of the SuperBowl.
I heard nothing. Not a word. Not a sound. But there I was, a big stupid smile on my own face as well, and something that felt like soda bubbles effervescing inside, to see this grown reporter’s joy at getting to live out a childhood fantasy of being the one to sound the whistle from inside a big rig.
I felt genuine happiness for him. No one used words to instruct me about how I “should” feel. And it didn’t occur to me to wonder about the man’s past or his political stands or his world view or anything else as prerequisites for my reaction. I just had what I’d like to think was a normal human response.
No words.
The television directly in front of me, overhead, frames a close-up of a swarthy young man with dark curly hair and a strong nose bridge. He is perhaps 30. He looks down, then tentatively glances at whoever is speaking to him off screen.
The shot cuts to a bomb blast. Pale bricks fly outward as a cloud of ochre dust fills the scene.
The camera zooms in slowly on a photograph of the curly-haired man emerging from the back seat of a car, eyes full of life, mouth quirked into an awkward smile. Two small children are asleep on his lap, a head on each shoulder. A boy and a girl.
The interviewer is a petite Caucasian woman with short brown hair. Her head is tilted to the side as her mouth moves.
The man draws a breath in through his nose and releases it. Teeth show briefly, moist eyes flashing upward. Then just as quickly, the corners of his mouth draw downward, tightening. His bottom lip begins to tremble.
The screen cuts to a metal platform in a dirt street. Hollow-eyed men and woman are moving slowly, bent at the waist, pulling back corners of filthy blankets. Bloody feet lie exposed at the other end of one of the makeshift shrouds. The curled fingers of a small hand are just visible from underneath another.
Cut to the same shot of the man in the car with the two toddlers in his lap.
Back to the curly-haired man, who continues to look down as his mouth works. Three large droplets fall from thick eyelashes to land on wringing hands.
The interviewer’s own hand appears in the shot, offering a handkerchief. The man takes it and presses it unceremoniously over his eyes. Then his whole body gives way and he doubles over, forehead to his knees, shaking.
The interviewer’s own eyes well up. She does not talk.
The curly-haired man has recovered a bit. The whites of his eyes are now red, his face blotchy and wet.
It appears time has passed. The man is waiting outside what looks like a New York hotel. A black car arrives. The curly-haired man weaves his head back and forth, attempting to get a glimpse inside the car. The car door opens. Shyly, another curly-haired young man, perhaps 20, emerges. He looks up. They see one another. Both men weep openly and run toward each other, embracing roughly, pulling apart only so that hands can feel one another’s face, hair. And then the embrace continues, as they rock slowly together, side to side.
The men are sitting on a couch in a lobby. The younger man has his face buried in the first man’s shoulder, hidden. His body shakes intermittently. The first man also continues to sob, but his eyes are grateful. He strokes the face of other over and over, drying the younger man’s tears with a tissue even as more continue to come.
I didn’t know the men’s names.
I didn’t know their nationality, their religion or their political views.
I didn’t know how they’d come to leave their country or to have arrived in ours.
I never considered their marital status or sexuality, income or intellect.
No words — no labels, no categories, no boxes were necessary.
I only knew that the man had lost his children. He was grieving to the core of his being.
He had been reunited with someone he’d thought was also lost. He was given hope.
No one instructed me on how I should feel. I just … felt.
And in those silent moments, as my own tears rose and spilled over, I was reminded of just how much we already know about life and what’s important, when we don’t allow ourselves to get hung up on the words.
beauty ... or the beast
At the ripe old age of 87, my Nana (now nearly 93), did something she’d never done before in her adult life.
She danced.
*****
Recently, I saw the new live-action film version of Disney’s Beauty and the Beast (OK, fine, maybe I’ve seen it twice already). And I’m finding my brain churning on several practical considerations posed by what many may have viewed as pure fantasy. So rather than wrestle my thoughts and forcing a post about something else, I figured I’d go with the flow and share one of those personal ponderings prompted by the movie (did you enjoy that alliteration?).
DISCLAIMER #1:
Though it’s hard to imagine anyone who hasn’t yet seen either the original version from 26 years ago or the current remake, and yet who may still be intending to do so, I should give fair warning that light spoilers may follow.
