Coming home...

"No one realizes how beautiful it is to travel until he comes 

home and rests his head on his old, familiar pillow."

- Lyn Yutang

Hotels are pretty much the same.  It really doesn’t matter much once the lights are out.  It is usually about the bed…maybe the desk…maybe the Internet...yeah, the Internet. 

The week had been busy, and at week’s end there was that trip to Chicago. The flight scheduled for Thursday…but something was wrong.  You know…that nagging undercurrent that some balance has shifted…a change has occurred.  The email on Friday confirmed it.

A few days earlier…

There was another week in another part of the country that had also gotten under way, with another fellow preparing for a trip.  It had been a hard week – you know the kind.  It had followed a hard week before and one before that.  When weeks and months have been difficult, the exhaustion becomes almost routine…the sense of fatigue so bone penetrating that there appears to be no hope.

This fellow’s trip had been a long time coming and he deserved it…it had been earned the old-fashioned way…hard work, integrity, virtue, honesty…all of the things that when exercised on a regular basis form character.  Character??  His life defined it!

In many ways both of these fellows were looking forward to their flight.  Neither would need to pack a lot…there wasn’t much required at the other end.  One was leaving home…the other going home.

Both trips had itineraries…a sense of meaning, but in the end, one would mean more.

That is the thing about going out and coming home, isn’t it?  The excitement of a new place…a new adventure…the experiences yet unknown…the place untested.  When the journey has been completed, it is time to come home…for the traveler, there is little better than coming home…

It’s hard to know how or why…

The thing about these two men is that they were friends.  One a little older than the other – he reached out first.  The older fellow was Jim Priester…the younger me, and it had begun with a phone call in the fall of 1964. It came after a heart breaking weekend loss to our chief rival football team on a sunny Saturday afternoon.

“Hi Ted, this is Coach Priester (coach of the rival team).”  “I heard Coach Feltz (my team) didn’t get that touchdown on film.  We got it and I thought you might like to see it.”  Just as the first half of the football game ended, I had caught one of those long, long passes – the kind every kid dreams about – and scored a touchdown. The film from our cameras had run out before the play.  The rival’s had not!  The next evening I was in Priester’s home watching that film!  Who was this man??

There was something about Priester that struck my heart like a marksman’s bullet…straight and true.  He had singled me out…made me feel special.  I thought it was me, but in fact it was him.  I had simply found myself ‘in the sights’ of his gift…his calling – the cultivation and guidance of young men.  In fact, as it turns out, I was only one of uncounted numbers of young men who were influenced by this man.  I’ve known many gifted motivators in my time…Priester was the best of them all.

This small gesture began a relationship that would continue for decades.  There weren’t long hours spent together – really not much in the way of quantity at all.  It was just that in the most critical of moments, when important course corrections were needed, this man emerged. 

It takes more than a village…

Success in anyone’s life comes on the shoulders of many people, and in truth it would take a fairly large concert hall to hold all of those who are responsible for my journey.  However, when standing on those shoulders, it is those near the bottom that form the foundation. 

There would be no way to know at the time how significant this man would be in my life, nor would there be time or space now to write about how his influence rippled through the decades.  In those days, his gift seemed to be always ‘at the ready.’  It was smooth, practiced, direct, always seeming to know exactly what was needed.  Each time, his encouragement was significant, and in the end it altered the course of my life.

Oh yeah, the flight…

The attendants on my flight were friendly and pleasant – that’s really their business, you know.  They greeted me with a smile and welcome me aboard.  They pointed me down the aisle toward my seat. I took my place, fastened the seatbelt and waited for the flight to take off.

Jim’s flight had a little more personal touch.  He was tired as he made his way down the entryway.  As he stepped on board, it wasn’t the flight attendant that greeted him…it was the captain.  It was a warm greeting as the pilot gathered Jim in his arms and held him closely for his flight home.  This would be the last flight from this dimension of time and space…he would be landing in a different place.

The email was short and direct…

I had been in meetings all day and it was dark when I saw the message in the ‘in-box.’ It had been there from the morning.

