Staying Hungry

Transformation

There are four, no five seedlings that have actually sprung up from the watermelon seeds I planted last week. Pale green, they languished in a tiny yellow pot in my bathroom - the only light from the tiny window above the tub, until I actually noticed they were growing! So I moved them to the living room, where there is usually more light. But the day I moved them, it rained. And it rained the next day and the next. But they kept growing anyway - with only a little more light than they had in the dark bathroom.

Which makes me think - maybe we don’t need the best conditions either. Maybe we do just as well when we use what we have and wait for better days.

Patty Newbold, one of my wisest of wise friends, and I talked about this concept today - that people and things learn to cope in spite of less than ideal circumstances and actually do better when they learn and train that way.

She pointed out that there are some studies and evidence that maybe depressed people and psychologists are doing it all wrong. They’re waiting until someone is no longer depressed to teach them how to deal with life. Maybe, she said, they need to be taught how to deal with life in the same way the Army teaches soldiers to be sharpshooters.

The Army gets their soldiers exhausted and loopy from lack of sleep, too much hard work, exhaustion and lack of food. They’re at their lowest point physically and mentally. They’re barely able to function.  They can’t think straight and they can’t shoot. That -  she said - is when they teach them how to shoot. Because THAT is how they’ll feel and what the conditions will be like when they are in a war and actually need to be shooting. Anyone can shoot when conditions are perfect. It’s when they’re not perfect that we need to learn how to operate.

So maybe, she said. Maybe the best time to learn how to write when you’re depressed, or deal with life when you’re depressed, is to write and deal when you’re actually depressed. Maybe now, when things are the darkest, and the most depressing and nothing is going right - it’s actually the best time to be writing and making hard decisions. So I thought about that - and it’s 2 a.m. and I’m still thinking about that.

My seedlings, I’m sure, didn’t think about whether or not they wouldn’t grow much in low light. They just grew. They had enough light to grow as much as they could grow. They didn’t refuse to grow because it was raining outside and there wasn’t much light and maybe they’d wait for a sunnier day. They just did what they did with what they had. When the sun comes out tomorrow, maybe they’ll grow more, their paleness will turn darker green as the sun does its thing and so on. The important thing is, they’re becoming watermelons one day, one quarter-inch at a time. Some days will be sunnier and better and they’ll grow more - but they won’t stop just because it stops being sunny. So like a sharpshooter - and a watermelon seedling - I can do the same - train in the rain.

How about you? Are you “training in the rain?”

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I love a good thunderstorm. I was never afraid of them until I was camping on a ridge almost at timberline in the Great Smoky Mountains. A “War of the Worlds” category five thunderstorm blew up and all that stood between me and it was a nylon tent. I headed for a stand of boulders to be closer to anything taller than I was. Within five minutes of my arrival and my huddling on a flat rock with my poncho draped over me, lightning hit. The “Boom!” was tremendous, and the impact only about 30 or 40 yards from where I squatted. I knew it was coming. I smelled it and all the hair - even the wet strands - stood on end right before it hit. It was an indescribable feeling - a cross between knowing you’re going to die and not being too worried because you know it won’t hurt - it’ll be over that fast.

The strike split a tall tree down the path from where I had just come a couple hours earlier and where I had considered pitching my tent because it “was safer.” But I wanted to see the stars so I had climbed higher. I was glad I had. Scared to death, but alive. And after the storm passed and the sky cleared I rolled myself up in my soggy sleeping bag and a tarp, and shivered, watching the stars come out and even more thrilled to be seeing them after the storm.

Being a heretic is a lot like that. You see what is safe, what is “best,” but the stars beckon and you answer. Some nights the storm breaks and the lightning flashes and someone or something gets hurt. I’ve been lucky that most of my life the strikes haven’t been as powerful as the one that split the tree. Because I do stand out with word and deed, I attract lightning.

Being around me - or any heretic - means sometimes getting hit with those strikes, or sometimes seeing a near miss. So, unless you share the heretic’s fascination with danger and possibility, chances are you aren’t going to hang out in the heretic tribe.