DISCLAIMER #2:
I’ve read and heard lots of others’ opinions and reviews of this film. So if you find yourself wondering, I’ll just tell you right now: No, I didn’t have you in mind while writing this. And if you disagree with what I say below — fantastic. That will, as it turns out, only further certain points, chiefly that agreement should not be necessary grounds for acceptance and community.
DISCLAIMER #3:
I’ve written a few posts in the past where I stated up front, “Some of you may get mad at this post.” And people have responded with the likes of “Oh brother. That was nothing. I thought you were going to dish out some real controversy.” Well, to those of you who are prone to offense, I warn you now … you might get mad. You might even stop reading my blog (though I hope you’re bigger than that). And for those who found my previous warnings to be unsubstantiated … perhaps this time around, you’ll feel satisfied.
NON-DISCLAIMER BUT WORTHY OF NOTE:
I’m also fully aware that many — I can only hope most — of my readers will not find anything that follows to be the least bit controversial or challenging. To you, I can only say, “I’m glad you’re here” (both at this site and in the world).
Finally, keep in mind that my goal here, as ever, is to challenge readers to remember that “you always have a choice” and to consider what new choices might await you, all within a context of kindness.
*****
In the opening vignette of Beauty and the Beast, we zoom in on the prince, in his days before the curse. He is primping for what seems to be yet another ball thrown in his own honor. So vain is he that he invites (or conscripts?) to his soirées only those he himself deigns both beautiful and worthy enough.
Suddenly, in the middle of the self-indulgent festivities, there is a knock at the door. Enter a stooped old woman who offers, to all appearances, all she has in the world — a single rose — in exchange for shelter from a brutal storm. The prince sneers loftily, rejecting her gift and her plea for help. She is not, in his estimation, beautiful nor influential. She offends his sense of what a person should be. And so he intends to exclude her from the ball, to put her back out into the storm.
Of course, upon his second refusal, the old woman transforms before his eyes, taking on the visage of her true self: an enchantress. It is only then — after the prince notes that she has both beauty and power — that he attempts to backpedal. But it is too late. He is twisted into a hideous beast and placed under a curse which leaves him bitter and isolated.
Viewers buy this. They accept the curse as reasonable. They see the enchantress as just and wise, the prince as selfish and foolish, deserving of his plight.
Yet so many people seem to see it all rather differently when it comes to their own attitudes and actions in real life.
In fact, ironically, among the many comments regarding the movie — made with sucking of teeth, wagging of heads, and even sneers of disgust — were expression of deep disapproval that the movie “felt the need to include gays.”
I try — I mean really, really try — not to get into religion and politics. And I’ve done well with that for six years. But this one seems inescapable on both accounts. It’s what’s on my mind. So “here goes.”
(Remember my disclaimer? There’s still time to turn back if you suspect you're likely to be irked by what I’m about to say.)
*****
Let me ask an odd question. Do you believe the Earth revolves around the sun? If it were 400 years ago, you’d have been imprisoned by the religious right of the day, your very life in peril unless you recanted publicly and said you believed the Earth to be the stationary center of the universe.
Do you support mass murder? From ancient times to the “removal” of the Native Americans, perpetrators have claimed with great conviction, “The Bible says …” that anyone who isn’t … well, us … isn’t on God’s side. They all managed to dig up scriptural support, of course, claiming “It says so right here,” plain as plain can be. And that means we can slaughter, abuse or mistreat others to get what we want. Give it a cool, spiritual-sounding name — “Holy Crusades,” “Manifest Destiny,” "Moral Majority," what have you — and we’re all good with it, right?
No? Well, how about slavery in America? Good “Christian” folk sat in their pews every Sunday, smiling beneficently during the sermons and shaking hands with the minister on the way out, only to return home and beat, rape or otherwise use their “property” — all of whom were acquired by kidnapping, of course.
Most of us look at slave owners, and we see as clearly as with the prince from Beauty and the Beast how self-centered and wrong they were “back then.” Yet we seem to lose sight of the fact that slavery, like so many backward practices and beliefs before it, was condoned as having been God’s will, supported by His Book as acceptable. Oh, yes. Didn’t you know? Being black was the “curse on Cain” or “the curse on Noah’s son Ham” — or whatever verse or reasoning suited their purpose to continue believing what they wanted to believe. Because you see “it says so right here” … and that makes it all peachy-keen in the eyes of the Almighty.
