Sunday, October 19, 2014

why are you doing that thing anyway? another snippet from my book in progress--

Why? because its there.

Today I needed to pull out my ice packs and ice down my legs and shoulders--over did it a little working on my splits and pull up and FINALLY am taking advice to respect my body instead of pushing through pain. There is nothing rad about injuring myself just to meet a goal--even one with a deadline I can see. 

Working on the next section for the editor--here is a taste:
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The problem with taking on an epic shit mission is that many times people under take them as surrogates for getting their emotional needs met.

But you ask "what about my Epic Shit Mission? Does that mean I don’t get to learn how to surf?"

Yes you get to learn how to surf. You also get to climb glaciers, hike in Iceland and do motocross. Anything! You have to ask yourself one teeny thing first.

Why are you doing it?

When Edmund Hillary was asked why he wanted to climb Mount Everest he didn’t say it was because he wanted to find love and prove to his father once and for all that he would some day amount to something.

No, he said he wanted to climb it BECAUSE ITS THERE. Not for love, not to impress anyone or even himself. He had a passion for the mountain. That was the difference.


It is far better to pursue one silly but truly sincere mission than to do something big and impressive because you really are trying to get some other need met.

----------------------------------------------------------

I was writing this section and contemplating the many times I took on some crazy goal and either having it blow up in my face or, on completing it, feeling kind of empty. Long ago I remember someone saying that you really only need one good reason to do something and if you have more than that you probably are trying too hard to convince yourself and should re-evaluate.

I wish I kept count on all the times I substituted action or achievement for satisfying unacknowledged emotional needs. I wrote this blog post before I fully digested my real motivations for going on a surf retreat. I believe the choices I made would have been different if I were more aware of my feelings at the time and chose to deal with them instead of run from them.

Just for today, think of one thing going on in your life that you are overloading with unspoken emotional needs. What can you do right now to satisfy one of those needs without putting all your eggs in one basket?  

Tuesday, October 14, 2014

Excerpt from the intro to my new book plus update on my splits challenge

Hey folks!

In my last post I told you I was planning to work up to doing the splits while writing my book to illustrate my process. Let me tell you a little more about where that challenge came from.

In September I saw a video that blew my mind. The young woman in the video became a champion gymnast even though she was born with no legs. Not a para-olympics gymnast--one that competes alongside others that have full use of their bodies. She achieved the "impossible". I really had to look at myself and review all the things that I had written off because of limitations I really believed I had that would prevent me from ever achieving those goals.

I decided to test this out with physical challenge--I gave myself a year to knock out 3 challenges that I believed that because of my body type and age would be impossible to accomplish. I set a date and decided to put cold hard cash on the line. I asked a friend to select a charity to give $1000 to if I failed to make my goal. Well, I guess Christine knew me well enough. She picked an anti-charity.

closer!
The NRA.

Could not be worse.

There is NO WAY the NRA is getting a red cent from me. By September 8 of 2015 I need to complete all three goals or forfeit that money to an org I literally hate.

But in writing this book (another impossible goal) I realized that the anti charity angle only fired up me half way. So I'm upping the ante. For every feat I crush EARLY I'm going to donate 1/3 of the original $1000 to a REAL charity. In fact folks, I'm going to leave it up to you all to choose. I will publish more on that later but I wanted you to know that I plan for some real good to come of this and you will see that this is a benefit that will go beyond my original donation.

(I'm feeling pretty confident)

Also, as promised here is a snippet from the intro to the book I'm working on. Will most likely be edited and changed around but should give you an idea where I'm going with my project.

_________________________________________________________________

If you find you are a person that has the patience and discipline to work any kind of self improvement program to the letter, let me shake your hand. A great deal of personal development books focus on how to develop qualities of grit and stick-to-it-iveness so you can get epic shit done while never actually getting anything done.

I fool people all the time. They think I have discipline. I don’t. I have entire decades in my life where I achieved practically nothing. But there have been times in my life when I got tons of fun, colorful and creative things out in the world.

How did I go from spinning my wheels to getting my own epic shit done?

Early in my life I was infected with the thought virus of “doing things the right way”. As a kid I was a natural artist. I couldn’t stop drawing and painting and really thought I was going to spend my life in art. I decided that I would dual major in college in art and literature (I’m very practical). When I showed up for my first freshman painting class the teacher opined on our color palates and really favored the work that looked the most like hers. I was confused and because I had no perspective I struggled to “paint the right way”. I lost connection with my flow and painting became very hard for me. One of the models from our class stopped by my apartment and looked at a figure painting I had done that I had in the living room. She smiled and said “wow, you really can see how you improved from the class”. I nearly lost it. It was something I painted free hand two years before I even set foot in that damn classroom.

