Leaning Toward Wisdom

Let’s do some scatter-shooting today. Today’s show covers a few subjects:

“What You Do Makes A Difference, And You Have To Decide What Kind Of Difference You Want To Make.” -Jane Goodall

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During the MLB playoff telecast of the NLCS between Philadelphia and San Diego, game 2, Fox analyst and Hall of Fame pitcher John Smoltz made an observation about failures. He remarked how nobody wants to be that guy who has a mishap or failure during a game…but if you allow it to pole vault you to success it can be a positive thing in your career.

I’ve seen good athletic coaches approach players who just experienced a disaster and convey the same sermon. “You can let that failure define you as a failure, or you can step up, learn from it and let it define your comeback to success!”

So what’s it going to be?

Life is filled with examples where people failed under pressure. Many of them – like a major league baseball player – in a public way. I’m not much of a baseball fan, but you can go read a list of the top 10 major league baseball blunders of all time. These aren’t necessarily sustained failures, but moments of time where a player bungled a play. That’s important for our conversation today – these are moments in time. But that doesn’t mean they lack the ability to become something more. Sometimes a single blunder morphs into another and another…forming a string of failures that can define an entire career.

A moment in time vs. systemic behavior that defines our life — do you believe we can choose?

Conversations about fate abound. I’m fascinated by how many people embrace notions of fate where they ascribe meaning to everything that happens. They use phrases like “it wasn’t meant to be,” or “it was meant to be.” Whether it’s an encounter with a new person, snagging a great parking spot, landing a new job, or not even being interviewed for a new job – I encounter many people who believe these things happen for a reason.

Maybe the difference between us (me and these folks) isn’t that great, but it’s still interesting to me. They think these things happen for a reason and are largely outside their control. I think these things can be leveraged and used for our growth – which means I think we can choose to use these things ‘for a reason,’ but I don’t think they were necessarily destined to be.

One big thing bothers me about such a notion – fate means we’re victims of it. Or victors because of it. It’s completely random based on…nothing! The universe or some unknown power puts us in a bucket. Some of us are winners. Some are losers. And mostly, we’re stuck with whatever category fate puts us in.

I’ve not met many people who say it that way. Or who claim that’s what they think. It doesn’t sound very good when you state it so clearly. But listen to what people say – and how they say it.

A person hoping to make a business deal experiences failure. He tells me, “It just wasn’t meant to be.”

A person pursuing a personal dream that has yet to be realized due to a few unsuccessful attempts remarks, “If it’s not meant to be, then it just won’t happen, but I’m going to keep trying.”

These are almost daily comments I hear. It’s easy to let them impact my own mentality. I sometimes worry if my viewpoint is being clouded by such language. I choose to oppose it, so I work hard to resist the urge to see myself in those terms.

Are they right? Are there things meant to be versus things that aren’t meant to be? Does the universe care if my personal dreams are achieved? Or not?

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“In a good bookroom, you feel in some mysterious way that you are absorbing the wisdom contained in all the books through your skin, without even opening them.”

Twain was right. I know the feeling well, having surrounded myself with books for most of my adult life.

Only recently did I rid myself of the vast array of books that surrounded me. But it was time and I have no regrets. Hopefully, somebody else is benefiting from the thousands of books I donated not long ago to a local library.

Absorbing wisdom is an interesting phrase used by Twain in that quote. He didn’t say knowledge. There’s a difference.

“Any fool can know. The point is to understand.”

Here at LTW I’ve long given my personal definition of wisdom as the model from which each podcast episode is cast – getting it right in realtime. I stand by that definition, but that doesn’t mean it’s the only kind of wisdom. Sometimes we learn wisdom because we got it wrong – the first time. Now the question is, “Will we get it right the next time?” Fools don’t. Wise people do. Simply put, wise people learn, and learn faster.

“Never laugh at live dragons.”

For our 45th wedding anniversary Rhonda bought me a toy dragon. For some unknown reason, I’ve dubbed him Carl.

Carl is dragon number 3 inside The Yellow Studio. The first was found many years ago in Clearwater, Florida while on a business trip. I found him in a store one day and kept going back daily wrestling with whether or not to purchase him. He’s ceramic and heavy. I was flying home and traveling as light as possible. By end of my last day there, I intentionally waited until close to closing time, walked in, grabbed him and made the store owner an offer, which he accepted. I can’t remember how much he was priced originally or why I even decided he might not be worth that amount, but pleased with my discounted price I brought him home to the Yellow Studio where he’s been a fixture for many years (over 20). You can likely figure out why I liked him so much. 😉

The first actual toy dragon came from the same place as Carl, a toy merchant at a local flea market in Hot Springs, Arkansas, Jimmie. For over 35 years Jimmie has been collecting and peddling toys. Ebay and the Internet have made profit harder to come by for Jimmie, but daily he mans his booth in this flea market jam-packed with toys of all ilks, including an occasional dragon.

Carl and this unnamed orange dragon came from Jimmie. I rather love them all. And recently told Jimmie to be on the look out for whatever might turn into my 3rd purchase from Jimmie.

These are the dragons who now reside Inside The Yellow Studio. And I’m always reminded of that Tolkien quote, “Never laugh at live dragons.” I suspect one’s first encounter with a live dragon might prove so fearful that a wise person would learn to not laugh, but to take the dragon seriously. So it is with learning wisdom. We may not get it right the first time, but we’d best get it right the next time lest it prove fatal.

As much as we may want to get it right in realtime, that often doesn’t happen. And it’s mostly okay. Except when it’s not.

For years I’ve shared with you my parental advice, “Don’t make a mistake from which you can’t recover.” We never wanted our children to make a mistake so foolish that it caused permanent or long-lasting damage. We trained them and hoped they’d learn from their mistakes, but mostly…we wanted those mistake to be ones from which they could recover or find redemption from.

It wasn’t just parental advice, it was what we tried to accomplish in our own lives, as their parents. Yes, we sometimes got it wrong, but with the things that mattered the most – those things that are eternal – we got it completely right. We leaned hard into providing the spiritual food our children needed to grow up strong, resilient and stedfast in the Faith.

Daily conversations, lots of questions answered, lots of study and Bible reading, prayer, worship and all the things to provide growing kids with enough information to figure out whether or not they’d get it right and serve God, or if they’d rather get it wrong and serve themselves. They choose wisely and got it right in real-time.

But I’m sad to report that sometimes getting it wrong in real-time can happen due to a change of will – a change of mind. One child decided God, Faith and eternity weren’t worth the sacrifice. That a marriage. And children weren’t worth it either. That a valuable career were not longer worth it. But instead that sin, self and vice were more valuable.

It was a hard decision to watch, but none of us liveth to ourselves and no man dies to himself (Romans 14:7). What we do impacts others. But we all have choices to make. We’re unable to make decisions for others. Even if we could impose our will on adult children, should we? What good would result? Manipulation and coercion are not the path forward.

Minds can be changed for good…or bad.

Here at LTW we’re intensely focused on getting it RIGHT (good) in real-time. We’re all about self-discipline and self-sacrifice because these are the attributes of wisdom, and living our best lives.

In my own quest to be a better person – and live a better life – I’ve had to alter my course at times. Improvement and growth always demand change. But it’s good change and we all benefit from it. Those changes, unlike the physical growth we see in our kids as they get taller and more mature, first begin in our brain. We change our mind. We decide we want or need to stop doing certain things. We decide we want to start doing other things. Before any action is taken we make up our mind that we want to take action.

Yesterday I saw a musician who I follow post about being 20 years sober. No alcohol. No drugs. For 20 years. That was a choice this musician made and in his post he urged his fellow musicians by saying if you don’t think you can play rock and roll and maintain sobriety, he was proof that it could be done. Over 20 years ago he changed his mind about drugs and alcohol and here he is, twenty years later, a better man because of it.

That’s getting it right.

“Yesterday I was clever, so I wanted to change the world. Today I am wise, so I am changing myself.”

I’ve changed my mind many times. About many different things.

Just this morning my son and I were talking about such things. I reflected with him how I’ve sometimes encountered people who readily say, “I’m dug in. I’m not going to change my mind.” I’m sad for such people because they’re intentionally refusing to learn, develop, learn, understand or grow. It’s such a foolish way to go, but it’s our life – we can do as we please.

