Friend died, tragic     

No answers in western religious dogma   

Usual suspects were there for escape   

Dull the pain   

Shortsighted 

Eastern approach, answers on the inside  

Lot of work.  

Difference between knowing and doing  

Back to West  

Therapy  

Combine inner work with a helping hand

Kindness to self, respecting the journey. 

Path rocky, endure  

I kept telling myself my feet were starting to feel normal 21 days after standing on top of North America. But my feet were telling me to ask my girlfriend, Ana, to slow down on our hikes. While I longed for some R&R after climbing Mount Denali, Ana was energized and ready to conquer every inch of Alaska. Finding our typical compromise, we hiked up and down all of Alaska, and finally reached one last hike. Armed with a can of bear spray strapped across my chest, which became oddly routine, I bent down to lace my boots and placed the second can of bear spray in the side of my backpack. So far along our hikes, we were lucky to witness Alaska’s infamous wildlife from a relatively comfortable distance.
We started the hike like many others as we walked by still stemming piles of bear scat. The irony of our bear preparation was that the Alaskan locals constantly reminded us to be extra careful of the moose. In fact, moose injure more people than bears do every year. As Ana was moving along at her usual, swift pace, and I moseyed along behind her, she was suddenly startled by movement in the brush. Time crawled as I saw Ana only 10 feet in front of me and I realized the distance between us seemed to grow with every passing millisecond. We both froze as we tried to remain calm. We were pulled back to the present and realized Ana was less than 10 feet from an enormous bull moose.
The moose lifted his head and stared at us still munching his foliage. I looked for cover only to appreciate the path cut into the side of a mountain, creating an abrupt drop and steep incline with only saplings and bushes. Ana began tip toeing back towards me and we froze once rejoined. Our silence was broken when Ana wondered aloud, “What do we do?” The answer was simple: we would turn around and walk back to the car, but we hesitated. In an adrenaline-fueled decision, we felt compelled to continue. We chose to impatiently stick to our plan and not let nature interrupt our planned experience of being in nature. While we were discussing, the bull moose had emerged from the brush onto the trail to reveal how enormous he was. We backpedaled as the moose fortunately only wanted to cross the trail, paying us no mind. To think we are important in the moose’s day is something only the humans species can have the self importance to imagine. As we began our approach to sneak past the moose, even the birds seemed to hush in anticipation.
Right then, Ana farted. Ripping through the silence. Prompting our hasty retreat. The moose saw us, but only gave a whimsical glance- taking us about as seriously as we took ourselves. The fart snapped us back into reality and we appreciated the need to step back.

Sitting on the trail waiting for the moose to pass, we began engaging with our surroundings: the multiple shades of green on the shrubs, the different types of saplings, arctic ground squirrels scampering, insects scurrying. The moose forced us to take pause and appreciate the need for patience. We tried to impose our will onto Nature and were lucky to come out unscathed.
By now the moose wandered away, but as we continued down the trail it felt different. The moose imparted a gift. We had a new appreciation for patience.
Some days I find myself searching for a moose. The proverbial enormous animal to stop me on the trail of the daily hustle, to appreciate the different shades of green. Fortunately, I can still invite that moose to step onto the trail of my plans and routines long after our last Alaskan hike. 

Listen to Tim Ferriss but stop before you develop too many neuroses and feelings of inferiority.

Listen to Happiness Lab but stop before you berate yourself for not following any of the recommendations.

Listen to Joe Rogan but stop before you take him seriously.

Listen to This American Life but stop before your bleeding heart tries to save the world

Listen to Real Coffee but stop before you become a self righteous hypnotist.

Listen to Jocko but stop before you think the enemy is right there to get you.

Listen to Hardcore History but stop before you keep mentioning how many people died at Verdun. 

Listen to Revisionist History but stop before you think there is no nuance in history.

Listen to Tangentially Speaking but stop before you become a hippie.  

Listen to 99% Invisible but stop before Roman Mars’ voice seduces you.

Listen to Heavyweight but stop before you feel too bad for Johnathan.  

Listen to the Moth but stop before you become a spoken word artist.

Listen to Crazy Good Turns but stop before you feel too selfish.

Listen to the James Altucher show but stop before you start 100 businesses simultaneously.

Listen to conversations with Tyler but stop before you feel too dimwitted. 

Listen to On Being but stop before you forget to pay bills.

