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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For the past few weeks I’ve been reading “The Blue Sweater,” by Jacqueline Novogratz, founder and CEO of The Acumen Fund, a micro-financier organization. The book begins in Africa - with the story of the blue sweater….and I won’t add any spoilers here other than to say her story circles the globe and she’s now left Africa and returned, has witnessed planes striking the trade towers and is rapidly making changes and becoming enlightened with each month it seems. I usually blow through books in a day or two, but this one I have savored - like chocolate - for almost two weeks now. I don’t want it to end. I will reread it. It is an onion - layer upon layer, with something at each layer to make me tear up or actually weep. It’s one of the best books I’ve ever read  - simply because she tells a story without becoming weepy - or using her bio to champion fundraising. I like that it’s matter-of-fact, not diving for the heart strings, or glossing over harsh realities too much. It’s a book I have to read again to review it properly, so this is not my review - only a quick blog to let you know I’m almost finished and will be reviewing it soon. It’s too much to review in one post - so this is my first - it’s an amazing book. Buy it. Read it. It’s so worth it.

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A friend of mine is mad at a family member of hers. She has been for 10 years. He embarrassed her at a family function and she’s never forgiven  him, and doesn’t plan to until he apologizes. I told her today that some people won’t ever apologize, some people aren’t capable of apologizing, and some people’s apologies aren’t even apologies and worthless and meaningless anyway.

After being blindsided by someone on a social media site I belong to I wanted an apology. I’m not going to get it, but yesterday I realized it didn’t matter - for all the reasons above. It must be God’s way of confirming what I figured out yesterday to get to explain it to someone else today.

The ONLY reason for an apology is to “clear the decks” so the relationship can get back on track. That’s it. Period. Forgiveness of someone is so WE can get past an incident, drop the baggage and move on with our lives. Forgiveness doesn’t need anybody but us. An apology involves TWO people. Why? Because apologies are for when you WANT to preserve or work on the relationship. If you don’t care - or the relationship is toast anyway - an apology doesn’t matter. One or both people are saying, “I’m not happy, it hurt, but I’m willing to work on what we have and get past it.”

If they’re not willing to apologize - they’re not interested in you or the relationship. So bail out, forgive them (that’s another post) and get on with your life.

I realized after repeated public postings and making myself vulnerable, expressing my hurt etc. that there was never going to be an apology from this person. NOT only is she incapable of an apology, she has no desire to pursue the friendship and an apology at this point would be superficial and meaningless. Why? Because now, after all that - I no longer have any desire for the connection.

I explained this to my friend and she’s thinking about it. She’s not ready to write him off. She still wants the apology. But this time she’s trying a different tack - she’s being honest about how it made her feel, how it hurt her, how he’s someone she wants to be friends with. Knowing them both - I’m pretty sure he’ll apologize - even if he doesn’t even remember what he did or said. He’ll do it because he values the relationship more than being right, or being funny at her expense.

So next time YOU’RE wanting an apology or reluctant to apologize because you don’t want to be wrong or feel shame - remember the question isn’t about if you’re right or wrong in that moment. It’s about if the RELATIONSHIP is important.

To those whom it wasn’t important to for me - have a nice life. I have a feeling it will be a rough one - filled with pain, but I wish you well…and…

I forgive you.

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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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Almost 30 years ago I volunteered to be a basketball coach for a youth recreation league. Without a coach, a team of misfit 10-12 year-olds wouldn’t be able to play ball, my friend, the Rec League Director said. So I said yes. It turned out I was the only female coach in the league. My boys - all of them, had finished dead last in the rankings the year before. No one expected them to do much better that year. Except for me. But first I planned to have more fun than any other team in the league. So we did. And instead of practicing fancy plays and “strategies,” we did three things every practice:

We passed. No dribbling allowed.

We practiced free throws and lay-ups. A lot.

If you were running, your arms were in the air - waving, a lot.

Oh, and we ate and talked and laughed - A LOT…

That was my strategy. And it worked. Because back then, 10-12 year old boys hadn’t mastered the pass, or the free throw, or defense like a lot of them have today. So while other boys worked on fancy dribbling, shooting around the key and learning how to “set picks,” we drilled and drilled and drilled and drilled on the basics. And they complained and whined and whined. But they did it. And after awhile, they suddenly got very good.

They passed through hula-hoops. They passed and bounce-passed around all those waving arms. They passed and bounce-passed from the side-lines. They passed long and short. They learned to catch a pass on the run and dribble without walking with the ball. They caught high passes, low passes, bounce passes. They caught passes with one hand, with two hands. They learned to bat a pass to a partner without catching it. They learned to move a ball down the floor FAST!! No dribbling - just break, run and pass - long arcing passes the length of a court - accurate passes, not desperate ones. I knew they dribbled enough on their own, at home, playing with their friends. We practiced that too - but not like we did the pass.

They carried those two skills, passing and defense, into the game. And by the end of the season we were tied for first place. And when the boys were taunted by teams who said, “Your coach is a girl!” they responded with, “Yeah and SHE is beating your coach like we’re beating you!” They were the “Bad News Bears,” and the most unathletic and unco-ordinated team I’d ever worked with - yet they came together, game-after-game, win-after-win. It shocked them. Then it delighted them. And with each win they were more willing to keep drilling on the basics.