“Ted - Thought you would want to know – Stan” 

I read the accompanying obituary, and turned off the lights in my room.  In the quiet darkness of that place, the image of his gentle face slipped softly into my mind and I wept.  I wept for the family he left behind, who had loved him so deeply, and who had carried the burden of his care in recent years…I wept for all those whose lives had been touched by him…I wept for his courage and faith…the nagging undercurrent the past couple of days had been correct – the balance had shifted…I wept for me.

Over the years, I have studied and accumulated the language of faith.  I know the words and have used them many times myself…but what do I really know?  I know this…in the sorrow and pain of loss, there is freedom…in the desperate desire to understand, there is faith…in the despair of the empty heart, there is love.

Most reading this never knew Jim Priester, but in fact, anyone who has known me has met this man…anyone who has seen the twinkle in my eye, has seen part of the twinkle in his…anyone who has felt any assurance or easy calm in me, has felt part of him.  It has been said, we are the accumulation of all those we have known in our lives...some hold more than space others.  In the quality of my life, he held much…

You may never have known this man, but I am certain there is a ‘Jim Priester’ somewhere in your life…along your journey.  I am certain God has a way of putting these people along the way…to be there when we “…hunger and thirst…” And so in this time of loss I also rejoice for the honor of having known and walked part of my life’s path with this generous and thoughtful soul…

- ted

Life and the desert...

“Once again there was the desert, 

and that only.” 

- Stephen King, The Gunslinger

“Wear light colored clothing to reflect the sun; take plenty of water…drink it before you get thirsty; wear a broad brimmed had to protect your head AND the back of your neck; never put your hand somewhere where you cannot see.”

These are basic instructions when hiking in the desert – a good place to start…a few simple guidelines.

There are people who know these things…people who have learned through experience, that nature has no conscience – it has a rhythm, that when honored, makes it a wonderful place to visit.  When dishonored or ignored, can be dangerous…sometimes lethal.  Following a few basic instructions can make a desert experience safer and enjoyable.  Unexpected challenges might – probably will – occur, but an “…ounce of prevention…” is surely “…money in the bank…” toward the solution of an unexpected problem!  If you are respectful, it is a spectacularly beautiful place. 

The Anza-Borrego desert, in San Diego County, is a hot place in the summer – as high as 107 degrees (41.6C).  One would think in this kind of heat, with sand and rocks everywhere, that it would a desolate place…one would be wrong!

The desert is absolutely teeming with life.  There are almost innumerable cactus, bushes and small scrub trees.  There is life almost everywhere, from the tiniest of lizards, spiders and broad varieties of insects, to birds, coyotes, jackrabbits, big horn sheep and the occasional mountain lion.  They say the mountain lions typically stay away from people unless they are desperately hungry.  They say if you come across a desperately hungry mountain lion…well, it just isn’t your day!  Yes sir, if you miss that mountain lion, and take a few precautions, the desert is about as interesting a place as you could imagine!

Borrego Springs is a small town sitting on the northwestern edge of the Anza-Borrego desert.  It gets its name because of the natural source of water that comes from underground to sustain this community, and as you drive down the winding mountain road leading to the desert floor, the brownish colored basin is dotted with patches of green where there is naturally occurring water around which this community exists.

 

This past week I was in the desert for a few hours with a newly discovered friend – the son of a close friend from Denmark.  He had just finished a year as an exchange student a little north of Los Angeles, and came to spend a few days.  Since the deserts in Denmark are very small  - in fact, practically impossible to find – it seemed like a good idea to visit the desert to give him an idea what a real desert is like!  Our goal would be a 3mile (4.8km) round trip hike, in a canyon, to a spring surrounded by a grove of palm trees.

It was 97 degrees (36C) when Andreas and I got to the trailhead at 9am. We were prepared…the water, the hats, the clothing.  As we started out, a group of locals were just finishing their morning hike, and a fellow with three children from Virginia were just getting ready to head out on the trail.

The locals?  They ‘finished’ their hike by 9am…they knew the best war is the one not fought…they understood and were done before the day got really hot.

