Author: Glenn Johnson

Life is long – Live it to its fullest

Enjoying an orange to it’s fullest isn’t about just sucking the juice out of it, it’s about recognizing everything it has to offer. Life is the same thing…

This was originally written by me on Facebook Notes on March 13, 2013.

I know what you’re thinking, I wrote that down wrong. Like most of you, I grew up hearing over and over “Life is short; live it to its fullest.” What a disservice that was to me. Though not conscientiously aware of it, I’m pretty sure that this phrase has more to do with how I lived my life up to this point than anything else I can remember. And I don’t think that was a good thing.

I remember a long time ago, I can only guess that that I was 3 or 4 (or so) and I was having the time of my life. I distinctly remember having the thought “If I ever forget this day, I know at that point I am old.” I remember the thought, but I have absolutely no clue what I was doing, so I must be old. And that’s okay. But what I know is, though I am starting my 58th trip around the sun, I still plan on being around for a long, long time. And THAT is my point: life is long, so you are able to live it to it’s fullest.

I have worked for more companies, had more jobs and titles, than I can recall without referring to several old resumes. I always felt the need to bounce around, do as much as I could, don’t waste any time, because, after all, life is short, live it to it’s fullest. My definition of living life to it’s fullest was to cram as much into it as I possibly could, experience a little of everything without spending too much time on any one thing. You know, I had plenty of time to enjoy those things a little bit more than I did.

So, if I could send a message to the generation of my granddaughter it would be, slow down. There will be things in the world that will excite you. Take the time to pursue them. If you enjoy what you are doing, it won’t be wasted time. If you find you don’t have the passion for it, there’s still plenty of time to try something else. Just don’t be so quick to give up on something just because you feel the urge to keep moving, doing something, so you’re not wasting this life you have been given. I wonder how this life would have been different if I had just invested a little more time along the way, putting out of my mind that I was bored, and had put more effort into finding the parts that excited me.

I guess if I had to come up with a really bad analogy, it would be something along the lines of “Life is like a sack of oranges…” I know in my mind that the sack of oranges has a limited shelf life before they are going to start going bad and become inedible. In the past, I would have taken the first orange, cut a hole in it, sucked the juice out and get on to the next one. Hurry before some of them go bad. What I’ve found is there is more to enjoy about an orange than just the juice. Look at it. The color is so intense. In fact, the color is so pure they just went ahead and named the color for the fruit. Smell it. Try to describe the scent of an orange. It is sweet, tart, clean, fresh, acetic, and more all at the same time. Feel it. Notice the texture of the rind. It is bumpy, has grooves, but is smooth, all at the same time. Open it and take a bite. Feel the individual little juice sacs with your tongue. Bite it between your teeth and feel the gush of juice that squirts forth. Taste it. Not just the juice that comes so easily, but also the pulp that retains a little bit more juice that you have to put the extra effort into harvesting.

Enjoying an orange to it’s fullest isn’t about just sucking the juice out of it, it’s about recognizing everything it has to offer. Life is the same thing…

What I Believe

I first wrote this in Facebook Notes on March 7, 2010. Here we are 16 years later…

Facebook has allowed me to connect and reconnect to friends, family, and co-workers and often in ways different than before. My coworkers probably see a different persona here than they witness ay work. Old school friends are seeing a different person now than they remember because I AM a much different person now than then. Many of my family members are probably seeing for the first time what truly makes me click. I was thinking the other night, when I should have been sleeping, that I should take a few moments and reflect on my current belief system. I am in a completely different place now than I was, say, 12 years ago, and I hope I continue down this path for another 12 years, and 12 more after that, etc.

Few of these beliefs are original but I now claim them as mine. I feel like my greatest spiritual growth, and therefore personal growth, has developed over these last 12 years. My wife, Shelley, always told me “When you believe, then you will see.” I always sloughed it off as so much spiritual drivel. In 1998, I was introduced to Life Success Seminars, which presented concepts that allowed me to really look at how I was living my life and why I was making the decisions I was making. I also became more open to suggestions from Shelley, including listening to Abraham – Hicks. They have all been great teachers and they helped shape what I believe today.

I believe that I am exactly where I want to be. The decisions I have made in my life have led me directly to where I am now. I may not have realized the impact of most of my decisions at the time they were made, but every one of them was intentional. I do the things I do with intention, even the bad things. Every result in my life is a product of a specific intention. For example, I really like ice cream. I eat a lot of ice cream, I intend to eat a lot of ice cream, and I do it on purpose. As a result, I weigh much more than I wish I did, I have intentionally put on the excess weight, and I have done it on purpose. This type of scenario is true for all facets of my life, I am who I am because of the intentional decisions I make every day and I made them on purpose. What I believe is: we live with a purpose and we do it on purpose.

I believe that I make countless decisions every day. It’s not just the obvious ’this or that’ decisions, it is the more subliminal decisions that I don’t necessarily realize I’m making at the time. How do I react to this situation, what do I say when someone tells me this, how do I feel when things don’t go as expected? These are all decisions that I make every day. What I believe is: the best decision is the choice that feels better.
I believe that if I want to achieve something different I must do something different. I have found that it is easy to fall into a pattern, often out of habit. So what happens is that I keep doing the same thing over and over again only to realize the exact same results. Deciding that I desire a different result will not make it so. If I keep doing the same thing, the results will always be the same. What I believe is: we must make changes in our thoughts, beliefs, or actions to generate results different from our current situation.

I believe that contrast is necessary for growth. I could isolate myself from any negative influence or I could surround myself with only like-minded individuals, but I would stop growing spiritually and emotionally. It is the contrast in life that challenges me to examine my core values and how my decisions and actions either support or refute those values. Sometimes contrast confirms a previous decision and sometimes contrast encourages me to choose a different path. What I believe is: we can only grow if we are being constantly challenged.

I believe that life without balance is a less desirable existence. Some speak of the 3 human natures: thought, feelings, and behavior. Others refer to the 7 chakras, the vortexes, or force centers, of: supreme light, intellect, spirituality, compassion, will power, sensuality, and materialism. I prefer to concentrate on the four natures: physical, mental, spiritual, and emotional. I have found that when I don’t feel as happy as I would like to feel, I can always find that I am concentrating too much on one of the natures, to the detriment of at least one of the other natures. The important thing to me is that I am getting better at recognizing when I am out of balance. Maybe I become more cynical, or short-tempered, or I don’t take anything serious, any number of things can trigger the realization that I wish I felt better. What I believe is: a centered person is a healthier person and a happier person.

I believe the longest distance is the space between my brain and my heart. Some of life’s lessons are learned and many are taught. An example of a lesson learned is that fire is hot, while one of the lessons taught to me was big boys don’t cry. I’m sure all of my friends, whether male or female, can think of other examples of life lessons that were taught to them. What I have discovered about myself is when I make decisions solely based on reason they are always inferior to the ones when I use both reason and feelings. I am sure that many of my female friends would say that they are likely to make decisions based on emotion with much less attention to logic. What I believe is: reason without feelings is just as dangerous as emotion without logic – reason and emotion must coexist in all that we do.

I believe that all life is a series of relationships. This also is a newer realization for me. This not-knowing was a result of not feeling and always being in my head. A personal relationship was a special tie between a person and family or a person and their deity. I was aware of business relationships, but only as they pertained to business, not the individuals involved. What I believe is: any interaction between two or more individuals should be treated at the personal level.
I believe people would rather feel wanted than needed. This is an affirmation of the previous belief that the best choice in any decision is the one that makes you feel better. The best choice in any decision will make everyone feel better. During a particularly stressful time in my life I once told a friend that I needed their support. I was absolutely stunned when they declined and I asked why they wouldn’t offer their support. I was told that they felt that I was capable of handling the situation alone but they were willing to offer support if I wanted it. When I approached this person a second time and shared that I wanted their support, they granted it freely and completely. What I believe is: we have an unlimited amount of compassion while at the same time defending our sense of space.

