writing

“Shoulding” On Ourselves

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There is a little-known occurrence reaching epidemic proportions and running rampant through our culture these days. This problem may be affecting you or someone you know in some very harmful ways. Perhaps you’re already familiar with it… it’s called “Shoulding,” and it is a dangerous thing. I was first introduced to this concept by my mother who was frequently telling me that it is never productive to “should” on yourself. And even though she reminds me (almost daily) NOT to SHOULD on myself… I still do it.

It starts out harmless enough… with a few benign statements such as: I should clean my house. I should do some laundry. I should pay some bills. I should balance my checkbook. I should wash the windows. I should wash the car. I should wash the kids. These statements in and of themselves aren’t harmful. They can actually serve in a helpful manner by prompting us to take care of those things in our lives which need to be taken care of. However, there is a much darker side to “shoulding”… and this is the side that we ought to be concerned with.Let me demonstrate by sharing some personal “shoulds” I have dropped on myself over the years… I should be happy. I should be married. I should be a mother. I should be a successful graphic artist making more than enough money to meet my monstrous suburban mortgage payment. I should bake brownies and change diapers. I should be shuffling kids off to soccer practice and swimming lessons in between power lunches and networking dinner parties.

And I’m just getting warmed up…

I should be a size 2. I should have 8-minute abs. I should have Madonna’s arms, Angelina’s lips and Jennifer Aniston’s flawless skin. I should have thick, lustrous wash and wear hair (in the trendiest style of course) I should arise in the mornings looking like I have just stepped out from the pages of Vogue. I should start each day by running 6 miles and eating nothing but fiber, lean protein and organically-grown produce. I should wear fabulous clothes and drive an equally fabulous, environment-friendly, hybrid car. I should have a perfect mate who looks like Prince Charming and treats me like a queen. He too should earn an obscene amount of money… and together with our beautiful and well-mannered 2.5 children, we SHOULD be the poster-family for happiness and domestic bliss.

This process of “shoulding” can also work in another way… for there are just as many things that fall into the “Should Not” category. A few of my personal favorites are: I should not be divorced. I should not be single. I should not be childless. I should not struggle to pay my bills with a college degree. I should not have any debt. I should not feel the need to constantly defend or explain myself. I should not (occasionally) wish for a different life.

As you can see, “shoulding” is a lose/lose activity. An exercise in futility. Nothing productive or good can ever come from “shoulding on ourselves.” The moment the word “should” leaves our mouths, we are damaging our current and future happiness. This is what my mother is always trying to get me to see. As a woman of 60 she tells me how much time she wasted “shoulding,” when she could have just chosen to be happy and content with who she was and what she had in THAT moment. She hopes that by telling me this while I’m in my thirties, it might save me a great deal of heartache and disappointment and it might allow me to enjoy what I have right now.

So I guess if there is anything, ANYTHING that I SHOULD do… the singular exception to the “Thou Shalt Not Should” rule… it would be to stop all of this “shoulding on myself” RIGHT NOW and start accepting, embracing and enjoying the reality of what IS and what IS NOT.

Leftover Soap and Other Random Observations

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This morning in the shower, I discovered that I had somehow managed to victoriously attach the previous sliver of soap to the new bar! The 2 bars are now one and I am mighty proud of myself for being able to “save” this tiny scrap of soap by making it part of the bigger bar.

You see… I don’t know if you know it or not, but this isn’t always an easy task. Sometimes the bars are too dry, or not the proper texture or shape and therefore do not fit together in a manner that is conducive to creating what I like to call: “THE-PENNY-PINCHING-BIG-BAR.”

But as I happily lathered up, all the while rejoicing in my sudsy little victory, I couldn’t help but wonder… Am I the only one who does this? And if not… then how many OTHER people do this too? I mean, it’s not as though anyone taught me to do this. It wasn’t a rule growing up that THIS was indeed the way we dealt with the leftover, sorry-looking scraps of Zest, Ivory, Irish Spring or Dial in order to save money. We just never threw any soap out. All of it got used up. So I guess I just learned it all by myself—this silent bathroom behavior—And I have a strong suspicion that I am NOT the only one.

