Maybe The World Is Flatter Than We Think

The world is flat.

Recently, I found myself far from home, and regardless of the curvature of the earth, people are pretty much people. Parents want a good life for their children, food on the table, and a few good friends to share life.

There is something magical about participating in a world where, no matter the language barrier, we end up seeing ourselves – as if a mirror waits around every corner to remind us how much we share. 

I’m looking off the port side of our boat, the mooring dock slowly awakening. I watch a man cast his hook and line into the water by hand – no rod or reel. He’s tall, imposing, his shoulders rounded by time and life like the ancient mountains surrounding us. Alone, he carefully works the line in and out of where experience reveals the fish rest beneath the footings. For him, being alone is not being lonely, but being warm with contentment in the moment.

Another man, dressed in rubber pants, a warm sweater and a cap, walks along the dock. Beside him is a miniature version of himself, only in jeans, tennis shoes, and a school backpack. The smaller hand swims in the larger. Even here, a parent getting his child off to school is life, underscoring our universal moments. Minutes later, the father will be aboard a small fishing boat, heading out to feed the family. 

Traveling is best done with your mouth shut and eyes wide open. No matter if stateside or on the other side of the globe, people share universal wants, needs, and desires. We love our family, our children, and the opportunity to positively contribute to the lives of those around us. We want – no, need – to connect with others in a meaningful way.

I hop off the boat and stroll the limestone sidewalks. Tiny cafés are populated with groupings of men deep in animated conversations. The espresso cups balance unevenly in their large, powerful fingers. And while I am unable to understand a spoken word, I recognize another universal language – laughter.

As sophisticated as the world becomes, authentic life remains alive and well. Take away the corrosive thirst for power and money, and the world essentially speaks a common language. We want to connect, share, help, and love on each other. The trick is to remind ourselves to live a life of genuine purpose, not play a game of collecting the most toys and accolades. 

I walk past a simple fishing boat, where a man removes silver fish from his casting net, each the size of a rolled-up newspaper.

“What did you catch there?” I ask.

And without missing a beat or looking up, he replies:

“Lunch.”

I turn back toward the boat, both of us laughing.

While I strive to speak the universal language of life, the letters on the signs and words spoken around me are unfamiliar.  But I leave knowing I belong. Maybe the world is flatter than we think.

-30-

When A Broken Heart Is Worth It

“Man, I sure do love me a puppy dog.”

I am in a hardware store with my dog Luna, scaring up a few supplies before a rare winter freeze comes to town.

The man balls his fingers and slowly extends his hand to my dog.

“Watch out,” I said, “she might lick you to death.”

He’s a big man, the type of big that tells you he knows a hard day’s work is a badge of honor, a reflection of strong character.

“We lost our two dogs last year,” he said, drawing his hand back from Luna.

“I’m sorry,” I said, knowing from personal experience the pain of losing a dog never goes away.

“Well, we had them – a brother and sister – for more than eleven years,” he said. “Pretty good for a pair of German Shepherds.”

He tells me a bit about the dogs—one a blind white male and the other a standard-colored black, white, and tan dog.

“The male was the runt of the litter, but the sister took care of him.”

He tells me how a dog can hold an extraordinary power over you.

“Don’t love a dog unless you are willing to get hurt,” he said. “Once they get in your heart and pass, your heart will never be the same again. It’ll forever be a little bit broken afterward.”

We talk about how not all dogs are this way, but every once in a while, one makes its way in. And before you know it, you find a four-legged spirit roaming and living inside your heart. In doing so, everything in your life is better.

“I know what you mean,” I said, pointing down a Luna. “She is never much further than arm’s length away from me when I’m at home. She even insists on sleeping against me at night.”

The man laughs. We shake hands and introduce ourselves to each other. Here we are, two guys bearing our souls’ most vulnerable corners to each other among plastic tarps and paint chemicals.

His hand dwarfs mine; his dogs must’ve loved his strong hand rubbing their coats.

