Is Your Meaning What You’re Saying?

I am unashamed to admit to my constant search for understanding.

Every day, at least once, I haphazardly discern a pattern of some kind or turn my curiosity toward the nature of various objects I encounter. Whether wrapped up in string theory or bemused by a quirky phrase, I set my mind to the task of pulling the object apart to see what makes it work, to catch a glimpse of “the miraculous in the common“.

This is why my writing bounces around.

When I sit in front of my laptop at night, I am often merely reporting the observations and conclusions I’ve made during my waking hours. I intend to be organized and direct, then I am whipped into a frenzy of inspiration and piece together syllables with little, if any, idea of where I’m headed.

All I can tell you for sure is a light goes on in my head and I become determined to help you flip the same switch.

As such, I’m sharing a quote from René Descartes which has stuck in my brain for a couple days:

To know what people really think, pay regard to what they do, rather than what they say.

At first glance, this seems to echo the old adage that actions speak louder than words. In fact, my initial reading found it an elegant rephrase of the classic cliché and thus, I added it to my collection.

When I read it again, I saw an inconsistency and sought to resolve it.

Saying something is an act.

To speak is to define thoughts and reveal attitudes. Perhaps the message is subtle, yet something is delivered by every word out of our mouths. I suspect most of this is unconscious, as a large percentage of our daily verbiage–if we were to record ourselves and listen–would be judged little more than inane drivel. (For me, this amounts to half-clever comments aiming for a cheap laugh.)

How often do we think about the story we tell from day to day?

In my mind, Descartes forgets a critical distinction: there is a difference between saying one thing and doing another and saying something without thinking about what you’re doing.

Most of us fall into the latter category, we toss about sentences of all kinds with little attention or intention. In truth, we’re usually unaware of the shackles our words have become because, well, we have no clue we’ve handcuffed ourselves in the first place.

What does that say about us?

If I were to spend my day walking alongside you uttering foul statements about your worthlessness, would you want me around?

Further, if I were to share them with every person we saw, how quick would you be to punch me in the face?

Why allow the same from yourself? Is it any more acceptable just because you are the person saying it? How does that affect the way you act?

Asking these questions produces critical answers.

This is the yeoman’s work of making the connection between yourself and your limits.

The investment in self-examination is admittedly high, yet the return can be astronomical.

Your life may just gain new meaning.

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Who Sharpens You?

There can be little doubt excellence breeds excellence.

I’ve often discussed my athletic career, sharing the connections I see between achievement on the field and in life. Last night I watched my favorite soccer team, Manchester United, face off against the best players from the United States’ professional league, MLS. The score line is unimportant, as it was just an exhibition, yet much of what transpired on the field reflects the importance of environment to success.

Over the course of 90 minutes, the gulf in class became apparent. The Mancunian Red Devils played faster and smoother than their opponents could hope to. Each movement oozed efficiency and precision. To put it simply, they looked they looked more than just better, they seemed smarter.

Testing yourself is crucial to the fulfillment of your potential.

There is something to be said for being immersed in an atmosphere which demands the best of every individual, regardless of innate talent.

The difference between these two teams, apart from the number of practices together (favoring Man United) and level of fitness (better for MLS), can be found in their training sessions. The team from the English Premier League employs some of the highest-rated players on the planet, while the MLS squad is surrounded by many young men who–though capable–are almost semi-professional by comparison.

The former is world-class, the latter is not.

Proverbs 27:17 (NIV) tells us “As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another.”

Think about the comparison again: one group goes up against elite athletes in session after session as the other competes with part-timers of varied skills.

Which is best positioned to make the most of themselves?

Though every one of us is born with a specific purpose, the impact of being forged in the fire cannot be underestimated.

Ability must be developed and commitment must be tested. Without either–or both–the likelihood we’ll grow from amateur to virtuoso diminishes markedly. The men in red have left behind family and friends, dedicating their lives to learning the ins and outs of being a “good professional” from their early teens to even sniff the chance of pulling on the legendary red jersey.

When facing off against long odds, you can wilt or seize the day.

By putting yourself in a situation that draws forth your best effort, you invite yourself to raise to your highest level.

If you decide against facing such a challenge, you settle for “what might have been”.

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Know “Because” When You Say So

I enjoy being interviewed.

As with most people, it’s a thrill to see my name in print or face on television and bask in the glow of pseudo-fame. For me, however, the pleasure is amplified by my enjoyment of sharing information.

