Every Day I’m Shuffling

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

I’ve been a runner for pretty much my entire adult life, completing my first five-mile road race in 1982, when I was 11 years old. Like much that happens to us, it seems, I never really found running; it found me.

I possess horrible eye-hand coordination and growing up in rural Connecticut, when I did, had limited sports options. But, being the height of the running craze in America, my elementary school principal started a running club and I joined. In hindsight, these recollections do seem like some “misfit” arc from an 1980’s-themed television show or movie but this is how it happened.

I stuck with running, doing cross country and occasionally indoor track, throughout middle school and high school. And even though I stopped competing in races after high school, I ran throughout my entire life.

Yet when I hit my forties, I realized that I wasn’t exactly running; truthfully I began jogging. And, during the past few weeks, that too has changed, Lately I’ve been shuffling.

As my wife reminds me, and I agree, part of it admittedly might be due to my lifelong avoidance of stretching. But each time I’ve been doing my morning six-mile loop around a neighborhood lake, my brain seems to be telling my legs one thing and they’re not quite responding. I keep thinking of an analogy the author Haruki Murakami used in his excellent memoir What I Talk About When I Talk About Running – that his legs felt like day-old bread. That’s exactly what my legs feel like; except mine are more like cold pizza that’s been sitting around to the point where no one wants to touch it.

Still, I’ve been shuffling on, clearly completing the loop in a slower time but completing it nonetheless. Sure, I don’t have to run. I swim one day a week and could increase the frequency. I could go to our gym and find a different form of exercise. But I keep shuffling.

I keep shuffling because running is what I know; it’s ingrained in my psyche. Despite being an extrovert in the traditional sense of the word, I love the solitary nature of running and almost always run alone. It’s the only time during the day I can concurrently think of everything and nothing.

I also keep shuffling because of all the men and women I’ve seen over the years – in their 50’s and beyond, who shuffle when they run, bike, or do any other fitness-related activity. Because let’s face it; maintaining ones physical and emotional well-being as we age requires a great deal of work, commitment and patience.

So I better get used to it.

Image credit: New York Times

What I Saw Last Night – Round Two

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

Last night the second round of 10 Democratic presidential contenders debated in Miami. I found myself much more focused and engaged in the debate and the energy level clearly was higher. Here are my remaining unfair, mostly serious observations on who I saw, in the order in which I saw them.

Marianne Williamson – Author
OK, I get that candidates need to meet a threshold in order to gain a spot at the debates. But really?

John Hickenlooper – Former Colorado Governor
I recall hearing Gov. Hickenlooper call in to the NPR show Wait Wait … Don’t Tell Me! and being quite impressed. He hasn’t impressed me since.

Andrew Yang – Tech Executive
Substantively he did nothing for me. But he scored major style points. Wearing a tie is an unbelievably overrated experience and I believe more men should leave them at home.

Pete Buttigieg – Mayor of South Bend
Substantively, I found myself agreeing with most of what he said. But for some reason I kept looking at his upper lip.

Joe Biden – Former Vice President
I believe Biden did what he needed to do. But I truly don’t believe it’s his time.

Bernie Sanders – Vermont Senator
Performed exactly as I thought he would – stayed on his decades-old message and I don’t believe he gained any new supporters or detractors. I couldn’t help but notice, though, some schmutz on his right shoulder.

Kamala Harris – California Senator
Holy Hannah! I thought she killed it. She was tough as nails, prepared and compelling. And I’m calling it now – I want Saturday Night Live to bring Maya Rudolph back to portray her.

Kirsten Gillibrand – Minnesota Senator
Lingering bitterness at how she railroaded my former Senator Al Franken might be driving this but I find Sen. Gillibrand almost unbearably annoying and last night only reinforced that.

Michael Bennet – Colorado Senator
I couldn’t really focus on what he was saying because I kept noticing he sounds just like former Obama campaign manager David Axelrod.

Eric Swalwell – California Congressman
I give him credit for attempting to make inroads by hammering Joe Biden and Mayor Pete. But I’m not sure either punch really landed.