He tells me how one dog would not let him leave in the morning without a hug.

“She’d sit at the front door waiting for me to leave in the morning,” he said. “When I’d get there, she’d jump on her rear legs and wrap her front paws around me. I’d hug her, tell her I loved her, and she’d get down and walk off.”

“I’d come home, and we’d do the same,” he said.”

I feel tears well up in my eyes. Dogs are God’s most loving creatures, seemingly having a direct line to our emotions.

He pauses, allowing the memory to hang on for a moment longer. I don’t blame him; I’d do the same.

He looks down again at Luna. We smile, knowing we are brothers brave enough to sign up for a broken heart. And if asked, we wouldn’t have it any other way.

-30-

Friendship is our most valuable gift

Friendship, our most valuable of gifts to another person, requires active participation.

As kids, our friends were generally the kids on the same block or neighborhood. And when we went off to school, our pool of friends expanded to kids we didn’t even know where they lived. Then came the stage where we could drive — growing our pool ever further.

After that came adulthood, and overnight, the world was our oyster — an endless pool of opportunities to meet and create new friendships.

But in an odd twist, as adulthood matures, the number of friends you consider close tends to decline. Life gets in the way, so to speak.

I am not talking about social media friends. I’m talking about the friends you’ve cut your finger and bled together as kids, or driven in a car for days on end on some crazy adventure, or cried on each other’s shoulder over the loss.

I am talking about someone you’ve seen the best and worst of and decided that no matter what, they are worthy of your friendship.

As adults, we tend to blur the lines between friends and acquaintances. Friendship should mean more than being able to recall one’s first and last name.

The institution of friendship deserves more.

I often think of this as my birthday cake increasingly resembles a raging bonfire.

This week, a friend of mine’s mother passed from cancer. And while we’ve not lived in the same ZIP code in more than 35 years, I hurt for him.

Our friendship was — and is — real. During our late teens, we spent our days doing incredibly stupid (and dangerous) things, discovering who we were growing into.

And then came life. Over the years, we’ve remained in touch. We are both married, with now adult children, and are arguably responsible adults. We somehow arrived at adulthood — a surprise to us both.

But when my father passed a few years ago, he was one of the first to call. And when I got news of his mother’s passing, I reached to do the same. True friendship deserves more than a few short words on a social media post or a colorful emoji. Friendship deserves our hearts and soul.

Friendship is one of the greatest gifts we can share. Like a plant, friendship requires care and attention to grow and survive. A call here, a note there — anything to keep the friendship alive over time is needed. Without genuine participation, friendships will wither and die.

I’m not shy about telling others that friendships require our active participation. I know that might sound odd, but if I consider you a friend, there is little I won’t do for you. And if we are friends, you are someone I trust, is guided by a good heart, and humble enough to know we are simply one person in an ocean of others. That is the gift of friendship.

Friendship is a gift. So ask yourself: Isn’t it worth a bit of effort on your part?

-30-

Marriage, Love, And Those Quiet Moments

Marriage, Love, And Those Quiet Moments

My friend is a big man by any measure. But more importantly, his physical status is dwarfed by the size of his heart.

His daughter is getting married next week. He and I are on each other’s short list of oldest long-term friends. My not-yet-wife at the time and I attended his wedding; he joined me at the alter a year later as a groomsman when my date came along. We have daughters the same age and are long-time close friends.

My friend visited as our daughters and wives had escaped to St. Louis for a bridal weekend. Between watching baseball games and trying to recount the different sets of golf clubs we owned over the years, our conversation drifted to the upcoming wedding.

“You know,” he said, “marriage is really about enjoying the time you spend together doing nothing. The quiet moments, reading or talking. In the end, that is what people miss the most.”

My friend could bring me to tears with a bear hug if he wanted to, but now he was accomplishing the same outcome armed with words.

I looked over to see his eyes moistening – the same way I told him earlier about my last night with my dad, my dad passing hours later.