I believe we are born good. Look at or think of any infant you have been in contact with. Do they show any animosity, deceit, greed, or any of the other traits we often deem ‘bad’? Negative traits are learned, either by observing others or as a protective device to defend themselves from negative actions. What I believe is: a newborn is the purest of human existence.

I believe that having a winner does not imply that there must be a loser. I first heard the term win-win in a management seminar. It was a philosophy that if I could convince my ‘opponent’ that I was conceding something for their gain, I could probably gain more than if I just tried to get my way, completely. I was really surprised when I was in a group of people and one of them, a lawyer, said that ‘win-win’ is the worst possible outcome. In her environment win-lose was the desired outcome and lose-win was not to even be considered. I realized immediately that this was not an existence that appealed to me. I now find I enjoy non-competitive activities more than traditional games. What I believe is: when I view those around me at a personal level, I don’t want them to be considered a loser any more than I would want to be considered a loser.

I believe there is a central power throughout the universe. I don’t claim to be a religious scholar, but I think it’s a safe bet that the majority of humans believe in a supreme being. Though the different religions may have a unique deity, there are more similarities than differences. They all seem to teach some form of ‘treat others the way you would like to be treated’. Most proclaim some form of everlasting life for their believers. Most proclaim the desire to do the things that are right and to refrain from doing the things that are wrong. I was raised in a Christian home and taught that the Bible is “the word of God, the only infallible rule of faith and practice.” I have grown to question this, as well as the basis of all structured religion. What I believe is: the central power that has always existed and always will be, and is the foundation of everything that is, can be summed up as “Pure Positive Energy”.

I believe that death is not The End. I believe that I came from Pure Positive Energy. I believe that as a newborn I was closely connected to Pure Positive Energy. I believe that my existence in the human form is to provide contrast to my existence as Pure Positive Energy. I believe that when I allow myself to be closer to Pure Positive Energy I make better decisions, I am more balanced, I am easier to be around, I am more intuitive. What I believe is: death is the transition from the physical form back to the non-physical form of Pure Positive Energy.

Relationships and Living Life on Purpose

…there is something much more important than living life WITH purpose, and that is living life ON purpose.

A common thought tossed around the self-help community is to “Live life with Purpose.” The basis for this idea often quotes Socrates who wrote in 399BC, “The unexamined life is not worth living.” I would argue that there is something much more important than living life WITH purpose, and that is living life ON purpose.

In my previous post, I mentioned that life is a journey, Hopefully, most of us have set some lifetime goals for ourselves while we are here having this human experience. These goals often include family, education, business, spirituality, and travel. I have also heard it said that “goals without a plan to achieve them are merely dreams.” The path to our goals is fraught with innumerous decisions every day, each decision ultimately getting us closer to our goals or taking us further away from them. How much effort are we putting into these decisions? Do we do what’s easy? Do we do what’s comfortable? Do we do what makes us happy in the short term? Do we take a moment and ask ourselves, “Does this get me closer to or further away from my goals?” Regardless of how you make those decisions, even if you put no thought into them at all, you are doing it on purpose.

Nowhere is this more apparent than in our relationships. What many of us fail to realize, however, is that almost every decision we make impacts a relationship. We understand the obvious relationships:

The Family Unit: One of, if not the most obvious relationship is that within our own family unit including spouse and children. Add to that, maybe to a slightly lesser degree, is the next step of separation away – parents, siblings, aunts and uncles. It’s the one relationship that seems to take most of our energy.

Business: The concept of “it’s not about what you say, it’s more important how you make me feel” is no more apparent than in business. This goes for interactions between co-workers, managers and employees, and clients. These may be the easiest decisions we make that are mostly goal oriented. Are your business relationships gentler than your family relationships? Do you work as hard on your family relationships as you do on your business ones?

Friends and Extended Family: How authentic are we when we are with people that we are the most comfortable? Do we avoid the tough topics to keep peace? Do we make jokes to avoid engaging in difficult situations? These are the people that we should be able to most easily be ourselves, to seek guidance, to practice putting ourselves in uncomfortable situations that could aid future growth and get us closer to our goals.

Strangers: The clerk at the store, the server at the restaurant, the person in the car next to you in traffic, the young family you meet on the walking path – how do you interact in those relationships where you have nothing to gain? Yes, they too are relationships. It starts before you even first meet them. Do you have preconceived feelings toward specific groups of people that dictate how you interact with them? Maybe you don’t trust someone of a different race or ethnicity. Maybe you withdraw from strangers of the opposite sex. Maybe you call yourself an introvert and just don’t want to deal with people you don’t know. I would suggest that each stranger you meet is an opportunity to learn more about yourself, to discover new paths to reach your goals.

Self: Ah, probably the most important relationship in our lifetime and the one we give the least attention to. How many of us are actively pursuing our dreams and how many of us are just on auto-pilot, hoping that we’ll somehow just magically reach our destination? How many of us, after doing something ‘dumb’, ask ourselves, “Why did I do that?” It goes back to my original premise that one of the most important things we can do is “live our life on purpose.” Be thoughtful in the choices you make. Understand the consequences of each and every little decision you make every day. You want that extra piece of cake? Fine, does that get you closer to or further from your weight goals? You want to sleep-in today instead of hitting the gym or taking that hike on the trail? Great, but does that decision get you closer to or further from your health goals?

The gotcha when we look back on all of these little decisions, is that we make every single one of them on purpose. We have choices: A or B, This or That, Yes or No, Now or Later. We make every decision on purpose, either for the short-term gain, the long-term gain, or to postpone any immediate responsibility. They are all valid reasons, just be mindful of them.

Part 2 of 2: Life is a Journey

I’m sure we have all taken time to ponder the question, “Why am I here?” Considering the meaning of life goes back at least as far as the ancient philosophers including Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle and has remained a favorite topic of philosophers through the centuries.

Entire religions are built upon the need to provide purpose for our human existence. I have read a description of Christianity as defining the purpose of life is to seek salvation for a promise of eternal life. A great speaker once told me that the purpose of religion was “to make people feel better about death.”

Discounting all of the religious variations, I think most of us fall into one of three camps:
a) ‘we are born, we live, we die, that’s it’
b) ‘we are born, we live to meet the goals set out by our religion, we die, then spend eternity based on how well we met our religious obligations’
c) ‘we come from pure positive energy, we experience duality and conflict, we return to pure positive energy.’
As for me, when I’m asked what I believe, I usually just say that I’m hopeful.

As a youth, my family attended an active Southern Baptist Church. It was what most Southern people did in the late 1950’s and early 1960’s. Every Sunday morning, you would get dressed in your “Sunday finest” clothes and go to your church of choice. Most of us also attended a Wednesday service, as well. I remember one Sunday morning when I was around five or six years old, my father was quite vocal on the drive home from church saying it was the last time we were going to that church, that they spent more time preaching about money than they did scripture. It was the last time we attended church as a family for many years, and it also taught me, as a young child, that church was not to be trusted. I felt a bit like an outcast because ‘everyone’ in our neighborhood attended church on Sunday morning except our family and the family of the town drunk that lived a couple of houses up across the street.

Fast forward almost a decade and I found myself in a new school, 8th grade at the newly constructed high school. My other elementary classmates matriculated to the old high school but our family had moved to a neighboring school district. I met my new best friend, John, on that first day of school. Though he was a year older than me and a year ahead of me, we had several classes together, including chorus. Oh, how I loved to sing. I had first discovered my joy for singing in our weekly music class in elementary school. I can still remember my third-grade classmates groaning when I asked if we could sing “Home on the Range” almost weekly. Just a couple of weeks into the new school year, John asked me if I would consider visiting his church, the local Presbyterian Church, and invited me to attend the choir rehearsal that Wednesday evening. I was all in, choir practice every Wednesday evening, church service every Sunday morning, and often special services on Sunday evenings. I was there so much that my parents and two younger brothers even started attending.