Really. Is that what “it says” … or isn’t it? Let’s make up our minds.
How about women’s rights? You do realize that women in all biblical cultures, much like slaves, were also property — bought and sold through arrangements between men and for their own purposes, don’t you? Women had no voice. In fact, I can show you verses that “prove” that women should never speak in public any time or for any reason, but that each should only ask her husband’s opinion (or her father’s if she is yet unbought … er, unmarried) in the privacy of their home, after which she should simply adopt his beliefs as her own. What “she thinks” was immaterial, not even a fleeting consideration.
Let’s go back even earlier than that, to when women had to leave town and head to “the red tent” during their periods each month. It’s all in there. I’ll show you if you like.
But don’t lose sight of the facts: those people, in their lifetimes, wholeheartedly believed that their interpretation of things was 100% right and reasonable, and moreover that “God was on their side” regarding these issues and practices.
Even in my lifetime, religious types have adamantly defended the views that hair length for both men (who must not grow their hair) and women (who must not cut it) determined their morality, all while pointing to the Bible and claiming with stern faces and loud voices, “It says so right here.”
Women should not wear pants — ever — and no one should wear denim, because it is “the devil’s material.”
Interracial dating or marriage — heck, even adoption of children from other countries — sorry, not allowed. Something about being “unequally yoked together” meant God was mad about it and we should be too.
And the Methodists, Presbyterians and Congregationalists (everyone except the Baptists) were going straight to hell.
In fact, having seen Beauty and the Beast at all would have been grounds for permanent expulsion from my school, on the basis that movie-going of any type all but guaranteed a wide assortment of lascivious shenanigans. And did you know that a portion of every ticket sale of every movie goes to support the adult film industry?
Yup. It’s true. Finger pointing: “It says so right here.”
You’re chuckling … but I’m not kidding. You may shake your head incredulously that anyone actually believed this stuff; but it was all taught as infallible truth, and anyone who saw it otherwise was punished or shunned accordingly.
From hemlines to hat wearing, beards to birth control, people throughout history and into modern times have gotten their dander up about all manner of lines that left “us” as right and holy, and “them” as sinners who should be converted, railed against or cast out.
You likely see these views and corresponding consequences as ridiculous, archaic. But are you willing to consider that some of your own stands regarding life and people right now — as well as the consequences you may be imposing on others because of them — might be just as silly, however firmly you may believe them to be true?
Do you find yourself feeling disappointed in me? Have I lost status in your estimation as a “good person”? Or are you perhaps angry at me? That’s OK — as long as you keep in mind that the very same “righteous indignation” you feel right now was mustered by those who’ve sought to defend their own beliefs and actions as they murdered the Native Americans and stole their land, kidnapped and enslaved the Africans, and repressed women’s voices throughout history. Perhaps you won't imprison me as they did Galileo; but will you label me a criminal henceforth in your mind for having asked you to question whether the universe really operates according the rules you've always thought it did? That you've been taught it does? That at this moment appear as plain as day to be so?
(Am I putting too fine a point on it? Remember, my goal is to challenge in love — but to challenge nonetheless. I’ll like you no matter what you choose to believe, and I trust you'll do the same for me. )
I can’t help but imagine — even as we look back on the slavers and the pre-suffrage crowd as terribly small-minded and ill-informed — that the people 100 years from now will be reading in their history books about us, about what some people right now today justify in the name of religion; and they’ll just shake their heads incredulously, saying, “Can you imagine that those people actually believed this stuff?”
Who’s right? Who’s wrong? Seems to me you can’t pick and choose. Either “it says so right here” for all people, for all time … or … there’s room for an ongoing element of personal interpretation in religion that suits whatever people want to believe toward achieving their own aims at any given point in time.
Mind you, I’m not making a statement about the veracity of the Bible itself, one way or the other. I’ve heard the pious recite often enough, “The Bible says it. I believe it. That settles it.” I just can’t help but be drawn to that central sentence — “I believe it” — as a condition that history has proven over and over to be nebulous, subject to change, terribly convenient and (at least according to my understanding and experience) extremely dangerous.
