If Only We Could See… Part Three

A fair number of the people I know seem to find it easier to focus on their less desirable traits rather than on their remarkable talents.  Personally I have fallen into that trap too many times, and no matter how often I’ve done it, fretting over my inadequacies has never proven to be helpful.  This is the third article in a blog series about talent (see Part 1 and Part 2). My goal is that you will walk away from reading these pieces with at least a bit of food for thought about your own talents and about encouraging the talents of others, whether they hear you at the time or not. 

A good friend of ours is a classic example of a guy with an incredible amount of talent who just can’t find the gumption within himself to take hold and use it.  He is smart and very personable, but instead of letting his gifts propel him forward, he beats himself up and concentrates on the negative. He then overcompensates for what he believes are his faults by doing too much.  Pleasing his customers practically becomes an obsession, to the point where the important parts of his job go to the wayside and his real talents get pushed under the rug.  If only he could focus on his wonderful abilities and simply learn from his inadequacies rather than letting them get him down.  We’ve tried to point out his gifts, but so far he hasn’t been able to truly see them.

Before college, I had a goal – I wanted to be a doctor.  I loved science, especially biology, anatomy and genetics, and I was a decent student.  But somewhere along the way my confidence waned.  The academics and the time and energy required to pursue a PhD felt daunting, plus I wanted to get married and have a family. I didn’t believe I could do it all, in spite of encouragement from my aunt who has always been in my corner. I’d lost faith in my abilities and dropped the idea. Instead I chose history as a major and became a teacher.  Teaching is a great profession, and I enjoyed it, but that particular job was never my passion.  Since college I have learned, through the continued support of my aunt and the help of my husband, to believe in my talents and pursue my passions.  I still fall into that old trap on occasion, but I try not to stay there for long. Beating myself up and losing faith in my abilities really doesn’t benefit me or anyone else. 

Of course now I’m pursuing a career as a writer. I write this blog and I’m in the process of seeking an agent to assist me in publishing a young adult novel I’ve written. Writing can be tough on the ego.  It’s easy to chastise your work and whether or not you have the ability to get something published. There are days when you wonder if you have any talent whatsoever, and once you have a completed piece and start the submission process you begin to question your marketability. Frustration, disillusionment, and disbelief are constantly hanging over your shoulder. It can be a self-esteem buster, and it’s easy to either overcompensate by trying too hard to get published, or to just give up.  Now I seek out support from others, and openly take in any encouraging words about my talents that they truthfully share with me.

A few weeks ago I wrote an article titled ‘Don’t Be a Talented Failure’ (which I guess means this is actually article number four in a series). Anyway, in that post I challenged readers to recognize their talents and choose to use them, rather than letting them go by the wayside and be among those I would call “Talented Failures”.  It’s a difficult task.  Life gets us down. Our self-esteems get hit with one blow after the other and we question our abilities to do anything at all.  Some of us try too hard and overcompensate when we fail, and some of us give up. Again I challenge you.  You are talented and you do have gifts to share.  When life gets you down and your talents seem so far removed you’re convinced you don’t have any, try a couple of things. First, focus on a small talent you know you have and use it.  If you know you make a mean potato soup, make it.  You’ll start to believe. Second, encourage someone you know to use his or her own talents. They’ll benefit from hearing what you see in them either now or in the future, and you’re mind will be more open to looking at the positive traits that you possess.  Try it. The world needs more talented successes, not failures.

The Annual Annual

This particular blog entry really needs to be prefaced with a bit of a warning. If you are squeamish about womanly issues, the boyfriend of one of my daughters, one of my daughters, or my father-in-law, you may want to stop right here. If, however, you can put aside my relationship to you, you are female, or have a female in your life who tends to share her most intimate secrets – well, read on my friend. And please, feel free to laugh with me, or if you’d rather, it’s okay to laugh at me.