I get to give someone a piece of my mind, just like with this blog.

It’s an opportunity for me to educate, to put my knowledge–and the views derived from it–on display for others to benefit, if they so choose. (Again, as with MeBuilding.)

And, thanks to a kind journalist friend, I’ve had at least one chance a year to talk about what I’ve learned since 2008.

Yesterday, she sent me an email to see if I could help her out:

I’m writing a story for the Eagle on meditation as a means to physical and mental well-being, as part of a lifestyle. Wondering if you have any thoughts on that?

I, of course, agreed to speak with her–but look what I offered afterward:

I would like to create a “fact sheet” of sorts for you so you’ve got evidence instead of me just talking off the top of my head.

When sharing your beliefs, it’s critical to understand your “why”.

To utter something and be unable to back it up is to tell a half-truth (or manage a political campaign). When you regurgitate a soundbite with little knowledge of its meaning, you mislead others and, more importantly, yourself.

Doing anything well–or, being somebody of value–requires more than just believing something; achievement demands a reason, it begs for your “because…”

Without your personal proof, an idea is wobbly at best.

The foundation is rotten wood laid on quicksand. Your mind can only rise so high on such shaky ground before toppling over on fallacy.

Thus, self-examination is critical.

Like an engineer checking an architect’s plan, picking apart your beliefs to find the weaknesses improves the overall strength.

Regardless of whether your truth matches another’s, you’re prepared to resist any storm thrown your way.

When you comprehend the roots of your idea, someone will care to let it blossom.

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Adjust Your Attitude Towards Attitude

Attitude is misunderstood.

Long lauded as the key to life, let alone achievement, it has been placed on the highest pedestal in the pantheon of attributes. This status as the most superior of all characteristics–the Zeus of the brain’s Mount Olympus–has created a misconception capable of wrecking a driven mind encountering the first downpour on its journey.

Mood ebbs and flows.

Being happy each second of each hour of each day is like demanding a pig sprout wings and fly. So, too, is asking sadness or anger or shame to rain out a parade for months on end. The likelihood a person can maintain such pure emotion without interruption–a laugh among tears or a smile dimmed by disappointment–is so minuscule it is immeasurable.

To expect eternal sunshine and a spotless mind is futile.

Though I have grown, I still have times when frustration mounts and I become the mental equivalent of a snarling pitbull. The difference–the watermark of this shift–is that I am able to shake free of this entanglement far easier than before. What might once have bothered me for hours passes in minutes. I’ve ceased to volunteer days or weeks to the toxicity of a storm between my ears, yet have accepted it is natural to go through periods of rough emotional seas.

Attempting to force “a perfect state of mind” is to surrender your humanity.

Is it preferable to possess a soaring spirit? Of course, who among us would argue otherwise? Joy is the momentary expression of your essence, the playful inner child blessed with the spotlight of your consciousness.

To deny heartbreaking valleys is to lose appreciation for heart-bursting peaks.

Choose to avoid loitering in the low spot.

Acknowledge your discontent and let it be a spur in your side to head down the trail.

Everyone has an “off” day now and again, just be sure it doesn’t last a week.

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The Gift from Above

“Please let it rain,” I whispered to myself as I walked to my car.

Knowing I was heading home to run–and having passed the better part of a week doing so in thick humidity–I welcomed the possibility of moisture from the heavens. Just the night before, I headed out after 9 PM and the temperature was still pushing 90°. The two days before that, the heat index had reached triple digits.

Noticing dark clouds in the southwestern sky, I humbly requested a break from the blast furnace.

You see, a few miles to myself has tremendous cleansing power. I imagine every runner would tell you the same, whether they head out in a group or alone. Something about the rhythmic motion calms the psychic seas and soothes physical tension.

Further, I find it difficult to believe there is someone out there without a concept of perfect conditions for their meditative mile. The personal nature of this exercise–a primitive dance with Mother Earth herself–invites each individual to find their own means to achieve the endorphin-laced nirvana known as “runner’s high”.

For me, a light rain and 70° temperatures is ideal.

The peaceful tympany of raindrops tapping gently against my skin and my surroundings amplifies the catharsis I seek when I leave the house. Thus, I felt a small measure of joy when I noticed the first spots on the pavement around three-quarters of a mile. Within a few dozen yards, a steady rain had set in.