Of course, the anti-gay commentary regarding Beauty and the Beast is only one example. How many people today think nothing of an elitist mentality, prejudice, bigotry — general rejection of anyone who doesn’t match their own notions regarding how the world-according-to-me “should be”?
And religion — Christian or otherwise — certainly isn’t the only impetus behind the various forms of egocentrism and hatred in the world. Like watching Gaston in Beauty and the Beast, who believed that outward beauty is what makes a person valuable — or the villagers who simply followed the loudest voice (even if the reasons were as flimsy as “eating five dozen eggs” or being “especially good at expectorating”) — we seem to understand the smallness and wrongness of it all in a story, when we can point the finger at someone imaginary, someone … else. And yet we somehow continue to have a mighty hard time seeing the same in ourselves.
Good thing there’s not an enchantress on every doorstep, eh? How many of us would find ourselves bearing the burden of our own personal curse right now? How many beasts would be found lurking among us?
*****
Remember my Nana I mentioned, who’d never danced before she was 87? Let me tell you why that was.
I can’t help but recall the lyrics to the theme song from Beauty and the Beast:
Just a little change
Small to say the least …
You see, she’d been taught — and believed with the utmost conviction — that dancing was a sin. That “the Bible says so right here.” That a God she wanted to please would be angry with her if she did it, or if she stood by as anyone else did. So while you may think this is a quaint little tale, for my Nana, it was a serious moral dilemma.
The music started and, whereas in the past she’d have left the wedding in silent protest, she sat up as straight as her bent little frame would allow and declared, “You know, I think I might have been wrong about that dancing rule. It seems a little stupid.”
And so she got up and made her way over to that dance floor. And for the first time in a lifetime, she got down. She boogied. She played air guitar. She laughed aloud, surrounded by her grandchildren. We couldn’t pull her off the floor. I can still see her clearly in my mind: eyes sparkling and a gleeful smile on her face, waving her hands over her head without guilt, without a care.
Tale as old as time
Tune as old as song
Bitter sweet and strange
Finding you can change
Learning you were wrong
Funny thing is … she didn’t lose her faith. She didn’t reverse course, suddenly headed for hell in a hand basket. In fact, it was a burden off her shoulders that allowed her to let go of a lifetime of judgment, and to live with more joy and freedom.
And if my Nana can admit she might have gotten it wrong concerning something she’d firmly held onto as gospel truth for 87 years … good grief, can’t the rest of us at least consider, like those throughout history before us, that we might currently be understanding some things wrong?
*****
I don’t blame you if “learning you were wrong” sticks in your gullet. I used to feel the same. Remember, I grew up in the strictest regime of that old religious system. And yet, even in my short time alive, having really looked at and studied for myself what “it says right here” — I can tell you with certainty that it doesn’t say a lot of what I was told it did. The truth is that, for just about any religious view you want to put on the table, I can back the opposing argument from the same book — in Greek, Hebrew and Aramaic if you like.
But I won’t. That’s not my aim here, or in life. Rather, it’s to ask you to at least consider that there were lots of people throughout history who, however sincere, were sincerely wrong about what “it says right here” — and there are just as many people right now across the wide world who don’t believe “it says right here” quite what you believe it says.
Most of us can look across a lifetime and say, “I used to believe …” with regard to some things. Good gravy, I hope that is true about you. And yet we still seem to hold onto whatever we happen to still believe right now as flawless, despite the number of times we’ve changed our minds about other things in the past. But ask yourself: if you were wrong then, is it possible that you might likewise be wrong regarding some things now (things about which you may even change your mind in another 10 years)?
If you’re waiting for an angel (e.g., “enchantress”) to appear and spell it out for you, you’ll be waiting a long time. No magical rose or living candelabra is likely to convince you of the error of your ways. But you may very well find yourself a relic, living within the cobwebs and crumbling walls of your own making, shut off from some wonderful people and experiences out here in the real world.
I can’t help but see the prince at the end, finally transformed and wiser, with a new light in his eyes and a heartfelt welcome for all to join his dance.
I should probably mention that I know there are some who will counter with “Well, if you really believe everything you’ve said here, isn’t it possible that your own beliefs on some things are wrong, Erik?” And I can only say, regarding specifics, absolutely. But that doesn’t change the core of what I believe and have always believed:
Worry about addressing your own shortcomings instead of those you perceive others to have.