Everyone wants to BE a heretic because they’re considered “edgy, sexy, cutting edge, brilliant” and so on - AFTER the fact, after they’ve become millionaires, or after they’ve made a medical break-through. But not all heretics become famous. Many of them just become a pain in the ass. That doesn’t mean they aren’t changing their worlds - they are.

Ask anyone who works with a heretic and they’ll tell you they hate us a lot of the time. Or, if they don’t hate us, they hate how we are - unpredictable, offensive, opinionated, uncontrollable, untame-able, and blunt. Heretics can be generous, fun-loving, curious, unfocused and playful too - because they don’t obey all the rules and they enjoy having fun. They are - by their very nature - creatures who create their own path and often a path others chose to follow as well. Sometimes the path building is easy, or inspiring. Sometimes the number of followers is so great a heretic need merely point to the horizon and the tribe will trample the path almost effortlessly in their rush to get there.

But there are more times when people say, “Can’t you stop? Can’t you change? Can’t you keep your mouth shut? Can”t you get along to go along? Can’t you ignore it? Can’t you say something positive? Can’t you, can’t you, can’t you????”

No. We can’t. You can’t ask a bull to give up it’s reaction to a red cape or a sword in its side. The very thing that makes a bull a symbol of machismo and aggression and courage, also makes it dangerous.

Heretics are the spark, not the engine. They create paths, they don’t maintain them. They challenge, annoy, test, push and disagree because that is their nature. To have a “socially acceptable” and well-behaved, predictable heretic is to not have a heretic but a eunuch. Heretics are hated because they are loose cannons. They see and experience and crave a different world. They think differently, react, respond and reply to stimuli differently. THEY SEE DIFFERENTLY. But it’s NOT a choice. It’s innate.

And if you don’t get that - you’ll both love and hate them, benefit from them and be hurt by them. It’s not calculated. It just is.The most amazing thing happened last week when I had this conversation with a friend. Once, she said, she began to be honest with herself and to strip away the lies she told herself about how important it was to be polite and to be liked - even at the cost of sacrificing her standards, she began to understand me more.

She began to think like a heretic (not respecting the status quo), and her co-workers began to see her as a heretic. She lost friends for giving her honest, and unpopular opinion about what changes need to take place in her job because seeing something that needed to change for the better became more important than being liked. As she feels more empowered she is more dissatisfied with her position. It’s what honesty will do for you. If you will work through the storm, and the strikes, the discomfort, the pain, the uncertainty - you emerge a better person for having seen the stars - as dangerous as it might have felt.

So yes. Heretics are hated for a reason - we upset the status quo. We say things, think things, and point out the uncomfortable truth. We don’t always do it in a comfortable or timely way. But we do it. And as much as you may hate us - for that - you should be grateful. We DO change the world.

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On the Internet, nobody knows you’re a dog” is an adage which began as the caption of a Peter Steiner cartoon published by ”The New Yorker” on July 4, 1993. Since then the cartoon has taken on a life of its own - like the “smiley face” in a way.  The cartoon shows two dogs: One sitting on a chair in front of a computer, speaking the caption to a second dog sitting on the floor. As of 2000 it was the most published cartoon ever from The New Yorker. No, I don’t have the headline to my post wrong.

"On the internet no one knows you're a dog."

What’s funny about Peter’s cartoon - on several levels, is how people can BE anyone they want to be, and many a tech savvy teenager has passed for an adult in venues where they’d never gain entrance in person. Yet the reverse is true as well - if your tech skills, your writing, your keyboard and dissociative social skills aren’t up to par people may indeed MISTAKE YOU FOR A DOG!

So while men can pretend to be women, and women can pretend to be girls and everyone can pretend to be pretty much anyone  and no one much notices - I noticed something. People don’t notice that some of those folks they’re meeting are disabled and may be mistaken for “dogs.” (in the slang term meaning “not pretty or desirable,”)

I don’t mean disabled as in a wheelchair, although they may be. I mean many of the folks I interact with have mental disabilities, depression, cancer, age issues diabetes, chronic fatigue syndrome and a variety of illnesses that should become invisible on the internet - but don’t. Because while hiding your looks, or your status, or your accent or gender online is fairly simple, hiding your disability, your lack of skills, your age or other challenges is often not so easy.