Which also begs the question: How many other quirky “behaviors” do we humans share that we are neither taught, nor that we discuss? I have come up with a few of my own observations here…

How many other people …

  • Intentionally leave a few squares of toilet paper on the roll so that they will NOT have to be the one to change it? Is it that difficult to change a roll of toilet paper?
  • Purposefully do not entirely empty milk containers, OJ or 2-liters and put them back in the fridge for the exact same reason?
  • Race to put on your turn signal before anyone else can while waiting for a spot in a parking lot as a way of communicating to the other drivers that you have, in fact, CLAIMED this soon-to-be-empty space by silently “calling it” with your little blinking light?
  • Squeeze the empty tube of the toothpaste SO freakin’ FLAT that it could actually double as a prison shank… in order to get that last little dollop of tartar-controlling, cavity-protecting, whitening, minty-fresh, evergreen-goodness onto your toothbrush INSTEAD of just opening the new one? What do you save? Like 1/1000th of a cent?
  • Have 500 upsidedown bottles of lotion, shampoo, conditioner, hair gel, hand soap, etc. sitting around your house on various shelves or in cabinets (even though you are totally using the NEW ones) in the hopes that you WILL, one day, use them all up and therefore feel better about yourself?
  • Keep a drawer in your kitchen stuffed to overflowing with restaurant menus, expired coupons, dried-up glue sticks, misshapen paper clips, broken crayons, extra buttons, bobby pins, safety pins, hair ribbons, plastic combs with half of their teeth missing, pens with no ink in them, dull pencils, petrified erasers, empty scotch tape dispensers, the ace of spades, 1/3 of a yard stick, a handle from something, a key for some lock… somewhere, a piece of string, 10-year-old anti-itch ointment, nails, screws, nuts, bolts, hard candy, a bottle opener from 1967, inappropriate refrigerator magnets, a phillips screwdriver with some kind of unidentifiable gunk on the end of it (rendering it useless), chunks of sidewalk chalk, matchbox cars, plastic sunglasses with one lens missing, a rusty swiss army knife, smooth emery boards, cracked rubber bands, shredded twist-ties, and last but not least… crumpled business cards for individuals you have never even heard of?

Admit it. You have one of these drawers. And if you don’t… 50 bucks says your mother does. What are we hanging onto this crap for? Chances are, if your drawer is anything like mine… it is literally 3 feet away from the GARBAGE CAN! Aren’t we human beings interesting? Almost all of us do these things and yet, like I mentioned earlier, no one seemingly taught us how… we just kinda figured it out on our own.

These are just a few examples. Please feel free to add to this list. I know that THIS inquiring mind would REALLY like to know!

Paper Treasures

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I adore bookstores. Being a lover of language, I’m not sure if this is the due to the rush that I get from literally being surrounded by words… ensconced in words. Or perhaps I can blame it on the sheer excitement I feel being in the presence of so many lofty thoughts, ideas and stories.

And I have a particular affinity for used bookstores. You know, the kind of stores that are bursting at the seams with so many books that there are racks and bins of them spilling out onto the sidewalk, beckoning you like paper sirens to come hither and have a look a around.

If you’re someone like me, you’re almost immediately drawn in by the countless titles that call out to you from the various makeshift shelves that are haphazardly strewn outside. You begin your treasure hunt there, wondering what little literary gem might be buried beneath the stacks of trashy romance novels with paintings of exotic women in various stages of undress on the covers. Perhaps you find one—a shiny jewel that you simply cannot fathom how anyone else could have missed—and you tuck it under your arm.

With your curiosity piqued and your wallet burning, you venture inside. Instantly you are reminded of your grandmother’s basement, as a heavy aroma of dust, glue, aged leather and ancient paper envelops you. Stretched out in front of you are endless rows of leather and fabric-bound tales waiting to be discovered by just the right person. You see… each used book already has a new owner… they’ve simply not yet been introduced.

As you meander through the narrow aisles, head tilted to one side so as to read the inverted titles, your eyes pour over both familiar and unfamiliar names. So many books! It is incredible the shear volume of words that must exist under this one roof! A person could flop themselves down in a quiet corner for hours and travel to foreign lands, soaring through time and space to witness pivotal moments throughout history and experience wild and wonderful adventures all along the way! In the small span of an afternoon one could experience love and loss, danger and deception, death and dying, murder and mayhem, treachery and treason.