The next debates will be held in Detroit on July 30 31. It would be nice if there were less candidates competing. A man can dream, can’t he?

Image credit: New York Times

 

 

 

 

 

What I Saw Last Night – Round One

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

The 2020 presidential campaign launched in earnest last night with the first of two Democratic debates, featuring 10 contenders. Here’s a completely unfair, mostly serious look at what I saw, from left to right, in the order I saw them.

Bill de Blasio – Mayor of New York
He’s really tall. Beyond that, nothing about him stood out.

Tim Ryan – Ohio Congressman
Solid performer who seems to genuinely care about “bread and butter” issues. File him away as a possible VP pick.

Julian Castro – Former Mayor of San Antonio and HUD Secretary
In a different field in a different year, could really make some headway. But I keep thinking he’s a character from Scandal. 

Cory Booker – New Jersey Senator
My sense is that Sen. Booker is feeling confident this morning, like he may have grabbed the momentum that’s been alluding him. Like many, I’m curious why he hasn’t gained more traction.

Elizabeth Warren – Massachusetts Senator
I believe Sen. Warren was the evening’s true winner. Tough, calm, informed and policy-oriented. Then again, you could have said the same thing in 2016 about Hilary Clinton.

Beto O’Rourke – Former Texas Congressman
Very underwhelmed. He seemed fidgety in the opening minutes and his Spanish gambit bugged me. As they say in his neck of the woods, my sense is he’s all hat and no cattle.

Amy Klobuchar – Minnesota Senator
Senator Klobuchar seemed shaky in her delivery, almost nervous, but made up for it with what I thought was an outstanding closing statement.

Tulsi Gabbard – Hawaii Congresswoman
Like Mayor de Blasio, I wasn’t really sure what she was doing up there.

Jay Inslee – Washington Governor
Gov. Inslee reminded me of  a detective in some Law & Order spin-off. I kept waiting for him to roll up his shirtsleeves and start interrogating his fellow rivals.

John Delaney – Businessman and former Maryland Congressman
Unfortunately he made no impression on me at all. It’s like when you’re looking at a photo from a party and you see yourself standing next to someone that you truly don’t believe was really there.

On to Round Two.

Image credit: NBC News

 

Even Stephen

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

It’s quite edifying when someone or something enters our life at an opportune time which, usually, is when we least expect it. This happened to me yesterday when comedian and television host Stephen Colbert, I suppose, technically, entered my ears.

I was walking our dog Astro and listening to the latest episode of the WTF podcast, where host Marc Maron was interviewing Colbert. Now, like I’m sure most if not all of you reading this post, I was familiar with Stephen Colbert. But I just knew the basics. I’d never watched either of his signature shows in their entirety. And I recall hearing that he’d faced some type of significant tragedy in his life, but that was pretty much it.

I’d encourage you to take the time and listen to the WTF podcast on your own but I will say that Stephen Colbert’s life was profoundly shaped by September 11. But it might not be the September 11 you think.

On September 11, 1974, when Colbert was 10 years old, his father and two of his brothers were killed in a plane crash. Colbert spent the next two decades of his life learning how to process his grief and from the sounds of it, I don’t believe he ever truly finished grieving. He speaks poignantly of seeking not so much father but brother figures in his life, such as close friend and associate Jon Stewart.

Colbert, on the surface, appears to have it all and seems almost serene and well-adjusted, by celebrity standards. He has been married to the same woman for several years. Openly quotes Tolkien and expresses his love of Dungeons & Dragons. By all appearances he comes across like the awkward theater kid that done good. But it’s clear that just below the amicable surface is a lingering sadness, almost a sense of resignation.

I found listening to the Stephen Colbert interview incredibly therapeutic. As I’ve recounted in this blog, I have experienced my share of sadness of late. A coworker and family friend both died on the same day last week. The funeral for the later is tomorrow. My wife and I are very much focused on explaining the grieving process to our kids but it’s admittedly tough. The paradox is that you can only truly understand grieving if you’ve experienced it. But that in and of itself is a pretty awful proposition.