The family from Virginia?  They were wearing dark clothing, and only the dad had a hat – a black baseball cap.  I mentioned to them, how quickly one can lose body water in the desert and how hats might be helpful.  He smiled politely, indicated they would be okay, and gently dismissed my concerns.  What can you do?

Off we went.  There were two trails in…one was fairly easy…the other a little more challenging.  We took the fairly easy one in…the more difficult one out.  It was a 45 minute hike each way.

The goal was the Oasis and it was wonderful – a stand of large palm trees and a cool breeze coming down the canyon right through the grove.  We closed our eyes, and quieted our minds for a few minutes.  In the focus of the gentle breaths and darkness, the oasis came alive with the sounds of birds and insects and water gently bubbling along…you know the idea, the quieter you become, the more you hear!

The time together was excellent.  In spite of our age difference (65 and 16 respectively), we found a resonance…an easy rhythm of conversation…you know, the kind that isn’t forced…the kind that just happens.  Yep, those are the ones I like!

That Virginia family?  They arrived at the Oasis about 20 minutes or so after we did.  They were exceedingly grateful for the relatively cool shade the palms afforded.  We chatted with them for a few minutes and then headed back to the trailhead.  We didn’t see them again, but as we finished our hike, we came across a Park Ranger and let her know they were in the canyon, just so someone would keep an eye out for them.  We were hoping for them it would not be a "...bad day..."

Time, gravity and my thoughts...

On the drive home, I thought about how the desert is a great metaphor for life itself.  On balance, while it can be a wonderful journey, there are a few simple things that can make it a little better.  Be prepared for the things you know you will encounter…find people who have been on the trail for a while to get a sense of the kinds of things to look out for.  Be sure to arm yourself with the proper ‘clothing’ (skill set of some kind) to navigate through the challenges that present themselves. Find people with whom you can have those easy and comfortable conversations…build friendships throughout the experiences.  Unexpected challenges occur, and sometimes bad outcomes are unavoidable…those simply are ‘…not our day…’  At the end of the trail, if one has been respectful, the journey can be spectacular!

- ted

The answer is yes...

 “Nothing ever is, but is always becoming”

 - Plato, Theaetetus

Sometimes you get a win when you know you are in the game, understand the rules, and you’re focused…you recognize life rewards action, and for achievement, it is necessary to step up to the plate.

There are other times when you get an unexpected win…when you are unaware the game is actually on.  You know the idea – ‘opportunity…recognition’ meeting ‘preparation.’

I don’t know about you, but the unexpected…the unguarded moments – the things that happen in the peripheral vision – often become the most memorable, or at the very least add the ‘character actors’ for the story to have…well, character!

It was just a lunch…

I was in Santa Barbara on business and out to a late lunch with my colleague and old friend Kerri – it was good to catch up.  Sometime in the past, she had befriended a gal in San Diego who she had not seen in over a decade.  The woman now lived in Santa Barbara.  On a whim, Kerri called her…it was the whim, as it so often is, that provided, what turned out to be one of those wonderful and unexpected experiences.

An arrangement to meet was struck, but there was the issue of what to do with me…an unplanned vestige of a late ‘soup and half turkey sandwich!’  Kerri made a quick mental calculation and I was invited…well, it was more like I was instructed (I’m smiling here) “We’re going to meet my friend and her partner Debra,” Kerri announced.  “Okay,” I replied, and an hour later, in an Irish Pub, the evening unfolded.

If you are the curious sort, you will understand this.  Erica was the partner, and before I knew what she did for a living, I knew she wasn’t exactly what she seemed.  She was middle-tall, piercing eyes and slight of build, but when I shook her hand…when I shook her hand, I knew something was up.  It was firm, strong and in the only way I can describe it…a thoughtful hand.  I tucked that away in my “hmmmm, that’s interesting” file.  When I later discovered she was a massage therapist, the “hmmmm” notation slipped into my “Oh, I get it” file. 