But as you navigate the passageways between the shelves of bargain masterpieces, you become aware of the presence of something far more valuable than the written works themselves. These books have stories all their own. I’m not talking about the words typed on the pages inside… but rather the silent stories of their previous owners. Over time, clues about them have begun to emerge on the covers, the spines, the margins and even in between the pages.

For instance, I once picked up a book entitled The Art of Pessimism and opened the front cover to find the following inscription: “1989 – To my dear friend Patricia, this needs no explanation! Love, Anne” I chuckled to myself at the inside joke that these two friends must have shared. And this was just one book on one shelf  of one store that I randomly picked up one day. That same day, a copy of Seven Short Works of Modern Fiction (which I later purchased) had a small stack of index cards stuffed inside which came fluttering out when I picked it up. Apparently, they were someone’s study notes on the different themes of each novel.

It seems that names, dates, doodles, coffee rings, notes, inscriptions, dedications, even rips, folds and tears are present everywhere you look. To me, these parcels of paper, words, ink and glue cease being books and instead become tangible evidence of people’s lives. I consider the shelves they once sat upon, the hands that once held onto them, the eyes that once scanned these pages, the souls who were once drawn into the story. The bags and briefcases they traveled in. I wonder where they have been and what was going on in the world at that specific time? How many different people posessed this very book before it landed in my hands now? Oh, but if these pages could talk! What secrets would they reveal?

I realize that anyone can go to a museum of Natural History and see valuable icons and rare relics of previous cultures and lives lived. And perhaps you think it’s silly for me to consider such things about plain, old, used books. Either that, or you may think I just have too much time on my hands. But I actually think it is because they are so ordinary, so unremarkable in their existence that they are of such unique value! These used books… These hand-me-down narratives… These second and third-time-around stories… They carry with them the indelible marks of everyday humanity.

Who Me? Territorial? Nah.

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Never let it be said that humans aren’t territorial. Otherwise, why would we have legal property lines and build fences? Why would we hang signs that label “our areas” as such? Why would we get irritated if our neighbor decides to park a GINORMOUS camper next to our driveway, obstructing our view of the street and making us feel like we live on a Hollywood set, or we’re in prison or we’ve been relocated to Big Arbs campground!?! Huh?

The following is a little internal narrative I wrote down about 2 years ago when a grumpy old fart just up and started randomly TAKING my parking spot… EVERY. DAMN. DAY. I’ve since left that place of employment for a different place … with better parking.

_______________________________________________________

My eyes narrowed when I saw him pulling into the spot.

THE parking spot. MY parking spot. I’ve never seen him park there before. Why did he decide to start now? Everyone should know by now that THAT is MY parking spot. I’ve been parking there for months ever since the layoffs started and a “prime” spot became available just outside my office window. My window. My spot.

And I heaved a heavy, aggravated sigh.

Alright. I guess I’ll just have to take the spot next to it today… and hope that this doesn’t become like a regular thing. I mean, I’d hate to have to start cutting my lunch hours short just to safeguard the spot. If I don’t… and HE starts parking there… before you know it, he’ll think it’s HIS spot. And then what will I do? I’ll have to find another spot. This really does annoy me.

So I glared at him the entire time while he squared up his car and shut off the engine and gathered his things and walked into the building.

That will show him. My iron stare. WHO does this guy think he is? I don’t even know this guy. Does he even WORK here full-time? I think maybe he’s an engineer. Oh! Look at me! I’m an engineer! I’m better than you! I make more money than you do! My job requires a lot more brains and skill and responsibility than Marketing does… I can park wherever I want to!

And I slide into the second-rate spot right beside him. Meanwhile… one of the retired guys enters the parking lot, returning from lunch, and he glares at ME!

What is YOUR problem?!? What the #@%* are YOU looking at? Why are you even here? You are retired and supposed to be coming here on a part-time, consultation-only basis. But instead, I think I see more of you NOW than I did BEFORE you retired! What is up with THAT?!? Do you have a problem with me? You don’t even KNOW me. We’ve never even spoken. Stop looking at me. Jerk.