However, there was always a disconnect for me. I would spend the morning in Sunday school listening to how loving and caring God is, then move up to the main sanctuary to be told how judgmental, spiteful, and vindictive God is. Another covenant I had problems wrapping my head around was the declaration we had to proclaim every Sunday morning: “I believe that the Bible is the word of God, the only infallible rule of faith and practice.” Fifty-five years later and that phrase is still in my head. I never truly accepted the Bible as a literal expression of God’s word, much less that the red letter scriptures were actual quotes from Jesus. I stayed at that church for the balance of high school, not for the message every Sunday, but for the chance to sing regularly.

One of the more recent philosophies was made popular in the 1980’s by author Wayne Dyer and has been attributed to the 20th century philosopher Pierre Teilhard de Chardin. I’m sure you are familiar with “We are not human beings having a spiritual experience, we are spiritual beings having a human experience.” 1980 is also the same year my wife and I were married. She was a strong proponent of spirituality separate from religious dogma. These thoughts were very much in line with the philosophies of Wayne Dyer and, in the early 1990’s, another author she followed, Abraham Hicks and the “Law of Attraction.” I was not ready to hear those messages, and I called them no more than “woo-woo philosophy.” She was persistent and consistent in how she presented that “new thought” paradigm to me. Most importantly, she demonstrated those ideas through her actions, not just her words. It took until the late 1990’s for the light bulb to finally turn on in my brain.

By this time we had moved to Cincinnati, Ohio and I was committed to my life on the hamster wheel. Always chasing more, always searching for happiness ‘out there’, and never finding contentment. Ten years with the same small high-tech company had brought me industry notoriety, a comfortable paycheck, and a feeling that I still wasn’t contributing to the common good. The owner of the company, along with the VP of Finance, attended a long weekend experiential ‘self-help’ seminar and wanted all of their top-tier managers to attend. I was to be the guinea pig for the rest of the organization. I showed up on Thursday evening not even knowing what the seminar was about.

As with most things I get involved in, I went in with an open mind and participated fully. It was very much all of the “woo-woo” stuff my wife had been telling, but this time it was presented in a way that I could understand. I couldn’t wait to share my newfound discoveries with her and all she would say is, “Yes, I know. That’s what I’ve been telling you for the last twenty years.

I started volunteering with the seminar organization, eventually attending an advanced weeklong class that dug deeper into our decision making, then becoming a leader both in the basic seminar as well as the advanced seminar. One of the most insightful messages I received about myself was that I spent so much time striving to be “Right” even at the expense of “Being Happy.” Yes, words Dr. Phil also often used. Communication between my wife and I actually flourished. Shortly after 9/11 in 2001, my wife and I decided it was time to pursue happiness and we returned to the Atlanta area.

Upon moving back to metropolitan Atlanta, we decided to go into business together. We worked side by side seven days a week and were basically together 24 hours a day. We would never have survived that ritual before finding common ground spiritually. As mentioned in Part 1, our world came crashing down in 2018 when our youngest child took their own life. We not only lost one of the joys of our life, we lost our joy for life.

In the summer of 2018, as my wife was searching for spiritual comfort, she decided to attend a service at our local Unity Church. This was something I was not familiar with, but she did find comfort there and encouraged me to attend. The core principles of Unity aligned with my belief system, and I was comforted by a spiritual group that used meditation to seek alignment instead of a religious group that used prayer to ask for favors. Unity uses the Bible as its basic textbook, not an “infallible truth”. Unity acknowledges the divinity of Jesus but also asserts that the same divinity lies in each and every one of us. In our local Unity Church, Jesus is our master teacher and model. Just as importantly, Unity states that EVERYONE is a unique expression of God and together we are One.

In Part 1, I commented that we, collectively, seem to be more disjointed in our belief system than ever before. How do I respond to this? As the title of this post implies, how do I navigate this journey of life? How do I reconcile that family and other people I know have such diametrically opposed views on religion, politics, diversity within the human race? For me, the inspiration is simple while the application is often quite difficult. If I truly believe that “we all are one”, that “we each have the divinity of God within us”, that “our thoughts manifest reality,” I say to you:

“The divinity within me honors the divinity within you.”

Unity teaches me that the spirit of God lives within/around/as each person; therefore, all people are inherently good. It is not for me to judge.

I was going to close this post with a single word – NAMASTE, for those of you not familiar with the word, it is pronounced: nah-mah-stay. I also found these short definitions, maybe I should have just started this post with these:

“I bow to you”: A literal translation meaning “salutations to you” or “hello/goodbye” in Sanskrit. 

Gratitude: A way to thank the teacher for sharing knowledge and students for their presence and energy. 

Oneness: A gesture promoting unity and acknowledging that beneath differences, we are the same. 

Spiritual Connection: Helps connect energies and close the practice with a sense of peace and reverence. 

“The divine in me bows to the divine in you”: A common interpretation, recognizing shared spirit. Hmmm, sound familiar?

However, I will do it anyway.

Namaste

Part 1 of 2: Perception is Reality

It is February, 2026 and public perception of reality has never seemed more disjointed. It is my contention that there is no such thing as “reality” and even if there is, there is no value in it. The only thing that has value, the only thing that truly matters is our perception of what reality is. So how did this disjointed perception get created? That answer lies in the varied life experiences of every single one of us. On top of our unique life experiences, add the infinite spectrum of priorities in each of our daily lives as well as the goals we hope to achieve and witness, not only in our personal lives but in the world around us, it’s no wonder that it’s hard to agree on what reality is.

These life experiences are shaped by variables, some as basic as the time period and the location where you were born and raised. These differences can be as broad as what country you were born in and as specific as the neighborhood and even family dynamics. Being born in the mid-1950’s and raised in the south, the suburbs of Atlanta, Georgia to be a bit more precise, only moving once as a child 3-1/2 miles from one house to the other, and attending only two schools from first through eleventh grades, my exposure to different cultural aspects were limited. The elementary school I attended was 100% white and the high school I attended, one of the largest and newest schools in the state at the time, had a single black family.

On the topic of family, that was one of the most important aspects of my youth. I spent extended time at each set of grandparents during the summer, one in the heartland of south central Georgia, the other in a rural setting north of Atlanta. The extended family gathered for holidays and both families had an annual reunion attended by a hundred or more kin. My father was the oldest child in his family and my mom was the oldest in her’s and I was the oldest grandchild on both sides of the family. One thing that was instilled in me from an early age was that I could be anything I wanted to be when I grew up. This coming from one set of grandparents living in a house that had electricity and a bathroom installed well after the house was built. The bathroom was a toilet and a sink. If you wanted to take a bath, the shower was in the hall surrounded by curtains. My other grandparent’s house had electricity and running water, that running water was the cold water from the well that fed the kitchen sink via an electric pump. The bathroom was an outhouse back behind the house against the barn (to help reduce drafts from the wind). Baths were taken in the middle of the kitchen, standing in a large round washtub with warm water heated on the stove. If you had to pee during the night, there was a pee can on the back porch you could use as long as you took it up and emptied it in the outhouse in the morning.

My grandparents to the south, lived on a farm and my grandfather farmed the land in both their county and the county next door, growing crops such as peanuts and cotton along with the pecan grove on their property. I remember my grandmother taking me to the zoo about 30 miles away. It was something we did every summer when I visited. I loved seeing the “wild animals” and getting a crushed ice cone with syrup. Several years in, when I was probably 5 or 6, I noticed something. Outside of the cages holding the animals, there were iron railings to keep the children from getting too close. Standing there taking in the sights (and smells) of these beasts just a few feet away, I turned to my sides to see the other children, but there were none there. I know I had seen children all through the park and wondered why they weren’t interested in the animals. I turned and looked behind me and there they were, 20 feet or so back, behind a barrier made up of some crude poles with rusted iron chains strung between them. When I asked my grandmother what was going on, the answer was a simple “You can watch from here but THOSE children have to stand back there. It was that same trip that I noticed I was the only one drinking out of the sparkling clean porcelain sink while the OTHER kids were lined up to drink out of what was basically a faucet on a pole.