Starting somewhere in our late teens to early twenties those of us of the female persuasion have the privilege of finding a gynecologist and visiting him or her on an annual basis. This visit is important for our health. Our bodies are screened for cancers, fibroids, etc, you know – just to make sure that everything is a-okay ‘down’ there. Later, as we reach the age of forty, we get to add a stop to this visit, a stop to get ourselves what’s called a mammogram.  This is yet another important visit. We are examined for breast cancer, and to confirm that everything is a-okay ‘up’ there.

My turn recently came up, and I must admit that even though I’m in my mid-forties and I’ve had two children, I still have a bit of an aversion to this annual excursion. Many things about this visit unnerve me. I don’t like getting weighed, I don’t like taking my clothes off, and I really dislike getting poked and prodded. But, I do want to remain healthy, so I go.

That particular day my mammogram was first on my schedule. The waiting room was full of expectant mothers, anxious young men, and a smattering of older folks like myself. After completing the necessary paperwork my name was called. I reluctantly weighted in and promptly followed a young woman through a maze of hallways and into a dimly lit room consisting of a computer, two chairs, a small counter and the dreaded mammogram machine. She instructed me to strip from the waist up and don the cotton shawl on the chair – slit in the front – and remove my deodorant with a provided baby wipe. I did as she said.

After several minutes of standing uncomfortably with nothing but a tiny cotton shawl on my top half, the door opened and in walked the technician, a woman somewhere in her early thirties. I don’t know why, but in my experience, mammography techs are a strange bunch. They don’t easily make light conversation. It’s down to business with no chit chat about the weather or the ins and outs of the day. On the other hand the techs I’ve had have been efficient and quite adept. And fortunately, maybe because I’m a little oversized on top, I’ve never found the physical process of having my breasts x-rayed particularly painful. The tech exposes your chest, gently places one breast at a time on the x-ray plate, smashes each down with an additional plate to nearly pancake size, steps back, and takes the shot. On this particular day the tech exposed my chest and placed my breast on the plate. As she did so I noticed an amused smirk cross her otherwise stoic face. That’s when I remembered. My dear husband had given me his mark the night before. Each of my lovely lady lumps had a quarter-sized hickey just on the inside. I felt my face turn red as I silently cursed the man I love, but didn’t really like at that moment. I could only imagine what the woman was thinking- ‘you go girl’ or ‘oh my, that’s not attractive’. Neither idea was of any particular comfort at the moment.

After what had to be an eternity the mammogram ended. I put my top back on and was quickly directed to have a seat in the lobby and wait for my next appointment. Several years back, after my kids were born, my Ob-Gyn had a stroke and stopped practicing medicine. Since then, because I’m quite healthy and not expecting more children, I’ve been seeing a mid-wife. On this particular visit I had to see someone new.  Once again my name was called, I was led down a different maze of hallways, and this time secured inside of  a well lit room with a counter, a couple of chairs, and an exam table. I was instructed to strip naked, put on the gown – open in front, sit on the table, and cover myself with a paper sheet.   I did as I was told.

The young woman who came in looked at least twenty years younger than me. She was very sweet and quite the opposite of the x-ray tech.  She talked about my health, about my kids, about my work, about my husband – there wasn’t a subject this girl wasn’t ready and willing to discuss.  The talking was pleasant, until she began the exam. I stared at the ceiling and tried not to think about the fact that this girl, who could not have been that much older than my nineteen year old daughter, had her hands all over me, and yes – she too got to see my husband’s handiwork. I wondered if her mother still got hickeys.

As I left the building I had to give a little, albeit still embarrassed, chuckle. My nerves, the fact that these women do these check-ups day in and day out, and my silly husband –all three created a mixture that could be nothing but comical.  I started my car and glanced at the clock. Fortunately the entire visit had taken no more than an hour, pretty impressive for a trip to the doctor. And all came out well  – I’m healthy, I’m happy, and hopefully I’ve got a good solid year before I have to go back.

I don’t think I’ll ever feel anything other than discomfort when I go in for my annual visit, but I will go. The knowledge that you’re taking care of yourself in a proactive manner is worth the peace of mind. And when all was said and done, I must admit, that stone-faced x-ray tech did crack a smile and later (much later) even I was able to honestly laugh out loud at the folly of it all.

