There's a great line in the movie Fast Times at Ridgemont High when Sean Penn's character says, "But, Mr. Hand! If you're here, and we're here, isn't it our time?"
After almost two years of every waking moment seeming like it was someone else's time, I'm going off the grid with the family. We're just going to hang out for 8 days. No PC. No BlackBerry. No e-mail, no voice-mail, no nothing.
No golf. No schedules. No calendar.
No pressure. No deadlines.
We'll eat when we're hungry. We'll play when we feel playful and we'll sleep when we feel sleepy.
Yes, it will be our time, but, selfishly, it's going to feel a lot like my time.
I can't wait.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Thursday, April 9, 2009
72 Hours, 2009 years
To one who has Faith, no explanation is necessary. To one without Faith, no explanation is possible.” (St. Thomas Aquinas)
What we believe dictates what we can accomplish. What we Believe, dictates who we are. What can be explained – moreover what needs to be explained, well, that’s a sole product of the Faith we have -- or don't have -- in what we Believe. That’s true in the work context, and it’s true on the broader canvas of life.
In honor of the events of the next three days, both in 2009 and some 2009 years ago, this quote, my Good Friday staple, is a good one to consider.
It takes courage to believe to the point that no explanation is necessary. Conversely, the sense of emptiness that must come from requiring an explanation for everything must be virtually debilitating. Another of my favorite quotes (I think it was Einstein of Franklin, or maybe even Thomas Jefferson, one o' them way-smart dudes) is that "not everything that counts can be counted and not everything that can be counted counts."
2009 years ago an average carpenter was nailed to a cross and he died. By that act, we are saved and we are forgiven. Not only does that count, but it defies explanation. Three days later, that carpenter rolled away a massive boulder covering his tomb, spoke with several of his friend, and then ascended to Heaven. It all defies explanation, and I am 100% committed to the belief that it is true, and that no further explanation can make it any more -- or any less -- true.
Simple. Undeniable. Inexplicable. Awesome.
Happy Easter.
What we believe dictates what we can accomplish. What we Believe, dictates who we are. What can be explained – moreover what needs to be explained, well, that’s a sole product of the Faith we have -- or don't have -- in what we Believe. That’s true in the work context, and it’s true on the broader canvas of life.
In honor of the events of the next three days, both in 2009 and some 2009 years ago, this quote, my Good Friday staple, is a good one to consider.
It takes courage to believe to the point that no explanation is necessary. Conversely, the sense of emptiness that must come from requiring an explanation for everything must be virtually debilitating. Another of my favorite quotes (I think it was Einstein of Franklin, or maybe even Thomas Jefferson, one o' them way-smart dudes) is that "not everything that counts can be counted and not everything that can be counted counts."
2009 years ago an average carpenter was nailed to a cross and he died. By that act, we are saved and we are forgiven. Not only does that count, but it defies explanation. Three days later, that carpenter rolled away a massive boulder covering his tomb, spoke with several of his friend, and then ascended to Heaven. It all defies explanation, and I am 100% committed to the belief that it is true, and that no further explanation can make it any more -- or any less -- true.
Simple. Undeniable. Inexplicable. Awesome.
Happy Easter.
Monday, April 6, 2009
The Second Week in April
This week is sorta big for me, really.
It features two events of religious significance for me. Sunday is Easter Sunday, arguably the most significant religious holiday (OK, not arguably, in my eyes, but I do make the occasional attempt to be politically correct) now, where was I? Ah, yes, Easter Sunday is the most significant religious holiday of the year. That sunrise service just resonates the themes of resurrection and redemption, or for the kids, who are too young to completely grasp the whole idea of sacrifice, Resurrection and redemption, their tradition is multi-colored plastic eggs filled with enough crap to give them tummy aches for weeks. Still, all in, the Easter observance, the traditions around it and the season in which it falls -- Spring -- all cast palpable reminders of redemption and starting anew. It is my favorite holiday by far, and certainly the most significant.