From the speed of typing, to the age or other challenges, disabilities are often hard to hide. I teach basic computer skills at a local college (volunteer) a couple of times a month. Those attending are in their 50’s, 60’s and 70’s. They are determined to learn to get online. Most are men. Unlike their sons or grandsons who can type 100 words per minute with their thumbs, they never learned to type. So they hunt and peck. As a result, their blog posts and their infrequent emails tend to be rather short. More time is spent hunting for the keys than thinking about what and how they want to say what they have to say.

As a result their communications are terse, and not the sort of compelling prose they speak in person. On the internet, no one knows what kind, gentle, generous souls they are. On the internet, no one hears their laughter, or their jokes or sees their smiles. I have learned to encourage them to be upfront with their shortcomings - to make a joke - so they let those reading their posts understand their limitations.

“In real life I’m a real chatter-box. But I don’t type as fast as I talk,” I urge them to tell folks when they first come online. Maybe I’m helping, maybe I’m doing them a disservice. I just know when I talk to someone and they sound a little odd, hearing, “I’m sorry, I had chemo today,” or “I’m sorry, I have some medical issues and today is not a good day,” make all the difference in the world to me. I should be patient because I have my days too - with my chronic fatigue and fibromyalgia flare-ups there are times I can’t remember what I wanted to say, or I sound out of it myself!

“I’m okay!!” I want to shout

“I just didn’t get the 30-hours sleep I needed last night!”

This has been one of those weeks for me. I worry that I haven’t posted every day, or that I’ve slept more than I’ve been awake. Then this afternoon a friend recovering from another round of chemo wrote to apologize for not answering an email I sent a few days ago.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Lying in bed listening to the rain on the roof all week has just been so much more relaxing than answering email.”

I know exactly what she meant.

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When computers crash, or malfunction they often display an error message - like, “http error,” or “404 error.” There’s something, a glimmer that tells the user what’s wrong. A page is missing, the code or markup is wrong. The first time this happens to you, there’s fear, anger, frustration. There are worries about the seriousness, the cost, the “what if’s?” that run through your mind. Work with computers long enough and you either figure out on your own how to fix them, or you turn to experts and have them do it. Eventually you learn to recognize the common errors, fix them and go on about your day with only an annoying ripple in your day. With each new error message that pops up you still feel the annoyance, but there’s more control, less fear.

Get where I’m going with this? Life’s the same way. It’d be nice if a sign popped up every time we screwed up, but we have to rely on other cues - like getting laid off or fired, or notices from the bank, or friends and family distancing themselves from us. Pay attention, remember that once you learn to read the error messages, life does get easier. Not easy. Easier.

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The night before the cranes leave it’s quiet there. Only the sound of the wind blowing through dry leaves and the murmur of conversation drifts down the road. If you didn’t know there were 19 endangered whooping cranes hidden away under a dark netting on a far hillside, nothing would give them away - except the four ultralight aircraft lined up against the fence line. For this Kentucky farm has a secret.

One night a year it is host to some of the most incredible birds in the world - the endangered whooping crane. There are fewer than 500 in existence now - not many, but up from only 14 just half a century ago. Overcrowding, hunting and environmental factors have killed off the birds, but concentrated efforts by a handful of dedicated individuals are bringing them back. And in the worldwide scheme of things, this Civil War era farm is fortunate enough to have them grace the ground and the skies - for 48 hours once a year.

As a journalist and freelance writer I’ve had some once in a lifetime opportunities to photograph amazing things. This was one of my most memorable. One of the most amazing things is that these birds don’t know the way home when they’re born. The ultra-lites are their “mothers” who lead them there after they hatch. The way home has to be imprinted upon them. Someone has to “show them,” the way. But then, it becomes part of them forever.