But I still was stuck on this idea that the way I got things done was somehow flawed and incomplete. I had several other experiences over the years of trying to do things “the right way” and found I lost my juice for them in record time. When I think of those experiences the word tyranny comes to mind—the tyrant lived between my ears and set down rules and expectations daily. It was a drag to be sure and I honestly believed there was something wrong with me because I just wouldn't get in line.

See, what I was most afraid of was criticism. If people knew about my half assed approach they would see how genuinely crappy all my achievements really were. Any time you create or produce something there is someone out there who isn’t going to like it and almost as likely they will be willing to tell you they don’t like it. For me, doing it the right way was a ward against criticism—if I did it by the book, how could anyone find fault? What I found was that I did less and less creative work and found a bunch of excuses why I wasn’t writing, creating art, taking adventures or engaging in other interesting projects. My two chief excuses were “I’m too tired” and “I don’t have time”.

Well, those things were spot on accurate. I was too tired to do things that didn’t inspire me and I didn’t have time for anyone else’s rules. So I made up my own.

At the end of the day you CAN do things half assed. Just so long as you choose the right ass half to do.

Monday, October 6, 2014

Taking it to the next level, a big challenge and I'M WRITING A BOOK!!!

Hey everyone. Yes, I missed you too--its been a while since my last post but I wanted to share some epiphanies I've been percolating on and that are starting to take form. My heart is still healing (and probably will always be) from my brother's death. One thing that came out of it was a realization of HOW MUCH I WANT FROM THIS LIFE. And part of that longing is bringing all my good stuff to you, my peeps.

Despite all the advice I've received to take it easy and to take my time, I feel a major shove from my muse to take this energy and embrace a project that I've been noodleing for a long time but haven't found the courage to take on until now.

I'm writing a book for you.

Think of it as a love letter and road map to get you to do all the epic shit you've been back-burnering. The thing about epic shit is that it never happens all at once. Even if you are climbing El Capitan you take it one hand-hold at a time judging the course as you go. The way one person climbs the cliff might not be the route you should take on the day you go out to climb. Stubbornly sticking to someone else's well worn path might get you there but there is probably a better way--one meant only for you.

From my years in the technology world as a road map warrior and innovation facilitator I've learned a few things about grand plans--you make the plan and then reality happens.

If you want to get to your goal you need to get agile and to always work with the most effective and critical actions at any given time. It also means integrating those actions in a way that is directly relevant to your life--changes you can live with (not just gritting your teeth through the pain but change that is sane and that makes sense in your life today).

Me, not doing a split September 2014.
As part of my crazy book project I'm taking on a physical challenge to illustrate my process. By the time this book goes to publication (end of 2014) I will be able to do a full split. I can't do this today but I want to put my money where my mouth is and prove my process out as I write. I want to show that this stuff can work for you.

My point is this--there is information on how to do just about anything you want to do BUT only sometimes do we take that good information and use it to create the things we want. Why is that? It has to do with choosing methods and motivations that actually work for and are genuinely meaningful in our lives. We can white knuckle it through most things and get short term results but change that brings a life time result and real behavior change requires a more savvy approach.

Working in the tech sector gave me an interesting view into how many companies get trapped into playing catch up with their competitors. Instead of focusing on what value they can bring their customers, executives stand in the shower and imagine "brilliant" ideas that will make the new "iPhone killer" or whatever.

Interestingly this is a very similar process to when we compare ourselves to others or try to use other people's paths to our own top of the mountain.

Here is a clue--anytime you focus on how your product (or your life goal) is going to kill another product (or put you in a comparison game with someone else) you've already lost--might as well go home.

How is this relevant in your life? And what does doing the splits have to do with that anyway?

It has to do with what your goal means to you--not what someone else came up with.

Using the tools I learned to meet my customer's deepest needs, I will teach you how to find your inner fire for change. I guarantee you its not what you think it is.

And the splits? Looking at this photo getting to the floor looks pretty impossible. Also, I'm 47 so my ligaments are fairly fixed in length. Yet I feel driven to do something that feels impossible. IT LOOKS RAD to do the splits! I can use something rad right about now.