Big men do cry – and so should we all.

We talked about how we went from being single guys to recognizing the curious attraction of the simple act of being with someone, doing nothing exceptionally particular, as intoxicatingly exciting.

“I remember that moment,” I said, talking about my wife. “She and I were sitting back in her apartment, the one built in the attic of an old house, kicked back on the sofa, reading books together. The feeling hit me like nothing I expected – and I knew this was what I wanted in life: someone interesting, smart, and comfortable having fun or simply hanging out. Talk about a curveball I never saw coming.”

“Exactly,” said my friend. “That’s what people tell me they miss the most when the other passes.”

My friend would know. He’s as friendly to strangers as a puppy, and I am sure his heart comes in contact with everyone he meets. I am also willing to bet the house he instinctively plays a warm listener to anyone in pain.

We talked about this journey of marriage and those thousands of small but critical moments people tend to underplay. Rarely does the highlight reel of marriage show a couple sitting together, sharing different sections of a newspaper, or laughing while cleaning out the garage.

The deeper into marriage you go, the more you realize the non-sexy moments are, in fact,  the sexiest. The quiet moments, outwardly projecting a meaningless moment in time, tend to fuse themselves into your heart with the most profound passion. And from those building blocks comes a bonfire of love.

Pausing to gather ourselves, we hope our daughters discover the secrets hidden inside the quietest moments of love and marriage.

-30-

COVID Strikes At Home

After more than 2-years, the covid virus finally caught up with me.

What a difference a couple of years makes. After masking, keeping bottles of hand sanitizer in cupholders, and being cautious around large groups, the virus bit me as suddenly and angrily as a pissed-off wasp.

But today, I’m better – and I am thankful.

No fun was the best way to describe my experience. The virus slammed me with the wallop of my head shoved in a trash can and someone keeping time with an AC/DC tune. And my body demanded sleep like a lost caravan searching for water in the desert.

Full disclosure, I am fully vaxed and boosted. And according to medical advice, I do not have any known underlying risk factors. I was advised to expect a bumpy ride, but over-the-counter remedies should offer relief.

Covid continues to be a part of our lives, with hundreds of people passing each day due to the virus. And I’m sure we all agree that to the family impacted, one is too many.

We’ve come a long way in the past couple of years. Rewind to March 2020, when we knew more about Batman’s backstory than how the new virus would impact us. Then, deaths were rampant, especially among the elderly and those with pre-existing conditions. And the reality of an effective vaccine remained an elusive wish for many.

The CDC links more than 1 million deaths to covid-19 and its variants. Current rates point to 357 deaths per day and 59,000 new cases per day. Fortunately, due to vaccinations, behaviors, or recent versions of the virus being less lethal, hospitalizations are below 4,400 per day. Simply put, we are getting better at managing the risk and understanding the best course of action.

But considering I am fully armed, at least as the CDC would recommend, covid is one nasty and unpredictable virus. Some get a fever, and others do not. Many get head colds, others long-term exhaustion. For me, a day or so of fun-house dreams and 18 hours of sleep in a 24-hour window seemed the worst. But my body knows it’s been in a train wreck of a battle. A short walk around the neighborhood on the third day sent me scrambling in retreat for a nap.

A friend told me he knows of more friends getting covid now than ever before, but they are – fortunately – getting through it.

Therefore is the challenge: the virus is still with us and will most likely be around for the long term. Those with the highest risk factors will likely remain at more risk of the more dangerous outcomes from the virus. But our medicine, knowledge of treatment, and self-awareness of managing risk are at an all-time high.

So yes, I admit I am fortunate. I thank those who worked tirelessly to understand the best medical and behavioral way forward. And I will continue to pray for those who least need this in their lives.

-30-

First Jobs Pay Wages of a Different Type

Teenager students holding jobs continue to the background like vinyl tops on automobiles and the number two pencil used to rewind your favorite cassette tape.

