Our best contribution requires the least effort and the most energy...

 

Slainte!

It is not easy to allow others their own path. We think that if we know what to do, or how to perform a particular task, we must act on this knowledge. Interestingly, our particular knowledge may not be what is needed at the time; it may also be inaccurate. Righteousness leads to a level of struggle that often far exceeds the energy expended for action.

 

It is possible to learn this lesson, little by little. Once learned, it is self-evident and simple to implement, though not easy. All that is required is willingness and discernment. This is a lesson I have taken my sweet time to assimilate. I have not mastered it yet, far from that, but I think I have arrived at a time in my life when the choice between struggle and flow is clearer. I simply do not have the energy to be as stubborn as I used to be anymore.

 

I learned this at work. Until recently, I felt an irresistible urge to contribute to any and all tasks I felt inspired to tackle. If someone seemed uncomfortable with a particular project for which I had previous experience, I would simply move in as though it was a perfectly logical thing to do. I did not mean to take over or steal the show; I honestly believed I was helping. In a matter of hours, however, I felt drained and though colleagues kindly made way, I could sense their discomfort. It does not help anyone not to allow others their own struggles and discoveries.

 

This behavior puzzled me for many years. It puzzled me because, as a rather territorial person, you might think I would understand and respect other people’s boundaries. I simply did not look at it from the proper angle. I thought that stepping back would demonstrate a lack of desire to assist and contribute. I did not get that making room for others can be the most logical and respectful contribution. In fact, I suspect that many wondered whether I was questioning their abilities. How else could they interpret my actions?

 

I felt drained, but not because of all my hard work and dedication. What drained me was the futility of my actions. Hard work cannot be fulfilling when it is not work that is yours to do. For the longest time, I did not know how to change my behavior, until I decided that I did not need to find something else to do, or a particular way to stop it. I only needed to stop, over and over, much like letting go of an addiction overnight because there is simply no other way to ever let go.

 

What a relief, for everybody. All struggles cloud our judgment and make us useless to others and blind to simple delights. When we have to be right, when we have to jump in just because we know how and when we have to come up with a solution just because there does not seem to be one within reach in that instant, we also create an ongoing internal cacophony of questioning and justification. We end the day drained, as we might after a long, poorly organized and barely informative conference, hoping we had not signed up for such a futile experience and stayed home to read a good book instead. There is a way to make it clear that we are available to assist others without stepping on their heads to announce it.

 

As I write this, I see a mental image of a classroom. The teacher just presented the class with a question and the same few students as usual raise their hands in earnest, hoping to be selected first. What motivates them is not so much the need to shine as the fear of disappearing, never having had a valuable impact. Every action, every response, every solution and assistance we offer is a statement of our existence and our availability to others. There is a center of being that, when we take note of it, reminds us to be as servants, patiently ready to serve, but never imposing.

 

Slainte!

Everybody should work part-time only. We should reconsider our current understanding that a “normal” workweek is comprised of a 40-hour contribution to an employer. Employers themselves might reconsider their commitment.

 

The 40-hour workweek entered our culture with the automotive industry assembly line. Granted that jobs in almost any field are truly a form of assembly line, this does not mean the model is still viable today, at least not for everyone. High-productivity does not have to mean full-time commitment and commitment does not have to mean at the expense of other talents and aspirations. Yet we are so afraid to loose the full-time paycheck and benefits. Would it really be a loss?

 

Loss, in itself, does not exist. We feel loss when we focus on our attachment to circumstances and believe that any variation or change will be painful or undesirable. Yet how many people have lost their jobs only to discover that they had gained a new perspective and, especially, the freedom to expand their horizons.

 

It is not our employers’ fault. Our daily responsibilities and the sense of security they provide often contribute to a sense of attachment to circumstances. We dream of learning a new trade or craft, but fear losing our identity in the process since we identify with our current career path. We are a mechanic or administrator or carpenter. We fear being less in the eyes of spouses, neighbors and family if we announce that we only work part-time while learning to sew on the side, for example. Having this sort of freedom is almost arrogant, we think, and certainly irresponsible.

 

Responsibility to self also expands into responsibility toward our neighbors and the world. Ignoring a talent for fear of not fitting the accepted structure of the good person’s work life is just as bad as not giving our best on the job. It robs the world of constructive, creative action.

 

What would happen if our work culture were structured in such a way that seeking to develop skills and talents outside of our current job were encouraged? Instead of having separate employers pay specific groups of employees to do specific tasks, all employees would be interchangeable between job sites, offering and learning new skills, developing dormant talents and living their dreams. A global pool of moneys might provide salaries. Working full-time at one job would no longer be necessary since there would always be a team of skilled and dedicated individuals offering part-time work on a rotating basis and ensuring everything is done, perhaps attaining an even higher level of accomplishment and quality since everyone would be passionate about the task at hand.

 

A simpler version of this sort of system would be for current full-time employees to agree to take a cut in hours so that unemployed, qualified and dedicated workers may have a share of the experience and income. There is documented evidence that people who voluntarily or involuntarily cut their hours and develop other skills they had longed to develop are more productive, more efficient and more reliable employees, in addition to being happier and healthier. Likewise, skilled individuals can be top workers given the chance to participate actively in the workforce and earn their keep. Being included and involved feels good because it is good.

 

Any work or business is a group effort. This does not absolutely have to be limited to the group within an organization’s walls. The world is a group effort whose many talented, willing and eager participants do not quite dare to step outside of the box and do all they dream of doing. When we dare, however, or when circumstances change fast enough to shake us into a new reality, we often find that it is possible to strive outside of the box and that the notion or feeling of striving is not tied to a set schedule.

 

Of course, no one stops us from quitting our full-time jobs to become something else, run a personal business, hold five different jobs or take a year off to travel the world or watch the seasons go by. Likewise, this does not mean that working full-time is undesirable. To each his own, but we need not be attached to this model. In fact, no one says we are.

 

At each turn of each century, with each world or personal event and economic fluctuation, we reassess our lives and reshape the world with every little variation from the norm we naturally adhere to as we adapt to inevitable changes. It happens in spite of us. When we are ready. Even when we do not know that we are ready. Everybody longs to be fully realized. THIS is our true full-time job.

 

Slainte!

We take the occasional dramas of life very seriously, and we should. It is important to decide how to react, what to choose, where to go, who to confide in and how to stand tall and live on. In the midst of a crisis, the world stops and we become its center. Actually, it is still spinning, and we are standing still, in the midst of a tornado. Any movement could catapult us miles away, into unchartered territory. Sometimes, this is the best way to discover new horizons.

 

In 1984, my mother and I lived together in a condo she had just acquired two years earlier when separating from my father. I was twenty years old and spent the greater part of each day at University. We had a good rapport. Her friends who, like her, were in the theater business, visited quite often and they were hilarious. At home, I grew up in an adult world, but a very colorful one, in spite of the excessive use of alcohol.