Of course I hope that you got a smile out of this story as well, and if you read this and you shouldn’t have, well you can’t say I didn’t warn you.

Still Joyfully Here – Quirks and All

When a couple first falls in love, each of them generally finds the little quirks, the odd habits and potentially irritating nuances, endearing or at least tolerable.  In fact, sometimes each person is so enamored with the other that they don’t even see any quirks – hence the statement ‘Love is Blind’. The amazing truth is – you’ve found someone who allows you to let it all hang out, and loves you anyway. But at some point along the way the bubble bursts. We once again find our feet planted firmly on the ground, our head out of the clouds, and darnit – if those cute little traits don’t start to become ridiculously annoying!

There is no doubt that I am a bit idiosyncratic and that I have several habits that are quite the opposite of my husband. I suppose some of my oddities he has on occasion found cute, many he has at least tolerated, and over the years there have without a doubt been times when some of these habits have irritated the heck out of him. Examples include the fact that I can be terribly forgetful and have a tendency to lose the car keys unless I put them in the same place every day. And if truth be told, I could say the same about me with him.  After twenty-two plus years of marriage, sorry honey, but I no longer find it quite so funny when you gleefully expel your noxious gas in bed and pull the sheets up over my head! But I definitely love you.

It is rather amusing to actually sit down with a couple that is newly in love and hear them talk.  He finds it cute that she falls asleep in front of the television and snores like a horse. She is amused by the fact he can talk non-stop about football and watch games all weekend, even in the off season.  Fast forward ten years and those sweet traits have taken their toll and now grate on the other’s nerves.  Arguments ensue and sometimes, when things really get out of hand, that previously nice young couple begins to wonder whether or not they’re still compatible.

It happens to all of us, and honestly, it’s important when that ‘honeymoon’ period ends, to maintain perspective. Okay, so he clips his toenails in front of the TV and doesn’t clean up the remnants. She can’t cook and serves you grill cheese and soup four days a week.  Those idiosyncrasies do not make you incompatible.  You aren’t going to find that the grass is greener on the other side.  Chances are your partner is still the same person you fell in love with years ago. 

And when your other half does begin to get on your nerves think about it – is it really that big of a deal? Honestly, some things do need to be overlooked.  And who knows, some day you might wake up and realize that you once again find that the way he pretends he doesn’t know how to do laundry simply adorable, or the fact that she views the storage of all kitchenware to be an exact science sweet and a total turn-on.  Come on, we all have oddities – isn’t it nice to know there’s at least one person in this world who’s willing to live with them?  I know I’m glad, and my marriage is proof of our acceptance and unconditional love. Sometimes I might drive him crazy and sometimes he might push me right to the edge, but I couldn’t be happier. We’re both still joyfully here – quirks and all.

Feeling the Rush

When I was just a kid I remember all the science fiction hoopla surrounding the mere idea of the twenty-first century.  Technology was on the rise, and I wonder if there was a slight fear of the unknown that spurred on some of the radical speculation. Would the world even exist at the turn of the century? Would robots take over all of our jobs? Would we have flying cars? Was Armageddon just around the corner? Many of us wondered just what kind of world were those of us born in the 1960’s and 70’s going to be living in?  Change was inevitable, but no one could accurately predict what that change was going to be. And sure, we’ve had some real bumps in the past ten years, but we’re still here.  Computers, cell phones, gaming systems, big-screen and plasma TV’s, and so on, all dominate our lives, and more change is on the way.  So how do we deal with it? How do we brace ourselves for the inevitable?  Go with the flow and let life take us where it may, or get involved, set goals, and be a part of the change?

My husband is an avid goal setter. He sets out goals for the day, goals for the week, and so on, all the way up to twenty, even thirty year goals!  He’s been goal driven ever since I met him. I don’t know if it’s just his natural way of being, but I can assure you, it hasn’t been mine.  I tend to live more on faith and determination, but in spite of my stubborn nature, I must admit there is tremendous value in setting goals.