According to Statista, the number of students employed while also attending school continues to drop – pandemic or no pandemic. Thirty-one percent of students held jobs in 1998 compared to 19.4 percent in 2019 (I’m omitting the 17.6 pandemic number for comparison). The days of afterschool employment – and the critical skills one learns doing them – continue to erode in front of our eyes. And for that, I worry.

I mention after running across a young man sacking my groceries. His hair, obviously with a mind of its own, and his infectious personality reminded me of how valuable a part-time job at his age played in my life and others. At the same time, the minimum wages were appreciated, working exposed me to a broad diversity of people, the brunt of an angry boss, and the learning of self-reward from hard work.

“So, how is your day going,” he said.

I replied good; I’d be taking the day easy after a road trip.

Here is where he separated himself from others.

“Really? Where to?”

“A short trip to the Hill Country,” I said.

“Business of pleasure?”

He never broke eye contact, nor did I feel he was prying. His emotional intelligence was off the chart good. While packing, his attention remained genuine while he filled the bags like a Tetris master.

I told him a bit of both, and he smiled.

I thought of myself at his age when speaking to a stranger in public made me so uncomfortable. The first time the local pizza place asked me to move from the make table to the register, I probably froze on the spot. But, after a few hundred hungry strangers, the ice melted, and I began a long, slow journey of meeting and talking with people in a business environment.

I also remember bosses shouting, “if you’ve time to lean, you’ve time to clean,” or the time when my landscaping crew boss yanked me out of lunch to rip my morning work apart – learning humiliation leads to humility.

The young man continued engaging. His sense of ease in managing a conversation was that of a fully-formed adult, one understanding both the skill and art of conversation.

Taking my credit card from the reader, I thanked him and pushed my cart outside. Walking across the asphalt, I hear someone behind me. Turning around, I saw the young man holding a small bag.

“Sir, these cards were pushed to the side,” he said. “I apologize.”

Again, I recalled how critical lessons learned at such a young age permeate your life. While some experts point to over-scheduling children to polish their college applications, others challenge the number of opportunities. I’m certainly not able to nail the answer, but I know that the lessons I learned outside the classrooms proved equally valuable as those tucked away inside textbooks.

-30-

Dog Sensitivities Border On Psychic

I am beginning to believe my dog knows me better than I do.

Dogs are simply remarkable creatures. My canine soulmate, Luna, is a cross between a Scottish border collie and an Australian Kelpie – each breed harboring more energy than a toddler spinning out of control after a discovered box of sugary Pop-Tarts.

Luna operates with two speeds – both marginally different versions of overdrive. Only when her eyelids close, do the paws stop moving.

But remarkably, if I’m sad or not feeling well, she knows and changes her behavior.

Shortly after we rescued her from the shelter, I got a peek at the remarkable heart beating inside my new canine partner.

I’d come home from work not feeling well. So my wife ran the usual time-honored plan, pointing me towards the sofa, tossing a blanket over me, and telling me she would grab the thermometer.

“I’ll check back on you in a bit,” she said. “Now, get some rest.”

With my head swimming, I lay still, talking myself into going to sleep.

And then Luna, the black and tan furball of perpetual motion and defender against all things USPS, climbed up on my chest. Then, putting her head down near my neck, she curled up as if her sole job was to be with me at the moment.

I didn’t know what to do, but her warmth seemed to extract whatever made me feel bad. Granted, this could all be in my head, but she lay there quietly as long as I did, ignoring passing delivery trucks, yard-invading squirrels, and the urge to root out a pair of dirty socks.

My wife walked in and stopped. Opening my eyes, I didn’t know what to say. Luna was changing her nature to take care of one of us.

A few weeks later, my wife and I were dealing with something heavy, our hearts moving from inside our chests to our sleeves. The tears caught Luna’s attention. Again, her nature changed, jumping up and licking the tears off our faces. And with the salty pain wiped away, she put her nose on our shoulders.

I’m not sure what makes dogs so sensitive to humans. The bond is remarkable, with the ability to read us bordering on psychic.