 

This eventually took my mother’s life. She died suddenly in September of that year. What next? My sister and I rented an apartment together. My dad had requested we live together for a year, perhaps thinking that as the youngest one I would need her guidance to get my feet back on the ground. What he did not know, and what I discovered with great surprise was that the wind of change had not tipped me over; it had shaken me into greater alertness. I sought my own apartment after six months.

 

I loved my new life. I lived alone with my cat, in a small one-room apartment. I loved returning to it after work each day. I had had to leave University one semester short of completion in order to buy my freedom, but it was a price well worth paying. I have no regrets.

 

I later often asked myself if I had been in denial at the time, but I find little evidence of this. Instead, it feels like an absolutely conscious and deliberate journey, an awakening. Yes, I was sad and missed my mother. Amazingly though, the little girl who used to cry the minute her mom was out of sight or delayed from work, even at the advanced age of twelve, felt very secure and certain that this outcome was the right outcome, ordained by some invisible scenario that was playing out exactly as it should. I had stepped into a new story and a new identity. Nothing more, and yet so much more.

 

This realization amazed me. I thought a normal person would feel devastated for the rest of her life at the loss of her mother and I occasionally felt guilty for not experiencing such feelings. However, I think the "me" who might have felt devastated had vanished in the instant I had to decide how to handle my life story from that point forward. Having the ability to choose also confers the ability to become.

 

It has been twenty-five years since my mother passed away. I have since lost my two closest life companions, two cats who shared nineteen and twenty-one years of their lives with me. I have since left a relationship, started over and experienced a layoff from a job I thought looked a lot like a career. This blew me away every time, only to realize that I was perfectly equipped to land wherever I landed.

 

I wonder if this is not a simple course of action everyone actually experiences to one degree or another. Sometimes, disasters shift our life path, sometimes it is only a mild discomfort or disenchantment that causes us to move on, effortlessly or by way of a temporary struggle. In reality, all the circumstances that throw us a mild or devastating curve are just that, circumstances. At every turn, we must decide on the rest of the course in much the same way as we might decide to bring an umbrella on a cloudy day. We decide with more or less urgency depending on our plans for the day and how heavy the rain appears to be.

 

Life is a constant readjustment of personality, belief, strength and focus. The degree of difficulty varies and shapes our response. We develop our personalities and skills by experiencing the entire mosaic of challenges and decisions so that in each instant we redefine what “I am” means for us. We may not be aware of the whole mosaic, or the bigger picture, in every moment. It becomes clear when we take stock and realize that the storm changed the landscape and dug a path we would not have otherwise taken. Thus, without the storm, we might have been lost.

 

Slainte!

According to several studies, most casual conversations focus on conveying negative experiences and discussing the shortcomings and misdeeds of others. We go out of our way to discuss a bad experience nearly three times as much as we might to discuss a good one. Some might say this indicates shallowness or a negative attitude, but could it be instinctive also?

 

The story we tell when we say that someone has wronged us, for instance, is merely an illustration, the conveying of an event in such a way as to impress upon the listener the atmosphere and nature of an encounter that did not bring us joy, fulfillment, nurturing or well-being. Take away the words, the whining and swearing, and it becomes an attempt to convey who we are in the midst of an event. By rejecting the event, we state our own belief system and we warn others so they avoid the same situation, the same assault.

 

That this is a perceived assault, not necessarily a real one, is irrelevant. It is our long-winded and twisted way of saying, “This is what happened to me. Do not go there. It is a place where you will be treated with disrespect”. It is also a long-winded and twisted way of saying, “I am a good and worthy person. These people did not treat me as such. I hereby seek your allegiance so that I do not stand alone in the midst of this drama”.

 

We instinctively seek commiseration. We want others to be angry with us. This validates our perception of the event that has so shaken us; it also reassures us that we do not stand-alone. When we are wronged or when bad things happen to us, we feel alone, diminished. We instinctively seek to build an army, we campaign in our own favor, until voices of friends and colleagues rise in unison against the misdeed. It is a powerful mechanism. It works in the sense that it provides a feeling of strength and righteousness. In truth, it does not, and it is not necessary to feel strong or righteous. It is necessary, however, to preserve our dignity. Complaining about a situation does not accomplish this.

 

What would happen if we said nothing, or if we chose to say it differently? We might convey a bad experience or encounter to friends and colleagues but not seek commiseration. Instead, we might seek suggestions and guidance. Should we speak up to someone who has insulted us or let it go? Should we avoid a certain individual or peacefully confront him? Most importantly, are we seeing things clearly, are we being fair and contributing to making things better?

 

These are tough questions. They require a lot of mental and emotional work, the sort that is not possible immediately upon leaving an unpleasant encounter or experience. However, these questions are building blocks. Without them, all we have are the anger and words we cast out into the world randomly, like random bricks and nails and planks a disgruntled builder might unload haphazardly on a job site. Every experience is a job site; one where we must organize our thoughts and emotions into a blueprint we can build upon instead of seeking to make sense of debris and, in fact, adding to the pile.

 

Slainte!

As humans, we often strive to behave in ways we feel set us apart in such a way as to demonstrate superior composure and good judgment. In recent years, countless manuscripts were produced by “enlightened teachers” who seek to instill in us the ability to face our struggles with peacefulness equal to the stillness of ancient statues. Emulating these teachers then becomes our key struggle.

 

Not only do we struggle to overcome the normal sufferings encountered in the course of our careers, interaction with neighbors, siblings, spouses and colleagues, but also on top of that we must struggle to overcome our emotions and the instinctive drive to act according to our innate sense of justice and ethics. This is the good struggle, we think, the only one worth fighting for. Anything else transforms us into some immature, unreasonable beast.

 

Yet there are, in this world, people who consistently treat others with disregard, business managers who mishandle funds and oppress workers, and public servants who are self-serving instead. We can recognize and even accept that, perhaps, they do not act hurtfully on purpose; perhaps they are doing what they believe is appropriate. Nevertheless, when their actions become oppressive, when we witness injustice and disregard for ethical behavior, should we really sit still and try to convince ourselves that all is well by reciting our mantra du jour? “Karma will take care of this. I need do nothing...”

 

This may apply in some situations where we are a distant observer with very little information regarding the details of a situation. I question whether it is a sensible approach when we are closely involved or when our family, friends, community or colleagues are at the receiving end of less than loving acts.

 

After many years of delving into self-help and spiritual texts that painstakingly convey the commendable benefits of the peaceful warrior, I have come to the conclusion that our ability to choose what we react to and how we do so does not mean we must choose stillness when we have the ability to choose otherwise. It means we must choose discernment in our action. It also means that as a fellow human being, co-worker, animal, inhabitant of a planet, we must place our talents, skills and sense of community in the service of others where and when such service is required. Sitting on the sidelines is not smart. It is disrespectful.

 

The “way of none-resistance” does not mean one must refrain from intervention; it means one must determine the most constructive action to bring about change in the best interest of all involved. This requires a lot of mental and emotional work, and the willingness to do such work. Conventional spiritual models and more modern models such as the Eckhart Tolles and Wayne Dyers of this world are often presented to us in a distorted light. We perceive them as accomplished saints who do not so much as lift a finger against suffering and injustice. This is partly true of course, in the sense that they do not act in opposition to anything, but rather in favor of better behaviors and outcomes.