I can’t even begin to fathom the type of grief Stephen Colbert experienced as a child and wouldn’t wish what he undoubtedly went through on anyone. But I’m thankful he was there, in my ears, when it turned out I needed him. To help me make sense of the senseless. Which seems to be his specialty.

Image credit: CBS

 

 

I Wish My Friend Stepped Back From That Ledge

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

It’s been a bad week. On Tuesday evening a colleague of mine passed away after a brief battle with cancer. And Wednesday morning we learned that also on Tuesday, a family friend and father of one of our daughter Sasha’s besties had died as well. He took his own life.

My wife Wendy and I were in a state of shock. Sasha had planned on sleeping over at her bestie’s house last Friday night, which happened to be this man’s birthday, but wasn’t feeling well. I had gone on his Facebook wall and written “Happy birthday, brother” assuming I’d see him soon. This man, and the rest of his family, were regular presences in our life.

As timing would have it, Wednesday was a beautiful day in the Twin Cities and I rode my bike to work. It gave me time to think about my colleague and this man. Now, it’s my rule in this blog never to use names unless I have explicit permission or the person in question is a public figure. If you’re reading this post there’s a chance you knew “this man.” But most of you I’d imagine didn’t or won’t so I’m going to tell you a bit about him.

He was an incredibly talented commercial photographer and a dedicated family man. Sure, I get that “dedicated family man” is one of those empty phrases you see quite often. But I saw firsthand how he balanced baseball practices and dance recitals and special family outings with his busy work and travel schedule. How it wasn’t an empty phrase but part of his identity.

We first met almost nine years ago when our kids attended the same school. Having worked in the Twin Cities marketing community for most of my career, we knew many of the same people. We both liked music and popular culture and hit it off right away. Since I’ve started this blog, in fact, two posts that come to mind – on my wife Wendy and I undertaking a two-week cleanse with another couple and a father-daughter dance routine that now is especially poignant, which both prominently feature this man.

Late Wednesday evening, I received a text from a mutual friend asking me to give him a call. I had a hunch I knew what it was about and went downstairs to call him back, speaking softly so as not to wake up our kids. He was friends with this man as well and had spent the entire weekend with him at a baseball tournament. And, I have a hunch this won’t surprise you, but he said that there was no way at all he would have ascertained that anything was out of the ordinary. This man seemed, on the surface, as content as he always did.

My friend and I had a brief but meaningful call. We spoke about men and mental illness. About the need to be willing to seek out help and continue raising awareness for a devastating issue in our society. And then we hung up, after promising each other that we would continue to be part of each other’s lives, despite our own busy work and family schedules.

I’m not naive enough to believe this post will make an impact in the macro, society sense. But I do hope it makes a difference in the micro. Reminding you of a battle someone in  your sphere is facing or remembering someone who unfortunately might have lost one. And most importantly, hammering home and also to remind myself, to keep tabs on our mental health in the same way we would our physical. To remember, truly, despite what we might be feeling at any given time, that we’re never alone.

Postscript
My friend, the subject of this post, had excellent taste in music and enjoyed listening to Bob Dylan and Willie Nelson in particular. I know he’d appreciate the irony of me quoting a Third Eye Blind song in the post’s title.

References
This past Thursday, I came across an excellent Los Angeles Times book review by Henry Rollins, on “The Man They Wanted Me To Be,” Jared Yates Sexton’s examination of toxic masculinity in America. I learned that White American males — mostly middle-age — accounted for 70% of suicides in 2017.

In the winter of 2002, I read a SPIN profile on Leonard Cohen by Mikal Gilmore titled “Brother of Mercy.” A quote from Cohen, near the end of the article, struck a chord with me. I tore the article from the magazine, folded it and put it in a notebook. Since then, I’ve taken the article out several times and gone straight to the quote.