As I matured into adulthood, I started to see my parents not as superheros and perfect know-it-alls, but as real, imperfect people. This is the true transition from being a child: when your mom and dad lose the mythical aura of parents and become normal people. I was blessed that when the shine of mom and dad faded, my parents were exceptional, individual people. As a kid, I would test these differences when I would run to dad looking for a different answer after mom already told me no. These differences should not come as a surprise given their backgrounds. My mom was raised in small-town, middle-America, Tiffin, Ohio, where she attended Kent State University and graduated with honors. My dad was born in the epitome of suburbia, Levittown, Pennsylvania, where he spent enough time in school to get an Associate’s Degree at Bucks County Community College.

Their differences also showed in their personalities and finances. Where my mom would be concerned with how other people view you, being introverted, and of course, saving your money; my dad would instead highlight not caring what other people think, being extroverted, and earning money to spend. These contrasts were such a blessing because they exposed me to different worldviews from a young age. Most importantly, these differences placed an emphasis when their views aligned. For example, there was always alignment with work ethic. Although I rarely listened to my parents’ advice like most kids, I would often copy their habits. Fortunately, my parents worked hard and I could emulate their actions. Work ethic is one of the greatest lessons to instill in children because everything else in life stems from it. My mom always had the best grades; was very by the book. My dad never sat through a class when he could have been playing pinochle. Yet, my mom and dad never missed a day of work for being sick or not being in the mood to go. You went to work – you did the work. This was taught through never skipping a soccer practice or staying home from school with a slight cough (or pneumonia). 

My parents made sure work ethic was understood by waking me up early even after being out all night and still expecting me to earn good grades even if the teacher was unfair. I learned about work ethic through the way my mom and dad talked about people they admired; not get rich quick types or celebrities, but people who worked hard and developed skills. Hard work did not have a negative quality, it was worthy in its own right. I heard about how hard our grandparents worked and I watched my parents do the same. My parents taught me that hard work is not always going to receive the recognition it deserves. You do not always get credit. This was demonstrated when my mom would create lesson plans that required more work on her end, but would be better for the students. Or when my dad was mowing a lawn, he showed there was a right way to do it even if no one would notice- especially when no one was looking. When it was my job the expectation was to do it well. 

Despite my parents’ emphasis on hard work, they expressed that hard work should be done with a purpose. My parents artfully explained the concept of working for the man. As a child, the phrase working for the man would have went right over my four-foot-eight-inch head. Fortunately this was never stated explicitly, and instead was shown through personal stories and actions. It was shown when my dad expressed that lack of focus in school had consequences. That not working hard in school can limit options and force one to work harder for less. Now as an adult, I can appreciate the tremendous amount of humility and self awareness my dad demonstrated to teach me this lesson.   

Humility is another attribute my parents have in common. My dad told us that lack of education held him back in his career. My mom can barely take credit for anything, from lavish dinners to improving kids lives at school. My parents demonstrated how to be proud of your accomplishments, but never to brag about them. I took humility to heart because it took me some time to proudly display my accomplishments. This highlights a common parenting challenge: not knowing what their kids will latch onto or how they will implement lessons in their own lives. This is another reason why my parents’ differences are so valuable. I was able to observe and learn from two distinctly different people, which provided two unique perspectives and approaches to life. I was blessed being able to watch my mom and dad demonstrate and live these ideals and lessons. My parents gave me a robust and solid foundation that encourages and inspires me to build without limits.   

DAD

I have known my dad for 33 years (about 28 consciously) and we never reviewed school essays or solved calculus problems. My dad did not tutor in the classic subjects (he saved that for mom). Instead, he was constantly teaching a graduate level class in the abstract subjects of integrity, work ethic, self- discipline, kindness, gratitude, honesty, laughter, and empathy. He did not have a textbook to read from or lessons plans to follow, only his own actions and examples. The best teachers not only explain the lesson, but demonstrate it. 

My dad related more to playing cards and cars than grades and school books. School did not resonate with my dad, but people did. My dad has a way of interacting and connecting with those around him that brightens a room. As a child I formed my values and merit subconsciously. This is why the best lessons are the ones I did not realize I was being taught. My dad excelled at teaching without calling it a lesson. He taught me the value of things that do not have a dollar sign. That actions speak louder than words. These are the types of lessons that are taught when buying soft pretzels on the Boulevard at a red light and treating the person with the same respect as a bank manager. Or when you stop to buy ice cream for everyone in the car and do not worry about the dollars and cents. He taught me by never being late for work and by not complaining that the boss was unfair or the job was a grind. He taught me to take pride in my work. This was demonstrated through shoveling a driveway or mowing a lawn. The job was not complete until it was done right, even if that meant going back and redoing the entire project.  