I grinned at my answered prayer.

Soaked to the skin as I neared a mile and a half, I smiled and thought “I only meant a little,” and then pressed on to complete my four-plus mile course. A short time later, I passed a Methodist church on the familiar route to my favorite park with its sign flashing

Every good and perfect gift comes from above… James 1:17, NIV

I chuckled at this reply and contemplated how those words resonated beyond the pavement I was pounding and into my life as a whole. Strangely, I hearkened back to similar ideas from dissimilar works.

A snippet from Zen and the Art of Happiness reminded me that “every event that befalls you is absolutely the best possible thing that could occur–that there is no other event imaginable that could benefit you to any greater degree.” Then, my mind rolled delicately into the words of Friedrich Nietzsche, the infamous line that “What does not kill me makes me stronger.”

The unexpected downpour could be framed as an inconvenience or an opportunity.

A day is infinitely simpler when you admit it could be better, then set about to make the most of it anyway. So, I had a chance to test my fitness in air 20° cooler than normal, lacking oppressive sunshine overhead. My stride remained fast longer and, since my core body temperature had not been elevated by the heat, I was able to do so with relative respiratory ease.

How often do we take advantage of surprises?

I had asked for rain.

I got more than I bargained for.

It didn’t “kill me” and I derived a greater “benefit” from the “gift”.

A good lesson for how we all might approach the present.

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The Faith Soliloquy

Faith is an inviting mystery.

It speaks to each of us in a language all its own. It’s a mish-mash of culture, education and experience that, inevitably, loses something in translation as we attempt to discuss our beliefs with another.

At the deepest level, we are attempting to express an intangible feeling.

Why I know is a challenge to explain.

How can I define my intuition for you? What words are forceful enough to describe the thrust generated by this drive? Can I begin to hope you hear the song emanating from deep within me?

What blares in my ears is faint to you.

This is why our convictions are so easily misunderstood. As Ralph Waldo Emerson said:

Belief consists in accepting the affirmations of the soul; Unbelief, in denying them.

Only one person is propelled by the instinctive pushes that help either of us navigate in the murky fog of life. Maybe we’ll choose to follow the path we’re shown or maybe we will second-guess it and head off in a different direction. The strength of those gut feelings is determined by what we have faith in, what we are sure is true.

To have faith is to mold an image of the future.

When confidence permeates a dream, it serves as a guide for inspired action–a kind of single-minded obsession bending time and space at will. Upcoming events are aligned according to expectation.

I can say, without a doubt in my mind, the days of my life–to and from today–are defined by my certainty and my own movements to prove myself right. My belief, regardless of how grand or small, will demand my effort carries it out. Whatever I have faith in, after a string of steps, is what I will see.

My future is a reflection of the believing action I take.

The life I am living today is the result of my choices and the consistency of my labor in the past. As I stretch my legs in new frontiers, I hold on to the knowledge my future is brighter than my history, more amazing than the limits of my current creativity.

I see the books I’ve published and the people they’ve helped, the doors opened where there used to be walls. I see a house, a wife, children–a life. I see something just outrageous enough it can be believed, because it’s the only way it can be seen.

The idea–and my assurance of it–is the whip at my back and compass in my hand.

It pushes me through fatigue.

It shapes my fear.

It accepts my failure.

It sharpens my focus.

It is my faith.

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The Focus Soliloquy

Focus is an elusive creature.

Always “late for a very important date”, the white rabbit of attention scampers about lacking rhyme or reason. Encountering an ever-increasing bombardment of information, the mind is susceptible to wandering from stimulus to stimulus and losing its way.

I’ve had this problem in choosing my own path.

Just when it seemed I’d settled on one option, my brain has leaped to another with little warning.

I spoke with an entrepreneur well on his way to becoming a billionaire several months ago. Unemployed and uncertain, I had managed to use what I call “polite persistence” to secure an interview for a job. I’d been impressed by a speech he gave at an event I attended in October, his calm personality oozing through every word–the same easiness with which he approached our half-hour phone conversation.

At some point in the 30 minutes, when my nerves had settled enough, I innately realized I had been granted a unique opportunity to pick the brain of someone I admire. The tenor of our exchange shifted from that of “prospective employer to jobseeker” to something more akin to “wise friend to confused buddy”.

In desperate hours, it is easy to lose track of what you’re hearing.