Cohen is speaking of what Roshi, his Zen master told him: “He said that the older you get, the lonelier you become, and the deeper the love you need. Which means that this hero that you’re trying to maintain as the central figure in the drama of your life – this hero is not enjoying the life of a hero. You’re exerting a tremendous maintenance to keep this heroic stance available to you, and the hero is suffering defeat after defeat. And they’re not heroic defeats; they’re ignoble defeats. Finally, one day you say, ‘Let him die – I can’t invest any more in this heroic position.’ From there, you just live your life as if it’s real – as if you have to make decisions even though you have absolutely no guarantee of any of the consequences of your decisions.”

I took out the article and read the quote as recently as this past Monday, before I knew the week I was about to have. I’m so glad I did.

Image credit: Freepik

 

Be Kind. And Matter

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

I lost someone from my sphere yesterday. She died suddenly but peacefully, from what I can tell, surrounded by family. It happened pretty quickly and I’m still trying to make sense of it all. I’m not sure I will.

I truly hope this doesn’t sound unbearably selfish but when I experience a loss, whether it’s someone I’m close with or just barely knew, I tend to think about myself. What I mean is that it causes me to be reflective, which doesn’t necessarily come naturally to me. And the loss of this person, who I knew quite well, is no exception.

The person I’m referring to didn’t have children but she was married and adored dogs. In fact, it’s her love of dogs that drew me to her right off the bat. Shortly after I met this person, she and her husband were planning a trip to Hawaii and they cancelled it when one of their dogs took ill. Anyone who would make that kind of sacrifice for an animal, even a family pet, was a person worth admiring.

Her kindness extended to people. The best description I’ve ever heard of her was a “giant bundle of positivity.” She treated everyone with dignity and respect. And I truly believe she got back what she gave. In droves.

Despite being a gentle soul, this person was tough as nails and no descriptor I can use will give justice to her endless reserves of energy. She was concurrently omnipotent and omnipresent but never in a deceitful or underhanded way. In fact, quite the opposite. She was constantly in demand and, to a fault, put others ahead of herself.  In fact, I hope you don’t find it cold or impersonal that I’m using “this person” as a descriptor. It’s deliberate because she wouldn’t want her name being used, wouldn’t want all the extra attention. And I’d no more disappoint her in death as I would in life.

As part of the reflective process, it’s normal, at least it is for me, to take stock of your life and have one of those “perspective” moments. About how fleeting life is. And how we all need to take a minute, breathe and consider what we have instead of charging forward.

But I can’t bring myself to do that. Not for this person.

Because this person spent her life charging forward. No task was too large or small. No person was too powerful or powerless. She made herself indispensable. She got stuff done. She mattered. To so many.

And that’s what I’ll carry forth with me when I remember this person; when I hear her talking to me inwardly, especially during the next several days, weeks and months to follow. To be kind. And matter. Always.

You really can’t ask for much more.

Image credit: Made in Michigan

 

 

For Children Who are People

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

Yesterday morning I was in one room of our house with my wife Wendy and our son Ethan, who was in another part of the house, called out to me, “Dad, do you want pancakes for breakfast tomorrow?” I don’t particularly care for pancakes – their spongy texture or that drywall-in-your-stomach feeling you get after you eat them. But Wendy was giving me the look. I gave her the quick “Yup, I get it” nod before responding.

“Hell yes, Buddy! That sounds awesome!”

Ethan,  you see, wants to make me pancakes for Father’s Day. And you can bet I’m going to love them.

I’ve entered this unique phase of parenting where I’m starting to recognize our kids less as children and more as people. They’ll of course always be our children. It’s just that the children part has become more factual and descriptive and less a part of their identity. “Children” was car seats and juice boxes and play dates. “People” are strengths and flaws; hopes and dreams and endless fears.

Wendy and I had dinner recently near the University of Minnesota and we wondered aloud if either of our kids would attend. It was a conversation that if we had it several years ago would seem so out there, hard to actually get my head around. But Ethan is starting high school in the fall. Four years ago feels like a blip in time. It was. You always here the expression that a certain time frame will “be here before  you know it.” Trust me; I know it.

