Month: October 2017

Done with Fear

Two minutes after this picture was taken, a great white shark lying in wait on the muddy bottom of this central Texas stream attacked these folks lounging in their inner-tubes.

There was no great white shark, of course. But fear is often just that unreasonable. Fear of non-existent sharks is Darkness at Noon. And dreaded Night Terrors take over after the sun sets.

All these fears belong in the Litter Boat, located next to our inner tube travelers. But dispensing with fear is not always that easy.

There’s a Fear du Jour, a fear for every day of the year, with some left over. There’s fear of that dreaded conversation. Fear of not finding a job. Fear of finding the wrong job. Fear of that new pain, or itch, or twitch that wasn’t there yesterday.

The defense against unreasonable fear is: channel-switching. Channel-switching is the intentional act of guiding the heart and soul into pleasant pastures.

I had to channel-switch three nights ago after a particularly disastrous day turned me into an unmitigated failure. I knew I was done for. My attitude, my anger, my weight, my finances, my entire future all belonged in the dumpster. I feared my life was out of control.

So I desperately switched channels.

I switched to the channel that played back to me all the best things in my life. True friends. Great mentors. A reliable car. An honest paycheck. An adaptable future. A forgiving family. A loving God.

As I drifted along downstream, I stuffed all the rest into the Litter Boat, helping to turn my gray thoughts into brightness.

Aspiration: The Loudest Message

It’s hard to miss the message that is being sent.

From the leather crown on the head to the toe of the boot, that dude is a cowboy.

Did he actually play a guitar while riding the range? That’s hard to imagine. Probably not.

At least until Gene Autry, the singingest, stummingest cowboy, came along. After that, hats, boots and guitars defined our thinking about cowboys.

Hat and boots and guitar = cool, singing cowboy.

So what’s that called? The thing we are (the hat and boots), plus the thing that we want to become (guitar-stumming coolness) ?

It’s aspiration. Aspiration is the thing we want to become–the thing we most want to be known for, our greatest achievement.

Our aspirations can be our loudest message.

As in: She wants to be a millionaire by the time she is 35.

As in: He is fighting his way to the White House.

As in: She is the most generous person I know.

As in: He is the best friend a person could ever have.

Sing, Sing, Sing

The best music ever, no matter what the style, is the music we knew and loved in our youth.

If you loved Tommy Dorsey then, you’ll love him your whole life long. Sing, Sing, Sing. You’re good.

If your fave was The Beatles, then Strawberry Fields Forever. You’ll be singing it when you’re sixty-four.

If you were into into Mozart in your youth, all is well. Eine Kleine Nachtmusick to one and all.

Into Country music? Get ready to pay for a lifetime of therapy. Somethin’s lookin’ to git ya: truck drivin’, or drinkin’ or wimmen.

Makes you wonder what your own kids are listening to.

The Color of a Thing

For Tootsies Honkey Tonk in Nashville, it’s all about the color purple. It defines the place.

For a dog, it’s all about his nose. Think dog: think nose.

For a person into superstition, it’s all about 13. No thirteenth floor, thank you.

For the homeless, it’s all about a safe place, a safe, impenetrable space.

For a shepherd, it’s about the sheep. 98…99… Oops. One’s missing.

For the hopeful, it’s hanging on to possibilities.

For each of us, we are known by the thing that drives us. If we’re not sure what that is, just ask your friend or neighbor. They will probably know.

Flat Man

I recently heard it put something like this: Men would rather stand shoulder-to-shoulder, together watching the ripples formed by fishing lures cast into a lake. Or cram snacks as they watch a football game on the big screen.

Women, however, would rather be face-to-face, recounting together their experiences of the day, of the week, of the year—-events and times that men cannot even recall whether they were alive.

Many men have a remarkable ability to remain flat. Flat, when occupied with sports. Flat, when relating the events of their workday. Flat when asked to tend to the trash. Flat while silently sorting fleeting thoughts. Like a flounder on the ocean floor, they possess such flatness as to blend in with their surroundings, given away only by their unblinking eyes.