Now that I’m older (and maybe a bit wiser?) I have an honest respect for this goal setting thing. It’s kind of like standing at the top of a double black diamond ski run – grade A slope, large moguls dotting the landscape, several inches of fresh powder laid across the terrain, and the heart and passion to make it the best run of the day.  As you survey the slope you select a route and allow yourself to visualize and feel the rush you’re going to get as you hit every turn with perfection. Then you point your skis downhill and let the mountain become an extension of your very being.  You’ve set a goal, you’ve let it become a part of you, and as you reach the bottom the smile that spreads across your face is not going to go away any time soon. Life is good.

It’s 2011, and as I write this I’m looking at this time in my life, this year and beyond, as my newly snowed on double black diamond slope.  I’ve got some concrete goals to achieve – a book, several actually, to get published, two kids to see successfully complete college, ski trips to make, creative outlets to pursue, and much more.  I’ll write these goals down, and as I live my life I will visualize and feel the rush I’m going to get as I reach them. It may not be perfect, things will change, the world will change, that’s inevitable, but there is no way I’m about to sit on the sidelines and let it take me where it may.  I’m bound and determined to be a part of it, and let it be a part of me. Take a few minutes and write down your own goals. At the end of the day you won’t be able to wipe that smile off of your face either! 

Happy 2011!!

Don’t Be A Talented Failure

Years ago, when I ran a private school, I met all kinds of people – parents, teachers, kids, members of the community, political figures, business owners, people with money, people with no money, and so on. Some were incredibly kind and generous and some were rather mean-spirited and selfish. There is no doubt that in some ways those people changed me, but in spite of (or maybe regardless of?) those ups and downs I held on to one core belief – all people are capable, talented and valuable. Unfortunately another belief I had was solidified – many don’t use those talents and abilities, and sadly some abuse them. These are the talented failures. 

Clearly I’m an optimist. I look around me and I see the glass half full. I look at people and I see potential. Everyone has something to give, a talent to share, a way to contribute, some kind of attribute that holds value to those around them. It’s a shame how frequently many of us simply skip over or turn a blind eye to our abilities. We go through life selling ourselves short. Maybe we’re too frightened or possibly just too distracted to live up to our full potential. We don’t believe, we get disillusioned and angry, and our talents and abilities are wasted.

Of course there are those individuals with obvious talent. These are the people most of us want to be, but aren’t. They memorize and flawlessly recite quotes; they sing with the voice of an angel; they play an instrument with deep emotion; they add, subtract, multiply and divide large numbers in their head; they can build a computer in their basement in just a couple of days. And they seem to perform these tasks with little or no effort. These are not the people to whom I’m referring. I’m talking about everyone. Each of us has a talent, something good and positive to bring to the table, we just have to find it and we have to choose to use it.

Talents, abilities, gifts, whatever you want to call them come in many shapes and sizes. There are those with the more obvious athletic, musical or academic competence, but there are also those with an aptitude for building relationships, those who are inherently sympathetic toward others, and those who are so self-actualized they truly better themselves along their own life journeys and in turn better others. And the reality is, most of us have to nurture these talents. Using them, especially in a positive manner, is a choice and I suppose at times, takes a leap of faith.

I think all of us have people or have had people in our lives who recognize our talents. They know us well enough, or they have the gift of intuition, and they see our potential. Wouldn’t it be great to view ourselves from their eyes? But most of us do not.

At the school I knew people who were incredible organizers. They could put together an event such as a fundraiser with such precision and detail it made my head spin. I knew some who could rally others around them and create a following in the blink of any eye. There were some parents and community members who were simply good workers. They knew how to roll up their sleeves and get the job done, no matter the task. There were people who knew money and business, teachers who had an innate instinct with their students, people who could lead, and people who were excellent followers. And there were some who were lost. They had talents and gifts that they couldn’t find, and they struggled and scrambled and stumbled along.