Conversations about black folks in the community often went along the lines of “Negro Jim and Negra Jill did so and so.” There was talk about the negros doing this or the negros doing that. When I got a little older, around 10 or so, my grandmother hired a black maid to help out around the house during the summer. Our family ate three meals every day, at the dining room table. Shug (pronounced just like the first syllable of sugar) would prepare the meals, serve the meals, clean up after the meal, then sit alone at the kitchen table to eat her meal. One afternoon I feigned disinterest in having lunch that day. The rest of the family ate while I played outside. After they were done and the dishes cleared, I came back in the house and shared a sandwich with Shug at the kitchen table. My grandmother came in and scolded me, “We don’t do THAT in THIS house!” It was a lesson that she made sure I understood.

My other grandparents and extended family weren’t that nice when it came to black people and they were amongst them every day. They casually used “the N word” as if they were calling a red headed boy Rusty. In their book, a black person had every opportunity to advance as a white person but they were just too lazy. I could be mistaken but I don’t remember any interaction within that family with any black person.

Within my own family, I remember when Martin Luther King, Jr. was shot and killed. I was 12 years old. My dad left no doubt that he was glad, that MLK was nothing more than an agitator and a troublemaker. I keenly remembered hearing those sentiments this past year when I read reactions when Charlie Kirk was shot and killed. Again, highlighting that perception is more meaningful than reality.

I share my backstory as a basis of where I was mentally and emotionally as I went off to college. Though I had attended Georgia Tech my senior year of high school, I was still immersed within ‘what I already knew.’ I went to college at what is now Kettering University in Flint, Michigan. At the time, it was General Motors Institute, the only privately owned accredited 4 year college in the country. I was being fast-tracked for management at the General Motors Doraville assembly plant.

Flint, Michigan could have been a different planet. Yes, I had traveled the country with my family on vacations, but always from the confine of our travel trailer. Now, I was immersed in, what my families called, “Yankee.” It was obvious that I was just as alien to them as they were to me. I came from family, treasured togetherness, hugged my neighbor, ate fresh food, often right from the garden. They didn’t like eye contact, threatened to punch you if you tried to give a hug, and thought peanuts grew on trees. Above all else, I was just another person in that school trying to make a name for myself, no different from the girl sitting behind me or the black person sitting on either side. We were all truly equal. It was the first time that I had to acknowledge how strong the prejudice was in the South. I also realized that Southern Hospitality is actually a thing and the north was mostly devoid of that. To my fellow northern classmates, the civil rights movement was something on the TV news, similar to watching the action from the Vietnam War. It wasn’t anything they could really identify with.

College was undeniably the first set of Life Lessons that challenged the foundation that guided me. I no longer saw the black person as being “less than”, in fact some of my strongest competition were black, both men and women. The next Life Lessons were started not too long after college – getting married and having children. Though I met my wife in the south, she was born in New York State and had only moved to Georgia in her teens. As my extended family was quick to remind her that she was the first Yankee in the family, she would roll her eyes at some of the “Johnson-isms” when we visited, and we would have a good laugh when we got home.

Until we had children. The “N word” was still freely brandished around my extended family’s homes. My wife made it quite clear to my parents that she would not tolerate that word being used when our children were present, the alternative being their grandchildren would no longer visit. She demonstrated that it was not only possible, but imperative to set boundaries with your family, even your own parents. She showed me the most sure way to get something was to ask for it, and she didn’t have to ask a second time.

Having children exposed me to another whole set of responsibilities I had never rightly considered before. It was much easier when I was single to consider the ramifications of my choices, the only one that was going to be primarily affected by those decisions was me. Marriage complicated those decisions by a factor of at least three. Now I had to consider how did those decisions affect me individually, my spouse individually, and the two of us collectively. Having two children within two years of each other compounded those decisions many fold. The payoff for that increased responsibility is I learned so many life lessons from my children. Our first born, a son, arrived in 1983, a fairly fresh millennial. His basis for happiness and life priorities have always been quite different from mine and while they don’t necessarily mesh with what I had planned for him, his laid back attitude and desire for minimalism over abundance is one that I often admire him for. Our second child, a daughter, came to us in 1985 and truly continues to be a blessing for me and, I’m sure, my wife. Being only 22 months younger than her brother, she was usually forced to tag along to watch her brother in his endeavors. I think she found motivation from that to attempt anything he did and worked to excel at them. While he was mostly quiet and reserved, she was loud and outgoing. Loud, not in a vocal sense, but everything else.

We moved to metropolitan Cincinnati in 1990. They developed independently from each other with their own set of friends and my wife and I noticed early on that there was something ‘different’ about her style and her choice of friends. At 17, she came out to us as gay. It was something she had struggled with, not knowing how we would react and likely fearing the worst. Our reply was a collective “Yeah, so?” I had only known one gay person in high school, the oldest brother of my best friend. I only saw him with his partner at my friend’s family home, which is where I spent a lot of time. They were fun to be around and their relationship had zero bearing on my life. But now that I had a gay child that was out, I noticed the inequities that the LGBTQ+ community faced every day and those were really not that much different than what I saw within the black community of my youth.

My wife and I returned to metro Atlanta with our daughter, who was starting her senior year in high school, in 2001. Our son stayed in Ohio to attend college there. Ultimately, our daughter found her perfect match and they were married in 2010. Together, with the aid of a sperm donor, they had our first grandchild in 2012. As you could imagine, our daughter and her spouse, now living in metropolitan Saint Louis, were both active in the LGBTQ+ community there. About three years later, our daughter simultaneously posted to Facebook and called us to discuss the post. She explained that even after coming out in 2001, something still didn’t “feel” right. Through her work within the community, she had discovered a term for what she was feeling. She informed us that she was nonbinary, a term to describe someone that didn’t identify as either a female or a male because she felt parts of both the masculine and the feminine. At the same time she advised us to use non gender specific pronouns (they, them and their’s) when we addressed them and talked about them. This was unknown territory for both my wife and me, be we still supported them in every way we could.

There was a bit of a mourning as we navigated losing our “daughter” to only refer to them as “our youngest child.” I personally struggled with the difference between sex, sexual orientation, and gender. I read as much as I could find on the internet. I had long phone conversations with our youngest child where I could ask questions. They were patient with me as I stumbled my way through this new reality.

Since their family group was in St. Louis and my wife and I were in Atlanta, the transition for us was often difficult. We had to be constantly reminded to use them instead of her and I tried my best to answer questions from my friends and family when the subject of what it means to be nonbinary came up. To my youngest child’s credit, they weren’t content with just changing their label. They continued therapy. They had chest reconstruction surgery to remove their breasts. They began hormone treatment. They performed outreach at MTUG – Metro[politan] Trans[exual] Umbrella Group, a support network for people of both sexes considering and healing from gender reassignment surgery. They went to work for Diversity Awareness Partnership and became a sought-after speaker and advocate to activate and support communities to advance equity and justice.

But still they struggled. On June 9th, 2018, my wife received a call from their spouse. Our youngest child had taken their life. Their funeral service was probably THE defining day of my life. This beacon of hope was gone at only 33 years of age. But people came to pay their respects and remember them. I was told the line to get into the funeral home stretched to as much as a 2 hour wait. The funeral was in St. Louis but they came, anyway – from Georgia, Ohio, Iowa, California, Washington, Germany and many more. Some folks had know them most of their life, others shared that they had only met them one time but felt drawn to come and pay their respects.

The one thing I heard over and over again was, “They always treated me like I was the only person in the room. I always got their undivided attention.” That, above all else, is what I have decided that the majority of us want, people want to feel like they are being heard. Our child’s voice had been silenced, their ears had been taken away, but my voice was still active and I became a much better listener. This became my new priority in my life’s journey.