 

To think that silence is the proper action is an error. Either we take intelligent action now in service of fellow humans and fellow animals who need it now, or we do nothing but pray, believing that ripple effects will certainly transform some future generation. We are here now, observing now, able to support and encourage and transform now. The ripple effect of intelligent action now surely multiplies the impact on generations now and later.

 

New age teachings can be as “dangerous” and misleading as ancient religious dogma. They very innocently claim to show the other side, yet they claim this via the same rhetoric, namely that anyone who does not abide by the new dogma is not worthy of being called a saint or Good Samaritan. However, the Good Samaritan did not sit on the edge of the fountain absent-mindedly, did he?

 

Slainte!

Today, on the radio, the host announced that she would share with the audience a list of the five most intelligent dogs. I am certainly not the only listener who assumed that not only would my own dog make the list; he very likely would be at least number two. He was not even on the list.

 

As I drove, I could hear my internal babbling critique comment on every single statistic the radio host shared with me. According to reputable sources, Border Collies are well ahead of other breeds for intelligence, even for awareness. Obviously, these same sources did not consider other breeds of equal intelligence, such as Rat Terriers, of which my four-legged son is a fine specimen, thank you very much.

 

We take these things very personally, as though having a dog that did not make it to some arbitrary top-five list of intelligence levels meant I had a lesser dog, making me as unlikely to end up on a similar list. Instinctively, I want to prove my dog, as a mother who would insist her child’s artwork is impressive, when in truth it is impressive to her only.

 

We teach tricks to our pets, as a means to extract from them some behavior that might prove a level of understanding and creativity worthy of notice, almost supernatural. My dog can do tricks. In fact, he learned each trick in about fifteen minutes flat, as a puppy, and remembers to this day. He can sit and wait until I say “Slainte” (cheers, in Scots-Gaelic), at which point he stands on his hind legs, does a 360 degree pirouette and grabs a cookie from my hand. This demonstrates his ability to remember a command and to comply. It is a sign of intelligence, by human standards. By dog or animal standards, it is totally useless.

 

Showing him that trick was not the smartest thing I have ever taught anyone. Perhaps we miss something when we try to assess and demonstrate an animal’s intelligence. We miss the fact that they might also have a rather developed sense of humor, or at least they do not know shame. Our human intelligence comes with a price. It comes with the type of self-awareness that goes beyond monitoring our comfort relative to the environment; an awareness that contributes to the development of self-esteem and, in turn, compulsive self-criticism. Now that is some stupid pet trick.

 

I take offense to the assumption that any creature that is not human is, by definition, lacking in way of intelligence. We measure everything by human standards. It is human nature. We understand our environment through comparisons. Something is shorter or taller, faster or slower, better or worse, smarter or … do not get me going again. To me, a dog is no less smart than a human is; it simply has a dog’s intellect, allowing it to live, strive and survive as a dog. It does not need to invent complex structures or equipment. It has no need for such things. It is smart at communicating what it needs, playing with other dogs and humans, exploring the surroundings and knowing when a human friend needs a reassuring cold nose against his or her cheek.

 

Just as a leg is structured differently on the bodies of different species of animals, so is intelligence structured differently for each species. Both adapt to immediate terrain, circumstances, climate and survival needs. There is an intrinsic integrity in most species we humans consider of lesser intelligence, namely, all species but our own. This integrity lies in the fact that it would not occur to any of those other animals to choose to act outside of certain instinctive rules and patterns of behaviors. The human ability to override this integrity at will could be an outcome of our style of intelligence, but it is certainly not proof of an intelligent use of it.

 

Slainte!

Something occurred to me today. Something rather interesting happens when a new recruit joins a team in a workplace. Long-established individuals also have long-established behaviors, attitudes and shared strategies. It does not occur to them one bit that, in the context of an encounter with a new recruit, every word and action becomes a demonstration of personal integrity, or lack thereof.

 

What is equally interesting, perhaps, is how first impressions are clouded by the excitement of novelty, focus on one’s desire to be accepted, an overall self-centeredness that casts a shadow on deeper meaning and revelation. We see the snarl, hear the deceit, understand the games, yet we do not equate these with anything other than mere business. All of it seems as lifeless and inconsequential as the chairs and desks in the room.

 

It is likely that most of the time recruiters instinctively pick individuals who somehow seem to be quite similar to their soon-to-be new colleagues. There must be some character trait that surfaces and makes the interviewer feel a sense of kinship, in a sort of “this person very much feels like one of us” moment. It is probably mutual. It must be.

 

Within a week of being on the job, a newly recruited manager very confidently explained to subordinates how she would approach a situation by modifying certain facts when communicating with the other parties in order to obtain what was sought from them. What at first sounded like cleverness soon had subordinates walk away with a clear understanding that had nothing to do with the business at hand. Their colleague and superior had demonstrated that she believed in securing desired outcomes by resorting to manipulation. Every single one of her subordinates knew what this meant. It meant they were just as likely to be at the other end of the equation as anyone else was. Very informative indeed.

 

To this day it baffles me that individuals who operate this way can come together and run a business while not once realizing that they should all be aware by now that they do not even have each other’s trust or respect. What baffles me even more is the thought that these individuals are raising children. What do their children witness? What do they understand? Mom and dad are role models after all, regardless of what they model.

 

We all tend to behave slightly differently with colleagues or within the workplace than we do at home. The human tendency to be inconsistent may be a blessing in some cases. For instance, children are often pleasantly surprised to discover a very confident father in the workplace, while at home he is stifled by a strong-willed spouse. There are liberties we take with others to whom we are not closely related. Likewise, there are liberties we take with “loved ones” we would not dream of exhibiting in public.

 

The idea of consistency of behavior in all venues raises many questions ranging from our ability to apply self-awareness to every encounter and action, to the willingness to do so. Consistency of behavior also requires a great capacity for forgiveness. We tend to equate this with a specific level of friendship, not necessarily with civic duty. Is it possible to put family first without putting everyone else second?

 

In this context, if we are to model our behavior according to how we might interact with family, the key question in every engagement might not be “how can I get what I need”, but rather “How can I model and demonstrate integrity as I seek what I need?” This requires a great deal of self-awareness and determination. It does not occur to most of us to apply this in every moment of every day, hence the inconsistency. The saving factor, in the end, is always forgiveness.

 

Slainte!

The last 24 hours have been a breeze. In fact, it seems odd to refer to this time as “the last” 24 hours, for there is nothing finite about them. Every thought, every action, every movement, whether displacing our bodies for a distance of one centimeter or moving great distances over the horizon, leads to the next thing. The path can flow as a raft on a gentle river, or it can be interspersed with obstacles. We often create the obstacles in our mind’s eye. The eye turns into a projector. We see these obstacles emerge before us and we struggle.