And then it dawns on me… I just parked in HIS spot.

_______________________________________________________

Listen… when it comes to territory… the only difference between us and the animal kingdom is the fact that we don’t “mark” our territories with bodily fluids. Then again… maybe there are a few of us who do.

If there are… I really wouldn’t want to know.

Loving the Questions

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For as long as I can remember, I have been an impatient person… and a worrier. Such endearing qualities, I know. Oh… And I am also a ruminator… with a capital “R,” I can chew on a thought like nobody’s business. Seriously. You can ask anyone.

In fact, anyone reading this who knows me very well, is probably at this moment, smiling, laughing or at the very least nodding their heads in enthusiastic agreement. I’m not sure why I am like this. I wish I could blame it on someone or something… like my parents or older sister, a sadistic teacher, a traumatic childhood event, an evil playground bully. But none of that would be accurate. See, I’m fairly certain that I came straight out of the womb, hard-wired to be like this.

I ask a million questions it seems… all the time. What am I doing? Where am I going? How is THIS going to turn out? What is (insert name of just about anyone here) thinking right now? When will that happen? What if this happens? What if that other thing happens? How am I going to pull THIS off? How’s THAT going to work? What if? How come? What for? Why me?

I also rush ahead (in my mind) wondering about the future, rather than living fully in the present. I mean, do I ACTUALLY think that by dwelling on or worrying about the future I am going to miraculously get to any of the answers any sooner? The thing is… I know that this kind of thinking is not only an exercise in futility… but it is harmful. It’s harmful because it robs me of any joy that I am capable of feeling right now… in the present.

So, for all my fellow worriers, ruminators and commiserative comrades out there… I want to share one of my favorite quotes with you. The reason it is one of my all-time favorites, is because it does such an amazing job of bringing into focus exactly how we ought to see our current realities as well as our futures.

Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves like locked rooms or books that are written in a foreign language. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then, gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answers.
~ Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

It’s so important to remember that Time will… in time… pull back the curtain and reveal the answers to us one day, but until then we need to enjoy whatever TODAY has to offer because the Present is the Future of the Past.

The Trim Tab

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“Call me Trim Tab”

This simple phrase is etched on the gravestone of Buckminster Fuller, one of the great geniuses of the 20th century. He loved the metaphor of “trim tabs” for understanding and communicating the powerful influence of the individual.

Famous for inventing the geodesic dome and coining the word “synergy,” Fuller once said:“Something hit me very hard once, thinking about what one little man could do. Think of the Queen Mary — the whole ship goes by and then comes the rudder. And there’s a tiny thing at the edge of the rudder called a trim tab. It’s a miniature rudder. Just moving the little trim tab builds a low pressure that pulls the rudder around. Takes almost no effort at all.”

He goes on to say that individuals should never underestimate the ability they possess to leverage change. And while Fuller was speaking more about “change” as it pertains to a larger establishment, I couldn’t help but think about this concept on a more personal level. My thought being… the power we possess to change ourselves.

Years ago, when I first read about this tiny, little thing being responsible for the change in direction of an entire ship—I relished the idea that such a small, seemingly insignificant part of a massive vessel was actually key to deciding where it would ultimately go. This led me to realize that minor, personal changes, made over time, could yield MASSIVE results!

We all have things we want to change about ourselves… from being a better spouse, parent, friend or employee to shedding those ever-looming unwanted pounds. I think a person would be hard-pressed to find another who is 100% satisfied with their own status quo. Often, when we set out to change these things that we don’t like about ourselves, we set our sights too high, our goals too lofty… and we fail. And we stop trying.

There are a lot of things that I would like to change about myself. I can’t stand my lack of discipline in seeing that I get at least 7 hours of sleep a night. Consequently, I hate my morning rush-around and the resulting guilt that I feel if I walk in the door to my office 10 minutes late. I want to eliminate my debt. I wish I had more patience. I’d like to be a better daughter, aunt, girlfriend and friend. I’d love to learn contentment and how to live fully “in the moment” — every moment.