As we chatted, I discovered she was also trained in Reiki – an energy transfer technique of Japanese Buddhist root, and Rolfing – in its most elemental form, a technique for the release of restricted connective tissue.  She had been a tennis pro in her youth and still had that air of quiet but determined confidence.  She continued the tennis connection by working tournaments as a therapist.  It became clear, however, in the course of our conversation, that in fact she was none of the above.  She was more…she was gifted and she was a healer.

In my work, I come across a lot of people who are really good at what they do, particularly when it comes to the management of back and neck problems.  I come across a lot of people who have been successful in their work…I seldom come across a healer.

Can you hear the phone?

In our education system, we prepare young people to teach, or become engineers, or physicians or lawyers.  Maybe we learn a manual or technical skill.  We do this because we can systematize certain proficiencies and pass them on to people, for whom those skills contribute to the common good.  There is a difference, however, between one who ‘learns’ to teach and one who is ‘called’ to teach…whose task in the universe is to educate, AND when a person finds the place for which they have been called…for those few, part of life’s mystery is revealed.  It is a mystery, because we don't know how to teach people to find their calling...seeking and finding it is often a hard, and sometimes painful journey.

It didn’t take very long in conversation to discover this quiet, thoughtful woman had ‘found the place’ for which she had been called…it was comforting and inspiring.  For you see when you find this sort of person, you benefit from them, no matter the interaction.

Next up…

In the ebb and flow of the evening, Kerri’s friend Debra and I began to interact.  She was outgoing, quick-witted, proactive in the conversation and had quite story to tell.  Debra had managed her own band for many years, doing what she loved…making music.  Struck as a child, she learned to play many instruments as she grew into what she would become – a musician.  Eventually she drifted away from the band and began writing commercial music for, well, just about every thing…in practically every genre…for her a primal impulse (my interpretation), not a career. 

She had the ease of the professional athlete, or artist, or actor, or minister, or teacher...the kind of individual you know innately has felt and followed the 'call.’ You know they cultivated a skill through thousands upon thousands of hours, the accumulation of which is expressed with each succeeding moment…Debra could write.  Give her a scenario, a style, a context, rhythm, tempo – whatever, and she could write the song.   She played a few pieces for us on her iPhone, in this crowed Irish Pub and, through her gift, reached right through my ears, into my brain and touched my heart…it was her rhythm…her gift…her calling.  It was a revelation to me of creation of life that was ‘her.’

I am not sure Erica and Debra could have been much different…well, maybe they could, but clearly they were dissimilar…that is to my eye and to my ear…But to my spirit? Ah, now that is a very different story.  Debra could write songs, but she was not a songwriter…she may not have been a healer, in the sense of Erica, but if music can sooth the savage beast…gifted music that is…Debra had found the sweet spot.  Like Erica, she had found her place…her rhythm…her calling.

It was good for me…

Life has the most curious way of rewarding us.  When I meet truly gifted people…that breed who sacrifice all for ‘the call,’ the ones who cannot resist their place in the universe, I have mixed emotions.  They represent all that I aspire to.  Not their particular gift, but for finding my place.  In addition they remind me I have so much more to pursue…so much more to try to understand…so much more to…

I was also reminded, yet once again, the importance of saying yes.  It would have been easier to simply head back to the hotel leaving Kerri to her revisit with that old friend.  The miss would have been the result of a simple two letter word: no.  On the other hand, had I looked for this opportunity…had I tried to manufacture this event…had I deliberately…had I…I

That is the point, isn’t it?  The ‘I’ is the second key here.  One might argue it is the ‘I’ that often inhibits the joy, the opportunity, and the reward that God has for us, because frankly, the ‘I’ simply gets in the way.

Stepping away from me - the 'I' - ever so briefly and saying yes, changed everything, and provided the unanticipated and joyful opportunity to engage two richly…slowly…deliberately and deeply cultivated gifts that had found their place in life.

It is hard to not try and control the events of our lives, the nuances of our day to day activity.  Maybe, however, there is a different plan somewhere…maybe letting go from time to time can bring unexpected rewards…it is those small rewards for which I live.

- ted

I don't know...do you?

