Of my good friends Freud, Sir Paul, Monica and Cheryl

I have often thought of Freud when sitting in Meeting for Worship on Sunday mornings. He, or maybe it was one of his cohorts, I should know given that this was the subject of my 60+/- page senior thesis at Earlham, had a theory that subconsciously, our life goal is to return to the happiest place we ever knew - our mother's womb. 

I know. Kinda creepy. But so was Freud sometimes.

And Meeting feels like that to me sometimes. It feels like a warm, welcoming, loving, enclosed place, walled off from, but not oblivious to, the noise all around us. 

And it can especially feel that way when it gets particularly loud outside. This past Sunday for instance, there was a lot of noise coming off route 30 - sirens, motorcycles, etc. At times it almost seemed like a parade out there, but a very fast moving one.

At one point I realized that the more the noise outside is amplified, the more it amplifies the silence in our little Meetinghouse.

And that leads to one of the greatest challenges for me as a Quaker. As the outside noises get louder in my life - the national anger, hate, divisions, vitriol - so I am challenged to amplify the love, acceptance and tolerance inside me to tune all that out, or counter it in the best way possible.

The other night, driving home, Paul McCartney's Let It Be came on the radio, and I listened to it more carefully than the first couple hundred times I've heard it:

When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be
And in my hour of darkness she is standing right in front of me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be

Yeah, there will be an answer, let it be

And I wondered if those words would take on a new meaning for me in the upcoming days, while hoping I would be wrong. But I wasn't.

I came to know in the past few days that someone has been attacking me behind my back to some friends. It upset me at first, even though virtually all his accusations were based on untruths. But thanks to the wise counsel of Cheryl, my long time friend Monica and my even longer-time friend (even though he doesn't know it) Paul McC, I decided to just Let It Be, and use it as a chance to amplify my love and acceptance of a differing point of view. And it was another example of something I've tried to teach the kids when someone is speaking poorly of someone else: it reflects more poorly on the one saying it than it does the target of the comments.

UPDATE: During Meeting yesterday, I thought (prayed?) about the person who had been sharing his thoughts about me and reviewed the three choices I had considered in response to his hurtful email: 

- Email him, telling him what I'd heard and countering his arguments. 

- Confront him similarly. 

- Ignore it, as I'd decided above. 

But in the end, I chose a fourth option. After Meeting, I sought him out and went over and gave him a big hug and said simply, "Hang in there, dude." 

Oh, what a lucky man

I wrote this a few weeks ago but didn't want to post it until I let some time go by so I could think about it some more and to see if my feelings would change. Spoiler alert - they didn't:

21 years ago almost to the day, in August of 1998, Cheryl moved in to my house in Thorndale with her two awesome daughters, Elissa, age 12 and Evelyn, age 5.  And on that day, my life would change forever. My bachelorhood ended and my life as I always imagined and fervently hoped it would become, began.

Two years later, Trevor was born, and at some point, I remember telling Cheryl that coming home from work each day, and opening the door to that house, felt like Dorothy opening her door to Munchkinland, not because of the size of the inhabitants, and not because of the gingham dress and sparkly ruby slippers I was usually wearing, but because I was moving from my very satisfying, if often uneventful, dare I say dull, life of black and white, into a world of color, imagination, surprises, entertainment...and unconditional love, given and received.

Eventually that crazy world grew to include Alex and Ammar and even for 5 years, my mom, accompanied by her sticky dementia and her even stronger unconditional love for all of us.

This morning and continuing to next Monday, when we drop Alex off to board at Westtown, ended the best 21 years of my life, certainly so far. Not because it won't still be amazing in an entirely new way, as I get to know Cheryl better than I ever have, as we have both been so looking forward to this time for, well, 21 years, but because my favorite word in the entire English language is...Dad.

It was so rough when Liss was the first to go, shortly after Ammar came into our lives. Then a year later Mom passed away. Then Evie left a few years after that and that was hard too, missing her energy, humor and joy. So it's been an ongoing adjustment, missing those lives I so loved being a part of each day. But now, with the house soon to be totally empty of kids, it feels like the drop-off to Penn State and Westtown is more like our drop-off into a crevice.

The house will feel emptier. The memories and the love will bounce and echo off the walls, and I will make a point of remembering to absorb all of it for all my days to come.

...and loving it.

Now...on to enjoy Cheryl like I never have before. It's not a comparison of a house full versus just the two of us. It's two truly amazing life experiences. We have so many things we feel like we can do together now that we haven't been able to fully before. We even have a list.

Who is the luckiest guy ever? That's right. This guy.

Indeed - and much thanks to my readers to such an extent and for their convene as well!

I find myself often torn (Have you ever found yourself? Other maybe than when you was lost? Have you ever been torn? Gosh I hope not.) between wanting more people to see my posts (validation, after all!) and wishing I didn't know if anyone read them, or who read them, so I could write ever more freely about my often wacky and revealing (oh - the intrigue!) thoughts.

Other than from devoted reader Becca, I rarely get any comments on here, and since there is no "like" function, it's entirely possible that the handful of people who have signed up to see my posts the day they are written via auto-email actually are horrified by what they read and go by the dictum (Dictum?! Hell, I damn near killed him!) that if you can't say anything nice, you should keep your damn mouth shut/keep your fingers off the keyboard.

But there are some incredibly supportive comments that I have heretofore (And just how far is it from heretofore?!) not posted, surely completely out of sheer modesty.