Some weeks ago I did an episode about an ideal outcome that Rhonda and I have been thinking about for some time – an outcome that involves us planning to have a couple of short-term rental spaces, independent bedroom suites. Well, since I recorded that episode some things have changed that have caused us to change our mind. It’s just one illustration of how a change of heart (mind) can result in a change in what we most want to pursue. And that’s how it ought to be if we’re open to figuring out a better way, or a path that might serve us better.

And you know what?

Other people helped us figure that out. Funny how that works. Leaning on people we trust – people we know want our very best – can serve us unlike anything else. If only we’d open ourselves to forge relationships with people who are that safe for us.

I was reading one of the many research tomes about happiness. To be clear, I think happiness and the pursuit of it are highly overrated. Not because I want to be unhappy, but because happiness is so fleeting. I think a better outcome (goal) is peace and joy. But my view is likely biased because of my faith and belief in the Bible. The Bible speaks quite a lot about love, joy and peace – not happiness.

At any rate, this research was interesting to me – about happiness. One key barometer, per this study, of happiness was having at least one great friend. How do you the greatness of the friend? Somebody you could call at 3am. Whether it’s because you need help or you simply feel alone, a great friend is somebody you can call at 3am and they’ll answer.

Shockingly, some married folks answered that they had nobody – not a single person – they could call at 3am. And I’m thinking, “Not your husband or wife?” How sad is that?

I know such friends can be hard to find. And keep. But anybody who hasn’t got a friend like that should not sit idly by and accept that as “just how it’s got to be.” No, change your mind, then get busy changing that circumstance of your life. Firstly, be the 3am friend somebody else needs. Do that with enough folks and I guarantee you’ll cultivate somebody in your life who will be that person for you.

Change. Growth. Improvement.

It starts in our head (or heart). It progresses in how we behave. And how we behave determines who we truly are.

I’m disinterested in being somebody else, but I’m very interested in being a better version of myself. Always improving is my quest. Much of the time I fail. It’s my own fault. I’ve got nobody else to blame. This is my life and if I’m going to become a better person then it’s up to me to first decide, then – like my sober rockstar – to take action so it can become my reality.

Rinse and repeat. Because like his sobriety, our improvement is a daily discipline. Wisdom demands constant attention. Climbing the hill over and over and over again. Wisdom is never a once and done affair. Foolishness, like entropy, creeps into our life. It’s easy because neglect is easy. It’s easy to not make your bed. It’s easy to not vacuum or mop the floors. It’s easy to avoid mowing the grass, or shoveling the snow. It’s easy to neglect our health with our diet habits. The path of easy is the most destructive path we can choose, but resisting it is, well…hard. Self-deprivation is tough. We could ask the sober rockstar how tough it’s been and I’ll bet he’d tell us every day is a struggle. He’s also tell us it’s worth it.

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“Keep away from those who try to belittle your ambitions. Small people always do that, but the really great make you believe that you too can become great.” – Mark Twain

People under 40 tend to think that as you get older your ambitions wane. I was once 40 and I thought the same thing. Until I grew older and hit 50. Then I hit 60. And my ambitions changed, but if anything, they intensified. Then I hit 65 and the intensity had grown even more intense. Compared to my younger ambitions, while very different, my current ambitions are much more focused. My resolve is far deeper than it was when I was younger.

There are many reasons for that, I suppose. Not the least of which is the realization that time is moving quickly through the hourglass of life. “If not now, when?” is a question rolling around in many older, gray (or bald) heads.

“Without ambition one starts nothing. Without work, one finishes nothing. The prize will not be sent to you. You have to win it.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson

Ambition is hard, but lack of ambition is harder.

“Character cannot be developed in ease and quiet. Only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened, ambition inspired, and success achieved.” – Helen Keller

Pain. Struggle. Sorrow. Adversity.

Everybody experiences these things. Daily. If you don’t think so, it’s only because you don’t know. And I don’t either. Mostly, we’re quite consumed with our problems. We notice others when their problems seem heavier than ours.

The lessons of life (and wisdom) are taught to us through all these difficulties. For some, it crushed dreams and ambitions. For others, it fuels them, causing them to grow even larger. I wish I fully understand why some of us choose to surrender and others of us choose to fight even harder. I could likely help many more people if only I could solve that riddle, but I’m not smart enough to figure it out. I only know that each of us has a choice to make when trouble comes. We can hide (like cattle) or we can run directly into the battle and fight (like buffalo).

“Our ambition should be to rule ourselves, the true kingdom for each one of us; and true progress is to know more, and be more, and to do more.” – Oscar Wilde

It’s a tall, tall order to keep ourselves on a short, short leash. Self-control. Restraint. Temperance. Self-discipline. These are hard, but possible things. You’ve got the power over yourself just like I’ve got the power over myself. “I can’t help myself,” is what fools say because it’s completely inaccurate. It’s an excuse. It’s a statement of surrender where people basically declare, “I’ve decided to be a victim.”

I don’t know how old you are, or all the stuff you may be battling. And I don’t know all the opportunities you can see – much less the ones you can’t. We’ve all got unseen opportunities.

I once considered 40 old. Funny how it morphs over time. As we grow older, our definition of old keeps moving. 😉

With decades of experience in fighting dragons, I’ve got different ambitions than I once had. Things that seemed important then – and honestly, they were important – are no longer as important, if at all. Part of that is growth and increased wisdom. Part of it is circumstance. When you’ve got small children you’re pursuing some things. When the kids are in high school, approaching college…you’re chasing something very different. When the kids leave home, get married and start having kids of their own, it changes even more. And with those changes in situations and circumstances come drastic changes in ambition. For me, they haven’t lessened, but they’ve changed.

Here are my financial ambition-fueled terms: sustainable, predictable, reliable, modest, practical, and probable. 

Turns out almost all my ambitions could be described using those same terms.

It wasn’t always that way. Not in my 20s, 30s or even 40s. And largely, not even in my 50s.

But let’s address something you may have experienced similar to me – times when ambition was simply to survive. To just get through the present storm. It’s less about chasing sunshine, but more about getting out from under the hail storm.

Here in north central Texas we get thunderstorms. In fact, we’re having one as I prepare for this episode. Thunder. Wind. Rain.

I’m not thinking about sunshine at this moment. I’m thinking “here’s another thunderstorm” and wondering how long it might last. I’m inside and safe, but I’m selling one of our cars. I just listed it last night and now I’ve got to figure out when to book appointments for people to come see it. I don’t want to do that until this storm passes. My ambition isn’t centered around sunshine, but around letting this storm (and rain) pass first. If I weren’t selling a car, I’d likely embrace this storm though ’cause I rather like a good storm every now and again. 😉

Just today I saw this headline – When older couples break up, it’s not always about conflict. There’s something else going on.

I only paid attention to it because I’m older…and we’re an older couple. No risk of us breaking up, but I was curious. And it speaks to the ambitions we may or may lack in our most sacred relationships – our marriages.

The article says…

“Oftentimes, what we see among retirees is ​that ​it’s typically not about conflict,” said Galena Rhoades, Ph.D., a research professor in the University of Denver’s psychology department. “The reason for divorce is lack of positives.”

Older couples, by contrast, ​tend to ​confront different challenges. With their kids grown up, they may struggle to reestablish their identities as independent from their role as parents. Shifting into retirement mode can also throw a wrench into the relationship.

“There’s a link between transition and distress,” Rhoades said. “Going through any stressful event or change, like retirement, means changes in how couples interact with each other.”

For older couples facing a malaise, there are ever-evolving alternatives to divorce. Opportunities to redefine the relationship abound.

My ambition in my marriage has no expiration date. If anything, I’m way more ambitious today than ever. For some simple, but profound reasons.

Time can dampen or fuel an ambition, but the best ambitions don’t expire. Ambitions like having a great marriage! Or helping the people you love. Or leaning toward wisdom!

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Happy New Years!

This is a bonus episode. I wasn’t sure if I’d release it or not, but why not? I hope it serves to inspire you to dream your own dreams. And better yet, to pursue them so you can make them your reality. Thank you for listening.  -Randy

I’ve already introduced you to one woman, Re, my maternal grandmother. The second woman I’ve not yet talked about, is Nelda, my mother-in-law. Nelda passed away from breast cancer when she was only 42. Rhonda and I were in our first year of marriage so my exposure to Nelda was limited to the few years I dated Rhonda and that single year of our married life. Rhonda was Nelda’s firstborn. Five more would follow. At the time of her death, there were still children at home.