Don't judge.
Hate is wrong (however you want to pretty it up).
Love is good.
My faith has become pretty simple that way, whittled down to the few things that seem to matter.
And I'm not suggesting you abandon your faith. I'm simply urging you to stay open rather than rigidly insisting that you've got it all down. The deeper I dig, the more I'm sure I don't.
After it’s all said and done here, all I can do is invite you to at least entertain the possibility —perhaps through a new lens — that there is beauty to be found in places where you may have, until now, seen only beasts.
REMINDER: This is a moderated board. Keep that in mind as you think about what you'd like to post. Thanks.
riddles
I was driving recently with my cousin’s son, Seth. He’s 19, but having lived with a mentally and physically ill mother until her recent death, there are some areas in which Seth is still quite “young.” Until now, he’s never paid a bill and did not know how to write a check. It’s been a steep learning curve. Yet I find most aspects of Seth’s greenness refreshing, to be honest. It’s as if he’s seeing much of the world for the first time.
As we drove between offices, settling yet more paperwork in the wake of his mother’s passing, Seth was checking social media from his phone. Somehow, he wound up coming across a riddle and read it to me. You may have heard it:
A doctor and a boy went fishing. The boy is the doctor’s son, but the doctor is not the boy’s father. How can this be?
After a mere few moments, Seth quirked his mouth quizzically and said, “That doesn’t make sense. It’s impossible. Do you get it?”
Anyone who knows me knows that I’m more about teaching a man to fish than handing him a fish. In fact, Chapter 21 of The Best Advice So Far has this central advice:
THE BEST ADVICE SO FAR: Asking the right kind
of questions works better than making statements.
There are, of course, times when a straightforward reply is best. In this case, however, with a young man who suddenly finds himself needing to approach life’s problems with a new level of independence, it seemed the process of solving the riddle might be more beneficial than simply impressing him with my own ability to arrive at the answer.
I glanced quickly at him out of the corner of my eye as he waited in expectation of my reply.
“Seth, you just told me that ‘it’s impossible’; but you also asked if I could solve it. You can’t believe both of those things at the same time: that it’s impossible to solve and that I might be able to solve it.”
I let that sit for a few seconds. “I guess you’re right,” he conceded sheepishly. “But I don’t see how it could be true.”
“You only spent about 5 seconds before you decided your own idea was right and that the riddle must be wrong. But many times in life — most times, in fact — the first perspective we have on something isn’t the right one. At least it’s not entirely right.”
“How’d you get so smart?” he asked.
“I’ve lived a while and paid attention,” I said with a smirk and raised eyebrow, “which you can do just as well I can.” I wasn’t going to let him sidetrack me that easily. “So back to that riddle. First rule of problem-solving is this: assume you don’t have the whole picture at first. Second rule: assume there are other perspectives you haven’t yet considered.”
Seth nodded slowly, his lips and eyes narrowed in contemplation. Then about 10 seconds later, he blurted, “Yeah, I still don’t get it.”
We both laughed.
“Do you already know the answer?” he asked.
“No, or if I do, I’ve forgotten it. The only assumption I make when faced with a riddle is that I’ll be able to solve it if I give it enough time and thought. I consider every word individually. Why was that word chosen? What other meanings could it have other than the obvious one? Then I consider phrases and idioms. I form pictures for each different word or phrase or meaning. I switch those pictures around, even if they seem bizarre. But the fun of riddles is not knowing. I guess, in a way, you could say the fun of riddles is accepting that you’re likely wrong and will be wrong many times before stumbling by trial and error upon a perspective that finally works.”
Seth looked at me like a Floridian seeing snow for the first time. “I don’t think I know one other person who thinks the way you do,” he said with an incredulous shake of his head.
Well, through a process of “thinking out loud,” I showed Seth how I arrived at my answer (which I won’t tell you, if you’ve never heard it and want to figure it out yourself). This equally amazed Seth. Before I knew it, he’d hopped onto a riddle site on his phone and was peppering me with them, one after another. And in each case, I encouraged him to try solving them himself, reminding him of my “rules”:
1. Assume your first instincts aren’t right.
2. Remember that the fun of it all lies in accepting that you’ll likely be wrong for a while.
3. Go into it believing that there are other valid perspectives that will pay off in the end.
I mean, let’s face it: “Hey, the chicken crossed the road to get to the other side!” probably wouldn’t have caught on, you know?