One more observation before I bring this note to a close. My wife and I, along with our son, spent the one-year anniversary of our youngest child’s death in Acadia National Park. The year before, my son and I were on our way to Acadia when we got ‘the phone call’ from my wife while visiting in Washington DC. On our way home from the funeral, my wife and I spent several days visiting the monuments and museums in Washington DC, ourselves. The most gut-wrenching visit was to the Native American Museum. Four floors of documentation and reminders of how our forefathers had treated the indigenous people that were here centuries before being settled by the Europeans. The reminders were clear: first the native Americans, then the black people, were the people within the LGBTQ+ community going to be the next minority group to be targeted?

THE MAYHEM OF MYTHOS

Firstly, let me apologize for it being so long since my previous post. Secondly, this is a departure from my normal writings on this site, not so much creative writing, but expressing a bit of my truth. As is usual, though, this writing is inspired by something someone else wrote. Actually, the inspiration first came from the spoken word and some of the ‘blanks’ filled in once I read them in written form. What I particularly like about this poem is there are so many ways to interpret each stanza. When I first heard it, my mind wanted to take certain phrases and run with them in the moment which left me missing many parts until I snapped back into the present. Reading the entire poem filled in those gaps that I missed the first time. I encourage you to read the following poem. Deliberately. Wholly. With an open mind. With an open heart. Take your time, I’ll be there at the end.

THE MAYHEM OF MYTHOS

By Michael Burke

The stories that we tell ourselves 

Are some of the strongest Illusions we create 

For there’s a story inside every story

And there’s a fate inside every fate

There’s a way we think it should go 

Then there’s a way that it seems to come 

And never the twain shall meet 

Until we have unified as one 

This illusion of separation 

This sense that something is happening To us

Is but a confirming delay for our wholeness 

As these persistent Illusions move through us

For until we see the illusion no more 

Only the truth of the moment to be 

Shall we realize that Nothing is happening TO us

It’s happening FOR us… Eternally 

Each character that we play

And every actor we’ve assigned 

Play the roles that show us ourselves

Until we are no longer blind

Then… we see through God’s own eyes 

How the union is so complete 

And every doubt we’ve ever had 

Suggests a lesson quite incomplete  

For until we see that we are all 

Including every judgment we’ve ever made 

We shall dance inside these illusions

Deliriously dismayed 

Judging things with right or wrong 

And labeling good or bad 

These are the mayhem of mythos 

These illusions that drive us mad 

For each of us are Saints 

Who often believe we are sinners 

And though a thousand lives we’ve lived 

We are forever just beginners 

We are playing every role 

We are the gist of every story 

We are the Anger in our Agony 

And the God within our Glory 

For everything we need to know 

Is already deep within our clay 

Let’s watch the stories we tell ourselves

And not allow them to guide us astray

For we are more than the stories we tell 

We are The Source from whence they arrive 

And Source has no need for mayhem

Or the Mythos that keeps it alive.

Be aware that I’m not interpreting this poem – it doesn’t need it as it stands on its own. It just brought to surface ideals I have tried to live up to in my past along with limitations I have put on myself more recently. Fortunately, I knew the topic of the poem would be about mythos before I heard it. The Merriam-Webster dictionary defines “Mythos” in part as “a pattern of beliefs expressing often symbolically the characteristic or prevalent attitudes in a group or culture.”

I first went to my childhood to remember what prevalent attitudes shaped my view of the world and myself. Do any of these sound familiar?

  • Big boys don’t cry.
  • Parents are always right.
  • Don’t trust anyone you don’t already know.
  • If someone hits you, hit them back.
  • Look both ways before crossing the street.

I would argue these prevalent attitudes, my fundamental beliefs as a child, were greatly flawed. Of course, boys cry – boys of all ages. Parents sometimes are mistaken. I tend to trust everyone until they give me a reason not to. Fighting back is usually not the best response, and looking both ways? I still do to this day, even when crossing a one-way street!

The point is, these ‘programs’ that I was taught not only didn’t serve me as I grew older, they probably kept me from realizing my full potential.

As I got older, I found that I set my own limitations. I put into place reasons of why I couldn’t achieve greater. I think many of us have done that. Some of the things I have heard other people say include:

  • “I failed the 3rd grade.”
  • “My father was an alcoholic.”
  • “I was abused as a child.”
  • “My parents were poor so I couldn’t go to college.”
  • “I’m divorced so people see me as damaged goods.”
  • “I’m not worthy of anything good happening to me.”
  • “Those that excel are just lucky. I’m not that lucky.”

As it turns out, these are not reasons at all. They are merely excuses for not excelling. Sure, things happen, but they don’t happen TO us. They are but the threads that make up our fabric of life.  A teacher once explained to me that bad things happen to good people, circumstances beyond their control. What separates us is how we react to those circumstances. How many of us quickly fall into victim mode? “Well, I was just a victim of circumstance…”

My belief system now assures me that I was closest to “all that is” the moment I was born. After that, the human condition caused me pain, then fear, then to learn to protect myself, wrapping my inner being in layers and layers of protection. I think we all go through those stages. I also believe we devote our lifetime to the process of removing all of those protective layers so we can, again, experience that goodness (godliness?) that is deep within us.
-Glenn

You can find out more about the author of the poem, Michael Burke, at his website:
www.MichaelMurphyBurke.com

Zack and the Goldfish

It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything here. To be honest, 2018 was a year of tragedy in my life, but not the kind that sparks the kind of writing I like to do. A friend of mine shared a post the other day on Facebook and something inside clicked. First, her post:

Okay, at Goodyear waiting for them to tell me why my car has taken up smoking in her 
old age and a woman walked in wearing pajamas and a coat and she’s carrying a goldfish in a bag. It’s such an awesome writing prompt!

This is what I came up with, Zack and the Goldfish.

You can’t imagine the joy that fills a young boy who seems to think the world doesn’t exist outside of football when he realizes the biggest of all football games, the Super Bowl, is soon to be played in his own home town. It began eight and a half years ago when his parents, Tommy and Amy, took their new baby home from Kennestone Hospital dressed in an Atlanta Falcons onesie with a small plastic football sharing the car-seat ride home. In Tommy’s eye’s, Zack’s first biggest accomplishment was not taking his first step, it was catching that tossed football for the first time. It’s probably no coincidence that both milestones happened within a week of each other.

Weekends had always been Zack’s favorite time of the week. His dad’s a broker at one of the big downtown financial institutions which meant most nights he didn’t get home until after bedtime. Until recently, his Mom seemed to forever be a student as she finished up her requirements to fulfill her dream of becoming a registered nurse. The weekends meant the offices downtown were closed and there were no classes at school, so he had a better chance of football time with Dad and hang-out time with Mom. However, once Amy graduated from nursing school and had started her internship, she was rarely home now on the weekends and Tommy seemed more preoccupied making sure all the household chores were getting done. To this eight-year-old, weekends had already become mundane.

That was until last week when a notice was posted at school about the community hosting a Super Bowl Carnival this coming Saturday promising fun, game, prizes and maybe even a pro football player or two. There was no way Zack could miss this. When he got home from school that day, he begged his after-school babysitter to let him stay up until both parents got home so he could share the big news. Of course, Sarah, his babysitter, recognized an opportunity when it was presented and immediately pounced on it.

“Okay, young man,” Sarah started, “if you want to stay up late, it’s going to cost you. First, I want to see all of your homework done AND tonight has now been declared Bath Night.”

“You’re on!” shouted Zack as he spread his school books and notebook out on the dining table. Zack’s teacher always sent a sheet home on Mondays with an outline of the week’s lesson plan along with the daily homework schedule. She encouraged her students to work a little ahead so they would be better prepared to ask questions as new topics were introduced in class. Zack was never ahead and often struggled to be on time. Tonight was different, not only did he finish Monday night’s homework, but Tuesday’s and Wednesday’s, too.

“Very impressive,” encouraged Sarah as she looked over Zack’s shoulder. “I knew you had it in you.” Zack glanced up for just a moment and returned Sarah’s smile with one of his own then went back to his task, finishing up his work, clearing the table, and packing everything back into his book bag, ready for school tomorrow.