And on the night when it came down to the championship, with less than a minute left to play, we had a real chance to win - we were only down by 1. But my one rule was - “Everyone plays every quarter and we play to have fun.” I had a choice - play Todd, my tall center, or play another boy who hadn’t played that quarter, and wasn’t a very good shot. Todd at center was a sure win. The other? He might wildly luck out, but probably not. It was fun or a win. We all knew it. I didn’t have to say it. I said, “It’s up to you guys. It’s your game, your championship. Who should play?”

They went for the fun. And yes, we got the last shot of the game, but we missed. And we lost. By one point. But it was okay. Because we had come from dead last to tie for first in wins to get to the championship, and then to come that close to winning it. And we’d had fun along the way. More than that, at the awards dinner later that year - we found out that the other teams had voted them “Most Improved.”

It was an amazing year for all of us.

They’re all grown now - families of their own. And I hope they remember that as the year they had fun. I certainly do. It wasn’t a fluke. I did the same thing with my girl’s soccer team. We spent one practice washing my car, another with a food fight. We played in the rain, we played while we played. Who knew bonding and laughing could create team spirit better than drills ever could? Was I criticized for my unconventional methods? You bet I was. But we won - just practicing the basics and having fun.

Are you practicing the basics and just having fun? Try it. I promise you’ll not only like it - you’ll win too.

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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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“Each new effort brings you closer to the one that might really work.
The key is to stick with it until you achieve your weight and health goals–that’s my definition of a true success story.”
—Bob Greene, Oprah Winfrey’s fitness trainer

A friend sent me a link to a video of  a kid learning to walk with the admonition - “Remember where we all started.” We all say that, but seeing it really brings it home, don’t you think? I started weight lifting last week and although I lifted regularly in college, it’s been hard to get back in the groove 30 years later. I’ve also been starting and stopping blog after blog, never really quite sure “where I wanted my thoughts to live,” as I told a friend of mine.  And while Bob is talking about health and weight goals, I think he makes a good point about any goal - stick with it. Each effort brings you closer to the one that might really work. If it takes more time? Then it takes more time. At 53 I don’t have the energy or brain power I had at 23. I have other things - wisdom, insight, perception and more tools. But - time is still a fixed factor. It may take me longer, I’ve reasoned, but it will be richer in the end. How about you? Are you learning to walk? Are you embracing each fall?

Watch \"Learning to Walk\" by clicking here

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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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What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of a buffalo in
the wintertime. It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in
the sunset. - Crowfoot, Blackfoot warrior and orator, 1890

Has life as we know it really changed much since the 1800’s when Crowfoot wrote this? No. Life is short. And, as they used to tell me in college, “This is it. It’s not a dress rehearsal. Get out there and start doing something with your life.”

This quote reminded me of Lucy Freeman, a woman I went to college with back in the 70’s. Lucy never wore shoes and she hunted squirrels for meat. She talked with an East Tennessee twang and laughed about it. Her hair was shoulder length, straight, rarely styled, and she never wore make-up. She wasn’t poor. She came from a “good family,” and was as smart as anyone I’ve ever known. And she was a talented artist who fell in love with clay and became a potter. She graduated with a BFA in ceramics I think. When I was lying in a hospital bed, paralyzed from the waist down from a wrestling accident, she brought me a mug she’d made. I used it to drink Dr. Pepper from and every time I used it I thought about her.

Lucy’s thin cotton dresses were knee-length or longer and swirled around her in soft faded pastels. There was almost always a smear of clay or paint on them somewhere and her unshaven legs were always tanned dark brown. And - she was always barefooted. It didn’t matter if it was winter, summer, raining or hot. Lucy didn’t wear shoes.

“I just don’t like ‘em,” she told me when I asked. There were times when she did clomp into my room in boots - usually on her way to hunt, or somewhere where footwear wasn’t optional - like to dinner with her father, or hunting in a particularly thorny patch of woods.

I admired her. Not just for being barefoot, but for knowing what she wanted out of life and for going for it. She wanted to be a potter, her father wanted her to “get a real degree.” The world expected her to wear shoes, she was barefoot. She shaved her legs if and when she wanted to, ate, slept, worked and did what she wanted to. She may have been my first inspiration and realization that we can all do that. And we can. The world didn’t end because Lucy didn’t wear shoes.  She got some laughs, some looks, some snide comments, but Lucy’s feet were happy and so was Lucy. She never lacked for friends - even when she was serving squirrel for dinner. I’ve wondered what happened to her, if she ever wore shoes after she graduated. Did she get a job or create one for herself. Either way - she inspired me to look at my own life and see if I was dancing in tight shoes. I have - and it’s no fun. What about you?

Are you dancing in tight shoes?

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Mind matters.  “As a man thinketh in his heart so is he,” (Proverbs 23:7) is a biblical reference to the phenomena, but it’s not the only one.

Centuries of wisdom don’t survive because they’re just clever sayings. They survive because they’re true. A person’s thoughts not only describe our inner character, but also describe our outer life and character as well. We are literally what we think, our character, our very lives, reflect the complete sum of all our thoughts.

It doesn’t matter if our thoughts are premeditated or often deliberated. They spring up and from them our reality is created! From thoughts spring emotions and from emotions our actions. We truly do “sow what we reap.”

Both Christian and Buddhist scriptures enforce the belief that, “If a man’s mind has evil thoughts, pain comes on him as the wheel comes behind the ox…but if one endures in purity of thought, joy follows him as surely as his own shadow.” (Buddhist scripture).

Thoughts DO matter.  Mind matters. Our thoughts have energy. Cause and effect are as real in our thoughts as they are in the world of visible and material things.

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