Similarly, how much fun would a crossword be if the answers were provided and you just copied them into the boxes? Or how about a jigsaw puzzle with the backs of the pieces numbered in order, top left to bottom right?
Knowing everything isn’t fun at all in these cases. In fact, it would downright ruin the experience, the joy of finding out. There would be no sense of discovery, no “Aha!” moments — just rote exercises being completed.
Really, what would be the point?
So why is it that, when it comes to people instead of puzzles, we so often hold tightly to the mindset that we “already have them figured out”?
Why do we get so squirmy and defensive at the notion that we might not be right, or that there may be valid perspectives other than our own?
Why can’t we be comfortable with accepting that we’ll probably be wrong for a while — maybe even a long while — before we have the “Aha!” moments that allow us to see someone as they really are?
Why do we feel so threatened by the process of interpersonal discovery, choosing to trade it in for the rote exercise of piecing together our foregone conclusions in numbered little rows?
Not only in the world of riddles, but in all areas of modern problem solving — science, medicine, technology — it is not only acceptable but expected that one maintain an open mind, flexibility of thought, and a willingness to adapt. So how did changing one’s mind about people or ideas as we make our way through life come to be seen as a weakness instead of the strength it really is?
Let’s look at my “riddle rules” one more time:
1. Assume your first instincts aren’t right.
2. Remember that the fun of it all lies in accepting that you’ll likely be wrong for a while.
3. Go into it believing that there are other valid perspectives that will pay off in the end.
I can’t help but wonder what fun and wonderful surprises we might invite into our lives if we practiced these “rules,” not only with riddles but with relationships.
how i vote
I vote.
During each of the seven previous presidential elections that has occurred since I turned 18, I have voted.
I will do so again come election 2016.
However, in these nearly 30 years of adulthood, only once have I ever told anyone how I voted.
For that year’s election, I opted for a write-in nomination, neatly printing the name of a friend of mine. It was the only way I could think of to continue to exercise my right to vote while not being able to, in good conscience, get behind any of the officially proffered candidates that year. My friend was amused when I told him; and he can now truthfully tell his children and grandchildren that he was once on the ballot to become President of the United States.
I’m a pretty open person. But there are some things I just don’t talk about. My vote (in fact, politics on the whole) is one of them.
Why all the secrecy? As is my way, let me start with a story.
Back when the Internet was new and shiny – when AOL chat rooms were where the cool kids hung out, and emails containing poorly written and saccharine poetry frightened people into Forwarding them by questioning your love for Jesus if you didn’t – I used to get “those” questionnaires from friends. You know the ones. They had 50 to 100 questions (why so many, I’ll never understand), asking such insightful things as “Peanut butter or bologna?” or “If you could only wear one color ever again, what would it be?” And, of course, you’d also wind up getting a whole slew of these questionnaires from the dozens of other people who had received it and spent good chunks of their day answering every question in detail.
A variant of the questionnaire was the online quiz. You’d go to a website, make up 10 questions about yourself with multiple-choice answers, and then send the link around to your friends, complete with the taunt “Let’s see which of my friends really knows me the best.” Of course, this was always fodder for much interpersonal drama when people who fancied themselves your “bestest bud” would get a 20% and then claim that you somehow cheated.
Well, I caved in and made one such quiz (don’t judge me, I was young once). I don’t recall all of the questions I posed, but I do recall this one:
I have befriended all of the following except:
A. a porn star
B. a deaf-blind Indian boy
C. a nun
D. a serial killer
And, of course, at the time, the correct answer was …
(For those who don’t know the back stories on some of these, it’s probably best that you don’t start jumping to conclusions.)
I’m happy to report that I have also since befriended a few nuns (though I frisked them for rulers first).
The point is – I like people. All kinds of people. And that means that I count the most liberal of left-wing Democrats and the most conservative of right-wing Republicans among my friends.
I have friends who cover their vehicles in bumper stickers announcing how they will vote.