Just compiling “the list” is overwhelming to me. Were I to try and achieve or even “work on” all of these things at once, I would surely fail. It’s too much to attain immediately. Feeling defeated, I would probably just give up. So consider for a moment, that if a tiny piece of material can ultimately turn a giant ship simply by making little adjustments, then maybe we’re capable of changing our own direction in much the same manner. Perhaps we need to take smaller steps toward our larger goals.

In the course of one year, I lost nearly 50 pounds and people are always asking me how I did it and what my secret was. They are surprised when I say that I did it without exercising or putting myself on some ridiculously rigid diet. I tell them that I made a handful of minor changes and in the span of one year (52 weeks) it came off a pound at a time. Ultimately these minor changes yielded some major results. Not overnight… but eventually.

The other day when someone asked about the goal I had achieved, I suddenly remembered reading about the concept of the trim-tab. At the time, I didn’t realize that “trim-tabbing” was what I had been doing all along with the weight loss, but now that I know, I am going to start applying this principle to the other areas of my life that I wish to change… one small adjustment at a time.

What am I doing right now? Well, tonight I think I’ll start by going to bed early.

The Back of the Closet

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Have you ever, in desperation, looked in the very back of your closet to search for something to wear because nothing you own seems good enough and you HATE all of your clothes? You push aside the tees you wore this past weekend, the blouse you wore yesterday and the top you’re saving for “Casual Friday,” all in the vain attempt to reach the bowels of your wardrobe hoping against hope that therein hangs some incredible unforeseen garment that you’ve forgotten you own and can therefore resurrect!

Aha! You find something! How in the world have you missed it in all this time?!?! This is wonderful! This is going to open you up to endless, interchangeable fashion possibilities! This is going to double, no TRIPLE your number of available ensemble choices! This textile, could perhaps… transform your entire world.

Now, of course, as you stand there… hanger in hand… arm outstretched… admiring the aforementioned “Savior Garment”… there is one thing you know you must check first. And it is absolutely imperative. It is the biggest hurdle you will have to overcome, but you MUST find out before you get too excited and mentally begin pairing things up and creating outfits that will undoubtedly turn heads. I am referring to the all important question: Does it still fit?

<gulp>

Quickly, you consider everything you ate THAT day as a peremptory justification for any minor snugness, should it exist. You try to recall the last time you’ve broken a sweat (not including this one), pushed play on that dusty Denise Austin DVD or even laid eyes on the inside of the gym. Then you begin thinking about all the morning lattes, the mayo on your sandwiches, the bleu cheese dressing on your salads, the 3 p.m. sugar binges, the weekend baseball beers, the weekly-Lifetime-movie-cookie-dough binges… and the fear begins to build.

<double gulp>

Somehow you gather the courage to slide the first appropriate appendage into said clothing item… then the second. So far, so good. Now comes the true confirmation of your intestinal fortitude: Will it button, latch, zip or close without the surgical removal of any vital organs? With your eyes squeezed shut, muttering prayers, you try it. Praise God!! It STILL fits!!! The clouds part, rays of sunshine pour into your room and in the distance you can hear the faintest sound of angels singing The Hallelujah Chorus!

Ah… now the real fun begins. What to pair with this “new” former frock for it’s reintroduction into the rotation. After trying various color and texture combinations, taking into consideration this particular item’s unique strengths and weaknesses… you finally select just the right piece with which to pair it.

You’ll wear it the very next day.

Tomorrow arrives and you’re amazingly able to jump out of bed and kick start your day just by thinking about how nice you will look in the day’s oh-so-stylish ensemble. You will get so many compliments and your envious co-workers will assume you’ve been shopping, when in actuality, you haven’t spent a single dime. In anticipation for your great day, you get dressed, leave for work early and even stop for a latte… because apparently they haven’t damaged your figure too much seeing as this item still fits.

No sooner do you get to work, pull into your parking spot and get out of the car do you realize WHY it is that this piece of clothing was SHOVED to the back of the closet… It may fit you the same as it ever did… but it is so uncomfortable you cannot STAND IT!! You spend your ENTIRE day tugging and pulling and adjusting and hiding in your office, praying for the day to be over so that you can take this freaking piece of crap and CRAM it in THE BACK OF THE CLOSET… right where it belongs.