“Knowing others requires paying attention,

paying attention takes time…”

 - anonymous

I have a niece with whom I have the most rewarding of relationships.  When she was a little girl we found a rhythm…a special place really, where I suppose we just knew each other…maybe it is that we wanted to know each other.  I can’t remember having a forced conversation, or that I felt obligated to carry the conversation…somehow, from very early on it just was…At the age of 28 (hers) the only thing that has changed is the content and cadence from time to time, but not that connection…

This leads to the confession meant to dispel the myth young people have of their elders…maybe just older people.  The myth?  That somehow with age comes ‘the’ understanding of life. You know…somehow older folk have figured it out.

When I was young, my father was bigger than life…a giant, not just in size, but it seemed he knew EVERYTHING.  While I was trying to figure life out, it was clear to me that he already knew…well all the answers.  I felt this way because there was almost never a hesitation in his responses to my questions, given with a sense of assurance, that made me look forward to becoming just like him.

As life rushed at me with the speed of light, the challenges a little more complicated, the aura of my dad remained…better said, and this is key, I kept the aura of him in my mind.  An image…and like the images we often create in our minds it was simplified and tucked it away in the ‘…secure place...’ the ‘…this is the way things are…’ room.  Often once the image is stored, it becomes a static file…a ‘byte’ of information requiring deliberate events to be updated.  Updating an image of one's father or mother or anyone for that matter, takes time…perspective…a different place in the journey.

Briefly during my teenage years, you know, the era of ultimate enlightenment and raging hormones, this image got updated – rather downgraded. I was pretty sure my dad, for all his assurance really didn’t know very much…his ‘bandwidth’ seem to be pretty thin.  I mean, when you now realize you understand most things, parents are so…so, you know – yesterday!

Then somewhere in my mid-twenties, after the Vietnam experience, my dad got pretty smart.  I had more unresolved questions, and what seemed quite sudden; his bandwidth appeared to have grown exponentially.  His thoughts were suddenly richer…his understanding deeper…his sense of life more thoughtful.  In many ways, in spite of having outgrown him by seven full inches, he became even bigger than before.

But then something else began to happen…I got into my late 30s and discovered life was not as clear as it had seemed in my teens and twenties – the answers I had relied on, less and less secure…and my dad?  He had become ill and seemed more uncertain of the answers he had given to me as a youngster, teen and young adult. 

My father looked less a giant with a never-ending wealth of knowledge and understanding of life…morphing into something different, something more…a human being.  The paradox – maybe the revelation – from this point on the pathway of life changed the view.  Now his humanity, his failing health, his diminished capacity, and slipping away from the vitality and power of his life, upgraded the image from a series of ‘still photos’ to a moving picture – like the rapid flipping of pictures that make images appear alive and moving.   The words of the apostle Paul took on a sense of meaning for the first time – “…when I am weak, then am I strong…”

My father had entered into life just like his son…grasping at whatever seemed consistent and secure.  I realized – maybe with purpose…maybe not – he had created a barrier to his humanity, or maybe better said, I had created a barrier to it through the snapshots I had tucked away in the reference library of my mind.  At the very time he was slipping away, I had the intense desire to know him better.  In truth, it would years after his death while reading the dozens and dozens of letters he wrote, for me to get better insight into this man.

The niece…

You see, in the middle of my sixth decade, I really don’t know much more than I did when I was in my first few.  I’ve learned to recognize some patterns to life and figured out how to find a little order to the chaos.  I appreciate, with greater respect, the fragility of the journey with little guarantee of the next breath.

One thing I do know, however, is that I have worked diligently to keep whatever images of me my niece has in her mind, as fluid as possible.  I have taken the proactive stance to try and ensure she knows my humanity, my misgivings, my sense of the great unknown…I want to make whatever journey we have together just that…together.  I want her to see me as she sees herself…curious, frail, thoughtful, full of wonderment, with a sense of the microcosmic space we inhabit and the macrocosmic capacity for unlimited possibility.

Indeed, it is my hope for those that know me, the images are more than just snapshots…

- ted