My perspective of Nelda, while limited, now consists of being the husband to her daughter. I suspect Rhonda has qualities like her mom. For starters, her mother always seemed strong and resilient. Her daughter, my wife, is. Nelda’s spiritual fortitude heavily influenced the family. When Rhonda was a little girl Nelda went looking for a spiritual environment in which to raise her children. She found the truth found only in scripture. Had she not done that, I would have never met Rhonda – because we met at church.

When I began dreaming about Re’s Retreat – I told you about that idea back in this episode. I told Rhonda about it, but I also told her I had her mother in mind and that my ideal outcome would be to also create another space named after her mother, Nelda’s Nest.

We’d daydream about it. We’d make notes. We’d share ideas – house ideas, decorating ideas.

The idea for some short-term rental spaces didn’t start with the 2 women who were important in our lives, but they quickly entered the picture for me. And I held to the notion that I only wanted to create awesome, comfortable spaces for couples because that’s what I knew. Rhonda and I had experienced a variety of spaces so we had firsthand knowledge of what we liked, what we disliked, what we wish we could find, and more. While we’re not qualified to speak for everybody – and certainly our preferences may not be everybody’s preferences – we felt like we knew what would work. Namely, what would likely work better!

The memories and influences of two important women put pressure on us to get it right.

I define wisdom very simply as getting it right in real-time. That’s our daily prayer…that we’ll make wise decisions.

We’ve always felt the appropriate pressure to get decisions right, but it’s more intense now that we’re older. I’ve likened it to landing a plane, the metaphor for achieving our next goals. At our age, the runway is shorter so we have to really hit our mark. There’s little room for error. That advice we always gave the kids, “Don’t make a mistake from which you can’t recover,” reverberates. We may not have time to recover so it’s urgent and important that we get it right in real-time!

The dream began a few years ago as we contemplated turning 65. Not because of retirement, but because that’s when you must register for Medicare health insurance coverage (without any penalty – apply for it outside your initial enrollment period and you’ll pay more). It’s an important mile marker that was fast approaching, but it was just one of many mile markers.

Cognitive decline is a fact of life. I read an article published online on the National Library of Medicine website entitled, “When does age-related cognitive decline begin?”

I’m not a physician so I wasn’t able to understand all of it, but it confirmed some things I already knew to be true from my observations. While I’m 15 years past 50 I still feel like I’m mostly in good shape cognitively. Of course, I could be nuts. How would I know? 😀

I’ve seen older men in my life display cognitive decline that was most noticeable to me as they reached 80. To be fair, I’ve not lived with them so my judgment isn’t based on being around them 24/7. Stats don’t address how individual such things occur. We’re all different.

I could be completely out of my mind before the end of the year. I hope not. But there are no guarantees. 😉

I’m playing the odds. I’m praying and dreaming. Dreaming preceded planning. It always does.

People grow old. Circumstances change because of age. Health. Finances. Relationships. It can all change and not all that change is bad. Some years ago I felt compelled to prepare, knowing that my preparation wouldn’t be able to consider every outcome. Still, preparing beats avoiding it. That whole be a buffalo thing – avoid hiding. I didn’t want to hide from this.

Okay, what do the memories of two women have to do with the dream?

Everything. They represent our dream which is driving our preparation.

The genesis of the dream was our short-term rental experiences. Some of the places we stayed, including some of our favorite places, had names given to them by the owners. Mostly, they were names meant to foster serenity or some other pleasant feeling. As a business guy that made sense. Good marketing and all that.

Four or five years ago I hadn’t yet thought of one day operating a short-term rental of my own. But as soon as we began to book places I started studying the space. Curiosity drove me to question our hosts about their entry into it and ask about their experiences. People were forthcoming and open to share. My interest was rising.

My business curiosity kicked up a notch. I dove into reading more, listening to podcasts, watching YouTube videos, and getting acquainted with people I trusted – folks who owned and operated their own short-term rental properties. As always, I was making notes and figuring things out.

True to my customer service fanatism, I took mental (and physical) notes of all our experiences noting details that I thought could be improved. The places we stayed were not built from the ground up. Mostly, they were adapted from existing spaces. And we never had a bad experience. Some were just better than others. A few details we dictated by the space and the location. For example, some more remote places lacked good Internet. Others did the best they could with the limited space available to them – but they were a bit cramped.

From the start, we knew we wanted to create a great experience for married couples…couples like us. But there’s a star of the show that plays a prominent role in all this, a place. A specific place! A place dominated by older, more mature people. A serene place attractive to those of us yearning for peace, tranquility, and slower-paced. Since we were the demographic of folks we dreamed of serving it became easier to dream with specificity. Details filled our dreams.

We created the bedroom suite and the rest of the space in our heads. Then we began to sketch it out on paper, listing the things we loved where stayed and the things we wished had been better. Quickly we realized that some of our gripes really didn’t cost much. They just required a more thoughtful approach. It was apparent to us that many of our hosts had never spent a night in their suite. And if they did, they weren’t noticing things that stood out quite clearly for us.

Then we began to assess whether any of these things were detrimental. For example, as inexpensive as large TVs are, why have a 32″ TV when you could have opted for a 55″ or larger? Any downside to providing guests with a larger set? None we could think of. The worst-case scenario is they never turn it on. Okay, so what?

Rather than the smallest microwave possible – one where you could barely squeeze a full-sized plate inside…why not opt for a bigger, nicer unit? Again, not that much money is involved in these choices.

Seating is important. One of our favorite places has a nice small den-type area (which has a big TV), but some of the seating they have in place will give you a backache within a few minutes because the back of the sofa forces your shoulders forward putting pressure on your lower back. During our first stay, I moved it out of the way and in its place, I slide over a nearby recliner that was much more comfortable. After that, every time we entered the place in future stays, I’d rearrange the furniture so I could avoid backaches. Yes, before leaving I always moved things back.

Noise is important. Well, actually, quiet is important. During the night you can hear things you may not pay attention to during waking hours. No TV sound. No conversation. Silence. Except for that refrigerator that hums like a drone flying overhead. Or a wall clock with mechanical ticking. Again, it seemed obvious the hosts had never spent a night here…and if they did, they must have worn earplugs. Me? I use a white noise app on my phone going through a Bluetooth speaker. I’ll use that no matter what, but it’s mandatory when the room is filled with racket.

At night, when you turn off the lights, the lights around the room matter. Especially LED lights. I’m the guy who carries a roll of black electrical tape. In some places, I’m guilty of taping over dozens of little lights that stay illuminated. Those power strips that have an ON light. The AC unit that has multiple lights and displays. The USB ports with lights. The router or connectivity hubs. The microwave oven clock. The air filter. The wall switch that operates the ceiling fan. The TV that has a red LED that turns on when the TV is off (that was a brilliant design). 😉

Turn out all the lights. Get the room dark. Now look around at all the little lights in the room. When you’re a super light sleeper who battles insomnia, it’s not a recipe for a restful night. Night lights in the bathroom are helpful because you’re in a place you’re not used to. So when you get up in the middle of the night, muscle memory kicks in. Without that bathroom night light you might find yourself nose first into a wall because you forgot you weren’t home.

None of these things takes a bunch of money. A bigger TV might involve a couple of hundred bucks. A bigger microwave may involve an extra $50. The rest of it is just thoughtfulness and figuring out how to better manage the space.

We’ve now got a few years’ worth of these kinds of notes. And we’re still in the dreaming phase.

The overall dream is fueled because of that age thing – our growing older. That whole cognitive decline possibility and whatever else may befall us. Daily I pray and concern myself (to some degree) with self-sufficiency and not being burdensome to anybody. Firstly, to not be burdensome to Rhonda. Secondly, to the rest of the family. Thirdly, to anybody else! A big part of this dream is to generate income via short-term rental so we can cash flow our next chapter and memorialize these two women we loved, and provide a memorable experience for people – just like the best experiences we’ve been afforded by many of our hosts! Additionally (this is important) so we can have some spaces we can provide to friends and family when the spaces aren’t generating some income. Sharing matters.

For about four years we’ve lived with the dream while studying, researching, and learning. Doing our best to figure it out so we can minimize learning on the job, which we know we’ll have to do. We just don’t want to learn everything on the job.