 

We believe that struggle makes us stronger. This is true, but is it always necessary? Early on, we are encouraged to face every fear, every challenge and every overwhelming situation or task with courage, as though we would not be a whole person should we avoid struggle or resistance. Yet resistance is, in essence, an instinctive mechanism designed to get our attention, stop us in our tracks before something new and unpredictable, long enough to assess whether our well-being is at stake. However, in the complicated world of the human animal, this mechanism must circumvent the scrutiny of the rational mind, which is sometimes too rational and sometimes too rationally irrational.

 

We ignore the red flags. We spend entire lives facing one situation after another, work and relationship circumstances that teach us so much about who we are, what we are good at, what we are capable of, where we excel and where we fail. We thus accumulate our very own library of personal knowledge and expertise, not about external things so much as about ourselves and what has worked in our best interest. As with any other library or reference book, we often fail to consult this source of knowledge when it is time to make an informed decision about a project or new direction.

 

The critical voice rises in a great cacophony, as though it could spontaneously multiply much as the cells that become a complex organism through automatic duplication. Soon, we begin to ponder a decision or task from the perspective of the many critical voices that trick us into believing we are indeed calling attention to our great responsibility, which consists in being more, overcoming, facing everything without so much as a whimper, in order to save face, feel like a complete person, appear in control, or worse, in order to not disappoint anyone.

 

Yet, at times, we know this is a lie. We know that the thickness of the voice is like a cloud that prevents us from seeing the true library of self-knowledge within, and we are afraid of what we might find there, because in those moments of clarity, we know we would find undeniable evidence that the right path is not the road less traveled and that no amount of heroism will ever serve us, or anyone, well.

 

Early on, many of us learn that when we do not perform well at a certain task we must do everything in our power to overcome this “weakness”, at the expense of our existing strengths. Our strengths go without saying. Few of us think of spending time, energy or money into the further development of an existing skill, because our entourage often focuses on our weakness, or rather our inability to perform at the expected level required for their own ends. In truth, we are to blame just as much as our entourage, or more After all, we choose to think however we think about ourselves and our abilities.

 

We take on tasks that bore us and deplete our energy because we do not have the personal integrity to choose what we know we are good at, and empowered by, instead. Truly successful people understand how this works. They consistently choose to focus on projects and activities they simply cannot resist because they are damn good at them. They are right. They are successful not because they attain great things, or run flourishing businesses, or develop innovative and popular products; they are successful because they honor their agreement with themselves to refer to the inner library of personal knowledge and make every decision based on undeniable evidence of true purpose and ability.

 

When we know what we are capable of and what inspires us to perform at the highest level of our abilities and creativity, the surest path is to recognize that the voice of resistance is a distortion, a sort of malfunction of ancient survival mechanisms that, instead of keeping us safe, keep us trapped in all that we are not.

 

Slainte!

What would happen if, instead of the current economic system, all nations were set up so that every individual automatically received a monthly allowance?

 

A decree might state that everyone would receive the same amount. It would be up to each person to budget and ensure they put each dollar to good use. Entrepreneurship would be encouraged, as would the ability to make a profit, hire staff and invest. There would still be taxes to pay, as a means to support shared infrastructure and services and promote a sense of responsibility toward the well-being of the community.

 

Of course, for this to work, it might be helpful to put in place programs to train people in effective money-management skills. For while everyone would be assured consistent income, not everyone would necessarily manage it in their own best interest. This is true with the current system. Regardless of how money is earned and regardless how much is earned, guaranteed income, whether on a temporary or ongoing basis, does not guarantee financial shrewdness.

 

One might argue that guaranteed income would create generations of lazy people who do not feel there is any reason to contribute to a work force. I would argue that the majority of people have creative minds that beg to engage in society, projects, work, development and community. I would also suggest that many brilliant entrepreneurs and dedicated workers at heart might strive under such a system, because they might feel secure enough to dare to act on their dreams and visions. I find I am most creative when I feel secure. I know this to be true for most people.

 

Another possible argument is that any individual who chose not to actively participate in the workings of their community simply because their ability to obtain food and shelter is ensured would not be in any different position than people who refuse to participate today. Thus, in the end, the source of income does not matter and the guarantee of income may not matter at all either. What matters and what makes a difference in how successful we are at living and sharing in the activities and prosperity of a community is our attitude, and our willingness to take action. In the end, we create our own ability to support and fulfill ourselves.

 

Perhaps what is truly needed is not guaranteed income, but the aforementioned training program to provide every individual with not only a keen understanding of financial matters and survival, but also a real sense of respect for self and others. We “earn a living” by taking action, sharing our strength, skills and creativity with colleagues and ultimately with an entire community. In this sense, it is likely that a system that guarantees income to all would in fact rob many of the incentive to go out on a limb and develop strength, skills and creativity.

 

An engineer, who earns thousands putting together a proposal that is finally accepted, may feel great sense of accomplishment and meaning. Likewise, a server who sees clients return, specifically asking for her table, and leaving a good tip as a token of appreciation, may feel a great sense of accomplishment and meaning. The dollar amount and means of earning it are irrelevant.

 

Money does not give value to our lives; how we live our lives gives value and meaning to each dollar earned. Ultimately, how we live our lives give values to far more than that.

 

Slainte!

Last week, my husband and I visited his father. He lives about two hours south of us. I was not going to come along at first, but changed my mind. It had been a while since I had seen his dad. On the way there, we usually stop by a ball field where we can let our dog out to run and play for a while. Since our dog is small, most of our attention remains near ground level, where we pick up sticks to throw for him, or watch him run in giant circles with a huge grin on his face. That day, however, something in the distance caught my attention.

 

There is a batting cage at the back of the field. A huge raven was trapped inside, flying back and forth from one end to the other, desperately trying to be free. I ran to it. As I approached, I noticed a tear at the bottom of the net and decided my feathered friend had probably ventured in that way and forgotten about it after a while. I immediately proceeded to raise one end of the net. Raven stayed at the opposite end. It was exhausted and panting. Every time it tried to stabilize itself in a corner, it soon drooped down, unable to keep its strength. The sun was warm. It was not a good day for a black bird to be trapped out in the open and to panic.

 

I secured the end higher, to offer a more obvious opening, and motioned Raven to fly over to that side of the net. I had removed my sunglasses, so it could see my eyes, and I spoke in a soft voice so it could hear the vibration of my love. Raven seemed to calm down a bit, but it insisted on staying in the top corner. I crouched down and motioned “down” with my hand, several times. After three or four repetitions of this “message”, Raven got the gist of it and soon began to shift its attention from me to the bottom of the net. It inched its way down as best it could, found the exit, flew straight out and circled back over me before disappearing into the trees by a nearby river. It needed shade and drink.

 

What a gorgeous creature! It was so close to me that I could have picked it up in my harms. I was tempted by this great opportunity to hold such a beautiful animal and shower it with tenderness, but it did not want my tenderness and I had no right to impose. A French love song says, “I do not want to be tamed or caged. I want to be loved simply for what I have to offer”. We cannot hold on to everything we love, not even our life.