This year, it coincides with The Masters, golf's marquee event. This one is "religious" in quotation marks. (See "unhealthy attachment" in the next sentence...)
In 1986, I hadn't yet begun to play the game, let alone establish what my wife now calls an "unhealthy attachment" to it. And, as I left for a softball game on that second Sunday in April, I glanced at my TV to see that Jack Nicklaus was "out of the running." Two hours later, I returned, flipped on the TV to see him walking up the hill on #18 with tears in his eyes, and realized in an instant that I had missed one of sports' defining moments. (Not the sport of golf, but sport...as in all of 'em.) No TIVO then, and it so happens I was one of the 93% of people who hadn't yet learned to run their VCR, so thank heavens for Golf Channel Classics!
They tie together for me; Easter, hugely significant in the grand scheme of life, and The Masters, significant in the grand scheme of enjoying that life while we're tied to this rock. Each Spring, I am reminded of the redemption and the resurrection that guarantees it, and I am reminded that Faith, the kind with the upper-case "F" is at the core of everything. And, each Spring, I meet my buddy Tony at the club, and we watch a weekday afternoon's worth of the Masters, invariably mentioning that day in 1986 when golf began to matter for me, and invariably reminded that faith, the kind with the lower-case "f," is at the core of accomplishing great things, even in the face of long odds.
It's going to be a good week...
It features two events of religious significance for me. Sunday is Easter Sunday, arguably the most significant religious holiday (OK, not arguably, in my eyes, but I do make the occasional attempt to be politically correct) now, where was I? Ah, yes, Easter Sunday is the most significant religious holiday of the year. That sunrise service just resonates the themes of resurrection and redemption, or for the kids, who are too young to completely grasp the whole idea of sacrifice, Resurrection and redemption, their tradition is multi-colored plastic eggs filled with enough crap to give them tummy aches for weeks. Still, all in, the Easter observance, the traditions around it and the season in which it falls -- Spring -- all cast palpable reminders of redemption and starting anew. It is my favorite holiday by far, and certainly the most significant.
This year, it coincides with The Masters, golf's marquee event. This one is "religious" in quotation marks. (See "unhealthy attachment" in the next sentence...)
In 1986, I hadn't yet begun to play the game, let alone establish what my wife now calls an "unhealthy attachment" to it. And, as I left for a softball game on that second Sunday in April, I glanced at my TV to see that Jack Nicklaus was "out of the running." Two hours later, I returned, flipped on the TV to see him walking up the hill on #18 with tears in his eyes, and realized in an instant that I had missed one of sports' defining moments. (Not the sport of golf, but sport...as in all of 'em.) No TIVO then, and it so happens I was one of the 93% of people who hadn't yet learned to run their VCR, so thank heavens for Golf Channel Classics!
They tie together for me; Easter, hugely significant in the grand scheme of life, and The Masters, significant in the grand scheme of enjoying that life while we're tied to this rock. Each Spring, I am reminded of the redemption and the resurrection that guarantees it, and I am reminded that Faith, the kind with the upper-case "F" is at the core of everything. And, each Spring, I meet my buddy Tony at the club, and we watch a weekday afternoon's worth of the Masters, invariably mentioning that day in 1986 when golf began to matter for me, and invariably reminded that faith, the kind with the lower-case "f," is at the core of accomplishing great things, even in the face of long odds.
It's going to be a good week...
Friday, April 3, 2009
Masters Week Next Week: Phil Mickelson and Proud Fathers
I met Phil Mickelson by chance near the players entrance a few years back at the US Open at Olympia Fields in Chicago. He's been my favorite golfer for years, and when I told him that, he said, "Thanks very much! Do you mind if I ask why?"
I told him that I liked it that he acknowledged the fans and that he just generally carried himself well. That when some idiot reporter asked him about the pressure of making a putt or scrambling for a par, he tended to answer by saying how fortunate he was to be able to play a game for a living. When someone asked him, "Would you really leave the US Open (the year he finished runner-up to Payne Stewart when his wife, Amy, was about to have their first baby) for the birth of your child?" he said, "Yes. There will be other US Opens."