About a year ago we migrated to the planning phase, which still incorporates the dreaming phase, but now we were thinking of how not just what. How can we accomplish these dreams? What will it take to do this?

Along the way, there was plenty of, “Do we want to do this?” It wasn’t always so cut and dried. So we gave ourselves time to wrestle with it a bit and see if we could pin it down. We’re still working on it taking it one step at a time.

Right now – as I hit record – we’re working to assemble the resources for the next chapter of our lives. I’m not sure which iteration we’re on, but it ain’t plan A.

John Mullins and Randy Komisar wrote a book back in 2009 entitled Getting to Plan B: Breaking Through to a Better Business Model. While the context is business, it has a broader application. We have all kinds of plans in our life. Some argue that we ought to burn the boats, a metaphor for going forward with your plan and destroying any opportunity to go back. That’s ridiculously stupid advice because as the authors of that book point out, traction and momentum often don’t happen until you get much further down the line of altering the plan.

Think about it. Here you are with your plan A. Now you take a step, your first. Do you know more now than you did one step ago? Probably. Are you going to learn or ignore what you learn? I think of those freestyle rock climbers. You know, those crazy folks who climb with nothing more than their hands and a bag of chalk. No ropes. No safety harnesses. They make one move on the face of a mountain. Their very next move is going to be based on what they know now. Sure they’ve mapped out a course. They have a plan. But plans change based on new information. If not, we’re idiots!

We’ve taken steps toward our dream, but all those steps are focused on just one thing – readying ourselves for the actual execution of our plans to build two short-term rental suites on the same property where we live. That’s the dream. The plan. The ideal outcome. We’ve mapped out very specific ideas and committed them to paper. Are they realistic? We think so, but we’re not 100% sure. What we are 100% sure about is that our current plans will likely change. And more than once. But that’s part of the fun. I call it plan M because there are 26 letters in the alphabet and M is smack dab in the middle. We might hit it on plan D. Or it might be plan Y. Lord willing, we’ll execute some plan. Perhaps it’ll be vastly different than what we have in mind. We’ll just have to keep moving forward to find out.

Right now, the plan is going according to plan. We’re architecting the next stage of the process. It began with ridding ourselves of unnecessary things. Then it moved to assemble resources so we could fund the goal. That’s the step we’re currently in. Counting the cost, marshaling resources – that’s where we are right now. From there we’ll have a more clear idea of what to do next.

Hopefully, sharing our journey is helpful as you create your own journey.

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So long 2022. I hated much of my time with you! 😉

“I can’t believe it’s been a year since I didn’t become a better person.” —Anonymous

My hatred for this year – okay, that’s an exaggeration, but only a minor one – is coupled with my love for the challenges that came with it. Challenges provide growth. I wish it weren’t so. I’d much rather learn from calm, tranquil success.

Today’s headline is pure snark because few years have received the effort put forth to make 2022 a decent year. I was never aiming for more. Maybe there’s a lesson for me. I should have aimed higher and expected more. But I didn’t. And the year didn’t measure up. It couldn’t even hit the decent mark…so it felt like a bit of success to have avoided aiming for anything higher.

2022 was a great year for some of you. An awful year for others of you. For me, it was just so-so. Another take-it-or leave-it year. Mostly, a leave it year. 😉

But that sounds too depressing and too negative. Besides, I’m leaning hard into sarcasm and snarkiness since this is the last episode of the year.

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“A man who procrastinates in his choosing will inevitably have his choice made for him by circumstance.” ― Hunter S. Thompson, The Proud Highway: Saga of a Desperate Southern Gentleman, 1955-1967

Reinvention.

It seems an odd word when applied to us, to our lives – to who we are or who we hope to become.

He tells me he’d like to reinvent himself. Oh, okay. I wonder what he means so I ask a few questions hoping to understand. “Into what?” I ask. We laugh, but it’s a serious question, even if the tone is lighthearted. He pauses and I continue the snarkiness with, “Something better I hope!” More chuckles.

“Really, tell me what you’re thinking,” I ask.

For the next few minutes, all I hear is about the past with a bit of the present sprinkled in. Mostly things I already know. But they’ve got a familiar ring to them. They sound like…excuses. They sound like a front, a cover story.

Being the Hunter S. Thompson fan that I am, I thought of that line Hunter wrote long ago. “A man who procrastinates in his choosing will inevitably have his choice made for him by circumstance.”

When he comes up for air, through the reciting of excuses, I ask, “What’s stopping you?” Acting as though he didn’t hear me, he says, “Sorry?” So I repeat it, “What’s stopping you? What’s stopping you from this reinvention?”

Experience had taught me he’d likely go down one of two paths. One, he’d be bold and answer. Not many people do that. Two, he’d wind up with more excuses. That’s the course he took. I wasn’t shocked.

After a few more minutes even he seemed exhausted with making up excuses and crafting a cover story to hide why he wasn’t yet choosing to do something about this life he himself had built. The not-so-surprising thing is, like all the rest of us, he was vocalizing the many reasons why life had imposed on him circumstances and brought him to this point in life where he wasn’t satisfied, much less happy. It was all these influences on him that were prompting him to desire a change, a “reinvention” as he called it.

I’m not completely impatient when it comes to history or looking at our past because I realize the value in understanding it well enough to know why we may have learned what we’ve learned. I also know that deep down, most of us are the 11-year-old version of ourselves. Stuck in time, not because of hard wiring, but because of choice. I see it almost every day.

She grew up with hardly enough to eat. Now, as a mom, she’s fixated on making sure her kids eat even more than they’d like because she’s remembering her own childhood hunger. Well, her kids aren’t her and intellectually, she knows that but she’s unable to forget her own experiences and it provokes her to battle an enemy – hunger – that her kids don’t even face!

That was then. This is now.

I had a history professor inform us how history just keeps on being produced. We never get ahead of it. It’s a conveyor belt of events and people that just never stops. Our lives are the same way. Whatever your history is matters, but how much? I mean, this woman hasn’t been hungry for years. And it has no bearing on things today, except that it’s so imprinted into her she won’t let it go! Heavy emphasis on won’t, not can’t. Besides, if hunger does ever reoccur, stuffing oneself right now won’t eliminate that.

So Mr. I Want To Reinvent Myself is going on and on about things that have already happened. They matter, but again, the question I have is, “How much?” So I ask him. “How much does any of that matter?”

More “here’s my story and I’m sticking with it” ensues.

It’s now time to use his own language against him for his own good.

“Well, if you want to reinvent yourself then doesn’t that mean you invented yourself to begin with?” This ain’t my first rodeo in a conversation like this.

He leans his head back, putting his chin in the air. Takes a big inhale through his nostrils, then slowly exhales. By the time his chest goes in from the exhale he has realized the corner he’s put himself into. Now trapped in the story he himself told, including the cover story he crafted to make himself look better than he really is – something we all do, by the way – he’s realizing he’s go nowhere to hide. These are glorious moments for me because these are the corners where the magic happens. The corners where all our excuses are eliminated and we’re left alone in the corner staring into a mirror where at long last – for some, the first time ever – we learn that this is OUR life and we’ve made it what it is up to this point…and whatever improvements we want to now make…they’re completely up to US. Nobody else had a vote. We’re a one-person government with only a single vote. When we realize that we alone cast that vote, it’s a powerful realization.

So I look at him. I say nothing. I just let him process this moment as he grows more comfortable being in this corner. I suspect he’s not been here before because few have. Most enjoy what he’s been enjoying – telling the story of how they came to be in this spot. Telling the cover story of why things aren’t better. Telling the story that makes them look like a hero even deep down they know they’re a coward, unwilling to face whatever challenges have long stood in their way. Berating themselves while crowing about themselves in hopes others won’t find out. This is the stuff of all our lives. For some though, it’s a way of life. For others, it’s moments here and moments there.

“Have you been putting off this choice?” I inquire. “Have you been making excuses for why you haven’t created the life you now say you want?”

He stares at me. At first, I’m not quite sure if he’s getting angry with me or himself. Quickly, it’s obvious. He’s angry that he’s not seen this before. I can just tell.

“It’s okay. We see it when we see it. We learn it when we learn it. The good news is that now that you’ve learned it, you can move forward.”