The world is full of talented failures, don’t be one. If someone lets you know you have a gift, listen to him. If you find yourself impassioned by some kind of task or action, go with it. Open up your mind and your heart and see what you discover. You might be blessed with the ability to appreciate others, you may exude empathy and have the simple but wonderful gift of making those around you happy, you may be able to use your money skills to give others guidance. Just don’t waste your talents. You’re here for a reason and who you are is a blessing. It’s your choice – choose well.

One of Those Days and The Christmas Spirit

The first of this week I planned to have one of those ‘bang out the to-do list’ kind of days. I put aside the writing on my current novel, downed a couple cups of coffee, and started in on the chores. But as bed time drew near I found myself with a choice – ruefully reassess my priorities, or pout and wallow in self-pity. It had truly been one of those frustrating, what the heck am I doing, kind of days.

There are times when no matter how hard I try, everything I attempt to do takes at least twice as long as planned and nothing comes out right.  I don’t get it. It wasn’t as though I was moving particularly slow that day. I was in the holiday spirit, I was motivated to get everything done, and no one was home. In other words I was totally free to crank up the Christmas tunes and sing at the top of my lungs all day long while I happily went about my business!

One of the first chores on my list was to clean up after our tree and house decorating party from the day before. Okay, party may be stretching it a bit. There were three of us – my husband who had to figure out a way for our little group to carry a nearly sixteen foot tree through a single doorway, my youngest daughter, and myself.  Anyway, we did manage to get the tree in and up, but there was plenty of mess that still needed to be put away.  I dove in, and in under a couple of hours I had all of the storage boxes back into their respective closets and I’d run the vacuum and swept.  I grabbed my coffee cup and headed toward the kitchen.  Delay number one – I dribbled coffee all over our white carpet.   While walking across the living room my foot wound around my computer cord and just like that I had nearly twenty little brown spots dotting a four foot area.

After scrubbing the carpet I decided to move outside and work on the lights that adorn the exterior of my house.  In anticipation of some faulty lines I had purchased a couple of new sets of the small clear bulbs.  It was a good thing. Two of the old light strings were out.  Being frugal minded I figured I should at least try to replace the fuses before replacing the complete strand.  I grabbed a screwdriver, wrestled open the miniscule fuse box, popped out the fuses, and… nothing. I moved to the next set of lights… again… nothing.  Those went into the garbage and I opened a new box.  The first set worked perfectly and went up without a hitch. I opened the second new box, wound it around my deck rail, and plugged it in.  Only half of it worked. I pulled it off and opened a third box – same thing. I moved on and opened the fourth and final box – nothing, not a single bulb lit up.  I’d spent over an hour on that task and barely completed half of it.  I had no more lights to try.  It would have to wait for another day.

Back inside the house I decided to string a couple of strands of colored lights in our basement. It would only take me a few minutes. I’d quickly drape them over the windows and be done.  Strand number one took less than five minutes.  Strand number two – nearly forty-five.  I couldn’t get it to stay up, and when I finally did, half of it had stopped working.  That strand went into the garbage and a new strand was hung.  Finally! At least I’d completed that chore.

The day continued along the same path, and ended just as badly.  Everything I did and unfortunately everything I said was wrought with errors and misjudgments.  I don’t know – it clearly was ‘one of those days’.

Thankfully today is new and I get to start fresh.  This is the Christmas season after all, and my fumblings from the other day were a humble reminder of what this holiday truly means.  It’s not about the glitz. It’s not about the presents. It’s not about making everything work perfectly. It’s about thankfulness and humility and forgiveness, and for me it’s about celebrating the birth of Christ. Now hopefully I can put the other day behind me and focus on the true Christmas spirit. I wish you all the same, whatever that spirit means to you.

Colic, Staring Eyes, and The Idea of a Helping Hand

My oldest daughter had colic. You know – the upset tummy, ouch it hurts, mommy make it feel better kind of colic? The poor thing was miserable for the first six months of her life. It didn’t just make her a fussy in between naps, in fact she rarely even took naps she was so uncomfortable. In other words her stomach hurt, she was constantly tired, and this tiny little baby had two parents who had no idea how to help her.  It was an interesting time to say the least, and one where it felt like everyone on the outside looking in was passing judgment.