Some examples:

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And my favorite: When Incitatus faced south, his north end had no choice. Cankles has a choice"!  (oh, please - Don't leave us hanging here - what end did Cankles choose?!)

But seriously folks - thanks for reading. I have fun here, even though my posts have slacked off over the past year or so. I have a number of them lined up for the next week or two, so I hope you find them beneficial, informative, interesting, important and very attractive.

Be the difference

I love love.

I like likes.

I hate hate.

But I am not indifferent about indifference. 

Get involved. Make a difference.

Of bright and scary brains

Cheryl tells me that I need to unpack the post below a little (which is a nice way of saying she couldn't figure out what the heck I was trying to say). It is a little dense, I admit, moving too quickly from one thought to another without appropriate thought-linkage.

The awkward (poorly explained) transition is here:

"And thus, back to the quote, which I had always aligned with those who are in a position of great financial wealth....For of those to whom much is given, much is expected.

And so, conveniently, self-servingly, I wondered: for those among us who are just occasionally jerks and not consistently one, when we say something hurtful, does it sting more than someone from whom much less is expected? 

The twist is moving from viewing that statement in terms of wealth to viewing it in terms of respect and positive personal attributes. If someone says something about me, but I don't respect them to begin with (think certain Presidents or bosses), it doesn't hurt as much as it would coming from someone I love and/or have great personal respect for, from someone to whom much (of my respect) is given.

Okay, it was kind of a stretch, but that was where my mind wandered and contorted to, and such is the peril of the reader, getting a glimpse inside the scary maze in my brain, with its many dark, occasionally gloomy, occasionally blindingly bright, paths and corners.

"For those to whom much is given, much is expected."

- President John Kennedy

(or Luke 12:48: "For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required.") 

This past Sunday, that thought kept trying to sneak, eventually successfully, into my large head. It kept trying to squeeze in there among the noise generated by an interaction I'd had two nights earlier with someone who means very much to me (No, not Cheryl), when she misunderstood a few texts I'd sent her, thinking I was being uncaring, when in fact, the intent was the direct opposite. (One of many reasons I hate texting, so maybe it was a self-fulfilling prophesy.)

As I tortured myself that morning, reliving what I'd done, trying to figure the best way to make things right, I must have paused long enough to give some legroom to John and Luke's words.

I am a sensitive guy. For better and worse, and to the possible surprise of some folks who have heard me be too blunt...okay, completely tactless...I really try to be very aware of people's feelings, careful to replace my verbal divots when I go too far. And on the other side, it doesn't take much more than the slightest of slights directed at me to set me in a tailspin, sometimes for hours, sometimes days, wondering if their critique of me has merit, forgetting that no one is liked by everyone, no one's opinions are universally shared and that it's okay to ruffle the odd feather, especially mine.

So, to trot out another of my favorite aphorisms, in the category of Sometimes our greatest strengths are also our greatest weaknesses, such is the case with my sensitivity.

And thus, back to the quote above, which I had always aligned with those who are in a position of great financial wealth. Or to take it in another direction, on a sports team, when the superstar has just an average or even subpar game, everyone howls, but when the guy at the end of the bench has the same numbers, we are thrilled by his big game. For of those to whom much is given, much is expected.

And so, conveniently, self-servingly, I wondered: for those among us who are just occasionally jerks and not consistently one, when we say something hurtful, does it sting more than someone from whom much less is expected? Seems kind of obvious when I put it in writing. 

On the other hand, in a meeting that same Sunday morning, my friend Cate said, "Just because you mean well, doesn't mean you do well."

I have a feeling that is the better quote to explain my texting inadequacy. 

And back to trying to make things right to the person I upset, other than telling her how much I love her, I brought her home a big yummy cinnamon donut. Woulda worked for me!

I have a confession to make that, no surprise, puts me far outside the mainstream of current thought.

I hate memes.

I hate memes for the same reason I hate clichés: they are lazy. Well, I don't know if they are lazy so much as the person using them is. 

But...now that I've admitted that, I'll also admit to having been inspired by one. This one:

 

I saw that on the facebook page of one of my friends, whose page seems to generally consist of nothing but memes, and I read it, paused, and went on to something else. Then, about 3 days later, I woke up at precisely 6:10am (unusually early for me), and I had this thought coming out of whatever dream I'd just had:

If you are perplexed by what decision to make with some pressing issue in your life, the answer should always be:  

Choose Love. 

And if that answer doesn't fit, then neither the question, nor the answer, are really all that important.

A Valen-timely message for my girl

I realized the other day, as I heard someone pontificating at great length, that the longer someone talks, the less I hear them.

And later, as I was reveling in my proud observation, I pondered it further to realize that it's also true of food - the longer I eat something that I really love, the less I appreciate it.

I went on to realize it applies to a great many things - when I bought my first house, I remember sitting in my car in the driveway and looking up at it in wonder; when I first buy a car, I love admiring it and discovering new things I love about it; when I stare at beautiful scenery, same thing; but eventually in each case the beauty and my wonder and my admiration begins to fade.

But...I then went on to realize that the longer I live, the more I like it and the less I take it for granted...and the more I want of it.

And the longer I'm a dad, the more I recognize after 21 years of it, that it's my favorite thing ever.

And most importantly, the longer I am married to Cheryl McVickar, the more I appreciate and admire her, the more I discover more reasons I love her, the less I take her for granted and the more I realize that she is my favorite person ever.

I love you, Cheryl McVickar. Happy Valentine's Day!