 

A few days later, in a restaurant in Montreal, a young couple sat in the corner of a greenhouse that extends onto the sidewalk, in front of a tall hotel building. They were celebrating her upcoming birthday. Neither one was trapped or caged. They had tamed each other, yet they were free. They could have gone another day or sat anywhere else, but it is reported that the woman insisted on the corner table. A block of cement weighing over 400 pounds came undone from the hotel, eighteen floors above, and fell directly onto the young woman’s head, killing her instantly. Her husband lost a few fingers, but preserved his life. Perhaps he had been reaching across the table at the time, holding her hand, not knowing he would be forced to let go.

 

We try to assign cosmic order to such seemingly random events. A raven’s life is spared because someone happens to drop by and look up at the right moment. A young woman’s life ends because she picked the wrong table at the wrong moment. It is difficult to believe in random acts because in such instances the course of events is modified due to a decision that was made moments before the outcome. These events stand out because the outcome, or averted outcome, awakens a sense of loss. By choosing to stay home today, instead of going for a drive, we might be avoiding a serious accident, or perhaps we avoided one last week, while distracted by Raven. Perhaps it is Raven who was in the right place at the right time, needing our attention long enough to spare our lives from what awaited down the road had we been there instead.

 

I was so close to Raven that I could have held it. It did not want my embrace; it wanted the freedom it had lost. I felt so moved by the story of the young couple that I wished I could be there to hug the survivor. He does not want just any embrace; he wants the companion he has lost. Conceivably, Raven did not fly away with a sense of pain or remorse. It is intelligent enough to not venture there again. Lesson learned. It was just an isolated event in the life of one raven and, in truth, in the story of ravens in general. However, these events change the course of things, drastically.

 

Raven may avoid anything that looks like a batting cage from now on, or it may decide to be more trusting of humans and end up hurt by someone who dislikes black birds. For humans, it appears to be slightly more complicated. Personal loss, and certainly personal trauma, affects our work life, social behavior, sense of freedom, ability to trust and ability to love in ways that often override our most basic survival instinct. Forgetting and getting back to the routine of life is not easy. Sometimes, it not possible.

 

It is when we realize how much we have lost, or how much we risk loosing, that we question the sequence of events or decisions that lead to painful outcomes. It is when our well-being is at stake that we consider our path, our level of education, our choice of career, our money management skills, our choice of activities, our choice of friends or partners and so on.

 

The pain of unforeseen accidents, injury or loss collapses upon us in an incomprehensible rumble of debris. Only time, the beginning of a new routine, a new day, a new line of work, a new approach, a new relationship, a new event to catch our attention, a new reason to laugh, a new sunrise, a new delectable meal or a new symphony  can convince us that we have the ability to overcome. It is the anchor that holds our story together regardless of what unfolds between the first and the last chapter.

 

Slainte!

I recently participated in a discussion regarding mid-life woes. Participants generally expressed a sense of loss: the loss of a youthful body, youthful activities and overall physical comfort. Facing change requires strength and a good sense of humor. Both were evident traits of each person involved in the discussion. It was also clear that what we, middle-age folks, seek most, is reassurance and support.

 

The media add insult to injury by repeatedly bombarding us with product and role models geared to an everlasting youthful demeanor, appearance and mentality. These myths possibly originated far before television and magazines. In all cultures, for centuries, models society has sought to emulate typically had perfect strength, courage and bodies. We forget that these images are metaphors, that the physical attributes of heroes and role models represent outward evidence of inner strength and composure. It is a visual language, nothing more, but it has become so distorted.

 

We now equate white hair, a few extra pounds, wrinkles and aches and pains with something undesirable and with imperfection. We fear becoming unattractive, forgetting that as we age, we develop an inner attractiveness and others develop the ability to see and appreciate it. We forget that we are animals, and though our brains and abilities may be different from those of other animals, we are still governed by similar biological laws. After a certain degree of usage, our bodies are not meant to attract others because we are no longer meant to reproduce. After all, the round habitat on which we walk, create, love, and fight can only accommodate so many bodies.

 

Discussing all of this with friends is far from futile. It is a philosophical exercise that inevitably reminds us that we are not alone, that we have become so much more than what we were, that we can laugh at ourselves, that we can no longer briskly skip up the stairs, but we have raised fine children, made true friends, developed a useful product, sustained a successful business or mastered an art we could not have mastered without maturity and experience.

 

I left the discussion and went to bed, but not without many thoughts churning on my mind. So many good points had been made, yet I had not identified the reason for my own discomfort. It is not grey hair, wrinkles or lack of youthful activities that cause me concern. I felt the same sorrow as others, but could not name it until later. It came to me as a revelation, moments before falling asleep. What I regret most and truly about my youth is the loss of courage. Perhaps it could be referred to as the loss of innocence.

 

I am not brave anymore, in spite of all my accumulated life and work experience, all the accumulated self-awareness, all the skills and talents I have developed. Conceivably, insecurity is a safety valve. It is the mechanism that allows us to pause and consider options, alternatives and, especially, possible consequences when making new decisions in life. It can also leave us in a state of paralyzed fear.

 

Therefore, our challenge as we age is not to make wrinkles disappear or hands regain their dexterity. Our greatest challenge may be to develop discernment, the sort that enables us to act boldly and youthfully in spite of our years. Courage does not operate in the past, it is not meant to help us repeat circumstances from familiar, comfortable past events or appearances. Courage operates in the present moment. It is the spark that enables us to embrace new circumstances and trust new ideas, friends and abilities. In this sense, courage may be the coveted potion we seek to draw from the mythical fountain of youth. There is nowhere to go to find it. We must simply allow it to flow through us. As water, it effortlessly embraces every shape, wrinkle or color on its path because it does not recognize shape, wrinkle or color as real or interfering objects.

 

Slainte!

When asked what I wanted to become when I grew up, I usually replied a veterinary or anthropologist. Then, I went and studied arts and communications.

 

Later, one of my most memorable work experiences took place at a kite and flying toys store in old Montreal. I had no retail sales experience per se, yet I had passion for the act of fending for myself and for learning new trades. I had seen an ad in the newspaper and jumped on my bicycle with the sole intention of first visiting to decide if it felt like a place where I could work. I arrived heart beating, skin flushed, sweat beads on my forehead and heat in my limbs, unprepared.

 

I barely had the time to ask the sales clerk how she liked it there. She immediately picked up the phone and called the manager. A cheerful woman soon appeared and invited me to the owner’s office. Twenty minutes later, I had a new job, in spite of my sweatpants and the sweat that continued to shine on my face as I sat across the desk from this creative and passionate man. I spent the next two years or more creating theatrical displays with kites, building them, explaining flying methods to customers, setting up for trade shows and meeting the most fascinating people.

 

I especially remember two young boys who appeared one day. They were extremely articulate for their years and soon explained that their father was a ship captain. They docked in Montreal, across the street from the kite shop, traveled with their own personal teacher and their sea faring dog. I wondered what they would become when they grew up. They had already seen so much of the world and would see so much more. Surely, this would shape their passions and goals. At seven and nine, they had already begun to build a network of knowledge and acquaintances, all of which could significantly shape their destiny.