I also want to believe that as much as I’m seeing our kids as people as opposed to children, that they’re seeing me as a person, not only a Dad. It’s going to take some time on their end; at least it did with me and my own parents. But I’m always very cognizant of putting my best foot forward, leading by example. Yet willing to expose my flaws and learn from my mistakes. I’ve made plenty; we all have.

A few years ago, the day before Father’s Day I was out in our yard while our kids were playing with the neighbor kids. I heard laughing followed by Sasha saying “What!!! Come on, guys!” in that tone that sounded as if it could just as quickly turn to tears. When I walked up the stairs to our deck, where the kids were hanging out, Sasha sheepishly held up a large hand-made card she’d been working on. It said “Happy F-Day” and accompanies this post.

I loved it then and I love it now. Of course, I appreciate it on so many levels – most not intended by Sasha. And, if you’re a Dad, I’m sure you can too.

Happy Father’s Day, or F-Day, to all you Dads out there. You will always have my appreciation and empathy.

 

A Post To Go With Them

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

It’s a beautiful early summer day here in the Twin Cities where I live and I just returned from taking our dog for a walk. Sure, this being Minnesota, lousy weather is right around the corner, in time for Father’s Day. Yet at this moment in time, it’s just about perfect.

Ordinarily I’d never start a post like this because of my dreaded fear of the jinx – my sense that the other proverbial shoe is set to drop. Yet with this post I’m taking a different approach. I want to specifically document how fleeting it all is, how temporal. If you’re reading this post, please pause now and literally take a few seconds to appreciate what you have, savior it. Because it never lasts.

Two people in my sphere are facing challenges and they’re very much on my mind. Neither live in the Twin Cities so I’m not in a position to see them and truthfully, I’m not sure either of them want to be seen right now. Yet I want to do my part, leverage whatever I have at my disposal, what I feel is best, to help them. So I’m writing this post.

We’re of course all familiar with the terms “thoughts and prayers” and in some instances the phrase has been viewed, culturally, in terms of its limitations – like we need to go beyond thoughts and prayers and take action. I, however, take people at their word. When people we know face a challenge, it’s in our collective nature to want to help. As corny as it might sound, people truly are good when called upon.

But  the term “thoughts and prayers” just doesn’t seem right for me; for whatever reason, it just isn’t in my wheelhouse. I’d like to think of this post as something that can go along with those thoughts and prayers.

I acknowledge that it’s not directed at the two people in my sphere who are facing challenges. It’s directed at you, reading this, with the hope it will inspire you to carry a little more empathy into your day. I believe that’s what we’re all after with thoughts and prayers, anyway. And that, somewhere, somehow, it ultimately will help.

Image credit: The Quintessential Leader

 

A Menu for Growth

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

Parenting is full of teachable moments and this was driven home to me last week via two milestones – my wife Wendy and my 20th wedding anniversary and the unofficial start of summer.

Our son Ethan, 14, and daughter Sasha, 12, wanted to honor our anniversary, which occurred on Thursday, by making us a from-scratch dinner this past Sunday night. They’d been planning it for months and after much brother-sister debate, decided on an all-carbohydrate meal consisting of garlic dinner rolls, two types of pizza and chocolate peanut butter lava cake. The deal Wendy and I worked out with them is that we’d buy the necessary ingredients but stay out of their way.

If you’re a parent reading this post, you likely have a pretty decent idea of what transpired. I’ll cut to the chase and say that Wendy and I enjoyed the meal; especially an adorable customized menu that accompanies this post. But getting there required much tongue-biting on my behalf – watching our kids make mistake after mistake – forgetting to spray muffin tins before pouring dough, misusing fresh basil, miscalculating measurements; and deliberately not saying a word.

Sure, Wendy and I supervised from a safety perspective and both of our kids were very conscientious. It’s just that we both wanted them to learn from their mistakes and develop a crucial life skill – scratch cooking, in the process. Even if it meant an uneven execution.

But there was another uneven execution to follow. And one we weren’t ready to let stand.