Fortunately, as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months I learned a few little tricks to ease her pain.  If the weather was decent I’d plop her into the stroller and we’d go for a walk. The bumping along the sidewalk seemed to calm her.  I also learned that the crying would cease if I slung her over my arm tummy side down.  Of course that only worked if I didn’t need both arms, and until she got too heavy. And then people offered their own remedies – put her in the car seat and place the seat on the washing machine or dryer, take her for a drive in the car, start her on solids earlier, and on and on.

Her discomfort paired with her vocal abilities made it difficult to go out in public, to say the least.  I remember getting half way through our shopping at the grocery store and finally deciding we’d better leave.  The partially filled cart was deserted in the cereal aisle and I quickly carried her out of the store screaming all the way. Oh right – she was the one screaming, not me. Another time we’d gone Christmas shopping downtown in Macy’s.  She made it through an hour or so before the fussing began. And it wasn’t long before the fussing became all out screams. Her face turned red, her mouth opened wide, her tiny eyes scrunched into little slits of misery, and the cries that emanated from what had to have been her very soul pierced every ear within a couple of blocks. We made a mad dash out of the department store as women practically came out of the woodwork to stare at us and fire off multiple words of admonishment.

And whether I wanted to or not I heard them all. I fed her too much, I didn’t feed her enough, I should change her diaper, she was over tired, she was over stimulated, and so on. Their judgments hung over my head and weighted me down with embarrassment and shame. I was a young mother and I really was trying everything.  I did all of the above and more, but her crying went on.

It’s easy to be on the outside of a situation and pass judgment.  Those who criticized my mothering abilities as I ran from that store did not know me. They had  no idea what I had just done for my daughter – which included feeding and changing her in the solitude of the women’s lounge – nor did they have even the slightest grasp of our prior experiences. They had not walked in my shoes, they had not lived with us on a day to day basis, but yet they were quick with their accusations.  

I catch myself doing that sometimes.  A woman will snap at her child, a store clerk will speak tersely to a customer, or on occasion I’ll hear about someone who has struggled with some kind of ‘transgression’, and I’ll take it upon myself to be their judge.

As I’m out and about shopping for the holiday season, I hope to take into account my story.  Instead of judging those people, maybe an offer of a helping hand would be more appropriate. That might be exactly what they need, and it might make their day.  I don’t know – just a thought. It wouldn’t have stopped my daughter from crying, but it would certainly have kept a few wayward tears from falling down my cheeks!

Make It A Good One

The other day my seventeen year old daughter asked me to proof an English paper for her.  The assignment was to provide an analysis of a piece of literature. It included the requirement that she develop a thesis statement and then provide an assortment of quotes and material from the book to support that thesis.  Of course I thought she did a wonderful job on the paper, but I also found her premise interesting.  She utilized the quote “Life is what you make it” and used the material in the book to prove her point.

This is the time of year when we are asked to give thanks, to contemplate our lives, to celebrate our family and friends, and to give joyously. Sometimes, some years, that’s a fairly simple task, but others it can be so difficult it seems nearly impossible. Today, as I spend time reflecting on my own past and peer into my future, I can’t help but consider that quote – “Life is what you make it”.  I tend to believe that no matter what circumstances we find ourselves in, we are still in control of our reaction.

It’s easy to complain, to focus on the negative.  Maybe your brother is coming for Thanksgiving, and you know he’s going to get trashed and ruin the entire event. Maybe you have to go to a Christmas party at the neighbors, neither of whom you can stand. Or your kids are nagging you for a new Xbox, a gift there’s no way you can afford. Or possibly you just found out that your mother-in-law, who you’re convinced is really the Wicked Witch of the West, has booked an earlier flight and will be at your house any minute.

In the scheme of life those really are minor complaints. I know people in real financial distress who have lost their home. I know of families with terribly sick children. I know of those who have recently lost loved ones to a tragic accident, and I know multiple families with relatives stationed overseas in the military. It can be particularly difficult to look on the bright side and celebrate joyfully under any of those circumstances. 