 

My story is not unique. Countless people from my generation have found their most memorable work experience to be that one apparently simple, little job where they learned from scratch. The key ingredient in those times was trust; trust in the abilities of others to learn and apply themselves. Employers who had built their business on their own passion and remembered their own trials and tribulations had the ability to recognize the passion in others and trust that it was possible for yet inexperienced youth to follow the same path, to want to learn and grow so much that anything was possible. Perhaps we lived on the brink of a significant shift in the job industry: the remnants of the age of masters and apprentices.

 

Of course, this relationship between employer and employee is still possible, but it is rare. In the highly specialized industries of today and in a world where litigation, risk management and bottom lines influence every business decision, employers seek highly knowledgeable individuals to minimize training time and ensure proper practices and behaviors with minimal supervision. The atmosphere of the family-owned business, where skills and knowledge are passed down from one generation to the next, is not easy to maintain or recreate in this context. However, it still exists in some trades where internship is an integral part of learning.

 

Ideally, our schools prepare us for a career, but what of those who have several interests and the passion and ability to excel at them? My father was an electrician, and a photographer, and a geologist, and a theater programming director. He left school at 14, thought himself English and every trade he ever felt inclined to tackle. When asked what he did for a living, he normally only referred to his current activity.

 

When asked, “What do you do?” or, “What do you want to become?” we are expected to give a precise answer. Admitting that we wish to become a musician and surgeon and illustrator would feel like admitting that we do not have a clear goal or we do not seek to become an accomplished “somebody”. What of passion, that ingredient which enables us to stay awake late at night to avidly study a new trade and drives us to take on new work and learn from the seat of our pants? What of our true interests and the freedom to develop many parallel or intersecting careers?

 

Some people do it. Some people dare. When they have to, due to circumstances or simply because they cannot hold back anymore, when there is much they want to experience and they still do not know what they want to be when they grow up. This is the point, precisely. We miss the mark. We perceive what we call “growing up” as a goal in a string of goals. We must choose a path, begin to prepare for it as though we knew exactly what to accomplish, become “grown up” and at once attain the goal of accomplishment.

 

What if “growing up” is the path? Then, every hobby, every career or trade we dare to embrace creates a life of persistent learning and continuous personal reassessment. Then, mastering life and every talent at the tip of our fingers becomes our career. What if schools encouraged us to choose as many paths and side roads as we can imagine taking?

 

Then, we would not regret the things we had not done or tried. Then, we might have been in the right place at the right time to provide assistance, to fill a need for an employer, to teach, to learn, to contribute and to continue growing. Then, our legacy would be a road map and our vision without limitations. Then, we might be fearless. Then, we might have more compassion because we would have walked on each other’s paths.

 

Slainte!

We live together to help each other strive, overcome and, ultimately, remember that we exist. This occurred to me as I considered the various types of relationships people around me seem to have. Love is not the reason we choose to share our lives with a significant other.

 

Love is the magnet, the irresistible mechanism that ensures we align our destinies with another. What we make of this attraction is up to us. It transforms over time. It fades or becomes a deep sense of belonging that no longer needs the games of physical chemistry to justify or embellish the connection. To reach a hand and at once recognize the soul mate in the subtle leap of energy that confirms his or her identity and love with instantaneous, absolute certainty, with nothing else to be done or said; that is sublime; more so than what we commonly call love.

 

We mistake “falling in love” for the real thing, yet the real thing may very well be utterly strange to physical attraction. To be able to cry together, listen to one another, understand without explanation, know without being told, offer help without being asked, to spontaneously say or do exactly what must be said and done to uplift and acknowledge one another, that must be true love. It has the power to transform.

 

Our relationships are a balancing act. We believe we have so much to give and expect there is so much to receive. We believe that giving and receiving should be equal. We unconsciously keep a ledger of good deeds, earnings and expenses. We live in a culture of checks and balances where time and effort have a price tag. The metaphoric price tag of relational expectations is the most costly of all.

 

This becomes obvious in relationships were salaries are unequal or one person does not work. It is very difficult in this culture to accept that the time one spends preparing a meal, the effort and energy placed into it, is not any different from time dedicated to a workplace. Both require commitment to the task at hand for the benefit of a group or agency, even though in the case of a marriage or partnership the group consists of only two individuals and maybe only a few children.

 

We equate our efforts with a paycheck, yet the volunteer in the hospital feels abundantly compensated by the sheer satisfaction of bringing assistance where it is needed. The difference in our perception may lie in the fact that volunteerism is a form of work whereas the chores of every day living are necessary acts and are often governed by expectations. It is through our expectations of one another that we set the standard by which we unconsciously determine whether the other measures up to our own efforts. We assign a value to chores: doing dishes is worth two imaginary tokens, whereas sitting in the office is worth eight. Any task that does not equal our own efforts in time falls short and imaginary token stacks do not line up.

 

Time after time, the “player” with the highest stack assumes the role of champion, stands at the top of the podium but does not receive a medal. Deep down inside, we like being the hero, so though we scold others for not doing their part, we secretly wish to be able to continue pointing out that we are the hero, over and over. In reality, we dream of a bronze medal, we dream of ignoring the dust on the furniture and the dishes in the sink, we dream of tasting laziness for one delightful afternoon. If we dare do so, we realize that others do not react and do not care. It is not that they do not care; they simply did not have an expectation.

 

What is discovered in that instant is acceptance; from ourselves for having had the honesty to do as we pleased and from others when they simply let us be, silently noticing “she finally took time for herself”. However, we generally overlook this acceptance because it does not fit in the scheme of things. We feel like “less” because we are not performing, not meeting expectations, not earning our imaginary tokens in every moment of every day, not matching the stack of tokens in others’ pockets.

 

Acceptance, integrity and honestly are the proper currency. Expectation is like Monopoly money. It does not even look real, yet we handle it with greed and seriousness.

 

Slainte!

To laugh often and much; To win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; To earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; To appreciate beauty, to find the best in others; To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition; To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded.

These words were attributed to Ralph Waldo Emerson. Though this is questioned, it remains the most often quoted citation about success. What is interesting about this is that the majority of us actually measure success in terms of school grades, business acumen and career accomplishments. In other words, we assign a dollar value, rank and productivity to success. It is something to attain, a lofty goal that must unfold a certain way in order for us to be able to say, “I have done this”, “I am a manager” or “I work for so and so”.

When we ask an individual such as Bill Gates what he feels represents his greatest success, we expect him to reflect on the development of Microsoft, its launch and its rapid evolution to the level of empire. This would be a perfectly acceptable and reasonable answer. We would be shocked, and disappointed, to hear him talk about the first time he stopped to notice a sunrise and how he incorporated sun gazing into his daily routine from that day forward. There is no glamour in that, nothing accomplished; or is there?