I have friends who have told me, “I love my church! They just hand out pamphlets that tell you how Christians should vote on every issue and candidate. I used to get confused, but now it’s so easy!”
I have friends who have quite literally ignored every political issue beyond finding out a candidate’s public stand on abortion and gay marriage, and that is how they cast their vote.
I have friends who sigh in admiration at the name of Barack Obama while sucking their teeth in disgust at the mere mention of Ronald Reagan. And I have friends who are still seething that Obama was ever elected in the first place, while affectionately caressing their retro bobblehead of Reagan as they perpetually mourn the end of his term in office.
The funny thing is, I’d be willing to bet that if you asked anyone within this wide scope of friends how they think I vote, they would each tell you that I vote exactly the same way they do.
So how is it, with my never having told anyone how I vote, that such disparate political proponents would all believe that I’m casting my vote in alignment with their thinking?
My best friend, Dib, hosted my 40th birthday party at her home. Guests around the table included those closest to me at the time, some of whom had never met before then. I was seated at the head of the table, where a golden crown was placed on my head. Many hugs were exchanged. Teary toasts were given. Faces were lit with joy all around.
What’s more, everyone exclaimed for weeks afterward how much they each enjoyed not only the celebration, but meeting the other important people in my life. Virtues were extolled – how generous or fun or intelligent or kind this one thought that one was. The term “good people” ushered forth from lips many times in these discourses.
Yet mere minutes later, as the conversations shifted topics, the same people would vehemently assert things like, “What kind of [fill in unsavory label, e.g., moron, bigot, etc.] would ever vote for [fill in name of presidential candidate from the opposing political party]?” with the clear assumption that I was in full agreement with them. Some have even gone so far as to say they “could never be friends” with anyone who voted this way or that on an issue, or for a candidate they opposed.
Really? They all thought the world of one another at the party, where no one had considered how anyone else might cast their vote. It caused me to wonder: would their positive opinions of one another change on a dime if they knew that the person they'd been seated next to at the party was casting their vote for the other guy?
It all begs the question: how is it that I’ve managed to remain friends with so many people who have such adamant and yet polar opposite viewpoints from one another? Moreover, how have I so long escaped having been “found out” for my true political beliefs? I mean, clearly, many of my friends would have to include me among the list of [morons, bigots, nincompoops, etc.] if they knew my political beliefs.
Really, when it all comes down to it, according to lines they themselves have drawn in the sand, they would be obliged to hate me, should they discover that my viewpoints conflicted with their own.
It’s not that I have no thoughts or beliefs or convictions.
I don’t just pander to whomever I happen to be with at the moment.
I’m not afraid of being rejected for having thoughts, beliefs or stands that may not align with those of friends.
I started this post telling you that I’ve never told anyone how I’ve voted. I’ve given you some observations, stories and cases in point. Now let me spell out for you why I’ve chosen not to reveal my hand when it comes to politics.
Chapter 24 of The Best Advice So Far has this central piece of advice:
Focus on the person not the problem.
In making the choice not to assert my own “rightness” regarding issues or candidates, I allow others to express their own beliefs and the reasons for them, freely and unchecked.
My goal is not to get someone to agree with my take on things; it’s merely to understand theirs better, and in so doing, to understand that person better. This is a much more worthwhile “cause” for me than debating over any political stand.
Chapter 21 of The Best Advice So Far focuses on this advice:
Asking the right kind of questions works better than making statements.
In choosing to refrain from telling people about my political beliefs, I leave room for asking more of the right kind of questions – questions that, for instance, start with “What if …?” or “How might …?”
While I’ve never seen anyone argue anyone else into changing a political (or religious) belief, I have witnessed the power of earning the right to ask questions that cause people to reflect on why they believe what they believe. And over time, I actually have seen people gradually open themselves up to new perspectives and either change their stance entirely or at least begin to experience true empathy and tolerance for those who don’t see things in quite the same way.
To be sure, there are times when people will outright ask me, “So what do you think about [insert political issue or candidate]?” And my answer is most always the same, some version of this: “Funny you should ask. I’ve never told anyone how I vote or what my political beliefs are. Do you see me as a reasonable, intelligent, caring person who wants the best for other people and for the country?” And the reply is usually, “Yes, that’s why I want to know what you think,” to which I reply, “… and that is exactly why I don’t tell anyone. I might agree with you 100%. I might not. What if you were to find I don’t agree with your position?”