Zack had just dropped his book bag on the chair in the living room by the front door, you know – so he wouldn’t have to search for it in the morning, when Sarah called out from the kitchen.

“Oh, Zaa-aack?”

“I’m on it!” assured Zack as he passed through the kitchen with his shirt already half-way off. Sarah listen as he dashed down the hallway, heard the water being run in the tub, and finally Zack playing his usual pretend football games in the water. Once in the tub, Zack was in no hurry. He had an idea of when his folks would be home and didn’t want to finish up too soon, or Sarah might pull the old double switcheroo on him and send him to bed as soon as he was ready. No sir, that was not going to happen tonight!

When he heard the front door open, then close solidly with a thud, Zack danced down the hallway decked out in his newest Atlanta Falcons pajamas. Seeing his Dad putting his coat and scarf on the coat-rack, Zack ran up and wrapped his arms around his dad’s waist and shouted, “Welcome home!”

“Woah, Sport,” Dad quizzed as he glanced over toward Sarah, standing in the doorway to the kitchen. “What are you doing up past your bedtime?”

“When’s Mom getting home?” was all Zack could say.

“She should be here in a couple of minutes. What’s this all about?” Dad continued his inquiry.

“You’ll see,” Zack teased.

No sooner were those words out of his mouth, a fresh set of headlights lit the front of the house as Mom’s car turned into the drive way. Zack didn’t even let her get to the front door before he swung it open and greeted her with her own hug along with a welcoming bow to enter the front door.

“What’s going on here?” Mom asked of no one in particular, shifting her glance from Zack to Dad to Sarah then back to Zack.

“There’s a Super Bowl Carnival THIS weekend and I want both of you to take me!” Zack couldn’t wait to get the words out of his mouth.

Dad’s shoulders immediately slumped.

“I’m sorry, sport,” Dad explained, “but I’ve got to fly up to D.C. this weekend for a very important financial conference. I’ll be leaving Thursday and won’t get home until Sunday afternoon.”

Zack’s head fell and he stared at the ground, facing his biggest disappointment of his young life. A tear started forming in the corner of his right eye.

“Hey, Kiddo,” Mom practically sang, “I knew your Dad was going to be out of town so I scheduled off this entire weekend just for you!”

“So, we can go?” Zack shouted as he started jumping round.

“I wouldn’t miss it for anything,” Mom assured him, “provided you get to bed right this minute. You’re up way past your bedtime. Zack gave his Mom another big hug then sprinted down the hallway, shouting “Touchdown!” as he turned into his bedroom.

Saturday couldn’t get here soon enough but come it did.

It was usually a struggle to get Zack out of bed on the weekend, especially on a Saturday morning, but not this one. Zack was the first one up and had already combed his hair, brushed his teeth, and was dressed in his favorite Falcons jersey before Mom was even out of bed.

“Hurry up,” Zack pleaded when he first saw Mom walking down the hall. “The carnival is TODAY!”

“I know, Kiddo,” Mom replied. “When does the carnival start?”

“Nine o’clock!” Zack quickly answered

“What time is it now?” Mom asked with a slight grin on her face.

“Oh, it’s only 7:30.” Zack confirmed after looking at the clock on the wall.

“I think we’ve got plenty of time,” Mom assured him. “What do you want for breakfast?”

Zack ate his regular, a bowl of Wheaties, but this morning drank TWO glasses of milk. Mom looked at him as he finished off the second one and just shook her head. “You really are going to be a football player someday aren’t you?”

“Yep!” Zack quickly replied as he gathered his empty cereal bowl and milk glass from the table and put them on the kitchen counter. “Let’s go!”

They were in line at the community center by 8:45, along with what seemed every other family from miles around. There were rumors that Matt Ryan and Julio Jones would be there to sign autographs and pose for pictures. Everyone was excited, but none more so than Zack.

Along with their ticket when they got to the front door, Mom was also given a time slip for them to be in line for the autographs.

“9:30? Really? I’m SO glad we got here early!” Zack’s eyes were as wide as saucers when he saw the time slip. He also noticed the lines were already forming for the autographs, so he tugged at his mom’s arm to follow.

“Come on, Mom,” he pleaded, “let’s get in line now!”

“No,” Mom explained, “they’ve got a system in place and it will work better if we follow it. Look, there’s plenty of other things to do. Why don’t you try out one of the games?”

Unfortunately, with the huge crowd of people inside the community center, there were already long lines at all of the football related games. There was, however, a short line at the fishing game.

“Look over there,” Mom pointing out the short line to Zack.

“Aw, Mom,” Zack retaliated, “that’s a little kid’s game.”

“Well, you’re sure to win. Right, Sport!” Mom verbally jabbed using Dad’s nickname for him. “Besides, the line is the shortest and we’ll be done in time to get in line for the autographs.”

“Okay,” Zack conceded.

It was a simple game, a makeshift ‘river’ of water, only a couple of feet wide and flowing around a circle only about ten feet across. There were hundreds of Styrofoam ducks following the flow, a number written on the bottom of each one, out of sight of the ‘fisherman’. This was definitely not a game of skill, rather a game of luck. You pick a duck, the worker turns it over and reads the number which corresponds to a matching prize. Zack made it to the front of the line and was handed his fishing pole, which was nothing more than a small net attached to the end of a long pole. All he had to do was scoop up the closest duck as it floated by. He waited for the red one with a black head because it reminded him of his beloved Falcons.

“Number 1!” the worker shouted out. A lady at the end of the booth reached down and pulled out a bag, filled with water, with a single goldfish swimming around in it.

“Here you go, young man,” the second worker said, “the first goldfish of the day.”

“That’s awesome,” assured Zack as he did a fist bump before handing Mom the bag. “I’m going to name him Matty, like Matty Ice.”

When they left the fishing game, Mom and Zack strolled around, getting a feel for the other games and noting which ones Zack wanted to try after the autograph sessions. Just before their assigned time, Mom’s phone rang in her purse.

“Hello.”

“Yes, this is Nurse Amy.”

“Right now? But I’m with my son at a carnival.”

“Yes, I understand. I’ll be there within thirty minutes.”

“No!” Zack protested, understanding what his mom was about to tell him. Not only another weekend dream shattered, but the biggest dream of his life, getting to meet Matt Ryan and Julio Jones.

“I’m sorry,” Mom tried to explain, “but I still have the least seniority and must be available on call 24 hours a day. With so many people already in town, there are more visits to the emergency room and so many of the other nurses have asked for time off just like me. I’ve GOT to go in, Kiddo.”

Amy touched a speed-dial number on her phone.

“Hey, Mom,” she spoke, “I’m in a bit of a jam and I need you help. I’m at the Community Center with Zack and I just got called into the hospital. I really need you to come get Zack as soon as possible because I’ve got to leave now.”

“No, Sarah can’t, she’s got a service day today at her church. Really, you’re my only choice.”

“Well, just throw on a coat and come on over as soon as you can. Zack will be waiting for you on the curb at the end of the sidewalk, you won’t even have to get out of the car. I’ll be over to your house to pick him up as soon as I get dismissed.”

“Thank you, Mom. Love you.”

Reaching down to take Zack’s hand, Mom said, “Come on, Kiddo, we’ve got to get out of here. You know where to meet Grandma, no talking to strangers, I’ve go to go, I’ll see you at Grandma’s later, love you, bye.” With that, Mom turned and started jogging toward her own car, her scrubs and the rest of her gear waiting for her in her locker at the hospital.

It was just a couple of minutes later when Grandma pulled up in her Prius and hit the button to unlock the door. Zack hopped in and was buckling up.

“What’s THAT?” Grandma shrieked.

“Oh, it’s just Matty the goldfish,” Zack explained. “I won him at the carnival.”

“What on Earth are you going to do with that? Do you have an aquarium to put him in?” Grandma quizzed.

“No.” Zack replied.

“Do you have any fish food?”

“No.”

“Do you know how to take care of a goldfish?”

“No, but I can learn all those things.”

“I still think it’s a bad idea.” And with that, Grandma had closed this discussion.