Granted, she is sometimes deaf as a two-by-four when I’m asking her to do something, but I’ll chalk that up to stubbornness. But dogs seem exceptional in their ability to intuitively tune into the needs of humans. From being fiercely protective to so loving, there is something God put into canine DNA. Large or small, dogs seem incredibly instinctive and selfless to the needs of their human partners.

This past week my wife found it turn to retreat to the sofa. Working upstairs, I leaned over the railing to check on her. Down below, I could see my wife asleep and her favorite yellow blanket pulled across her. Tucked up warmly against her side was a black and tan furball, again taking care of business.

-30-

Road to Paradise Begins Between Your Ears

I’m standing in a small room of a 400-year-old building in Old San Juan, Puerto Rico. Hand-pressed reddish bricks peek from behind peeling plaster. Inside air moves with the aid of a historically learned combination of opening and closing doors.

“Going to be a warm one,” I say to the young girl behind the counter. Morning coffee is within reach, but I’ve yet to taste my first jolt.

She smiles and rinses tiny white cups used by those before me.

“Yes, but it’s not Alaska,” she says.

Even without my first tiny cup of coffee gurgling in my veins, I find her works engaging.

“Did you live in Alaska?’ I ask.

“Yes, for several years before the pandemic. Working as a supply engineer in the fishing industry.”

“But Puerto Rico is home, right?”

“Yes, but the money was good in Alaska.’

I imagine moving from one paradise to another.

“Alaska is so beautiful,” she says. ‘But you need a small plane everywhere you go. The only way to one plant is in a helicopter.”

She talks about looking out the helicopter window,  bears gently roaming below.

“But,” she says – inserting a reflective breath, “life changes.”

She tells me today is the second day back to work after having a baby boy.

“It was a hard pregnancy. I was in the hospital a lot. The doctors were not sure either of us would make it,” she says. “So when my son was born healthy, I named him Angelo – because he’s my little angel.”

She talks about how her mother helped shape her perspective on life.

“My mother always said be happy with what you have. If you want something else, work for it, but remember to be happy with what you already have.”

She pauses. “We only get one life. So why go around being unhappy all the time?”

She tells me how she raises her other two kids to clean up after themselves and help around the house. She says she wants them to know the value of work and how to treat others.

We’re now standing outside; the deep blue Carribien waters quietly reflect upwards behind her. She talks about earlier in the day as she bought gas for her car.

“A man was being rude and ugly to the girl behind the counter,” she says. “No good reason, just being mean. So I walked up to him and told him to be nice, and the girl was doing her best. We all are these days.”

She pauses again. “I just couldn’t let it go for her sake.”

“Life is hard, but my husband and I are a team, working on our marriage and looking for reasons to be happy with what we have – not unhappy about what we do not.”

Her face is as bright as the waters behind her. To her, paradise is where you are and who you are with each day. And, as her mother said, always remember first to be happy.

-30-

“We only get one life. So why go around being unhappy all the time?” – San Juan, Puerto Rico

Chalkboard Leads to Roads Less Traveled

Well, that was fun.

Watching 2021 fade into the past comes with mixed feelings. But in the end, the lessons learned from the massively disruptive and soul-crunching 2020 helped me better navigate the following twelve months. Surprisingly, 2020 changed me to the core – and in most ways, for the better.

My wife is a remarkably creative soul. She keeps a small chalkboard sitting on the countertop in the kitchen, where she creates and displays a theme or family charge for the coming year. For example, for 2021, she scratched out, “Drink the champagne.”

We were both still reeling from not seeing our adult kids for nearly a year due to COVID. We’d also lost our closest friend (cancer sucks) a few weeks earlier. Plugging into the uncertainty of what the coming year would hold, my wife latched onto the philosophy we can either cower in place and wait for the storm to pass or be reasonably careful and learn to dance in the rain.

And we danced in the rain for twelve months. 

