I can't sleep…
When you’ve been raised inside a religion, it’s not a small thing to step outside it. Even if you no longer believe in it, you can feel its absence.
There’s a spirit-wound to a Sunday.
You can patch it, but it’s there, whether natural or invented not for me to say.
~ Niall Williams, “This Is Happiness” (Bloomsbury Publishing; December 3, 2019)
Photo: Kuehn Malvezzi of “House of One” (Berlin)
It’s late afternoon Thursday. We’re walking up 47th street dodging the lingering jewelers, puffing on their Marlboros, blowing smoke rings, their arms out with pamphlets: “We buy Gold Sir, top price.” If I had gold, I wouldn’t be traipsing up 47th street rushing to catch a commuter train. Step back.
My colleague is in front. I’m trailing. He’s a New Yorker to the core, from birth, wily and confident. And you, you Friend, are country, and you can’t take Country out of the Boy.
I catch him and finish sharing a moment:
“I just can’t let it go. I’ve been carrying this with me for two days.”
He pauses: “Are you nuts? Don’t give it another thought. This is New York. Anything could have happened.”
He veers right.
“You’re right. See you tomorrow.” I push on to Grand Central.
Anything could have happened.
It was Tuesday morning, early.
I exit Grand Central. It was brisk, and dark. I wait for the light to turn, and I cross Madison. There’s plenty of time before my morning meeting, no need to push it. Music is streaming in. I’m lip synching James Taylor’s Country Road : “But I could feel it Lord, on a Country Road, Walk on Down…But you know I could feel it child, yeah – Walking on a country road, I guess I know where my feet want me to go.”
I hit repeat, and James sweeps me away again. Lightly Child, Lightly. And on this morning, I’m right there in that sweet groove with Ahab, “he never thinks, he just feels, feels, feels.” And on this morning, here I am, a tall sunflower leaning into the Sun. Sweet Jesus, why can’t I find this place more often.
I pass into a dim section of the street.
He appears directly in front of me from Nowhere.
Unshaven. 5’9″. Tattered corduroys, dark windbreaker. And in my space. I step back, and lift my hand up signaling back, my torso trembling. I re-grip my case. I pull the ear buds out. And Brace.
He points to his ears and emits a muffled: “I’m deaf. I need help.” Continue reading “Walking Cross-Town. Children of a Lesser God.”
New leadership books pour over the dam each day claiming to share a secret sauce. A cow rhythmically chewing and regurgitating its cud. But far less effective. It largely comes down to these eight lines from James Autry. Period.
Listen.
In every office
you hear the threads
of love and joy and fear and guilt,
the cries for celebration and reassurance,
and somehow you know that connecting those threads
is what you are supposed to do
and business takes care of itself.
~ James A. Autry
Source: 800CEORead – Bring Your Emotional Self to Work. The words above were written by James A. Autry and are included in Love and Profit: The Art of Caring Leadership (p.32). And all of this reminds me of the John Maxwell quote: “People don’t care how much you know until they know how much you care.”
Image Credit: Cory Smith – Ix.com
It all started at around 8pm last night. Susan asked: “Do you really need that?“…this in response to my complaining earlier in the day about hitting new record highs for weight gain. And after my 4th trip to the fridge since dinner time. The “that” was a peanut butter (Jiffy Creamy) and blueberry jelly sandwich. Yes, I needed it. Badly. And I didn’t need someone, anyone, scolding me. (Am I a child?) I continued lapping the peanut butter on the bread – jabbing the knife into the jar – spreading on a few extra layers. I don’t lift my head. She continues on from the other side of the room. “You know, you should read this book on life style changes in what you eat. You can lose weight by just eating healthier. You are not getting enough proteins. This is causing you to crave potato chips, sugars and salty foods.” Blueberry jam dribbles out of the corner of my mouth. I look up. Fat man’s blood pressure building…readying himself for counterpunching. I glance up and glare. She continues: “You know that I’m just trying to help.” I take the last remaining bite and jam dribbles down my shirt…well doesn’t that about capture it. Enough! My turn…trade a boulder for a pebble. “I don’t need to read a bloody book to tell me that I eat junk and too much of it. And I certainly don’t need you haranguing me about it.” Now, if I had just stopped there. Trade the ocean for a drop of water. “So tell me. If this book is so good. How’s it working out for you?” Nearing 30 years of marriage you know exactly where the nerve endings are and where to jab. Yep, direct hit. Then regret washes over me. But not enough to apologize. She knows I didn’t really mean it. Right. Continue reading “Running. And Chafing.”
The stone walkway may be 2.5 feet at its narrowest point. The shore line is 7-8 feet down from the walkway. It’s narrow, it is a ways down and I’m always wary. I must have been daydreaming. Or better stated, distracted by day-work-worrying.
I’m on my morning run.
My right forearm slams into the end of the steel I-beam guard rail. Here it comes. A car crash in slow motion. A Bruce Lee flick. With much less grace. The I-beam doesn’t move. But it moves me. It spins me around. Full Stop. Drop. Roll. Air explodes out of my chest. I’m gasping for air. More stunned than hurt. I’m down flat on my back for a few seconds, grateful that I didn’t plunge into the mud and frigid waters in the bay. I look around to see if anyone caught the show. No one is yelling “Man Down. Man Down.” We’re clear. Pride intact. Continue reading “Still Standing.”