About half way home, Zack got an all too familiar sensation down below the beltline.

“Grandma?” he asked.

“Yes, Zack.”

“I’ve got to go.”

“Can it wait until we get home.”

“NO! I’ve got to go BAD! Too much milk this morning!”

She looked around and didn’t see anything open quite that early on a Saturday morning. At the next intersection, she noticed several cars parked at the Goodyear Store and several people walking around inside. She pulled in and stopped the car but before she could say anything, Zack laid Matty the Goldfish on her lap, jumped out and was running inside to find the Men’s Room.

She wasn’t comfortable letting Zack go in to a strange place alone, so she turned off the car, took Matty the Goldfish and went in to wait for him inside. Sitting a couple of chairs away from her was a young woman and her daughter, who looked to be about Zack’s age.

“Oh look, Mommy,” the girl said, loud enough for Grandma to hear. “She has a goldfish that looks just like Goldie.” And with that, she started crying, laying her face against her Mom’s shoulder. “I already miss her so much.”

Grandma got up to sit by the Mother and asked, “Why is she so upset?”

“She was given a goldfish on her third birthday by her uncle, my brother, and she has loved that fish every day since. Yesterday morning when we came into the living room to feed her and go to school, we found Goldie floating on top of the water. She was so devastated I let her stay home yesterday. I wanted to get her out of the house today but my car suddenly started smoking, so I stopped here to find out what’s wrong.”

At that moment, Zack walked out of the Men’s Room, wiping his still wet hands on his red sweatpants.

“Did you wash?” Grandma asked.

Zack rolled his eyes, “Yes, Grandma. See? Okay, we can go now.” As he reached out to take her hand, he saw the bag of water on her lap.

“Matty! You brought Matty in!” Zack exclaimed as he reached for the bag.

“Matty? I like that name,” the girl said, fighting back another round of tears, although not altogether successfully.

“What’s wrong?” Zack asked the girl.

“Goldie, my goldfish died yesterday. I’ve had her since I was three,” she explained.

Zack looked at the girl and then her Mom, and then his Grandma. He then looked down at his own goldfish swimming around in the plastic bag. Zack looked again at the girl seated in front of him.

“Do you have an aquarium?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied.

“Do you have any fish food?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know how to take care of a goldfish?”

“Oh, yes!”

“Here,” Zack said as he handed the bag with the goldfish over to the girl. “I want you to have Matty. I don’t know anything about taking care of fish and I love him so much, he would probably be better off at your house. Before he could change his mind and before anyone saw this tough football player cry, he ran out the door toward Grandma’s car. Grandma clicked the key fob to unlock the car so he could get in.

The girl’s mother mouthed a thank you to Grandma as Grandma got up to follow Zack out the door. On her way out, a gentleman at the counter stopped her and told her he had watched what happened and asked how the young man had acquired the goldfish. They talked a bit and exchanged information before she joined Zack in the car.

Nothing was said the rest of the way home. Once to Grandma’s house, Zack went strait to the living room and turned on the TV and just sat there, eyes glued to the screen. Nothing Grandma could do would pull him away, not even the offer of fresh-baked cookies.

It was almost dark when Amy arrived at her mom’s to pick up Zack. “I’m so sorry about today, Kiddo. Why don’t you get Matty and we can get on home.”

“I don’t have Matty,” Zack mumbled as he ran out the door and jumped in the backseat of his mom’s car.

Grandma explained the encounters at the Goodyear Store, both the young lady and the gentle man at the counter. She also gave her the card the gentle man had given her.

The next day, Zack didn’t want to get out of bed. Mom tried everything.

“I’ll make your favorite breakfast.”

Nothing.

“I’ll put your favorite movie on the TV.”

Nothing.

“I’ll go outside and toss the football with you.”

Zack laughed. “Aw, Mom, you can’t throw a football!” It made him sad to think about everything that had happened the day before. He got to spend a Saturday with his mom but couldn’t. He got to go see Matt Ryan and Julio Jones but couldn’t. He got a new pet to bring home but couldn’t. He was getting hungry, though. “Is your offer for breakfast still good?” he called from the bedroom.

“It’s after noon,” Mom shouted back.

“How about breakfast for lunch, then?” asked Zack.

“You got it,” agreed Mom. “Now get up, brush your teeth, comb your hair, and get some clothes on. Your Dad should be home within a couple of hours.

Mom took her time in the kitchen preparing their breakfast for lunch. Biscuits were in the oven and Zack was making the scrambled eggs as Mom was frying up the bacon. There would be chocolate milk this meal and butter and jelly for the biscuits.

After eating a scrumptious breakfast for lunch, Zack and his mom cleared the table and did a touch-up cleaning in the kitchen. Just as the last cloth was put sown, the front door opened and Dad walked in, less than an hour and a half after landing at the airport.

They all sat in the living room as Zack told him everything that had happened the day before, the timeslip for autographs, winning Matty the Goldfish, Mom having to go in to the hospital to work, going home with Grandma, and giving Matty to a girl at the Goodyear store.

“Well,” Dad responded, “it sounds like you had quite the eventful day, even if things didn’t turn out quite like you hoped.”

“Yeah, I guess,” sighed Zack.

At that very moment the doorbell rang.

“Why don’t you get that?” Mom said, looking at Zack.

Zack hopped up and opened the front door, then let out a shout, “WHAT?” Matt Ryan and Julio Jones were standing on his front porch!

“Can we come in?” Matt asked the stunned youngster in front of him.

“Oh, sorry. Of course!” Zack stood aside as they walked past him and shook hands with his Mom and Dad.

Julio looked at Zack and explained, “Our agent was at Goodyear yesterday getting some new tires put on his car. He saw what you did for that girl there with your goldfish and then come to find out you got it at the carnival where we were yesterday. Why didn’t you stop by and see us?”

“Oh, I wanted to,” Zack protested then repeated the entire day’s details all over again. “But this is way cooler! Instead of me going to visit you two, you both came to visit me! How awesome is that?”

“So, you want to go out front and play some catch?” Matt asked.

Julio reached down to a bag that Zack hadn’t noticed before now. “And we can use this,” as he pulled out a new, official NFL football.

They all ran outside and took turns throwing the ball around, but after fifteen minutes or so, they admitted they had other appointments they had to make and just had to leave.

“That’s okay,” Zack assured them. “This has been the best day of my life!”

“Well, maybe next week will get a little better,” Matt smiled as he reached into his shirt pocket. “Here are three tickets to the Super Bowl next week. I want you and your parents to come and enjoy the game from the team suite. You’ll get to meet all the players, and who knows who else might be there!”

With that, Matt handed the tickets to Zack’s Dad, Matt and Julio high-fived Zack and they were off in their limo, headed to their next big function. But there was no bigger function in Zack’s mind than the visit to the Falcon’s youngest fan right in his own front yard.

The Puzzle Piece

I have not shared, other than to my friends on social media, that I lost my youngest child to suicide less than 2 months ago. 33 years old, with a successful wife, a beautiful 6-year-old daughter, an amazing job, and a pillar in the community, I had no idea the depth of the depression they were suffering. I had no idea the depth of depression that I could fall into after experiencing such an unexpected, tragic loss of my own child. I’ve never felt so lost. I began to question everything. Why didn’t I know? What had I done that contributed to this decision? Why didn’t they reach out so I might be able to convince them otherwise? Why was I judging them now, after they were already gone?

Last week, my wife urged me to attend a church service where she had visited a couple of weeks prior for the first time. She thought I might find some comfort, some support, maybe even some guidance and focus to help me out of the funk in which I had become trapped. If nothing else, it was an excuse to get out of the house. The veil of darkness was lifted. It hasn’t been completely removed, it still hangs over my head, but it no longer obscures my vision.

I enthusiastically followed up my visit to the Sunday morning service with a visit to the Wednesday evening service, a meditation. Each of us in attendance was asked to select a piece from a jigsaw puzzle and use that as inspiration and guidance for our meditation that was to follow. The picture at the top of this post is the very piece that I selected.