It’s fun to watch the other person’s eyes go wide, to hear the audible swallow as they think (most likely for the first time), Oh my god! Is he one of … them?!
But what it does over time is cause them to really think – to ponder that “what if …?” without the immediate barrier of being able to neatly place me in “the other camp” where their auto-response of prejudice can kick in.
I usually try to tie up posts with a clear take-away point. It seems antithetical with this one. I'm not trying to convince you to take my approach, to avoid talking politics (or any other topic). Rather, I hope I’ve at least opened your mind to some new thinking. What you do with it, if anything, is your choice.
hope floats
For those avid readers of The Best Advice So Far: the blog, you’ll have noticed that there was no Friday post last week. This is because I was out to sea, unplugged from WiFi and Internet access, as I headed out from Miami to the Bahamas as part of my younger brother’s wedding celebration.
As a side note, I should tell you that, as much as I enjoy digital connection and writing, the break did my soul good. You should give it a whirl sometime. However, my focus in this post will not be on making room for silence in your life or how important it is not to let technology interfere with our human interactions. Those are both important topics. But today, I want to let you in on an intriguing human phenomenon I witnessed during this oceanic excursion.
We arrived in Miami on a Saturday evening. My sister-in-law-to-be picked us up at the airport, where we promptly got lost in construction and confusing signage, turning a 7-minute ride to the hotel into nearly an hour-long "adventure."
The hotel was a tall gray building, standing out above the downtown Miami skyline. There was some kind of circus in town, as well as a concert by a major artist and a prominent bike race. It was mayhem. There was no parking at the hotel, even though it had been paid for.
Once we checked in, our small traveling group was tired and hungry (they didn’t even have little bags of pretzels or nuts on our flight). But feeling frazzled, most of them didn’t feel like hunting down a restaurant; so they just made their way down the block the multi-level grocery store and decided on grab-and-go “meals” they would eat back in their rooms.
Some of the wedding party had already arrived and were out and about. Others had to be picked up in shifts as they arrived mere hours apart back at the airport.
I myself wasn’t particularly fazed by all of this. I enjoyed the change of scenery and multicultural population of Miami. But in addition to interacting with strangers on a regular basis, I’m also an observer. And what I noticed was that people seemed very guarded. The streets were crowded with people, but even huddled at crosswalks, elbow to elbow, people went to great lengths not to look one another in the eye or greet each other – not even with a silent nod or smile.
Some of my party hid for the rest of the evening in their rooms, exclaiming that they’d been “stared down” by the “sketchy” and “scary” people on the streets. Constant stern reminders were doled out regarding keeping money and valuables in your room (hidden well, because “these people will steal it right from your room”).
The next day, Sunday, I made plans to meet up with an author-friend I’d connected with online. As I waited for him to pick me up, I was chided curbside by a relative stranger who sucked his teeth and questioned my judgment and warned me about “these people down here,” expressing in ominous tones, and with much wagging of head, that I’d likely be kidnapped or chopped into little pieces and hid in a dumpster, and just what did I think I was doing?
duplicity
I don’t know about you, but last week’s post really got me thinking. It led me to the realization that all of us, to some degree, are duplicitous, with corners of our lives that don’t seem to fit the whole.
Generally patient people may find themselves yelling aloud in irritation at others while driving.
Encouraging people may wind up consistently assuming the worst where certain family members are concerned.
And otherwise kind people gossip about celebrities.
These areas would seem to be exceptions to the rule in many of our lives. And when someone points them out – or when we read something like last week’s post – we easily recognize that disparity in ourselves. For many, that is enough to prompt us to take steps in bringing that anomalous part of ourselves into harmony with the rest. It’s a process. But we are readily made aware of what’s wrong and where new choices need to be made.
However, those glaring anomalies aren’t what I want to talk about today. Rather, I want to talk about something much more insidious: a kind of duplicity that does not hide in shadows, but rather is adept at lurking in the light. And unless we commit to honing our skills of self-awareness, and then become ruthless in rooting it out, it will continue as an ever-present doppelganger, lingering about unnoticed – and siphoning happiness, fulfillment and peace from our lives.