I'll be publishing snippets from my book up til publication--there is no reason why you should wait to get the benefit of what I'm putting into book form. I hope to hear from you and what crazy impossible goals you want to embrace. We'll get there one hand-hold at a time.

Monday, September 1, 2014

Heidi Klum exposed me and jacked my workout

I've been seeing a personal trainer all summer. Its hard! She's having me do things that are using muscles I've ignored and I come away achey and sore nearly every time.

I anticipate this pain so I'm careful when I'm in the studio with her--I hold back a little so I can complete the workout and still feel good. I feel I'm giving "everything" I can give in the space of the work out.

I remember working out much harder when I was in my 20s and it not feeling so hard. That was then and this is now. I was working out appropriate to where I was and now I'm doing something else--something ok for someone my age.

All that seemed totally fine until I lost my green sneakers.

See, I loved my green sneaker. They looked magical to me. Green with green laces--I think they called it "Caribbean" green.

No idea where they went--not in my house and not in lost and found. I had to put my mourning aside and acquire replacement kicks for my workout.

Thanks to Zappos I quickly found a pair in the right model and size. They even had a subtle green stripe. Light as a feather too. But I then took a closer look.

The tongue had the name "Heidi Klum" written across it. Oh hell no!

I looked them over and noticed how ridiculously girly these sneakers were--dotted swiss around the sole and shiny foil accents. I put them on and didn't recognize my own feet. Even the inside of the shoe had Heidi Klum printed in big letters. Stupid girlie gym shoes. I looked back at the page I ordered off--if I looked just a little closer and read the description more carefully I might have seen the horrible. Nope...I was fixated on the green stripes.

The next day I went in for my workout and complained loudly about losing my magic green sneakers and about my Heidi shoes. That was all it took to get my trainer to give me shit about my girlie feet.

She kept teasing me while I was trying to do curls balancing on a squishy surface. I kept falling off, feeling my face get red with indignation for the teasing, my discomfort and

FUCK HEIDI KLUM AND HER FUCKING SHOES!!!

I want that burger.
I went ballistic and started slapping battle ropes and slamming the medicine ball and throwing my body into it. My arms and shoulders were burning but I didn't care.

Precious (yes, my trainer is named Precious) started yelling "That's the stuff!!! That's what I want to see! None of that Zen shit you keep bringing. Bring this!"

I felt really self conscious--that zen shit was keeping me safe dammit! Safe from being hurt and safe from being seen. Now here I was having a melt down over my shoes and letting the world know it. Everybody would know...what exactly?

That I might not be that strong?

That I was breakable?

That I was wearing stupid girlie shoes?

That I still have a lot of work to do to get to where I want to be in life?

That this realization wasn't just about my workout?

Where else am I hiding and playing it safe?

For the next week I'm making Heidi Klum my spirit animal. Moving forward when I put myself out there I'm going to ask "what would Heidi think of this? Would she think it was fierce or would I be out with a cool auf wiedersehen?"

(expect to see more of the Heidi shoes)

What about you? Are you hiding all your zebra print glory behind a khaki curtain? Are you being careful or slamming it for all its worth? Drop a line and let me know.

Monday, July 28, 2014

pooptasia or what it takes to keep me from being a brave little soldier

no pretty way to say this. I've been shitting my brains out for the last 48+ hours.

Yesterday I lay in bed the entire day sipping drinks intended to keep my hydrated and immediately losing anything that had more substance than an ice cube. The house was hot. While we have good insulation, fans etc, heat has a way of accumulating in our little home when the temperatures are over 90. Miss Keri went out on a mission of mercy to find a small AC unit so we could both sleep better and also to keep me from losing even more fluids from sweating.

I felt really guilty. The afternoon was really hot and Miss Keri is so sensitive to heat she usually ends up sick herself if she is out too much. Meanwhile this is the first Sunday since my brother's passing that Mom has been alone--we usually all got together on Sunday to have lunch and visit. Steve called it his favorite part of the week. Mom and I planned a little drive out to the ocean to cool off and to take a little sting out of what the day meant. Instead I was flat on my back only stirring to dash to the bathroom and Mom stayed home instead--no lunch and no break from her day to day.

I didn't have much mental or emotional bandwidth yesterday so my guilt is here with me today--guilt that I wasn't there for my Mom and my parter was out in the sweltering heat doing work to make me comfortable.

Here is the stupid thing. Keri showed up fresh faced and triumphant with lime popsicles, really fluffy TP and a giant fan that worked great to cool our room off. She nimbly assembled the fan while I sat immobile in a chair by the window with a popsicle. I couldn't move so I couldn't help. She was ok.