But in the end, it does boil down to what you make of it all.  The minor complaints – come on, get over it. There must be people, events, circumstances in your life that you appreciate.  Past, present, future – we all can be thankful for something or someone.  And those in real distress? Hang in there and hold on to those around you. There are times when we all have to dig down deep in search of a way to give thanks and find some joy, I hope we can at least try. 

“Life is what you make it.” You’re in control. You get to choose your life, your circumstances, and your reaction to it all. For the most part you get to choose your friends, and although you may not get to choose your family – at least you are in charge of how you respond to them!  So this holiday season try to remember that your life is yours to make – make it a good one.

Going to the Extreme… and Back

Most of us can recall instances where we have been pulled into the realm of the extreme. Humans seem to be innately drawn to the sensationalism that goes with excessive behavior. The drama, the people who might be just a bit over the top, are like magnets and we just can’t resist. Sometimes we even jump in and participate, while other times we just want to be a casual observer. Either way our bodies and minds get filled with adrenaline and our emotions get just a little, or a lot, out of control. Life is full of extremes, and extremists.  There are extreme sports, extreme sides to political issues, extreme behaviors, extreme emotions, extreme religions, and on and on.  Most of us get pulled in in some way or another, but I also believe that most of us find our way out. The majority of us prefer to reside somewhere closer to the middle rather than the extreme, especially when it comes to danger or extremism that goes over the edge.

People who get into extreme sports are the types of fanatics who particularly fascinate me. I’m not really a get in there and live on the brink of life and death kind of gal; maybe that’s part of the draw.  I do like to drive fast and I’m a reasonably quick skier, but that’s pretty much the extent of my radical sports behavior. I do, however, get a thrill out of watching the real thing.  The men and women who willingly ski a vertical slope that’s practically perpendicular to the ground and located on a mountain that’s wrought with avalanche danger, reaches into the clouds, and can only be accessed by a helicopter – those people are crazy! And I love to watch them.  The motorcycle stunt men and women who perform tricks at ridiculous speeds on their bikes, the people who kayak over waterfalls from unprecedented heights, the surfers who take on waves that reach to the sky and crash down with a force that could kill them in an instant, all of those thrill seekers who toy with danger certainly do intrigue me. I get a bit of a rush watching them.  My mouth drops open in wonder and awe, and I’m filled with respect and perhaps a little touch of jealousy. I’m simply not that brave, or is it that I’m not that insane? Either way –  most of us aren’t. The majority of people are like me – simple bystanders who quite happily go about their own activities with just an average amount of risk to life and limb.

On a different side of those sensation seekers are the political extremists – primarily I’m talking about those who become the more talked about fanatics – the people whose behavior often becomes detrimental in some way or another.  These are the folks who take on a cause or belief to the point where words and ideas get taken out of context, where their dedication puts them over the edge and they possibly lose focus.  Their thinking and their actions no longer allow for discussion or reason. Their way is the only way, and they have little or no tolerance for others ideas.  And sadly, whether we sit on the right or the left of an issue, these are the people we use to pass judgment on our opposition. I find this the case especially in America today, where political divisions have come so strongly to the forefront. 

Most of us, at various times in our life, have been caught up in some form of political extremism.  Maybe you were a part of a group in high school who put down other kids.  You helped spread rumors and politicked against them so that they were not liked by anyone.  Maybe you’ve stood around the office and complained about your boss, who really was a good person and a decent supervisor, but the gossip became so rampant, so extreme that the company was put in danger.  Perhaps you didn’t participate, but you watched as others plotted and schemed inside of a volunteer organization while innocent people got hurt and the conspirators rose to the top.  Those are extreme situations with extreme behaviors.  In those instances emotions overran reasonable thought and bystanders watched with their mouths hanging open not in wonder and awe, but in disbelief and horror.  Those are very radical people, and although they might have been the minority, more than likely they’re behavior became the behavior that was associated with that group, or that business, or that organization.