My stress-induced haze prevented me from committing much of what was said to memory. Of the few snippets I do recall, I became transfixed on his description of a period in his life “15 years ago” he believed was similar to my situation. Having struggled for a while and bounced across the country, he made a decision and “leaned into it”.

I am still learning what it means to have that level of concentration.

He’d given me a window into his mind and, over the last four months, I’ve looked through it again and again and again. Every time, I’ve been left with a singular question:

“What stirs me so much I must pursue it to my very end?”

I’ve been blessed with the intellect and talent to really do anything I choose. After months self-analysis, I have accepted this as fact and, in the future, I’ll help you understand why I was afraid to admit that (to myself or anyone else) for a very long time.

I’ve shed my bashfulness because I’m grateful to have the option, and–arrogant as it may sound–in much of my life I’ve struggled because I didn’t know where to take it.

It’s humbling and confusing.

The resulting misguided chase led me to where I am today.

Without a sense of purpose–a destination–we end up going nowhere.

Clarity, the gold sifted from the muddy waters of a lost mind, can strike in a flash or grow deliberately like a tree. For me, it has been more the latter than the former. Over weeks, in a painstaking search through all of my life, I have discovered my true love.

Like any relationship, time must be set aside for nurturing and growth. Producing a beautiful garden requires constant pruning and planting, weeding and watering. Quality is a direct reflection of the inspired energy poured into the endeavor with tireless consistency.

When this focus is absent, the flower withers.

By pinpointing my direction, I am certain to blossom.

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The Failure Soliloquy

I misunderstood failure for many years.

In fact, for a long time I insisted it was the only thing I was afraid of. I was unable to stomach the thought of letting people down, terrified of being seen as flawed or exposed as inadequate.

Worried about making mistakes and losing face, I became obsessed with the fantasy of perfection. I struggled mightily to dissociate the event–falling short at anything–from my identity as a whole.

One question could always stop me in my tracks:

“If this fails, am I a failure?”

I have passed many nights staring at the ceiling playing out horrible ends only to fall asleep after sunrise and wake up hours later in no better frame of mind.

My confidence always balanced precariously, looking for a reason to deflate, searching for proof I wasn’t as good as I thought, almost begging to be shown how wrong I was to ever believe I could do something of consequence.

I asked myself if I was capable.

I wondered if I’d thought of everything.

I considered all the angles.

And, more often than not, I chose to avoid taking a chance when anything but certain victory was assured.

This is no way to live.

It took me a long time to get accept that.

I make every effort to help my students see failure differently, to measure success from within as opposed to using some arbitrary guidepost set up by someone else–to prize their own satisfaction more than another’s reaction.

In most cases, my own and theirs, understanding the good habits takes a back seat to the mentality that must change: the shift from defining a failure as fatal to framing it as an opportunity.

Dad has often said, “It’s only a failure if you don’t learn something.”

It took a string of public and private catastrophes for me to understand why.

The reason failure is such a powerful learning tool is because it happens so much more often than success. By being plentiful, it allows us the chance–if we accept it–to make another effort in a better fashion.

If we’re not careful, the celebration that accompanies achievement can give us a sort of amnesia about what made something work, it can hide imperfections for exposure at a later date. (Think of the roller coaster ride of the iPhone 4, in recent days.)

Failure, with the inherent pain that goes along with it, imprints itself on our conscious much easier. I can tell you more about the tough losses in my athletic career than I can great wins for one reason: heartbreak is incredibly powerful.

Visceral emotion has evolved to protect us from the harm of the savanna, to guard us from poor decisions that would get us killed. It is natural for us to have second thoughts every time we are in danger and, after falling short at something, the brain is keen to keep from experiencing the same harm.

Failure can be a springboard or a crutch, a motivation or an excuse.

When you fall it is easy to stay down, to resist the temptation to fight against gravity and rise again. The outcome of life is determined more by the times you stand up, everyone knows that.

Defeat can be denied or embraced, adopted like an ally or feared as a bully.

All I’ve chosen to do is make failure my friend.

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The Fear Soliloquy

Fear is a more effective motivator than I’d like to admit.

Ever since I was introduced to it several months ago, this quote from Jean-Paul Sartre has been a splinter in my brain:

You must be afraid, my son. That is how one becomes an honest citizen.

Off and on, usually at the most unexpected–and occasionally inconvenient–moments, I have pondered the truth of it. How does terror move people in a good way?