My dad taught me that attitude is more important than circumstances. When he was blindsided by a lay off after 26 years at the same company, he did not spiral into self-loathing and pity. Instead, my dad had the self-awareness and fortitude to look introspectively and make the best of a tough situation. My dad also taught me that consistently showing respect and support is the root of building strong relationships with the people who mean the most. He demonstrated this through showing love and kindness towards my mom and other loved ones. 

  He taught the value in bringing laughter and joy to others. For example, the last time my septuagenarian grandmom and great aunt saw each other was during the car ride to the airport. In order to lighten the mood of what could have been a solemn trip, my dad hid a singing fish from the night before under the seat and played it down I-95. This brought a smile to everyone’s face. My dad has an innate ability to make those around him comfortable and laugh. My dad can brighten a room through a perfect balance of caring and antics.   

  What I am trying to say is my dad taught me how to be a kind man and a strong person.  

MOM

“A good teacher can inspire hope, 
ignite the imagination, and
install a love of learning."

Most people know the value and importance of good teachers: the impact a good teacher can have on a student’s life is tremendous. At the root of peoples’ success is a teacher that guided and nurtured them along their way. A great teacher can make a lasting impact in a semester or a year, and my mom’s impact began accumulating from when I was born. Imagine the impact and cumulative effect when that great teacher is my mom. I did not receive quarterly grades or end of the year exams. The grading format was respect, being proud, and doing my best. It is such a blessing when the home is the classroom and the lessons are lifelong. One of the greatest lessons my mom taught me was instilling the importance of learning. By teaching me to enjoy learning, I was able to take care of the rest. This was taught subtly when I was an eager 10-year-old at the library walking to the counter balancing 12 books to checkout (at least four beyond my current reading level), yet not discouraging or asking me to be more practical or pointing out that I would never read all of those books. Instead, it was met with encouragement for being curious and ambitious, and because of this, I have carried that curiosity and ambition into adulthood. 

My mom taught me that making mistakes is okay and failure is part of the journey. My mom helped build my confidence and self-esteem especially when I needed it the most. Relating through personal stories had a lasting impact and helped deliver the message in a way that resonated. My mom taught me to try new things. When there was a need for fixing plumbing, or painting, or drywall, it would have been easier to call a professional, but my mom encouraged me to try and tackle these projects. Then when I spilled an entire gallon of paint on a new carpet, it was not met with an angry response that could have easily ruined my desire for home improvement projects. Rather, it was met with calm, swift action, the need to pay more attention, and the determination to be more conscientious. I could have been filled with a fear of mistakes and failure. Instead, I was empowered to tackle any problem.

My mom taught me to not care about what other people are doing, or let it affect me, because I know which peoples’ opinion matter most. She taught me to ignore the majority and listen to the people I respect. She taught me to not imitate the majority because it is easier. My mom taught me to listen to the quiet close few, and ignore the loud distance many, which has the added benefit of inoculating me from today’s social media culture. 

What I am trying to say is my mom instilled a life long love of learning and empowered me to carve out my own identity.  

Everyone has their own internal monologue, thought pattern, and unique way of thinking. We offer glimpses under the hood through conversations, actions, and social media, but our internal wiring remains largely hidden. I know exactly what you thought of your avocado toast from Instagram, but I will never know what went through your mind as you experienced the meal. Most of us are unaware of what senses are engaged in any given moment. Most of us will see, taste, and smell the food, but did you pay attention to the sensation in your mouth or the sound of the toasted bread crunching? Unfortunately, this lack of presence in our daily lives has become the status quo. Presence has become reserved for mindfulness professionals, the secrets of which only Buddhist monks can uncover. Modern society makes sure we will rarely be present with our own thoughts. Typically, this is where I would advocate the benefits of mindfulness and encourage a meditation practice. However, what if we took a different approach centered around multi-sensory thinking?  

    As humans, we have a disconnect between the way we think and the physical world. The way we think is not the way we experience the world. As the historian, Will Durant, summarizes from his 11 books on the history of Western civilization: “How we think about what is happening around us is more important than what is actually happening.”  We must leverage our intimately familiar five senses from our physical environment into our thinking. This multi-sensory thinking allows us to better understand our thought processes, which ultimately allows us to think about thinking.   