I told him that it occurred to me that every time his Dad saw him on TV that he must be really proud of Phil, and that it would be pretty cool if my son grew up to conduct himself similarly.
"Thank you very much," Mickelson said, "that's very kind of you to say that." If his dad had been watching us, I think he'd have been really proud of his son.
Last year, when our then-five-year-old son won the 7-year-old flight Club Championship at our Club, he ran to give a high five and congratulate his buddy, Zach, who finished third. Then he whispered to me, "Daddy, did I really get first place?" When I told him he really did, he looked up and whispered, "Shweeeeet!"
His dad was really proud.
I wonder if, and hope that my dad is, too.
I told him that I liked it that he acknowledged the fans and that he just generally carried himself well. That when some idiot reporter asked him about the pressure of making a putt or scrambling for a par, he tended to answer by saying how fortunate he was to be able to play a game for a living. When someone asked him, "Would you really leave the US Open (the year he finished runner-up to Payne Stewart when his wife, Amy, was about to have their first baby) for the birth of your child?" he said, "Yes. There will be other US Opens."
I told him that it occurred to me that every time his Dad saw him on TV that he must be really proud of Phil, and that it would be pretty cool if my son grew up to conduct himself similarly.
"Thank you very much," Mickelson said, "that's very kind of you to say that." If his dad had been watching us, I think he'd have been really proud of his son.
Last year, when our then-five-year-old son won the 7-year-old flight Club Championship at our Club, he ran to give a high five and congratulate his buddy, Zach, who finished third. Then he whispered to me, "Daddy, did I really get first place?" When I told him he really did, he looked up and whispered, "Shweeeeet!"
His dad was really proud.
I wonder if, and hope that my dad is, too.
Obamanomics; Like April in Wisconsin
Today, I sat down and figured out how much our new President has committed me to in order to pay for all the flawed bailouts he's proposing. It made me sad.
Then I subtracted how much more he's going to take from me in each of the next four years. (Eight? No, please!) It made me really sad.
Next, I penned off a few quick notes to let the charities I have supported so generously know that I'll be sending much less this year than last, but that they could sure feel free to reach out to Barack and Nancy and the gang to try to get it from them. That made me sick.
In desperation, I thought about how safe we had been since 9/11, and tried to take refuge in that comfort, until I realized that defense wasn't going to see a dime of benefit from the tripling of our defecit and that none of the pork he was proposing was going to feed our brave, fighting men and women. That made me scared.
Finally, I reflected on how badly I had wanted him to be successful, even though I didn't vote for him, and how dissapointed I already was, and how the next three years and nine months were going to be a lot like April in Wisconsin. Bleak, cold, and windy. That made me angry.
Then I subtracted how much more he's going to take from me in each of the next four years. (Eight? No, please!) It made me really sad.
Next, I penned off a few quick notes to let the charities I have supported so generously know that I'll be sending much less this year than last, but that they could sure feel free to reach out to Barack and Nancy and the gang to try to get it from them. That made me sick.
In desperation, I thought about how safe we had been since 9/11, and tried to take refuge in that comfort, until I realized that defense wasn't going to see a dime of benefit from the tripling of our defecit and that none of the pork he was proposing was going to feed our brave, fighting men and women. That made me scared.
Finally, I reflected on how badly I had wanted him to be successful, even though I didn't vote for him, and how dissapointed I already was, and how the next three years and nine months were going to be a lot like April in Wisconsin. Bleak, cold, and windy. That made me angry.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Speed Kills
“Scientists tell us that the fastest animal on earth, with a top speed of 120 feet per second, is a cow that has been dropped out of a helicopter.”
- Dave Barry
“It is not by muscle, speed, or physical dexterity that great things are achieved, but by reflection, force of character and judgment.”
- Marcus Tullius Cicero
Speed kills. That’s what Mom told me for the two years leading up to me getting my drivers license back in 1977, and for the 30 years thereafter, until her death in 2006. She always wondered why it took me less than six hours to get to the farm, while it took her and Dad some 7 + hours to get to our house.