Reflecting on the friend we lost, we realized he’d lived and fuller life in 50 some years than a handful of people who eeked out 100 birthdays.

In a way, “drinking the champagne” was an odd phrase for a couple of people who don’t drink much at all. But, instead, the scratching of letters represented celebrating doing things that make you a bit uncomfortable, stop needlessly avoiding participating in life, and quit putting off telling someone you love them until tomorrow. If you want to make a difference in the world, do it now – not someday.

One time we found ourselves so out of our comfort zone that we wondered if we’d lost our minds.

I remember us driving our four-wheel truck up the side of a mountain in West Texas, creeping along narrow and jagged single-track rock road, and all I heard was her switching between the following statements:

“Oh wow, it’s so beautiful – but don’t look.”

“Stay left, stay left, stay left, stay left.”

As we climbed higher and higher, knowing we would be the only vehicle allowed on the private road that day, we laughed at the absurdity of what we’d bitten off. Alone with only our wits and fading cell service, we had no choice to keep climbing above the tree line and into whatever was ahead. No one would look for us unless we didn’t check in that evening. And we had the key to the gate at the trailhead. 

After nearly an hour or so of white-knocked driving, the road flattened, spilling us out onto a small open space with a spectacular view of the next 25 miles. The blindingly blue sky violently contrasted the harsh yet muted colors of the desert floor. If the altitude didn’t take your breath away, the view did. The road less traveled, was indeed, worth it. 

Somehow we made it back down alive, but knowing we would forever be hooked on champagne, vintage 2021. 

Last year we lived with more love, kindness, and adventure. The payoff was wonderful. And for what it is worth, we don’t expect 2022 to be any different.

-30-

Placing a marker rock on top of Christmas Mountian, Texas.

Not All Rescues Come With Four Legs

The licking quickly got out of control.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “she’s never met a stranger.”

My dog continues to lather the woman’s face with kisses as if covered in peanut butter.

Hotel lobbies are interesting places to meet people. And a dog at your side is like wearing a magnetized suit of armor to both adults and children.

“No problem, she must have a lot of love to give,” she said.

I mention our dog is a rescue, a tad beyond her second birthday, and highly affectionate.

“Ah, rescues,” she said. “I’ve always felt they always have more love to give. Like they know they’ve been saved and want to pay you back.”

Our dog, a mixed breed of an Australian Kelpie and Border Collie, is never short on energy or making a new friend. Her paws carefully wrap the woman’s arms as her head extends upward, unleashing another flurry of pink kisses.

The woman stands back up.

“We’ve always had rescues,” she said. “Three dogs and a half-dozen or so cats over the years. We love to welcome them into our family.”

She mentions she recently had to put down a pair of her cats.

“Broke my heart, but they were both with us for so many years. At least now they are out of pain and in a better place.”

“We are going to give it a bit of time,” she said. “But I know we’ll be back at the shelter again soon. I’m sure someone is waiting for me to give them a loving home.”

Her words move me. We’ve always had a dog in the house as the kids grew up. But our newest addition is our first rescue; the others picked from a litter.

My wife and I are in a stage of life with more bedrooms than occupants. The kids, raised with since passed dogs, are now adults and live in different time zones from us.

I’m not sure where the conversation began last year, but my wife and I talked about bringing another dog into the home. And if you’ve been down this road, you know the home never feels the same without one.

One day I called her while I was out of town.

“You won’t believe what I have in the car,” she said. Her voice was like a kid with their first fish on the line. “A puppy!”

And following her two-hour sunrise drive to a distant shelter, she was heading home with a life-changer for us.

As much as our new family member’s life changed, ours changed more. Her love melted my sharp edges, and her infectious attitude to life altered my personality. If there was ever a canine soulmate, she quickly became mine.

So as much as the woman in the lobby may be right about rescues being more thankful, in an odd twist, I feel as if it is me who was rescued. And for that, I am forever grateful.

-30-

HIking with Luna in Palo Duro Canyon State Park, TX