Persistence, determination, grit - we may all be born with the potential and for some, it just comes naturally - but for many of us - just like these cranes, we need a little help - someone to show us the way, to be a guide - one that expects us to get there under our own power - but who is willing to lead the way. And just like these birds, as they get closer to “home” they often sense it and take the lead themselves.

Sometimes we lead, sometimes we follow. But do one or the other - don’t just sit there!

For more information on whooping cranes and on Operation Migration - or to donate to this worthy cause or to purchase or view other photos of these magnificent birs, go to http://www.operationmigration.org. (c) Photos by Becky Blanton. All rights reserved

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Busy bee

I’ve been busier this weekend than I have been in a long time. What amazed me was how much more I wanted to do once I got started doing something, anything.

Grit and determination feeds on momentum. If you don’t have any, create some.

I started by washing dishes. Seeing the clean sink got me energized and wondering what else I could “clean up,” and that led to my desk and a list of small projects that became bigger ones.

Call it an epiphany or serendipity, but the fact is - I got a lot of stuff done in two days just from sparking the fire with a small project.

How can you get the ball rolling? Maybe send a hand written note to a friend, go through your mail, scrub the toilet. Whatever it is - just do something. The energy you generate from the small thing will help you tackle the big one.

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I knew they were good friends by the way they argued. With her frail arms waving, gesturing and pointing at the produce as excitedly as they were, and him just nodding and examining the produce, they had to have known each other forever. Indeed, they had, she said laughing, an avocado in one hand and a plastic bag in the other.

“Since high school, what? 60 years ago?” she asked him.

He nodded, a smile on his face as he watched her. He loved to hear her laugh. I could tell by the tear in his eyes. I pointed that out and he shook his head.

“It’s the onions,” he jibed - poking his partner gently in her side with an arthritic finger. She clutched his arm and stared into his eyes, hers watering too.

“I know,” she said softly.

“They got me too.”

They stood like that for several minutes, looking at each other until he reached out with one hand and pulled her close, her gray hair crushed against his wool coat as he kissed the top of her head.

“We’ll get them both,” he said, picking up two different types of avacodo.

They turned back around to me.

“We’ll get out of your way now,” they said, both reaching for their shopping cart.

“No, no, you’re not in the way,” I said.

“But tell me, what was the um….discussion about?”

They laughed again, he coughing, her wiping her eyes.

“I like the small black avocados, he likes the big green California ones,” she said.

“Differences keep things spicy,” she winked.

As they shuffled off  to the fresh fruit and I grabbed my own avocado, I thought about that, about how often I let my own preferences remain unspoken - afraid to speak out, or reluctant to - in order to keep the peace. Once I got home I had an email from a friend. She liked the short story I’d written, but asked if the character wasn’t a little too cold and distant.

“It makes me not want to like him much,” she said. I thought about the couple I’d just seen and wrote her back.

“He’s supposed to be a little unlikable,” I explained. “He gets redeemed in the end and has to have someone to grow into. And besides,” I paused.

“Differences keep things a little spicy.”

What has this story got to do with grit and determination? More than you think. It’s the differences in our lives, the small debates, the push and pull, the expression and testing of ideas and desires, of preferences and possibilities that keeps our dreams alive, that keep us engaged. The differences are the spices - not the dampers. So enjoy the diversity, the differences, the things that both separate and bring us together. And don’t be afraid to speak up for what you want. Those who love you will understand and accept it. Those who don’t? Don’t matter.

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If you need encouragement, praise, pats on the back from everybody,
then you make everybody your judge.

~ Fritz Perls

“The superior man is distressed by the limitations of his ability;
he is not distressed by the fact that men do not recognize the ability that he has.”

-Confucious

None of us can resist an honest, authentic and heart-felt pat on the back or word of praise. And we shouldn’t. But there’s a difference between NEEDING encouragement, and NEEDING praise or pats on the back, and simply enjoying them.  When our self-worth depends on what others think of us or say about us, then our self-worth and self-esteem may soar or crash depending on the whims, moods or even the agenda of others.