Lost in a series of hypothetical situations, a rampant imagination easily finds the worst possible scenario most of the time. How can that make someone “honest”?

I remember the moment I realized fear can be productive or unproductive.

A couple of weeks into 2010, with the freshness of a new job–one I’d desperately wanted–having fell through, I parked my car in the driveway. Still buckled in, I contemplated my frustration to the soft beat of raindrops on my windshield. Directionless and confused, I stared straight ahead for a few long seconds.

A tear rolled gently down my cheek and I quietly apologized to God.

Though I was unaware at the time, the moment represented a monumental shift in what I feared. After 30 years of being driven by what others thought, I had unwittingly chosen to be guided by something else: deeper meaning. And, of course, this is the point at which I let go of the desire to hide what I think and feel for the sake of my “image”.

Fear of this sort–defined by others’ evaluation–is misplaced love.

It’s an obsession with control I do not have, an infatuation with the misguided idea I can mold another’s thoughts without their influence. It requires an internal and unproven illusion of importance.

If I allowed this to run my life, I would keep whispering silently to myself in the halls of my own mind, hiding from the world despite how much it may benefit someone else.

What “scares” me now is separation from my purpose.

This first affected me when I diverted from a career in law into the health care field eight years ago. It is now the hallmark of my mindset in terms of writing to share what I see of the world and how I make sense of it.

As I took the initial steps in laying my cards on the table, the old fear nagged at me.

I became afraid of the ramifications of my actions, how it would change my relationships with people I dearly love. I picked a distant corner of the internet and went about discussing my metamorphosis.

No one was supposed to know.

Deep down, I was afraid I wasn’t good enough.

I still placed more value on the external world.

Finally, I stopped pretending these words were not a gift.

I am doing what God gave me a unique ability to do. I made a critical decision to be more afraid of letting Him down than anything else.

I connected my work to the public forums at my disposal and opened the door to my mind.

In turn, I have been blessed by the gratitude and encouragement of others.

Messages from all over, from friends and strangers alike, have shed a spotlight on something I knew all along. Thanks to them, I have slowly acknowledged my talent–in a manner so deliberate I am still growing into it. What I have been taught and accept more each day is this:

The point is not to be unafraid–bravery is merely the control of fear. The key is to be afraid in the right way.

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The Fatigue Soliloquy

Fatigue can be wonderful and terrible.

It is just as soon welcomed as shunned, the measure of disgust it generates during the last mile (when much is left to do) is matched only by the reception it receives after crossing the finish line (when the work is completed). In one moment, it shifts dramatically from scheming villain to celebrated friend.

Weariness is the fee for your waking hours.

At the end of the day, your mind is tired and your body is heavy, having written a check for the task you’ve completed. The nature of your activity–and your valuation of it–colors the determination of whether it was time well spent.

I often struggle to keep my eyes open during the evening.

Passing several hours in the service of two masters, I sit down to take stock of what I’ve accomplished. The sun has long since set and “today” is bleeding into “tomorrow” when I am finally able have some quiet and sum up my time.

I dedicate too little of my life to myself.

Only recently have I begun shoehorning a run into my day. Without a few miles of meditation, I find myself disjointed and disconnected. I get about 90 minutes–near midnight, when I’m half asleep–to write for myself and you, my reader.

In all honesty, these are the two most important hours of my day.

This is when I’m able to brush aside the confusion and frustration to express something meaningful–if only to myself. It is the prism through which I’m able to look at the positives and share lessons, to poke around for insight beneficial to me and my audience.

To be effective, the window must be transparent.

Throughout my time publishing on this site and its predecessors, I have concerned myself with many things, not the least of which is how to be valuable to you and the growing number of people who stop by.

What can I do to shorten your learning curve?

How can I give you courage for the moment when everything heads in a different direction than you anticipated?

I have to let you in further.

And that’s what I intend to do. Over the coming weeks and months, I will continue to write essays about how I see the world and the connections my mind makes between seemingly disparate phenomena and the nature of our lives and purpose as human beings.

The last fifteen months have been the most tremendous learning experience I could have asked for. I’ve come to understand much about what brought me to the point I am at, the experiences that shape my motivation and the decisions that reflect it.

I want you to see what it takes.

I want you to understand the amount of work it requires.

I want you to know the drain it is on your mind and body and soul.

Because when your turn comes, I want you to fight through the fatigue and keep going.

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