We equate success with productivity. We must accomplish a task, even the most complex task, in the least possible time, with the least possible steps and at the least possible cost. Now that is success; or is it? Attention to detail sometimes requires extra steps. That a successful process should be quick and as inexpensive as possible is an arbitrary decision someone made at some point, probably to reel in the dollars faster. It became a model. This does not mean it is a successful model. How successful is it to expect results with minimal effort? How successful is it not to be willing to take extra steps to ensure a well-rounded process?

When we cook a meal for a loved one, we painstakingly select the best ingredients, begin early to have plenty of time and diligently follow each step of the recipe without seeking shortcuts. We seek not profit; rather, we seek to be of service. Profit then becomes an effortless, inevitable result. We gain trust, and love, through our ability to inhabit each moment fully, giving it our whole creativity and integrity, regardless of the required effort or time. In other words, we pour our whole attention into the process because, in fact, we are pouring our love into it.

To approach each task of every day, in our personal life and in business, with this much fervor; now that would be success. Anything else borders on discrimination.

Slainte!

One day, in high school, the teacher announced that special guests were on their way. A blind man and woman, husband and wife, would talk to us about their life and how they go about daily activities. Both were born blind. They had not a glimpse of what it was to receive images of surrounding fields, streets, walls, furniture and faces in their brains.

 

When asked what it was like to be blind, neither one could answer. They could not answer because they could not compare sight to non-sight. For the same reason, not a single student in the classroom could explain sight or understand blindness. We had come to an impasse. We perceive and name our experiences of the world by means of comparison. Something is small as opposed to large, hot as opposed to cold or good as opposed to bad. We must, at the very least, have understanding of one aspect of a thing in order to determine what its opposite means. However, one cannot fully understand what one does not experience.

 

I understand sight because I can see. I can only ponder what blindness might feel like, and only based on immediate experience. For example, if I hold my hand up so that the palm is facing the horizon, and move my arm about as though I had an eye in my hand to capture what it sees, my brain would not receive an image. That, to me, is blindness. I had to use something in my experience in order to seek understanding. I had this thought while we met with the blind couple, years ago, but I did not speak up. I did not say anything because I realized I was still comparing sight to non-sight, and they knew nothing about sight. I came to a standstill.

 

The same experiment applies with death. Even more so, since most of us do not have the opportunity to discuss these things with the dead and hear their perspective. When I say, “I am alive”, I am expressing my awareness of being, right now. In every fraction of every instant, I move or shift my body ever so slightly, my organs shift, move, and transform as they go about their business of ensuring my survival and well-being, cells die, and skin sheds. From one fraction of a second to the next, I am not quite what I was before, and though I may have some vague memory of what I did a moment ago, my body is no longer involved in that activity and my senses no longer busy interpreting that moment. Now I am alive, now I am dead. To the extent that I no longer fully inhabit the moment, that, to me, is death. Nothing to fear.

 

We are like octopuses. Our five known senses are the tentacles that reach out and assess the environment. We touch, feel, and seek to understand. The instant we shift our awareness to a new object, indeed, as we are shifting it, that fraction of existence has died, no longer to be experienced again. Memories are inevitable. They are the archives, the accumulation of information about our experiences, the points of reference that help us determine how well we are doing and what we might choose next.

 

There is not a “me” in the past who feels dead because I have evolved to the present. That “me” simply is no longer. There is no fear, no questioning, no seeking to return, not anymore than there is a non-eye in my hand feeling lost because it does not see. It cannot feel lost simply because it does not know that it does not exist. Thus, what is our awareness aware of if the moment our body, with all its senses, ceases to live, we do not have awareness of being dead? Do we know we are dead?

 

I almost drowned when I was a child. I played in a swimming pool with some friends. They all sat on an inflatable mattress on the surface of the water and it was my turn to play shark, swim underneath the mattress and try to dislodge as many of them as I could from below. The excitement of the game made it difficult to keep my breath very long under water, so I promptly sought to come up for air. Somehow, the mattress always moved in the same direction as me, and I could not come out from underneath. I actually felt a sort of “on the edge” moment, a place in time where I had the opportunity to give up, quite fearlessly, or make a decision. I felt the “nothingness” of giving up. It would have been easy. However, as for any other animal, my survival instinct spoke loudly and I chose to swim further, away from the mattress. I gasped for air.

 

I never forgot that experience. When we go to sleep each night, we do not even question the fact that we will wake up to the same surroundings, the same walls, furniture, pets, companions and the same life. We expect it. Therefore, I ask again. Do we even know we are dead when we are? Could I have drowned and simply continued my story in my imagination because I expected it to continue? Does imagination reside in the physical brain? If not, could that mean I possibly never physically existed in the first place? That is irrelevant. Whether I am imagining my life with or without the assistance of a physical shape, the result is the same: I get to choose what to imagine next. Interesting.

 

Slainte!

Do we stop feeling responsible toward our children, siblings or friends the moment they are out of sight? Does it matter whether our actions are witnessed and is there any reason to change the manner in which we act depending on who is nearby and who sees us? Quite bluntly, it appears we become sloppy when there is no one to impress. In this sense, though there is no justification for the behavior, the reason may be a variation on basic instincts. It may be a matter of role playing, rank (real or perceived) or power (real or perceived).

 

In the food service industry, there is so much customers do not see, and would not want to know, from restaurant kitchen staff blowing into a plastic bag to release cheese slices from it to deli employees sitting on the floor to clean food service containers, with food in them, with a dirty rag. Simply put, behind “closed doors” people become sloppy. Interestingly, these behaviors are never hidden from colleagues or even from new employees. There exists an unspoken agreement not to let customers see this. But are not new employees also former customers? Could they not share with the world what goes on behind closed doors?

 

Sloppiness is not a behavior that starts one hundred yards from one’s home and applies only to strangers. If you tell me I can spit shine a fork or cut corners as long as customers are not watching, you are revealing your lack of respect for fellow human beings and you have lost my trust. End of story. Respect and thoroughness do not require a witness in order to be activated. The goal for any action is not how it will be perceived, what will be perceived and by whom or to do it with the least effort.

 

This is another distinction we make. Faced with a new task, it is nearly always tempting to ask how to do it with the least effort. Those who ask this question are not bad; they are not lacking in skills, talent or expertise. Often, they are simply overwhelmed. Sloppiness or lack of thoroughness, then, may depend on our perception of the value of our time. It is as though we feel we might lose something or lose the ability for thoroughness in our own affairs if we extend it to everyone and everything all the time.

 

We equate thoroughness with doing our best for ourselves and a few chosen close friends or family; indeed, we associate it with a distinctive mark of allegiance. This is not true, of course. Some cultures and some groups have known this all along. The Quakers come to mind as a good example of a group (or culture) that consistently embraces a notion of boundless thoroughness. Pouring oneself into a task, whether it be witnessed or not and regardless of who is being served, constitutes one of their most basic life principles.