When you have a solid core belief and love for yourself, who you are, what you believe, what matters to you - only YOU control your destiny. You will make choices based on what is best for YOU and your future, not on pleasing others. You’ll be able to distance yourself from the rude and painful attacks of jealous co-workers, neighbors or even family members.

If you’re trying to please everyone you’re pleasing no one and your chances of being able to focus, change and improve your lot in life -the things life has placed on your plate - you’ll fail.  So fire your judges. Enjoy the encouragement, the kudos, the praise, but don’t depend on it and don’t need it. Look to your own core self and to your higher power or faith for nourishment and support.

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As a journalist I’ve had the opportunity to talk to people from all walks of life. I’ve interviewed Presidents and rock stars, singers, songwriters, authors, editors, heroes and killers. ALL of them have expressed two things - possibilities and excuses. Sometimes they’re uttered in the same breath - “I could have, but….”  As in, “I could have been in rock star X’s band, but I was too busy working and had a family. If I had of, look where I’d be now.”  Or politicians - “I could be mayor/governor/congressman but the politics around here are slanted towards X.”

Infinite possibilities and infinite excuses - even among those we consider highly successful! I’ve seen and interviewed a lot of extremely talented people, people “on their way up,” or “being groomed for success.” They too have the possibility/excuse thing down too. We all do. After all, it’s easier to say, “Well Barney and Seasame Street have the kid’s educational entertainment angle covered,” than to say, “I think there’s probably a real market for a curious, brave and adventuresome little girl who travels around the world exploring stuff.”  Gee….like “Dora the explorer” maybe? The point is, a market can appear to be totally locked down with no other possibilities until someone comes along and focuses on the possibilities and not the excuses.

It’s easy to come up with excuses for why things can’t or won’t or don’t get done. It’s harder to come up with ways to make things happen. So what if, for the next  30 days, you make a conscious effort to eliminate the excuses and focus on possibilites?

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The only reason I didn’t come in dead last in the first 5K I ever ran was because a very obese woman and her five-year-old son took pity on me and stopped so I could cross what was the finish line, ahead of them. The cones, tape, crowds and everyone but the timekeeper had left by the time I arrived. He grabbed the bottom of my number, ripped off the stub and looked pissed that I had taken so long to finish. It was the first and last official race I ever ran. The camera guy - the guy who takes photos of all the runners for souvenirs (and sells them) was long gone. He didn’t hang around to get my photo - although I would have bought it. Like I said, except for the woman and her son who finished behind me - I was alone, but happy.

It was a very cold March Day in Virginia Beach at the Shamrock Run. But I didn’t run to win. I ran to finish. And that’s what counted to me. No  one else was impressed. No one else was there to see me finish, or hug me. It didn’t matter. I had finished!

Life’s like that. A lot of us start and finish alone. We raise kids alone. We work and come home to an empty apartment alone. We start a business alone. We run alone. No one cheers, but we finish anyway. The thing is - as painful as it can be sometimes, alone is a good place to be. It re-enforces the fact that we can do things without a cheering section. We can get through the dip and we can do it alone. And while it’s nice to have friends and family there to share and encourage - you don’t need them because alone is not a bad place to be.

I thought about that today because I was the only one in the gym working out who was not body-beautiful. Fat people, or even just out-of-shape people, aren’t really welcomed in gyms. Society assumes you’re stupid, lazy and dumb if you’re fat. Once you lose the weight, get fit and look great - they all want to be first in line to shake your hand and praise your grit and determination. They forget how they treated you, and how they will treat the next fat person they meet.

I know that. So it doesn’t bother me to be alone. It’s not about the crowds, or the pats on the back.It’s about the finish.

Motivation has to come from inside. And you have to be alone to get in touch with that. Looking around me in between sets, I remembered how it felt to finish that race - and took heart. When you’re alone you can focus on YOU. You can meditate on your vision, visualize your path, see your success, feel the process. Instead of dreading it, come to embrace it. Being alone on the path to anything - education, a successful business, a race, weight loss - it’s your time. Enjoy it. Celebrate it.

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