With school out for summer, both of our kids are responsible for mowing our lawn and our neighbor’s. Ethan eagerly volunteered to mow last year but realized, to no one’s surprise but perhaps his own, that the novelty wears off rather quickly. So this year, on the handful of times I’ve asked him to mow, Ethan has responded with his now-patented 14-year-old shoulder slouch, eye roll and “Pfft” combination. Then he grabs the mower and hurries through his work, leaving all kinds of unkempt patches in his wake. You can imagine his level of happiness when I ask Ethan to go outside and take another series of passes until the job is completed.

Sasha, unlike Ethan, never was excited to mow and always has recognized the activity as the dreary chore it is. And her work, too, has suffered the consequences.  Sasha, objectively, had difficulty with the mechanics of mowing so I walked her through it. I could see her getting more disillusioned as I provided a quick demonstration. She recognized that lawn mowing is annoyingly simple. Which means of course, that there’s no easy way around it other than to take the time and do the task correctly.

As self-absorbed as it might sound, I did a whole bunch of projecting as I watched Ethan and Sasha prepare dinner and take turns mowing. About the times I’ve rushed into things personally and professionally and paid the price. The occasions I’ve put in the time and the investment didn’t amount too much. And those fleeting but oh-so-rewarding moments where I truly believed that my hard work and patience paid dividends.

I hope Ethan and Sasha have plenty of them. And I’m confident, with some more mowing, cooking and plenty of similar activities under their proverbial belts, they will.

The menu from the 20th wedding anniversary dinner our kids prepared

 

 

Michael J. Fox and Me

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger 

Several years back, soon after I opened my Facebook account, my Friends started updating profile pictures using their supposed doppelgänger. Ladies, please forgive me but I can assure you the men in my sphere had quite a bit more fun with the game. I noticed close resemblances to Boris Becker and Woody Harrelson, among others. Yet there appeared to be a preponderance of women Friends who looked like Jennifer Aniston, Jennifer Connelly and Sandra Bullock. Who knew.

I switched my profile picture to Ralph Macchio, resplendent in his white uniform and headband from The Karate Kid. It received some laughs, some knowing comments. But, whether or not my friends realized it at the time, I was holding back.

People began telling me I looked like Michael J. Fox during Family Ties‘ run in the 1980’s. I won’t comment on the politics of Alex P. Keaton, nor his behavior. But it was clear that something about the characters’, or Fox’s very own mannerisms, reminded children and adults alike, of me.

At the time, I felt somewhat conflicted. I definitely wouldn’t say I was insulted, but I also wasn’t exactly flattered. And it came down to vanity; plain and simple. It’s not that Michael J. Fox was bad-looking. He wasn’t, however, cool in the same way that Rob Lowe, or Tom Cruise, or other stars of the day, were. Michael J. Fox seemed safe, nice, like your neighbor or brother. And I was both.

The comparisons to Michael J. Fox leveled off by the time I reached high school. Or, more likely, because I grew up in a small town, it had hit its saturation point, lost its freshness. In the years following the time I left home for college, I would get a periodic “Did anyone ever tell you that you look like…” comment. But they were few and far between.

Then, in 2006, my wife Wendy; our son, Ethan and I were killing time in a mall one winter Sunday when I felt the distinct sensation of someone watching me. I turned, just in time to see a middle-aged woman walking toward me with her hand outstretched. The woman quickly broke down into nervous laughter and breathlessly related how she was certain I was Michael J. Fox and came over to get my autograph. After a brief, somewhat awkward exchange, she said, “Well, you seem really nice, just like Michael J. Fox.” Off she went.

By this time, I should note, Michael J. Fox was known almost as well for the brave public acknowledgement of his Parkinson’s disease and his tireless education and awareness efforts. We collectively wanted him to win, to triumph over adversity because, well …, because he’s Michael J. Fox, that’s why.

Today is Michael J. Fox’s 62nd birthday so am I using this opportunity to remember my true doppelgänger and give him the acknowledgement he so clearly deserves. I am proud to resemble Michael J. Fox, in any way that I still do. My only regret is that it took me so long to recognize his true appeal, even though it was there all along.

Image credit: NPR