When a woman takes a selfie next to a picture of a giant, flat man, she gains an advantage. For that moment, she can imagine the man in the picture as something that he is not: that he is not flat.

It’s All in the Name. And in the Slogan.

Nudie Cohn, the honky tonk’s namesake, was the creator of the spangled fashions worn by classic country stars.

But it set me to thinking about the power of a name, and of a slogan.

Nudie’s Honky Tonk’s slogan is: “Legends Live Here.”

If I want to become a legend, I should live here. Or, to become a mini-legend, at least pay a visit.

I set out to find some other problematic slogans for real businesses that also make no sense at all:

Nina’s Photography: “I shoot People and Pets.”

Creston Valley Meats: “Our Animals Are Just Dying for You to Taste Them.”

Youth Martial Arts Program: “Building Better Kids One Punch at a Time.”

Chicago Police Homicide: “Our Day Starts When Yours Ends.”

Kiducation: “We Turn Used Clothing into New Kids through Education.”

Four Doors

I count four doors.

Door Number One was not my choice. Mom and Dad opened that one, my birth launching me into this world. Door Number One was all shock and some dismay.

Door Number Two was all about me. It was about my independence from those Door Number One parents. I chose my friends, dreamed impossible futures, fell in love, and found a career—actually, several of them. Later, I discovered it was also about others—my kids, my aging parents, and my friends. Lots of responsibilities and lots of decisions.

Door Number Four is the last door—the end of the trail and the beginning of the greater, Eternal Trail. A life well-lived finds its peace in God, beyond Door Number Four.

Wait a minute. Back up. I skipped Door Number Three. Door Number Three is the journey connecting Door Number Two with Door Number Four. It’s the door of today. It’s the door of now. It’s the door that lets in the neighbors. It’s the door that stoops to serve, and stands to acknowledge. It’s the door of endless, life-injecting possibilities.

At each morning’s dawn, Door Number Three awaits my choices, allowing each day to become an expectation-filled, God-pleasing pursuit.

The Yellow Zone

Recently, I’ve noticed that my Yellow Zone has been shrinking. Not overnight, but there’s been a long, slow withdrawal from the Yellow Zone. The Yellow Zone lies between the Green Zone and the Red Zone, as a sort of virtual buffer.

To help explain, let me introduce the Green Zone. It’s all the stuff that is enjoyable to me: the kinds of activities that I like, the people whom I find agreeable with my perspective, the brands I like, and the values I endorse. I’m comfortable here, in the Green Zone.

At the opposite end is the Red Zone. It holds everything that I know is wrong and that I find despicable: murder, thievery, dirty streets, phone solicitations, many politicians, and everything that is evil and vile.

The Yellow Zone is reserved for everything else. Things that are perfectly acceptable. Things that don’t deserve judgment. Perceptions that aren’t important. Words spoken in ignorance. Unintended actions. The Yellow Zone is a place of comfort.

The recent events are troubling, but true. Recently, my Yellow Zone has been shrinking, even as my Red Zone is noticeably bloating. More and more stuff is migrating towards the Red Zone because more and more things are aggravating me. “Why did he say it that way?” “Doesn’t she know better?” “They always act that way!”

I wasn’t always this way: over-correcting, under-appreciating, judging, strangling the tiniest, most unimportant and innocent details. Doggone it, I have the right to be Right, and to be sure that They know it!

But life in the ever-smaller, constricted Yellow Zone is now becoming miserable. The life of quick reactions, self-righteousness and hyper-criticism is pushing everything into the Red Zone. With so much leaving, It’s getting lonely in the Yellow Zone.

But now I’ve had enough of the Red Zone! Now I’m going back to the Yellow Zone. I’m going to renovate it. I’m going to make it more liveable, less conflicting, less judgmental. I’m going to put leaden weights all around the perimeter so the edges don’t roll in.

Then I’m going to set up some easy chairs smack dab in the middle of the Yellow Zone. I’ll send out invitations.

The Yellow Zone should now be big enough for us all.