“Um, Mom...well, you see, I drive really, really fast. That scholarship the Iowa Highway Patrol gives at our high school? I fund that.”
Speed, I trick myself in to thinking, allows me to squeeze two days in to one. Five weeks in to a month. Yadda, yadda, yadda. The “illness of the urgent” keeps muscling the “clarity of the important” in to the wall in turn #3, and we tend to come limping past the checkered flag all smoke and sparks and carnage as a result.
I did it twice today, that I am aware of. “How quickly can you get me that?” I asked someone...
I wonder what it'd be like if we strived for a scenario where we asked, “How long do you need to really do this to the best of your ability?” or “When are you comfortable that you could have the best possible plan for that issue?”
I wonder what it would feel like to finish the race, or a lap, for that matter, hitting on all eight cylinders, engine humming, low to the ground and really screaming along with no sign of damage apparent.
I wonder if time spent on reflection, force of character and judgment, wouldn’t help us feel less like the cow dropped from the helicopter.
Just sayin’…
- Dave Barry
“It is not by muscle, speed, or physical dexterity that great things are achieved, but by reflection, force of character and judgment.”
- Marcus Tullius Cicero
Speed kills. That’s what Mom told me for the two years leading up to me getting my drivers license back in 1977, and for the 30 years thereafter, until her death in 2006. She always wondered why it took me less than six hours to get to the farm, while it took her and Dad some 7 + hours to get to our house.
“Um, Mom...well, you see, I drive really, really fast. That scholarship the Iowa Highway Patrol gives at our high school? I fund that.”
Speed, I trick myself in to thinking, allows me to squeeze two days in to one. Five weeks in to a month. Yadda, yadda, yadda. The “illness of the urgent” keeps muscling the “clarity of the important” in to the wall in turn #3, and we tend to come limping past the checkered flag all smoke and sparks and carnage as a result.
I did it twice today, that I am aware of. “How quickly can you get me that?” I asked someone...
I wonder what it'd be like if we strived for a scenario where we asked, “How long do you need to really do this to the best of your ability?” or “When are you comfortable that you could have the best possible plan for that issue?”
I wonder what it would feel like to finish the race, or a lap, for that matter, hitting on all eight cylinders, engine humming, low to the ground and really screaming along with no sign of damage apparent.
I wonder if time spent on reflection, force of character and judgment, wouldn’t help us feel less like the cow dropped from the helicopter.
Just sayin’…
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
April Fools Day
I never was a fan.
But, today, watching our oldest short-sheet her little brother's bed -- giggling, plotting and "checking to see if the coast is clear" every step of her devious way -- reminded me that it's really just a manufactured reason to laugh.
And while on the one hand, it sorta ticks me off that we need to manufacture reasons to laugh, on the other I am pretty glad that we -- at least some of us -- are willing to work at it.
It didn't matter that little brother didn't "get it." It didn't even matter that I had to re-sheet the bed. It mattered that big sister had fun and a couple pretty good giggles while she was doing it, and little brother said that "next year, he was going to switch the cereals in the box" on his big sister.
Happy April Fool's Day. Seems to me like the real fools are the ones that can't have a little fun with the day.
But, today, watching our oldest short-sheet her little brother's bed -- giggling, plotting and "checking to see if the coast is clear" every step of her devious way -- reminded me that it's really just a manufactured reason to laugh.
And while on the one hand, it sorta ticks me off that we need to manufacture reasons to laugh, on the other I am pretty glad that we -- at least some of us -- are willing to work at it.
It didn't matter that little brother didn't "get it." It didn't even matter that I had to re-sheet the bed. It mattered that big sister had fun and a couple pretty good giggles while she was doing it, and little brother said that "next year, he was going to switch the cereals in the box" on his big sister.
Happy April Fool's Day. Seems to me like the real fools are the ones that can't have a little fun with the day.
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