“I’m an idiot,” he says. It’s a common refrain when we see something we’ve not seen before – especially when it’s something in ourselves.

“You’re hardly an idiot. You’re human. You’ve got baggage. You’ve got experience. It’s the Matrix that we’re all living in. Some of us have the courage to look at ourselves enough to see what you’re now seeing – we created this life for ourselves. All of it. We invented this reality so we can reinvent it. It’s great news!”

As we continue to talk I impress on him the man he is today versus the younger man he was when he first invented himself. He’s better educated. He’s got a family that he loves and who loves him. He’s got a career. His life isn’t bad even if it’s not the one he most wants. Yet. I remind him that the idiot he may feel he is is more likely the idiot who he once was and THAT idiot didn’t do such a bad job. “Imagine what this idiot can do,” I jokingly challenge him.

It’s always true. All those choices I made when I was a kid growing up formed my life. I’m not minimizing the influences – they matter greatly. But they don’t matter more than my own power of choice. That’s why you can find kids who grew up in awful circumstances emerge victorious in being great humans…while others who seemed to have every advantage may grow up as miserable people. We get to decide for ourselves. Influences and circumstances can help. Or not.

If I take a look at my life right now I know that the person who crafted this life didn’t know nearly as much as I know today. Didn’t have near as much experience and know-how as I do today. Didn’t have as much wisdom as I have today. Didn’t have many of the advantages that I have today. So am I to believe that today I’m less powerful to craft an improved life – to reinvent myself TODAY?

Rubbish.

I’m so much more qualified to make a decision today. I’d argue that I’ve never been better. I’ve never known this much, had this much experience, or insight or wisdom.

But that doesn’t mean I’ve got more courage. The courage required to make a different – a better – choice!

That’s the hard work required of going into the corner. To stop being foolish with our cover story and excuses. To figure out how we can now, at long last, face our dragons knowing that we can slay them…because we can.

The dragons are those inside our heads, the ones convincing us it’s not our fault or responsibility. The ones that convince us others have done this to us. Or that life and circumstances have. It’s all that self-talk that we listen to and believe. We have the power over those dragons.

The dragons are those circumstances Hunter mentioned. The ones that’ll decide for us if we refuse. Or put it off. Life will happen no matter what we do. But even those dragons have less power over us when we understand that they simply require of us another decision. Namely just one decision, “Okay, now what?”

It’s funny to me how all of us – me included – can fixate on who or what is to blame. Mostly, deflecting so it doesn’t appear that we’re to blame. Like those suspects in a police interrogation room who try desperately to distance themselves from the crime, we know we’re more culpable than we’d like to admit. So we don’t admit it. That’s why those cover stories matter. And we can become skillful at crafting what seem to us to be great cover stories. The problem is, the better they are the more believable they are to others – but more importantly, the more we genuinely believe them. Never mind that they’re total lies. And we know it. Or did we did when we first started telling them, but maybe now, over time and having repeated them enough, we believe them. That’s horrifically damaging. When we delude ourselves because we’re believing our own lies about ourselves.

We can learn optimism. We can also learn helplessness.

Urging people – including ourselves – to avoid fear is empty advice. We’re all afraid. Fear is real. Even if it’s only imagined.

Sometimes we need somebody to help us. To serve us the way Ceaser, the Dog Whisperer, serves those ill-behaved dogs. He gently, but firmly makes a movement with one hand on the dog’s throat. A biting action done with his hands. It’s the attention-getter that distracts the dog, even momentarily, from the bad behavior. It takes the dog mind off of what they doing. It’s like the joke we make with friends who hurt themselves mildly, like hitting your finger with a hammer. “Here, let me hit you in your foot, it’ll take your mind off it.” The joke may be on us. It’s true. Sometimes the remedy is to get our mind of it. But how?

By not thinking at all. By doing. By making a choice and getting on with it.

I want to drop another 20 pounds. I’m about that far from what I think may be my ideal weight. I’m not deluded. It’s based mostly on my own sense of self and what my doctor also suggests. I can strategize about it. I can think about it. Then think about some more. But none of that is going to help me lose the 20 pounds. You know what will work?

Making up my mind, then beginning. Right now. Doing it. That’s what’ll work.

It’s true of weight-loss or anything else. It’s not more knowledge. It’s not more time to ponder it. It’s not some new, creative strategy. It’s not reading a book about how to do it. Or taking some course. Or paying some subscription service that has some tricks or recipes. It’s me deciding to get on with it.

Because here’s what’s going to happen when I do that. I’m going to figure it out as I go and I’ll drop the weight. And if I keep my mind made up, I’ll keep it off. Nothing will stop me ’cause I won’t let it.

And in doing all that I’ll be reinventing – or rewriting part of my story. I’ll be accepting responsibility for my own weight-loss outcome. I’ll happily look in the mirror when I mess up and declare, “That’s on me. I choose to slip up.” Then I can make a new decision on “now what?”

Or…

I can spend the new months pining about how I  can’t believe life did this to me. I can fret and excuse every poor fitness I make while laying it at the feet of anybody and everything I can. I can surround myself with people who will listen to my excuses and believe them. People who will help make me feel better by telling me how I really don’t need to lose weight. “You look great just the way you are!”

And I can keep on being exactly who I am and what I am. Never changing. Never growing. Never improving. But miserable.

I get to decide.

So do you.

Happy Holidays! 😉

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A fanatic is one who can’t change his mind and won’t change the subject.

I must not be a fanatic. 😉

Progress is impossible without change, and those who cannot change their minds cannot change anything.

I grew up mostly thinking that change meant the potential for improvement and growth. Sometimes I was disappointed, but not always. Turns out life sometimes disappoints, but not always. So change isn’t that unique.

Some people take a stand against change declaring how much they hate it. They prefer sameness and predictability. It’s comforting.

Then some love change because they’re quickly bored with sameness. They prefer spontaneity, and like things to be more unpredictable.

I don’t feel like I fit into either category because there must be shades of grey between these two extremes. For starters, I rather object to change for the sake of change – except when it comes to moving furniture around. I kinda prefer to have a reason behind the changes I want to make – I want the change at least to have a good shot at being an improvement. I’m more interested in things being better, not just different!

In that regard, everything is subject to change, even if it’s only my ability to understand it more clearly. It doesn’t mean things like absolute facts or truth change, but my view of them certainly can. And sometimes, it should…because sometimes I have things wrong. It’s not the facts or truth that need to change, but ME.

I started pondering how culture increasingly seems fixated on changing everything other than ourselves. When we don’t like something or agree with something, it’s less about us changing our viewpoint or increasing our understanding – but instead, it’s about doing whatever we can to impose altering the externals.

When we are no longer able to change a situation – we are challenged to change ourselves.

The problem is that sometimes the situation isn’t the problem. We are.

For a long time, I’ve been interested in the impact prescription opioids have on the human brain. Young. Old. Men. Women. It doesn’t seem to matter. I’ve talked with older people in their 80s who have a family member (also in their 80s) and they describe the behavior of their loved one exactly the same as those in their 30s describe a much younger man. “They’re behaving like a teenager with a rebellious streak. Selfish. Blaming everybody else.” It doesn’t seem to matter if they’re a young man or an old woman. The opioid user has little or no awareness. It’s just not how they see things. Or themselves.

Rarely have I encountered somebody suffering chronic pain, under the care of a pain management doctor, who found their way out of the opioid abyss, but once in a while, I run into them. Their story is also universal. “I can’t believe that was me,” they’ll say. They rehearse all the awful things they did, all the damage their addiction caused, and with guilt written all over their face, they’ll remark how unbelievable it is that they couldn’t see themselves as they truly were.

It was everybody else. It wasn’t them.

Culture and society make that same declaration every single day. I grew up hearing about “Johnny” and how everybody is out of step except “Johnny.” Truth is, Johnny is the problem, not everybody else. But like the emperor with no clothes, Johnny has no clue.

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The Emperor’s New Clothes by Hans Christian Andersen

Many years ago there was an Emperor so exceedingly fond of new clothes that he spent all his money on being well dressed. He cared nothing about reviewing his soldiers, going to the theatre, or going for a ride in his carriage, except to show off his new clothes. He had a coat for every hour of the day, and instead of saying, as one might, about any other ruler, “The King’s in council,” here they always said. “The Emperor’s in his dressing room.”