Life by the Numbers

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It begins and ends with a number. A dreadful sound shatters the stillness of my slumber and I open my eyes to see 3 green and glowing numbers looming ominously over my rapidly-dissolving dreams. 6:00 a.m.

In the midst of a heat wave, I turn on the news to channel 3 see how hot it is actually going to get today so I’ll know exactly how much or how little to wear. 95. With a heat index of 110.

Stumbling down the stairs to my non-air-conditioned main floor, I glance at the thermostat. It says 84. I say a curse word.

With great fear and trepidation I climb onto the scale before climbing into the shower to estimate the damages from my nephew’s 11th birthday celebration the night before. XXX lbs., XX.X BMI … these numbers are for my eyes only. But I do utter another curse word.

Sitting down with a 200-calorie breakfast comprised of 8 oz. of OJ and 8 oz. of cereal with 4 oz. of milk, I obsessively check the stats on my blog page. At 7:20 a.m., there have been 23 views, 2 comments and 9 referrals. 0 new subscriptions. On Facebook, I have 1 notification, 2 messages, 1 invitation to play FarmVille and 1 friend request. I accept the friend request. I have 664 friends. Nope… make that 663. Someone just dumped me. Somewhere in the distance I hear a muffled scream as my profile goes swoosh into the virtual trash can belonging to the loser who unfriended me.

Out the door with 20 minutes to spare, I have the misfortune of getting behind 2 of the slowest-moving utility vehicles you’ve ever seen. They are doing 35 in a 55. At this rate, I will be 10 minutes late. Eventually I pass them doing 85 (I imagine my speeding ticket will cost well over $100) and wind up behind 1 even-slower moving 18-wheeler carrying 3 steel coils on a 2-lane highway. I follow him for 4 miles at 45 MPH. Make that 15-minutes late.

The word count so far is 335. In case you’re curious. Though now that I’ve used more words to tell you that… it is higher.

Miraculously only 10 minutes late to work, I have 5 unread messages and 7 projects to complete before 5 p.m. As a graphic designer, my work day is infinitely full of numbers… dates, times, account numbers, quantities and measurements. Therefore, I will spare you the details of the bulk of my day.

At 12:00 noon I call Verizon Wireless to give them $112.68. There is $XXX.XX remaining in my bank account. I utter yet another curse word.

By 5:00 p.m., there are exactly 6 hours left in the day before bedtime. Another obsessive check of blog stats and Facebook: 71 views, 8 comments and 11 referrals. 1 new subscription. Facebook offers 3 notifications, 1 message, 0 friend requests. Dinner at 7, a 2-hour phone call starting at 8 and 1 hour of reading, watching TV, writing or painting my nails before the clock strikes 11. I must get at least 7 hours of sleep a night or I’ll be a hot, cranky mess the next day. Just ask my loved-ones.

Turn off the TV, check the thermostat… 86. Curse word. Lights out. 11:03 p.m.

I wrote this account (get it… account?) as an exercise when it occurred to me how much of my daily joy and pain is tied directly to NUMBERS. Why must we quantify our value based on hard numbers… from how much we weigh to how much we earn? From how many virtual “friends” we have to how many people visited or commented on our blog today? For 1 day I’d like to ignore these “values” … and derive my worth from that which cannot be counted. Who’s with me?

Who Are “They”?

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They say drinking a glass of red wine everyday is good for your heart. They say breakfast is the most important meal of the day. They say owning a pet lowers your blood pressure. They say driving a red car increases your chances of getting a speeding ticket. They say more and more children are being diagnosed with food allergies. They say playing video games contributes to Attention Deficit Disorder. They say purple is the new black.

So I have just one question: Who exactly are “They”? Because it seems that “they” sure have a hell of a lot to say. I mean, is it just me, or has anyone else ever wondered about this?

Recently I was having lunch with a friend, making regular small talk and naturally “They” came up in the conversation. I don’t remember in what capacity exactly, though it doesn’t really matter. It might have been something like: You know, they say that the polar ice caps are melting at a much faster rate than initially projected. Or maybe: I just heard that they say carrying a few extra pounds is actually healthier, so lets ask the server for another basket of bread! Or perhaps: They say it’s better to wash your hair every OTHER day, rather than every day.

