A Conversation with Myself

Him – Lets go hiking this weekend.

Her – Sure. I’d like that.

Him – We could go up to Pilot Mountain. The same trail we did last time.

Her – Sounds good.

Him – Maybe we will beat last week’s time!

Her – Why is it always a competition with you?

Him – What? I’m not trying to beat you.

Her – Not me. Why is always about performance, being better.

Him – Huh? Something wrong with wanting to be better?

Her – That’s not the point. Why can’t you just be…

Him – I am…being better!

Her – Not funny. I give up…

Him – Sorry. Seriously, I don’t follow you.

Her – Why can’t you – we – us just be on a hike? Why does it always have to be about performance, accomplishment? Can’t you just be?

Him – Of course. I am being, I guess. You mean like being one with nature? Meditation and all that?

Her – No. Never mind.

Him – Ok. I don’t have to push for a better time. You can lead. You can set the pace.

Her – Fine…

Him – Look, seriously, it isn’t that important. I really just like hiking with you. I like the way you talk about all sorts of things, and I like listening. I really like being with…

Her – Yes??

Him – I just got it.

Her – Good. So we can just hike together?

Him – Yes. But, we still might make good time.

Her – You’re impossible.

Give Yourself 3 Minutes - NOW!

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When I'm not blogging, writing, being poetic or quoting famous people, I earn a living as a sales professional. If you would like to have a glimpse into my work, click over to Sales Management 2.0 and have a listen.

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Quoting

"It is a paradoxical but profoundly true and important principle of life that the most likely way to reach a goal is to be aiming not at that goal itself but at some more ambitious goal beyond it."

  - Arnold Toynbee

Birthday Song

Today is my Birthday, so I'm singing this special birthday song.

"Thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis is your birthday song,

It isn't very long."

Bye.

Quoting

Stuffed deer heads on walls are bad enough, but it's worse when they are wearing dark glasses and have streamers in their antlers because then you know they were enjoying themselves at a party when they were shot.
  - Ellen DeGeneres

Quoting

If a man is offered a fact which goes against his instincts, he will scrutinize it closely, and unless the evidence is overwhelming, he will refuse to believe it. If, on the other hand, he is offered something which affords a reason for acting in accordance to his instincts, he will accept it even on the slightest evidence. The origin of myths is explained in this way.
  - Bertrand Russell

Spring has sprung

The view from my front yard...

Repost - Sacred Moment

I saw the face of God the other day. 

I was in a stranger’s home, where my new work often takes me, and was taken by an unframed painting hanging in the foyer. After dealing with several matters of business, I could not help but ask.

Me: I hate to pry, but who did that painting?

Proud Mother: My daughter. 

Me: It is lovely, very moving, actually.

Proud Mother: That one over there was the first painting she ever did. (She pointed toward the dining room)

I am a father. I have seen the ‘firsts’ of a lot of things. My daughter is a good artist, and her first attempts look just like that: efforts that show promise, but lack the presence of an educated and trained talent. This painting showed nothing, and I mean nothing, of being a first, except the first masterpiece. I then heard how this young artist had never as much as drawn a stick figure (beyond childhood), nor shown any interest in art until her senior year in high school. Her family had moved her to North Carolina from New York the summer before her senior year and she reacted as one might expect. To make matters worse, not only had she been ‘forced’ to leave her friends and classmates, because of the North Carolina educational requirements, she had to take two art classes, one a junior class and the other a sophomore introductory art class. After a brief introduction to the use of canvas and paint, she had responded to her first assignment with a painting, a painting that now held me captive. Her muse had been a photo taken of her cradling her cat. She had decided to paint the self portrait and replace the cat with an infant child.

I wish you could see the work as it is now permanently burned upon the canvas of my mind. I wish I could post a photo of it for you to see. I wish that my ability to write could come even within a universe of describing what I saw hanging on the wall in that home. I wish you could feel the chills running up your skin as I did. I wish that every human could see the wonder and awe of the creative moment that she managed to capture. It is pure beauty. I long to describe what I saw, but alas I cannot. I will simply honor the wonder and miracle of that moment when the efforts of a young woman captured for me and gifted me in that moment of time with a glimpse of the Divine.

I saw the face of God the other day.

A Writer's Block of Stone - Public Journey #001-2

I'm a bit late with the second phase my public writing journey. Here is what I've 'carved' from the raw block of words - so far.

I grew up in Myrtle Beach, SC one of the largest beach tourist destinations on the east coast. In many ways I was a beach rat, spending my summers working at my family’s ocean front hotels and making friends with our weekly guests, and their daughters. Mine was a life filled with those summer days of youthful zeal, sun-tanned skin, wind blown hair and new beginnings. Every week was a new start with clean rooms and new guests. The four month vacation season dominated all that we did. It seemed that school, and all things winter, were simply the time we spent remembering or preparing for summer. Summer was our time. Summer was the time when we thrived economically and personally. I always lived in summer. The heat of the sun blazed down from the sky and up from the sand. The sea tossed its mist into our air and we breathed in the damp essence of life. Living so close to the sea, we drew our life from it day in and day out. The sea held us and brought life to us. Its vast reservoir, pulsing with each tide, offered to and collected from everything it touched. It is this giving and collecting, that I have witness many times.

The sea gives. My grandfather and father were both sailors. Their comfort with the sea and its gifts of food and fellowship were passed to me. I can remember the day my brother and I spent a day catching hundreds of small ‘spots’ only to face the task of scaling and cleaning them into the night. My grandfather taught us that day about finishing the tasks we started and about the sequence of work to reward. It was fun to catch. It was work to clean. We had to do both to eat. It was the sea, as it lingered in the marsh and inlets that gave us this opportunity.

The sea gives. I have witnessed many occasions of children and adults finding the sea for the first time. They had been inlanders all of their life and never seen the sea. That seems strange to me, even now. What a change of perspective that must be – to see the sea, to see and feel for the first time the sea from which we are created…