Fortunately the majority of us don’t live our entire lives in the extreme. We might visit it on occasion, we might dip our toe in and test the water, but we do get out of it and come back toward the middle. Most of the extremists around us – in politics, in government, in religions, are not the norm.  They are the minority, and it would behoove the rest of us to keep that in mind.  Extreme sports are fun to watch, but other extremists aren’t.  Keep your head about you. Don’t let the far left or the far right muddle your thoughts and skew your beliefs. Know that most of us are closer to the middle. We may have differences of opinion, but we aren’t over-the-top sensationalists. Maybe we should try to abstain from lumping each other into those categories of extremism. Who knows, we might even find some rational thoughts and ideas somewhere in that mix.

Mind Games – The Game of Guilt

Guilt – one of the greatest mind games of all time, and one that generally is coupled with shame or embarrassment. There are a few people, probably the scariest group, who apparently don’t have the ability to experience remorse, but most of us do. As is usually the case with emotions – some of us are more susceptible to feeling it than others, and some are quite adept at using it to effectively ‘persuade’ others. Regardless, it is an interesting game, and one I don’t always win.

The other day I headed out for my usual game of golf.  As I think I’ve mentioned before, I am on a Ladies League, and play most every Tuesday morning.  The women I usually play with were unable to make it, and the day was promising to be a beautiful one. Leaves were changing color, the sun was attempting to peak through the fog that had settled in the valley earlier, and the air smelled of autumn.  It would be a good day to play a round by myself.

On approach to the first tee I noticed the usual foursome who had a standing tee time right after us.  They are a very kind group of elderly gentlemen who clearly enjoy the game and each other’s company. Having played either behind or in front of them for the last couple of years I’m aware of their golf game.  Their skills are average, but they play very very slowly.  I was glad to be teeing off before them.

I gave them a quick ‘good morning’ as I strolled past while they warmed up in preparation to tee off after me.  I pulled out my wood, and at the same time one of the gentlemen spoke to me.  Did I wish to join them?  Uh… no I didn’t.  It was a great morning, I was completely content to play a round alone, and I really wanted to get done in a timely manner – I had errands to run and I wanted to be home by early afternoon.

I thanked them profusely for the invitation and then went on to explain that I was really not a very good golfer and wanted to play my round alone.  They nodded, and I turned to tee off. Just then one of them added that it would have been nice if I would have joined them.  They would have appreciated the company.

Well – that was all it took!  Admittedly I am a middle-aged woman, not yet menopausal (thank goodness) but nevertheless filled with female hormones and cursed with the gift of guilt.  I didn’t want to join them, but the game inside my head had begun. I jabbed my tee into the ground, took a couple of practice swings, and sliced the ball directly to my right. It landed at the two o’clock position about 30 yards away, in the trees, and nowhere near the fairway.  And there went the entire first hole. My head was so filled with guilt from declining their offer coupled at that point with the complete embarrassment of my first shot – I could not hit the ball for the life of me.  It wasn’t until I was clear of the foursome and well on my way through the second hole that I made a decent shot and began to play at least like I’d been out a time or two.  The whole thing was ridiculous! Funny, but ridiculous. 

Of course rationally I understood that the man who made the remark meant no harm. He was not angry; he was simply expressing a few kind-hearted words of disappointment. But a good sized helping of guilt topped with an extra dollop of shame took over my rational brain.  I could not focus. I could not ‘get in the zone’ as discussed in one of my previous blogs.

And that’s the way with guilt. If left unchecked it can take us to places we should not go.  It can cause us to veer completely off course and play our game with unwarranted emotional upheaval.  Relationships, work, friendships, family, life – can become a muddled mess.  We feel ashamed and unworthy and lose our ability to think logically and judiciously.

Fortunately that was just a silly game of golf.  But it certainly caused me to think.  Of course there are times and circumstances where we should feel sorry and ashamed of our behavior, but we should never let those emotions consume us. Instead, in those circumstances our job is to make the appropriate apologies, rectify the situation if required, but then move on.  Sometimes that’s difficult to do, and in some instances we never get it done.  Whatever the case, don’t let the crazy game of guilt take over and cause you to slice into the trees and practically off the course.