I chose the puzzle piece blindly, using my left hand and with my eyes closed, I reached into the basket holding the pieces. I didn’t stir them, I took the first one I touched. I didn’t feel the need to go searching for the right piece, it presented itself to me. Most would call the piece I selected an “edge piece” and it had two ‘outies’ and an ‘innie’.

“Why did I get an edge piece?” I asked myself. I don’t think of myself as living on the fringes. I also don’t consider myself a big risk-taker, living “on the edge”, so to speak. Maybe it has nothing to do with the location of the piece and more to do with the shape. I am in my 60’s, living in my 7th decade, so it’s easy to surmise that this physical life could be 75% complete. Maybe the 3 sides represent my life already lived, with the ups and downs experienced, and the straight side is the balance of this life not yet lived, waiting to have its shape defined.

And what of the shape? There were two protrusions and only one void. The protrusions, the outies, surely represent the good things that have happened in my life and the void, the innie, the lack of good, right? But what if the protrusions on someone else’s piece represented, to them, hate and despair, then the void would represent the lack of that hate and despair and would be considered good, right? I was faced with the reality that there is nothing to be gained from judging. There is no good or bad to be inferred from the shape of the piece, it just is.

What about the piece, itself? During the meditation with my eyes closed, feeling the puzzle piece in my hands, I could easily tell which side had the picture, all nice and smooth, versus the back of the piece which was a bit more course and rough. But what is actually the piece? I would argue the puzzle piece is the cardboard body, the picture just a facade to add interest to the plain slab of cardboard. A puzzle with no picture is still a puzzle and can still be assembled. The picture is not required for a puzzle piece to be identified as a puzzle piece. I wonder what type of facade I put on to keep others from seeing my true self.

What if you took five different puzzles, with five different pictures on them, from the same manufacturer, cut with the same dies, and mixed them all together? Then, you put together the puzzles looking only at the backs of the pieces. You would eventually assemble five separate puzzles. But when you turned the completed puzzles over to reveal the pictures, there would be little to discern a specific scene. Would you consider any of the pieces out of place even if the picture didn’t match any of its neighbors? I would say no since the puzzle is complete. Again, no need to judge whether the piece was good or bad, it fit within the big picture even though I may not understand what that picture represents.

I’ll never know why my child took their life. I don’t need to know, that’s all part of the big picture that I can’t make out from my vantage point. What I do know is that I have a place in this picture and it’s up to me to create that piece, shape it into the form that best represents me while at the same time blend harmoniously with those close to me.

Questionnaire Summary

I have finally started my novel. My children’s book is still waiting for an illustrator and my nonfiction book of Santa stories has taken a back seat to the novel that is fighting to get out of my head and onto paper. To make sure I am in tune with my younger audience, particularly when it comes to what is going on in our federal government, I decided to create am online poll. I promised those that take the poll that I would post results along the way. This is where you will find the latest results. If you would like to participate in this questionnaire, please don’t reply to this blog post. You can answer the 6 questions at https://goo.gl/forms/xcykFGJmqynvYQ7Z2

Results updated July 17, 2018 Total responses: 28

Though the responses are important in their own right, there is more significance to the plot of the story based on the age of the participants. I have listed the results by color-coded age based on the following chart:
S – The Silent Generation: Born 1928-1945 (71-88 years old)
BB – Baby Boomers: Born 1946-1964 (52-70 years old)
X – Generation X: Born 1965-1980 (36-51 years old)
M – Millennials: Born 1981-1996 (20-35 years old)
PM – Post-Millennials: Born 1997-Present (0-19 years old)
All – Total of All Responses

Term Limits:
The President is elected to serve for 4 years, Senators for 6 years, and Representatives for 2 years. The President is limited to serving a maximum of 10 years and can only be elected to office for 2 terms.

Question 1:
Should Senators have term limits?
A) No All: 4(14%)
S:0(0%) BB:0(0%) X:0(0%) M:4(27%) PM:0(0%)
B) Yes – 2 terms, same as President All: 23(82%)
S:1(100%) BB:5(100%) X:4(80%) M:11(73%) PM:2(100%)
C) Yes – 3 terms All: 1(4%)
S:0(0%) BB:0(0%) X:1(20%) M:0(0%) PM:0(0%)

Question 2:
Should Representatives have term limits?
A) No All: 4(14%)
S:0(0%) BB:0(0%) X:0(0%) M:4(27%) PM:0(0%)
B) Yes – 2 terms, same as President All: 14(50%)
S:1(100%) BB:3(60%) X:2(40%) M:7(47%) PM:1(50%)
C) Yes – 3 terms All: 10(36%)
S:0(0%) BB:2(40%) X:3(60%) M:4(27%) PM:1(36%)

Presidential Elections:
Originally, the number of representatives from each state was based on the population as determined by the US Census Bureau’s decennial census. The number of representatives from each state would grow as the population expanded. That number was capped in 1911 to 435 members creating an imbalance in the voting strength of the more populous states. Each state’s votes in the electoral college is equal to the number of representatives plus 2, for the senators.

Question 3:
Which best describes your preference for future Presidential elections?
A) Change nothing, use the Electoral College as is All: 8(29%)
S:1(100%) BB:2(40%) X:1(20%) M:3(20%) PM:1(50%)
B) Proportionately increase the number of Electoral votes for the more populous states All: 6(21%)
S:0(0%) BB:2(40%) X:1(20%) M:3(20%) PM:0(0%)
C) Eliminate the Electoral College and go to a popular vote All: 14(50%)
S:0(0%) BB:1(20%) X:3(60%) M:9(60%) PM:1(50%)

National Debt:
Since 1981, the US national debt has increased 18.9 trillion dollars. It has been suggested by leading economic experts that the ratio of annual deficit spending to the Gross Domestic Product (GDP) not exceed 50%. In 1981, that ratio was 31.5% and in 2017, that ratio was 105.4%.

Question 4:
Which best describes your solution to the rising national debt?
A) Continue as is, raising the debt limit as required All: 5(18%)
S:0(0%) BB:1(20%) X:1(20%) M:3(20%) PM:0(0%)
B) Establish a maximum percentage increase allowed annually to the national debt All: 2(7%)
S:0(0%) BB:1(20%) X:1(20%) M:0(0%) PM:0(0%)
C) Introduce a Balanced Budget Amendment to stop the increase of the national debt All: 15(54%)
S:1(100%) BB:2(40%) X:1(20%) M:10(67%) PM:1(50%)
D) Institute a maximum ratio of national debt to GDP All: 6(21%)
S:0(0%) BB:1(20%) X:2(40%) M:2(13%) PM:1(50%)

Final Analysis:
Should Senators have term limits? Yes – 2 terms
Should Representatives have term limits? Yes – 2 terms
Change future Presidential Elections? Majority: Popular Vote, Baby Boomers and older: Keep EC
Solution to National Debt? Majority: Balanced Budget Amendment, Gen X: Max ratio Debt/GDP

Obviously, with such a small response rate, these numbers may not be indicative of the general population but I think it shows that we agree some things need to change and we are closer in agreement than not as to what those changes need to be.

The Bench

Number 1

Is it a picture

Or a story?

Memories from the past

Or promise for the future?

Black and white because

The details have faded

Or not yet witnessed?

An empty bench because

We’ve already left

Or not yet reunited?

The trees stand strong

Anchored to the ground

The same in Georgia

As Oregon.

 

Number 2

The bench stands empty

Because we are both not there.

Yet it waits patiently

Like the trees surrounding

From which it was made

For us to return once again.

Number 3

The birds are quiet

The wind is still

The bench stands empty

The color faded

Yet if we go within

All is well

Number 4

Like a tree

We start from a seed

Take root into who we are

We grow

We bloom

Then what?

We can crumble to the ground

And fill with decay

Or we can find another purpose

No longer ‘just’ a tree

But something much more

 

[Picture credit: Chris Graves]