Mom was ok too. The world didn't collapse.

And honestly, I've been dead tired. I've been aggressively going for "normalcy"-- keeping my grief in a little box and going on with life. I managing most things well but my paper thin qualities show up in the damndest places. Such as...

1. The dog has learned to remove his diaper. Beside leaving a puddle the size of a small inland sea he also lifted his leg on the freshly laundered comforter. This is a particular issue because

2. The dryer needs to run 3-4 times to dry a load which means

3. We need to buy a new dryer. Like now.

4. The crematorium called and said I could "pick up everything" (everything????)

5. And then planning the scattering of the ashes.

6. And dealing with people...the adage that you can always trust people to act like themselves is totally true.

7. And the world isn't keyed into the fact that you aren't running on all cylinders and wonder what's up just because they don't know or don't know what to say or do. You try to be gracious, make sure people are comfortable, not make waves, and above all care for their feelings...because that's what you do!

Dead tired + normalcy act = physical crash

See, cause and effect.

So, I'm here at home near the toilet. The world is turning. The lesson I still haven't quite learned is how little my world runs like a train on schedule. Even eating well, trying to get my sleep in, trying to do less...well, even doing these righteous and sane things, my life is imperfect and my normalcy is far more tenuous than I care to acknowledge.

I can't fix everything with a perfect plan.

If I were going to have one big lesson from pooptasia it would be to remember how messy life is in general for everyone. I have hang ups and judgements about what my life is supposed to look like and how I'm supposed to "be" for the world. In the spectrum of normalcy, I see quite clearly my view of what "should" be in my life is a very narrow band. Being more gracious with myself would be a good starting point. If I were a guest walking into the home of my real life, would I be so unkind as I am sitting in the middle of it? Would I think the things I do or would I cut me some slack?

I don't know that I could have avoided dancing the "pooptasia ballet". My sense is that I could have done things differently including letting some other folks step in to do things--especially the items I think I "have to do".

In the meantime I just got a call from my Mom asking me if I need to have some things picked up at the store. I already have everything but it was nice to know she wanted to take care of me too. Maybe I should let her.

Friday, July 18, 2014

the world doesn't stop

One of the beauties of having your own blog is you can say whatever you damn please. Thank you google for the blogger medium and thank you to all other self publishing sites that allow people like me a means to send thoughts into the world--someone recently wrote (I wish I could find the source) that blogging is very much like sending a paper airplane out the window. You don't know who will read it or what they will make of it or even if it catches their interest.

I've been using my blog these last two weeks to process my brother's suicide. I have my grief and I have the observation of my grief as well as the experience and observation of the grief of my closest loved ones.

I'm tired. I "know" all the things about "taking my time" and "no way of grieving being wrong" and all sorts of other comforting crap. I also know to not be hard on myself, be extra kind, take time blah blah blah blah BLAH.

The fact is this shit just hurts in a visceral inescapable way. And the world doesn't stop. My instinct on Saturday was to consider going back to work. I did. I found the world didn't stop. And I saw that my work had suffered under the strain of the last month, as well as my newness to the job. And when when someone pointed out the real holes, all eyes were squarely on me.

You know, you can't really wave a flag around and say "oh, I'm sorry, your priority suffered because of my family issue and also I don't know what I'm doing yet." And no one else is pointing that out so you soldier on. You try to fix things and fall forward.

Also being referred to as a rock kind of cements that into people's expectations of being an infinite pool of strength--one you can always dip into to solve whatever. And I know I'm not and I'm taught that I'm not. And yet here we are.

This morning I went to my usual work out with my trainer. She asked me how I was and I said "dead tired" and she asked "tired or sad". I put on my sunglasses and hid my face and had a half-assed work out. Its too much to say I'm sad when I'm about to do inchwork crawls up and down the b-ball court.

I'm sticking to my routines if only in a half assed way because ultimately they support me. More than one time in the last week I thought to myself "hey, why don't I put a straw in this bottle of bourbon". See, the problem is I know better. Drinking myself into numbness won't fix anything (it never did before but hey, awareness now) and I hate knowing that.

Fuck knowing better.

I feel my emotions are very close to the surface and I cannot bear to have people see the face of my pain. But the energy needed to project a mask of normalcy is costly and I may have run out of coin to keep it up. 

Despite all that, the world hasn't stopped.