In the great city where he lived, life was always gay. Every day many strangers came to town, and among them one day came two swindlers. They let it be known they were weavers, and they said they could weave the most magnificent fabrics imaginable. Not only were their colors and patterns uncommonly fine, but clothes made of this cloth had a wonderful way of becoming invisible to anyone who was unfit for his office, or who was unusually stupid.

“Those would be just the clothes for me,” thought the Emperor. “If I wore them I would be able to discover which men in my empire are unfit for their posts. And I could tell the wise men from the fools. Yes, I certainly must get some of the stuff woven for me right away.” He paid the two swindlers a large sum of money to start work at once.

They set up two looms and pretended to weave, though there was nothing on the looms. All the finest silk and the purest old thread which they demanded went into their traveling bags, while they worked the empty looms far into the night.

“I’d like to know how those weavers are getting on with the cloth,” the Emperor thought, but he felt slightly uncomfortable when he remembered that those who were unfit for their position would not be able to see the fabric. It couldn’t have been that he doubted himself, yet he thought he’d rather send someone else to see how things were going. The whole town knew about the cloth’s peculiar power, and all were impatient to find out how stupid their neighbors were.

“I’ll send my honest old minister to the weavers,” the Emperor decided. “He’ll be the best one to tell me how the material looks, for he’s a sensible man and no one does his duty better.”

So the honest old minister went to the room where the two swindlers sat working away at their empty looms.

“Heaven help me,” he thought as his eyes flew wide open, “I can’t see anything at all”. But he did not say so.

Both the swindlers begged him to be so kind as to come near to approve the excellent pattern, the beautiful colors. They pointed to the empty looms, and the poor old minister stared as hard as he dared. He couldn’t see anything, because there was nothing to see. “Heaven have mercy,” he thought. “Can it be that I’m a fool? I’d have never guessed it, and not a soul must know. Am I unfit to be the minister? It would never do to let on that I can’t see the cloth.”

“Don’t hesitate to tell us what you think of it,” said one of the weavers.

“Oh, it’s beautiful -it’s enchanting.” The old minister peered through his spectacles. “Such a pattern, what colors!” I’ll be sure to tell the Emperor how delighted I am with it.”

“We’re pleased to hear that,” the swindlers said. They proceeded to name all the colors and explain the intricate pattern. The old minister paid the closest attention so that he could tell it all to the Emperor. And so he did.

The swindlers at once asked for more money, more silk and gold thread, to get on with the weaving. But it all went into their pockets. Not a thread went into the looms, though they worked at their weaving as hard as ever.

The Emperor presently sent another trustworthy official to see how the work progressed and how soon it would be ready. The same thing happened to him that had happened to the minister. He looked and he looked, but as there was nothing to see in the looms he couldn’t see anything.

“Isn’t it a beautiful piece of goods?” the swindlers asked him, as they displayed and described their imaginary pattern.

“I know I’m not stupid,” the man thought, “so it must be that I’m unworthy of my good office. That’s strange. I mustn’t let anyone find it out, though.” So he praised the material he did not see. He declared he was delighted with the beautiful colors and the exquisite pattern. To the Emperor, he said, “It held me spellbound.”

All the town was talking of this splendid cloth, and the Emperor wanted to see it for himself while it was still in the looms. Attended by a band of chosen men, among whom were his two old trusted officials-the ones who had been to the weavers-he set out to see the two swindlers. He found them weaving with might and main, but without a thread in their looms.

“Magnificent,” said the two officials already duped. “Just look, Your Majesty, what colors! What a design!” They pointed to the empty looms, each supposing that the others could see the stuff.

“What’s this?” thought the Emperor. “I can’t see anything. This is terrible!

Am I a fool? Am I unfit to be the Emperor? What a thing to happen to me of all people! – Oh! It’s very pretty,” he said. “It has my highest approval.” And he nodded approbation at the empty loom. Nothing could make him say that he couldn’t see anything.

His whole retinue stared and stared. One saw no more than another, but they all joined the Emperor in exclaiming, “Oh! It’s very pretty,” and they advised him to wear clothes made of this wonderful cloth, especially for the great procession he was soon to lead. “Magnificent! Excellent! Unsurpassed!” were bandied from mouth to mouth, and everyone did his best to seem well pleased. The Emperor gave each of the swindlers a cross to wear in his buttonhole, and the title of “Sir Weaver.”

Before the procession the swindlers sat up all night and burned more than six candles, to show how busy they were finishing the Emperor’s new clothes. They pretended to take the cloth off the loom. They made cuts in the air with huge scissors. And at last, they said, “Now the Emperor’s new clothes are ready for him.”

Then the Emperor himself came with his noblest noblemen, and the swindlers each raised an arm as if they were holding something. They said, “These are the trousers, here’s the coat, and this is the mantle,” naming each garment. “All of them are as light as a spider web. One would almost think he had nothing on, but that’s what makes them so fine.”

“Exactly,” all the noblemen agreed, though they could see nothing, for there was nothing to see.

“If Your Imperial Majesty will condescend to take your clothes off,” said the swindlers, “we will help you on with your new ones here in front of the long mirror.”

The Emperor undressed, and the swindlers pretended to put his new clothes on him, one garment after another. They took him around the waist and seemed to be fastening something – that was his train-as the Emperor turned round and round before the looking glass.

“How well Your Majesty’s new clothes look. Aren’t they becoming!” He heard on all sides, “That pattern, so perfect! Those colors, so suitable! It is a magnificent outfit.”

Then the minister of public processions announced: “Your Majesty’s canopy is waiting outside.”

“Well, I’m supposed to be ready,” the Emperor said and turned again for one last look in the mirror. “It is a remarkable fit, isn’t it?” He seemed to regard his costume with the greatest interest.

The noblemen who were to carry his train stooped low and reached for the floor as if they were picking up his mantle. Then they pretended to lift and hold it high. They didn’t dare admit they had nothing to hold.

So off went the Emperor in procession under his splendid canopy. Everyone in the streets and the windows said, “Oh, how fine are the Emperor’s new clothes! Don’t they fit him to perfection? And see his long train!” Nobody would confess that he couldn’t see anything, for that would prove him either unfit for his position, or a fool. No costume the Emperor had worn before was ever such a complete success.

“But he hasn’t got anything on,” a little child said.

“Did you ever hear such innocent prattle?” said its father. And one person whispered to another what the child had said, “He hasn’t anything on. A child says he hasn’t anything on.”

“But he hasn’t got anything on!” the whole town cried out at last.

The Emperor shivered, for he suspected they were right. But he thought, “This procession has got to go on.” So he walked more proudly than ever, as his noblemen held high the train that wasn’t there at all.

—————————————–

Change is the law of life. And those who look only to the past or present are certain to miss the future.

Lack of self-awareness. Self-deception. Selfishness. These are our enemies that can require the help of others, but only if we’re willing to change ourselves! There’s the rub.

Willingness to change ourselves.

If you’re at the height of your personal growth you can click that STOP button right now. No need to listen any further. Instead, get yourself a microphone and start a podcast to share how you were able to get it done! 😉

Okay, for the rest of us who are still trying our best to figure things out – and aspiring to reach new heights of personal achievement – let’s see if we can wrestle some things to the ground and choke them out. I’m betting we can if we increase our willingness and resolve.

Growth and improvement don’t always mean dramatic alterations. In fact, quite often they’re very subtle, like the extension of an imaginary line altered by a mere few degrees. The further out we extend the line, the wider the gap in where it ends up versus where it was initially headed. So too with our lives when we alter a decision or action by just a little bit.

I’m currently on a trajectory toward this encore phase of life with some very specific outcomes in mind. I’m doing everything in my power to achieve those ideal outcomes. However, I realize things may not line up to allow me that ideal outcome. Does that mean I’m going to stubbornly refuse to change those outcomes? Well, I could, but that’s not how I’m going to roll. I decided long ago that my ideal outcomes are very subject to change. I’ve got an outcome that is supremely ideal – it’s what I would most love to have happen. It’s what I’m working to make happen. But what if time and new information arrive to cause me to question that? What if I change my mind and make a different decision?

This is the big reason why I fixate on the “what’s next?” question. Let’s figure out our next step – just one – then let’s look around and see what we learned in taking that first step. From there we can figure out our next step because it may look different from the second step we initially planned. Or it may not. But there’s little point in making that decision until we must.