 

Must one learn or acquire thoroughness? Is it something we get from our parents? In some instances, at least, thoroughness is a dysfunction. Psychologists and those otherwise interested in human behavior have identified some circumstances where thoroughness is a compulsive behavior. A person may adopt this behavior in an irresistible effort to create order when, for example, they have grown up in a chaotic family. Conversely, one may adopt sloppiness as a form of rebellion.

 

So perhaps the real issue is not whether we are thorough or sloppy. Rather, it is whether we can be trusted to become thorough when required to do so, and whether we can be trusted consistently. What, then, could be the incentive to adopt thoroughness even when no one is watching? Is personal satisfaction enough? Is not thoroughness a form of self-expression?

 

As a form of expression, or language, thoroughness is indeed a worthy cause for the person pursuing it. There is a sense of accomplishment and personal fulfillment that exists with the mastery of a language that, in itself, encourages one to practice and perfect it, consistently and invariably.

 

Slainte!

When my husband and I traveled across the US in our old RV, in 2001, we ended up spending five months in Fredericksburg, Texas. We stayed at a modest campground. Our immediate neighbor was Wal-Mart. We still use the two dinner plates we bought there as a sort of celebration of freedom gift to ourselves. A big, colorful, smiling and silly-looking fish smiles at us from the middle, while smaller ones swim around the rim.

 

When we reached checkout to pay for these plates, we found a rather long line. Something unusual soon captured our attention. The register operator was a teenage boy. Unlike many “grown ups” at nearby registers, he was not merely nice to the person in front of him; he gave his full attention to everyone in line. He made eye contact, greeted everyone, asked how everyone was doing and if we had planned something pleasant for the weekend. He did so with genuine respect and engaged everyone in light conversation. When a customer had a question he could not answer without causing delay for others in line, he immediately secured assistance from a colleague. Everyone who had approached the line with a frown of discouragement immediately began to smile. This was a tension-free zone.

 

My husband and I still talk about this young man. I was certain then, and am certain now, that he has had success and advancement at every job he has ever held. I am positive his career path was assured simply because he had already mastered how to present himself and extend respect to others in a position many would consider low and meaningless. This, precisely, is the difference: he surely did not consider his work as a checkout clerk to be meaningless.

 

There is a sort of distortion in our minds regarding job functions and attitude. Interestingly, this distortion affects all ranges of the job spectrum. An executive may believe to be so “above” everyone that he looses his sensitivity and compassion toward peers, subordinates and clients. Similarly, a checkout clerk may feel so low on the totem pole that she cannot show kindness to the customers whom, it turns out, very directly contribute to putting food on her table each day.

 

The ability to engage with people at heart level, to disregard rank and job title and only see another human being with fears, talents, concerns, strengths and weaknesses similar to our own, is a precious skill to embrace and develop. No amount of product knowledge can replace this. A customer service clerk who does not know an answer and does not bother to look it up for the client has lost an opportunity to experience the richness of human connection. Not only will the client be turned away feeling worthless and not likely return, but also he is not likely to radiate much appreciation toward the clerk, who will mistakenly assume this confirms how much their job “sucks”.

 

Conversely, a sales clerk with the presence of mind to take a few extra steps to secure proper information, out of sheer respect for the person before him, also opens the door to a rich experience. The client is put at ease and acknowledged. Her gratitude will be obvious. Both she and the clerk walk away feeling complete. Kindness is a commodity without a price. A best friend can break your heart with harsh words or actions; a stranger in a store can mend it in an instant. In fact, the mending is far more powerful when it comes from a stranger, because though she has no reason to care, she takes the time to do so.

 

It appears that success is measured not only in rank or salary level; it is measured in kind. One is not truly rich who does not have the ability or willingness to give genuine attention to strangers as much as to friends. Our willingness to be fully present to others does not have to stop or change the moment we step off our property line or the moment we stand behind the counter at work.

 

Perhaps there is no sense of boundary for those amongst us who can give equal respect and attention to all. When they step off the curb from their homes to go to work each day, they simply feel they are walking to another end of the same property, a place to see new faces, to serve others; a place to walk back from in the evening feeling the sort of exhaustion one feels at the end of a good and fulfilling day. There is no reason not to repeat this the next time and the next day, wherever they go.

 

Slainte!

This world is quite peculiar. Humans have evolved through centuries, making new rules and developing new beliefs with every action, every encounter, every invention, every project, every dream and every lesson learned along the way. These rules become so matter-of-fact that we forget they sprang from essentially arbitrary decisions.

 

We adopt a daily routine to meet the demands of our daily commitments. This routine blends in with the pre-existing natural rhythms of the human animal’s existence, such as seeking food when one is hungry, seeking shelter when one is cold and rest when one is tired. The only difference is that we assign specific times to our man made rhythms. During weekdays, we wake at five; exercise, walk, shower and leave for work by seven thirty. We give our time and contribute our skills for eight hours, return home and sit at dinner by six in the evening. We also assign specific dates and times to leisure. The hotel reservation is for the twenty-fifth, we must take the two o’clock train or the guests will arrive at 4:00.

 

Routine works well for us. It gives us a sense of order, accomplishment and progress. However, as I contemplate returning to a regular work environment after four months on my own time, I also realize the benefits of living life spontaneously. Having the ability to fashion one’s own day somehow feels like, for instance, the dog that suddenly raises his head from the chair, notices sunshine outside the window and chooses to ask for the door instead of staying on the chair. It gives one ownership of one’s actions. Arguably, when we choose a place of work, we also exercise our freedom of choice and ownership of our destiny, but choosing to go play in the sun is not ruled by a sense of obligation. Though, ironically, even with time on our hands to do as we please, we inevitably seek to impose structure and rules to each day and project.               

 

On my first morning as an unemployed person, I assumed I would be lost without the usual routine and commitment. Instead, I realized, instantly, that the commitment was not me. As days go by and I awaken to the ability to choose each action and project, I feel like a settler in a new land. When people settled in new territory, the needs of the moment determined the actions taken by each individual or family. People joined forces when it was time to build, fix, dig, raise children and crops, fetch water and defend against enemies. Likewise, tools were developed out of the same need to shelter, secure, feed and defend. It was a commitment all right, but of the sort that is very directly linked to one’s instinct.

 

Some of the most successful business people have retained this innocent sense of commitment. They recognize their skills and the natural inclination to express them in the world. This is how their businesses are born. This is not to say that as an employee one cannot operate from the same sense of self-expression. Rather, we have simply overpowered this ability with our rules about how and where we should work or what we should learn in order to find our places in this world.

 

When we find ourselves in a work environment that persistently feels as though we simply felt like getting off the chair to go play in the sunlight, then perhaps we have found our true freedom. This is a settlement of the soul. We first arrive in new territory, only to find that all our will and powers naturally pull together to fashion something worthwhile out of each day. Often, in this sort of environment, hard-set rules do not apply. They cannot apply. We make rules when we cannot see beyond obstacles. We make rules when we want to ensure a consistent outcome. When the only goal is to be out in the sun, and when this is truly a shared goal, neither outcome nor means matter, for all there is, and all that is needed, is the will to create the next moment.

 

Slainte!