My wife and I plan to foster my brother's little aged dog who may or may not have issues with using the potty. It seemed like a kind thing we could do that was also manageable (and how much chaos can 7 lbs of dog cause?).

My mother is cycling her grief daily. The most intense pain comes as she wakes up and remembers reality. That pain is tempered through the day by routine and our presence. My sister will most likely return home next week. Mom will have my other brother with her. I will continue to come by for dinner or morning coffee depending what I can work out.

We have seen my brother's body. It brought up uncomfortable questions about what really happened at the moment he pulled the trigger. He was a marksman yet the wound he had could be concealed by a hat. No matter what "experts" say about people using guns to end their lives, there is something kind of tentative about a shot not taken in a more decisive location. Did he want to be rescued? Was this an accident?

I really wish that thought would leave me alone because it can't be answered. Not even by experts.

I know these words aren't nice or comfortable. I know some people reading them will be put off. I too wish I could make this sound like I have it together but I'm not together.

This writing is a balm to salve the part of me that wants to scream in the faces of people who don't know or understand. People don't know what to say--I know. And in this moment is the recognition of every time someone brought their grief to me and I came up empty of words or even the proper attention. I also know in the future I will come up empty but hopefully a little less.

Thursday, July 17, 2014

asking for help

I got an F in trigonometry. It was my senior year in high school and the previous year I managed to get high marks in math and science and even started toying with the idea of pursuing a science focused degree. The first week of trig I was completely lost. Our teacher was a genuine mathematician--something quite different than a regular math teacher. I recall him scribbling some things on the chalk board and looking at us saying "there it is". Everyone looked at him with total attention seeming to understand everything. I sunk in my chair. I was used to simply "absorbing" information as it was presented. I usually didn't have to ask questions or study and got grades equivalent to my level of interest. Not a recipe for success but I had no awareness of that. For a while I simply hid in my own thoughts during class until my mid term report card had an F on it.

Well failing a class my senior year was unacceptable--there was NO way I was going to be late for graduation. I hired a tutor--one of my classmates and I paid her with my own money. She patiently broke the functions down for me as I struggled to focus. I passed. I graduated.

I went for an Literature degree.

Thank G-D for tutors. Something that everyone knew would help if I just bothered to reach out to one. They show up. I pay attention. Things get better.

I still struggle with asking for help.

The week since my brother's death has been an excruciating crawl.

People have been writing and calling asking to help--asking for things to do. There has been precious little to do other than a few phone calls. We go about our days and break down in the middle. I made up a bunch of chores for my family to work on to while the hours away.

I decided to go back to work. It was like being back in my trig class.

I'm not accustomed to entering a job and not "getting it" by just listening and observing. The difficulties of the last month also have hampered my ability to join the hive mind that is my new work place. I didn't know what I needed so I awkwardly asked my boss for guidance. She made herself available and just as awkwardly did her best to help (help is so much easier to give if the problem is well defined--but as all technical people know, problem definition is 95% of solution).

In the meantime entropy was at work and something I thought was on track was disintegrating. I did the things I knew how to do. I got more help. I resigned myself to wearing a pointy hat for a while and not pretending to know what I was doing.

At the end of the day, on my way out of the building, a familiar number rang my phone. I almost let it go to voice mail--I could listen to the kind message later when I could unpack my grief from its little box in private and take note that someone noticed and was sending love. I chose to answer instead.

My friend, someone I knew from my last job and a dear soul, broke his heart open into my ear. His genuine grief, his tears, his raw words cracked my little box open into sobbing. He said he just wanted to sit next to me and cry with me.  He lives 30 miles in the opposite direction but wanted to do my chores, bring my family food...anything to assuage our pain.

I've been avoiding talking. Mostly I've been avoiding explaining. Suicide doesn't make any sense and people want to ask questions--I expected a lot of having to tell people things. But I actually did need to tell someone. I needed to verbalize everything that had happened in the last month. To not use my keyboard to put a safe veil up. I was never going to call someone up and tell them any of the things that happened. No matter. That raw naked part of my psyche was making calls to whatever angelic forces exist to look for cracks in me to get that kind of help in. And they sent my friend. He got past. And the crack is a little wider and others will get in over the days and weeks too.

When I got home there was a package with a little teapot and a box of tea. There was also a lovely wooden box filled with cookies and sweets--the sorts of things you put out when you invite someone to listen to you.

I'm closer to sitting with someone but it's still very hard to contemplate. Angels and spirits keep scraping at the crack, making it a little larger--easier for light and rain to get in.