Right now, I’m in the throes of the first step. Until I complete that step I’m going to make plans for what I think my second step will be, but this first one is so critical it may alter things. Things are subject to change and the change will translate into what I hope will be increasingly better decisions. That’s kinda the point, right? To keep getting better and to keep making better choices!

“I won’t change for anybody.”

Not even for yourself?

Not even when there’s evidence that as Sheryl Crow sings, “A change would do you good?”

Early in my career, I discovered Herb Cohen, a master negotiator. Herb wrote a book, You Can Negotiate Anything. Part of what I learned by reading Herb was to avoid being fooled into a bad deal simply because you had invested so much time in trying to make a deal. It used to be a common ploy among car dealers. To get shoppers to invest so much time in the dealership trying to buy a car that they’d accept a deal mostly favorable for the dealership. “Man, we’ve been here two hours already, let’s just get this deal done!”

Sometimes we do that to ourselves. We sabotage our own lives by our refusal to change something because we’ve been so committed to it for so long. The more you stop and think about that, the stupider it gets. More time isn’t always the answer any more than hitting it harder is wise advice when armed with a hammer. Sometimes we’re just doing it wrong. Or going about it in a way that’s never going to work.

Subtle changes can include hitting it in a different spot. More substantial changes may be required where we lay down the hammer in lieu of a wrench.

Some behavior is purely wrong. Destructive. Damaging. Moderating abuse isn’t the remedy. Stop it is the better advice. 😀

Vice. Immorality. Sin. Crime. Violence. Abuse.

These behaviors don’t work…even in moderation. Cutting back isn’t the change needed. Elimination is.

Some aspects of life require it IF we’re going to grow. Yes, we’re assuming growth and improvement are the desired outcomes, but that’s not how it is with everybody. Chronic bad behavior seeks no improvement, only approval. Only to be left alone to keep behaving badly. That’s not how we roll here though. We’re leaning toward wisdom, which necessarily means we’re all willing to look into the mirror, no matter how uncomfortable it may be, because we know that’s where our most important changes happen. Within ourselves!

So we’ve talked about changing ourselves. We’ve talked about how our ideal outcomes can change. Before we wrap up, perhaps we ought to give some consideration to things we feel are NOT subject to change. Got anything like that?

What’s in your life that you staunchly refuse to change? Be careful before you answer.

Let me start with God. And faith. God doesn’t change. Jesus doesn’t change. My understanding and obedience are constantly changing though. It’d be easy to convince myself that I need to change God to conform to how I’d like to live, but that’d be impossible in reality even though I could easily deceive myself. God isn’t going to change to my standards. He’s God. I’d better be busy changing to meet His standards.

My wife isn’t going to change. While it’s possible to change a spouse and many people do, that’s impossible for me. Firstly, because of God and my faith. Secondly, because I have no desire to change who I’m married to. It’s a choice. One I happily made decades ago.

My family isn’t going to change. The relationships do because we’re all growing older. The circumstances of our lives are changing. Kids grow up, get married and have kids of their own. The people who once made up my “immediate” family have their own now. They still matter. I still love them and trust they love me, but the relationships have changed into something different, arguably better.

My core values aren’t going to change. They could, but I made up my mind I won’t let them. I’ve no plans to abandon my faith. Or God. Or my wife. Or my family. I’m not able to make that decision for anybody else because maybe like you, I do have family and friends who made different decisions. Decisions to distance from me. Decisions to live deplorable lives. Decisions to seek my approval for things I simply can’t approve of – from them, from myself or from anybody else. This is where things subject to change can get vexing. Things that change for the worse, not because we make the change, but because somebody else does! Now, we’re faced with “what’s next?” Toxic or dangerous people don’t much like it when we make a choice that disapproves of their decision – their change.

So it is with the son who turns to drugs and alcohol but is constantly leaning on family members to get him out of trouble.

So it is with the daughter who turns to immorality and lude behavior but constantly leans on family members with venom about how they’ve wronged her.

So it is with the person who turns to selfish behavior, but is constantly leaning on acquaintances and family for favorable considerations, taking advantage of anybody.

Bad behavior knows no bounds. Good behavior has no limits.

Humans have a great capacity for greatness – either good or bad. We get to decide. We get to choose change. Or not.

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“Inspiration is the windfall from hard work and focus. Muses are too unreliable to keep on the payroll.”

A muse is a person or personified force who is the source of inspiration for a creative artist. I’d modify that definition slightly by saying a muse is any source of inspiration for creativity. Do you have a muse? Have you ever?

Through the years of Leaning Toward Wisdom, I’ve talked about two that have occupied The Yellow Studio from the beginning – for over 22 years.

Books.

A guitar.

Back in July, I started The Great Purge. Around 1,500 books exited The Yellow Studio, donated to the local library where I suspect the majority were sold in an annual sale to raise money for said library. The few I decided to keep – well under 100 titles – were boxed up and safely stored away for the next chapter of The Yellow Studio.

By mid-August, whatever muse the books served was gone. Or was it?

The books were gone, but any muse – source of inspiration – was far from gone. Sleep and the books were gone, but the inspiration was running wide open. I began to get on an unprecedented recording roll prompted by hours of writing. Feelings, phrases, words, quotes, lyrics, and photographs prompted the chasing of many ideas. I’m not saying any of them are good. You’re clicking PLAY so you can decide that. I only know that I had more episode ideas brewing than ever. Usually, I’m working on 4-6 show ideas, half of which never see daylight. About half of them languish and never get fully developed. Suddenly, in the span of about a month I looked and realized I had about twenty drafts going – show ideas that had a title and at least a couple of paragraphs of notes. I began to look at the totality of them to figure out the ones I most wanted to push across the finish line.

One idea begets another. It’s always worked that way for me. There was no attempt to keep that habit in play though since I already had so many episode ideas to pursue. But it happened anyway.

I’d sit here inside The Yellow Studio, headphones on listening to the BoDeans, or Dawes, or The Heavy Heavy, and start noodling on one idea – one draft. And a phrase or lyric would hit me, prompting me to open a new draft where I’d create a title. Just a title. Maybe one sentence to make note of what I was thinking of at the time. Then I’d go back to my original work.

“Great! Now instead of finishing one idea, I’ve created yet another one,” I’d think. Never mind. I’d trudge forward trying to finish at least one episode.

I leaned into the process.

Until I got COVID. My first foray with the virus. I’ll forever blame my contracting it on my poor sleep habits, provoked mainly by all the changes I was planning. Changes I desired and changes I was looking forward to – but changes that were putting my mind on a higher octane than it had experienced in some time. My mind wasn’t racing so much as it was doing cartwheels. I’m usually a bit more settled than that. But as we both know, we’ve never been HERE before. We’ve never been this age, in this place, in these circumstances, trying to do whatever it is we’re trying to do. We’re all in unchartered water as we enter a new day. Or night.

I thought about the muse and my references to my two most-mentioned muses. The biggest muse – the one that required the most space and was the most obvious – was gone. I was no longer surrounded by all the book spines that had surrounded me for years. And I was happy about it. I never experienced the sadness or difficulty that I predicted. Before The Great Purge, I had dreaded it, fearing I’d struggle to decide which books to keep and which would go. However, on the first day of sorting, I found myself fully engaged to see how few I could keep and how many I could part with. I piled the books in the hallway just outside The Yellow Studio. At one end of the hall were the keepers. At the other end were the goers. It quickly became a game to see how small I could make the keeper section and how large I could make the goer section. It was easy. Far easier than I had imagined. Mostly, it was liberating.

Once the books were gone from inside The Yellow Studio I sat here and wondered if my proverbial muse – the books – weren’t a muse at all, but a weight, an impediment. What if I had been wrong all these years about the books serving as a muse?

That’s when I began noodling today’s show, driven by my curiosity about these two perceived muses inside The Yellow Studio.

Do you have a muse? Have you ever had one? What made you think it was a muse?

For me, books were always inspirations for ideas. I’d read them and while I admit most weren’t worth the time invested to read them, many of them had at least one decent idea I could latch onto. The titles would remind me of when I had first read that book – and I’d have some thoughts about it. The titles alone often served to spark an idea.

Looking back, now that the books are gone, I wonder if they were less inspirational and more of a visual crutch. Did you catch what I said upfront about the things that inspire me?