   We are visual thinkers. More than 50% of the cortex is dedicated to vision. We even call active thinking “visualization.” If I say imagine a strawberry – did you picture an image of a strawberry? What if I say imagine a strawberry that tastes like a ripe cheese? Or imagine a strawberry that smells like coffee?  Or a strawberry that crunches like toast? Did your visualization of the strawberry change? How do you ‘see’ taste, smell, and touch in your mind’s eye? As we become more aware of our senses, we can fully engage with our experiences. Our five senses are how we relate to the everyday physical world. When we engage in multi-sensory thinking, we tighten up the slack in our thinking and decision making. We shorten the time between accepting and acting on an unexpected reality. Unfortunately, we actively handicap our thinking to 20% capacity (vision). But imagine the ability to cultivate 80% additional brain power for questions and problems. This is why walks in nature are fruitful for moments of insight because we effortlessly engage all our senses.    

 On your journey to mental clarity, remember to embrace multi-sensory thinking. Turn that strawberry into a crunchy, coffee smelling, cheese. 

Put your phone down. Take a seat. Now turn your attention inward. We cannot even begin until you become familiar with boredom. You begin to know boredom on a personal level. You begin to internalize it. You no longer feel bored; you simply are bored.

This is when we start to tip toe into ennui.

The boredom transforms into listlessness. Your mind and body feel the urge for inputs and action. At first, the body is gently suggesting movement. These suggestions shift into demands. The demands twist into shouts and the shouts revolt into screams.

For escape. For control.

These mental screams echo around your body, demanding movement. Meanwhile, your mind is racing, justifying each thought with the certainty of importance. The mind contrives the perfect ambush to compel thoughts and movement.

But if you wait just long enough…

The screams start to subside, and the echoes begin to soften. The screams are reduced to shouts, which turn back into demands. The demands then shrink into suggestions, which eventually become whispers. The whispers no longer echo and request movement. Instead, the whispers become easier to observe, simply acknowledge. 

You begin to whisper back with a smile, “Not right now.”

We like to think of decisions as a binary choice, yes or no. We have been told this repeatedly throughout our lives. Pass/ Fail, True or False. The truth is all decisions are made on a spectrum.

The attitude we bring to any decision carries as much weight as the decision itself. 

“The future will soon be a thing of the past.” ~ George Carlin

We are in the midst of Covid-19, and all the uncertainty surrounding it. The global economy is reeling and people are afraid and uncertain. In times like these we can look back to previous times in history for guidance of what the future may bring; which is precisely what Mary Frances Berry explored in a short essay for Politico. She writes:  

“After the disastrous 1918-19 Spanish flu and the end of World War I, many Americans sought carefree entertainment, which the introduction of cars and the radio facilitated. Young women newly able to vote under the 19th Amendment bobbed their hair, frequented speakeasies and danced the Charleston”

Women have had the right to vote for the last 99 years and yet just as history repeats itself the chorus of equal opportunity, social justice, and  human rights has only grown louder. This highlights the cliché that while we look different on the surface, at our cores we remain largely the same. Which is why Mary Frances continues on to say:

 “Probably, given past behavior, when this pandemic is over, human beings will respond with the same sense of relief and a search for community, relief from stress, and pleasure.”

The question of how we will respond has yet to be answered. Will we seek out pleasure in the usual American vices of substances, money, and distraction? Could this be a paradigm shift for finding pleasure in community, mindfulness, and self-improvement? Honestly, probably not. There are plenty of reasons to be pessimistic. Instead, let’s highlight how we all came together to support healthcare workers and self-quarantine. We can each take small steps towards building a new relationship with pleasure. It will be the start of the post COVID pleasure movement. So, let’s be optimistic about the future. Even if for no other reason than it is no fun being quarantined with a pragmatist. 

Marketing has made us believe that simple = easy. This is an effective way to sell products. No one wants to buy something simple and difficult. The issue (besides lazy marketing), is that we have internalized this message as advice for how to live. If we get simple advice, we assume it will be easy. But when things are difficult, we assume it was bad advice. This is because we have internalized true = easy. The best advice is indeed simple. But don’t expect it to be easy.

Happenstance had our heroine in a harrowing happening with heroin.

His prognosticating is exacerbated by not keeping his bedroom door shut.