Whatever the topic of discussion, I stopped for a moment and asked her: Have you ever wondered who THEY are? I mean we are always quoting what THEY say and we seem to base a lot of our decisions on what THEY recommend. If THEY are so frickin’ important, how come we don’t seem to know who THEY are?

She didn’t know either, but confessed to both reciting and following the advice that THEY offer with some regularity.

Who are these people that we would constantly listen to whatever “they” say? They seem to know everything, from what we should eat to what we should wear. What medicines we should take for what ails us and when. What we should read, drive and listen to. What we should do for fun, for improved concentration, for effective time-management, for better-behaved children, for healthier relationships, for better sleep, for better sex, for slimmer thighs, for thicker hair, for cleaner floors, for softer skin, for whiter teeth, for gingivitis, for wrinkles, for snoring, for dragon breath, for athlete’s foot, for dandruff, for excessive flatulence, for bad credit, for NO credit, for better bowel movements, for increased productivity, for more laughter, for more friends, for more love, for more fulfillment, for better quality of life.

I mean, if THEY know sooo much… I for one, would like to meet these people!! THEY have been telling us what to do for centuries now, and THEY seem to enter our conversations on a daily basis, if not an hourly one. I don’t know who THEY are, but if anyone out there does… PLEASE let me know!

In the meantime, while we continue searching for the ever-elusive, all-powerful, all-knowing, collective “THEY”… be aware the next time you hear yourself or your companion utter the phrase: “You know, they say…”

The Survivor Tree

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In the middle of a busy city, surrounded by traffic, concrete and glass, stands a very special tree. To simply look at it, you would assume it’s just an ordinary tree. And if you did not know the history of it or the reason why it is so special, perhaps you might walk right by without giving it a second glance.

It isn’t a very big tree, it isn’t a rare type of tree… yet it stands humbly and proudly in the center of America’s Heartland serving as an icon of survival. People travel from miles away to stand beneath the shade of its branches and reflect on its sheer existence and resilience. Perhaps they gain strength, perhaps they feel the freedom to surrender to their emotion and weep, perhaps they receive healing, or perhaps their chests swell with pride to be in the presence of such a cherished natural landmark.

I have had the unique fortune of visiting the tree 3 times in as many years. And on each occasion when I stood at its base, examined the bark and gazed up at the sunlight streaming though its canopy, I have been inspired. Several times I have driven across this country, and while passing through I have never failed to stop in Oklahoma City and pay a visit to my favorite tree… The Survivor Tree.

The tree got its name by surviving the bombing that occurred at the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building on April 19, 1995, killing 168 people, including 19 children under the age of 6 and 3 unborn babies in addition. The survival of the tree was quite amazing considering that the sheer force of the blast ripped most of the branches from it. Glass and debris were embedded in its trunk and fire from the cars parked beneath it blackened what was left. Most thought the 104-year-old tree would not survive. However—almost a year after the bombing—family members, survivors and rescue workers gathered for a memorial ceremony under the tree, and they noticed something quite extraordinary. In the midst of this field of desolation and despair… this tattered tree was beginning to bloom.

Drastic measures have since been taken to see that the tree is cared for and preserved in honor of those who survived that tragic day. A beautiful memorial surrounds it so that anyone who cares to may come and marvel at the wonder of the tree’s endurance. The inscription on the wall around the Survivor Tree reads: The spirit of this city and this nation will not be defeated; our deeply rooted faith sustains us.

As I look back, I am reminded that my deeply rooted faith has sustained me thus far. You see, each time I traveled across the country and took the opportunity to stop at the memorial, I was never really “just passing through.” In my case, all three times found me in the midst of a personal life transition and when I approached the tree, it was always with a burdened heart. Standing on the hallowed ground of such a place, one’s mind cannot help but reflect as it reels with doubts, fears and endless questions about this thing we call humanity. But each time… the Survivor Tree stood there for me as if to say: You WILL survive this circumstance, after all… more fragile things than you have survived much deeper devastation.