Feelings, phrases, words, quotes, lyrics, and photographs prompted the chasing of many ideas.

Only one of those is specifically visual, photographs. It made me wonder why I ever thought the books were a muse. That led me to the quote by thriller writer Helen Hanson. Her statement hit me, “Muses are too unreliable to keep on the payroll.” That’s when I began to ask, “Are my muses even muses? And are they too unreliable to keep around?”

Turns out I had my answer – at least my short-term answer – on the books! Not only were they not the muse I thought they were, but they may also have been a hindrance. A reminder of the creativity of others, but not the provoker of my own that I had always thought. Back in July, I updated my personal website – RandyCantrell.com – to include my renewed focus on creation over consumption. I was already thinking these things long before I started The Great Purge. I had been growing tired of all the time invested in reading books only to be frequently disappointed in the content. Mostly, I had really grown tired of the marketing of books – the constant overpromising and underdelivering.

I know that may sound harshly judgmental – and I admit it is. But it’s based – no, it’s steeped – in my personal experience. With one small, but major caveat – these were mostly business or non-fiction books I was thinking of. Were these books based on creativity? Some. Some not. Then the reality of what the books had really served hit me. Provoking thoughts. Questions. Even the bad ones had done that.

There I was sorting books in the hallway. Dividing the keepers from the goers, mere feet apart from one another. Some destined to find their way into the hands of new owners. Others, destined to remain with me – likely for the duration of my life, however short or long that may be. And the money and time invested in them had been worthwhile, if only because they had forged me into a person looking for thoughts, insights, experience, and wisdom. I figured even the bad ones had taught me something.

But none of that meant they were a muse.

And it didn’t mean that my past passion to buy and read books had to remain as it had in the past. For starters, there are now many new mediums from which ideas can be collected and sparked. Like podcasts. 😉

Information is freer than ever before. I’m not saying books are outdated because I still love to read. I still love books, but today’s love looks and feels different. I’m less hungry for them today. I think it’s because they once served as a gateway – the primary avenue – for learning. Today, they’re less so and it’s made me more discriminating when I look at books. When you’ve read as many business, leadership, organizational behavior, and other such books as I have, I suppose it improves your discernment radar. It’s not 100% accurate but I’m able to figure out more easily books that are liable to be worthless.

The muse wasn’t gone, but my thinking books were a muse was. More specifically, my having read them – the hours spent pondering ideas – had been my muse all along. The books had helped. Been a vital part of the process, but there was no inspirational quality inherent in the books themselves as I had originally thought.

Creation versus consumption.

Seems to me this is the common plight of the digital age. Consumption is a habit because there’s so much being created. It’s a great paradox. Creation is easier than ever before. The avalanche of content begs for eyeballs and earbuds. Some of it finds an audience. Much of it doesn’t. So somebody is creating stuff, including books that are still being written and published. We’re driven to consume, which is why you hear about movie studios, TV networks, and stream services hungering for content.

About now I started thinking of this whole muse thing – this whole creation versus consumption thing – in a negative light. Well, potentially negative. It started with HGTV, a network devoted to hawking housewares, flooring, paint, and other items needed so you can make your house better, just like the ones you see on TV. Don’t get me wrong. I love HGTV and watch a number of the renovation shows.

Marketing is designed, in part, to lure us. To create, or at least identify, our need or desire. Sparked by watching young women posting updates and creative things they were doing in their homes, I began to think about this whole muse thing and how HGTV and other platforms were fueling dissatisfaction. Improving something. Growing. Those are important components in my life. I get it. But mostly, I was thinking of the investments made in money and time. Remember, I’d been in the throes of The Great Purge – something that required no money, but time! It’s also important to remember that I was leaning harder into a more modest way of life. It’s just where I’m at in life.

As I am wont to do, I started mulling over childhood creativity. Those lazy afternoons where we laid around under the pine trees staring at the sky trying to figure out what we’d do next. Bored.

People get bored with their homes. HGTV provides some terrific inspiration and ideas on how we might alter our living spaces to be better. Different, at least. A muse of sorts. Is marketing done on HGTV, whether through advertising or programming, a muse?

It’s certainly not how I always thought of a muse. But I guessed it could fit if you consider the ability of a muse to foster discontentment. It’s not how I saw muses. I still don’t. It smacked more of covetousness than inspiration for creativity.

Then enters the guitar. My guitar. One I saved up for, dollar by dollar for a few years until I could afford it. Still in the case, with the plastic protector on the pickguard. Even though I bought the guitar back in 2007.

Like the books I had two distinct memories of the guitar, both involving some people I love. One an old friend who passed on. The other a young lady who just months ago because a first-time mom. Two people who create music, something I’ve never done. Two people who can play the guitar, something I’ve never learned. They’re the only hands that have fretted this guitar since I bought it brand new.

Stanley, my lifelong boyhood friend, who died back in 2013 was the first to play it.

Sophie, a young lady who married a young man I’d grown close to, was the second.

Only those two.

Along with books, I’ve long declared that owning a guitar – even though I don’t play the guitar – has served as somewhat of a muse. It’s based on my love affair with the instrument. A love affair that never drove me to learn it, but drove me to listen to others play and appreciate their abilities.

Here I sat inside The Yellow Studio, having concluded the freedom of the books was now serving me better than hanging onto them. And I realized my love affair with the guitar had nothing to do with owning one. The reality was, that owning one had only served as a reminder that I could – if I wanted – learn. But I never have. And I’ve owned guitars almost all my adult life. Fact is, I’m never going to learn because long ago I realized I enjoy hearing great guitar players more than I’ve ever wanted to become one. And there’s nothing appealing to simply knowing how to play. I’d much rather listen or watch others do it well.

So what to do with this muse that is not a muse at all?

If as Helen Hanson claims, a muse is too unreliable to keep on the payroll, well something that isn’t a muse is surely too unreliable to keep around. Maybe.

Then I aimed my attention at the first sentence of Helen’s quote. “Inspiration is the windfall from hard work and focus.”

My hard work and focus have never been on learning to play the guitar, but on listening to and appreciating how well others could play. I hadn’t worked hard at all to learn. I had invested a lot of time into hearing others play though. But this guitar – this particular guitar – has been played by a friend who was closer to me than a brother. He was the brother I never had. I did some shows about him so I won’t belabor it here. You can search “Stanley” in the search feature and find them.

This guitar isn’t some classic high-end instrument. It’s middle of the road and I got it because I thought I might give learning one more try with a guitar that has lower action (the height of the strings off the fretboard). Obviously, my plan was more in my head than in my fingers!

Keeper or goer?

This was much tougher than the books because even though it was less of a muse than the books, there were specific people associated with the guitar. One of whom was extraordinarily special to me. And I’ve got audio recordings of him playing it, too.

I went so far as to take pictures of the guitar and case…anticipating that I might sell it. At some point, I grew sad that an instrument built to be played…wasn’t. And if I retained ownership, it would never be played. Was this guitar destined to live its entire life in a case? A pickguard destined to remain free of pick marks? A fretboard devoid of human fingertip oil?

I wondered how many songs the instrument had already sacrificed because it got an unlucky draw of being sold to a guy like me.

I felt sad for this guitar. That drove me to take those pictures, thinking it best to help it find a home where it could be put in the hands of a player rather than a dreamer.

But I just couldn’t think of it being a goer. Since 2007 it had been a keeper. A few songs. Two players. An old man – my age (Stanley James Elmore was only 56 when he passed — April 11, 1957 – May 12, 2013). A young lady, Sophie Smith Elliott. Still very much alive and now a wife and mom.

This guitar may not be a muse. And it may not be reliable in the least, not in my hands. But it has a priceless value for me. Value it wouldn’t have with anybody else. Are memories a muse? If so, then this instrument fits the bill.

Then I modified my earlier statements…

Feelings, phrases, words, quotes, lyrics, and photographs prompted the chasing of many ideas.

I added an important muse…one that had been staring at me the whole time. Memories. And I changed the sentence from past tense to present tense. And I made it more personal and specific.

Memories, feelings, phrases, words, quotes, lyrics, and photographs prompt me to chase new ideas. 

And with apologies to Helen, I modified her quote, too – to more ideally suit my current situation.

“Inspiration may be the windfall from hard work and focus, but muses are sometimes too valuable to part with.”

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