What is it? And why is it important in our everyday life?
I was listening to Lupe Fiasco’s song, “Super Star,” this morning as I walked. I was thinking about life. The track team is a week away from districts, the track meet that determines which athletes make it to state. I am again at a crossroads in my career. My family is growing up, third daughter graduates from preschool tomorrow. I am experiencing different kinds of fear in my everyday life. But Lupe’s words just kept hitting me:
And then I remembered the line from Remember the Titans, “ You want to act like a star, you better give me a star effort.”
Fear, doubt, uncertainty causes us to freeze. Let’s be honest, we have all succumb to fear. But I think it is because we have forgotten who we are. Forgot what our skills are. Forgot the strength of our hearts and our foundations. Standing strong on your skills generates that feeling of confidence, and confidence generates action. And action is the fuel that enriches our life. We need to stay connect with who we are, to feel confidence in any situation because it will give us the direction we need to move toward. I’m not saying it isn’t scary, but that fear cannot withstand a confident heart.
This is not just the name of my blog; it is foundation to the way I live. I get slack, even from my own family, about how deep everything is to me. One student this year blurted out, “Sometimes a song is just a song!”
Even in the early entry college course the students complain about how their heads hurt after lessons because of the depth I try to take them. And I understand why, but Ralph Emerson said it best in his speech “The American Scholar.”
To the young mind, every thing is individual, stands by itself. By and by, it finds how to join two things, and see in them one nature; then three, then three thousand; and so, tyrannized over by its own unifying instinct, it goes on tying things together, diminishing anomalies, discovering roots running under ground, whereby contrary and remote things cohere, and flower out from one stem.
I like the line, “…how to join two things, and see in them one nature, then three, then three thousand…” It is all connected. Everything we do matters in some way. I try to live and teach with this idea, on a deeper level. Why, you might ask. What is the alternative? That things and moments in our life have no meaning, no value? I don’t believe that. Our lives are built everyday, in every small moment.
The last time I talked about blueberry muffins was 2013. A lot has changed since then. This morning I made the muffins while the rest of the family was still asleep. It has been a rough couple of years, for many different reasons. As I reflected on different aspects of life, fatherhood kept coming to the forefront of my mind.
The teenage years are hard. I know all about the chemical changes my sons are going through. I know they are facing peer pressure. I know they face issues with people calling them names, or asking them to compromise their values (I do think this generation is meaner and angrier then when I grew up, but that is for another post).
Then throw in social media, girls, and just discovering their own path in this world to create a confusing time for them and for me and my wife. I don’t know when they will be silently moody or sit and talk to me for half an hour about their frustrations (as highlighted by my second son who didn’t speak a word to me when he first got up this morning).
But it is Sunday morning and I am making blueberry muffins.
Like many parents, we have dealt with dishonesty, the heavy sighs when we ask them to clean their room, the issues all parents have dealt with. But as I mixed in the blueberries in the batter, I thought about how I cannot actually control my children. I cannot make them think, or feel, or believe anything. As teenagers they are in the hard process of deciding who they are. What they stand for. What future they will create. This is knowledge that is hard for me to deal with. Some lessons do not need to be learned the hard way.
As I put the muffins in the oven I understood one thing. What I could do is make blueberry muffins every Sunday morning. As a family we will sit around the table and talk, or at least nod our heads in agreement if we didn’t feel like talking. What I can control is the example I set for my family. The lessons they learn about life come from our home; this is their foundation. I know there will be rough spots to come. I know my heart will ache with the decisions they make, but my wife and I will be here to love them and to show them the right way.
Got to go, the timer just went off. The blueberry muffins are done. Time to gather the family.
While I was washing dishes, my third daughter, now five years old, peppered me with questions.
“Why do we have toothbrushes?” she asked.
“To help keep our teeth clean,” I said.
“Why do we have a nose?” she asked.
“To smell things,” I said.
“Why do we have chairs?” she asked.
“So we can sit down,” I said.
She even went to one of our junk drawers and drilled me on why we needed everything in the drawer. I was having fun coming up with answers while she kept asking why we needed things, even asking why we needed walls. That took me a second or two to come up with an answer, “So, that we have rooms.” She seemed content with my answers. But she hit me with a question that made me pause.
She was on a roll asking about the body. Why we needed elbows, knees, and why we had a tummy.
Then she asked, “Why do we live?”
I couldn’t think of a quick fun answer. I did think of a deep philosophical answer, but knew it wasn’t right for the moment. How could I provide an answer that she would appreciate?
Without a clear answer in my head I said, “We are alive because it is a gift, an opportunity for us to see what we can do with our lives.”
“To go to the zoo?” she asked.
“Yes,” I chuckled, “but to do other things, too.”
“Like make brownies,” she asked, “or to be a dad?”
I turned from the sink to look at her as she sat at the island playing with her My Little Ponies. He finger still in a splint. And a smile that made her eyes shine.
“Yes, like being a dad,” I said.
What is your answer to the question, “Why do we live?”
At the dinner table last night my second son said he had a blog post for me. I said, “OK, what is it?”
“We are balloons.”
He continued to explain that most of life we are held onto by someone. But we can be let go and float up into the sky. When we are up in the sky we feel lost and just wander around. He moves his hand to emphasize how random we move through the air.
He continues to explain that after awhile we start to fall back to earth because we lose air. At this moment my first son asks what happens then.
My second son explains that hopefully we find another person that will fill us back up and hold onto us.
I told him I would write the blog. If you have a moment would you share a comment for him on his idea? Thank you.
I did ask him if he had seen the film The Red Balloon. My son said no, so I thought I would share it with his blog so he could watch it.
The picture above is from the game, Minecraft Pocket Edition. What you see is bedrock. The site Minecraft Info describes the block this way, “Bedrock can not be picked up or placed by the player. It marks the edges of the map and is an invincible block designed to prevent the player from falling out of the world.” It means I hit rock bottom.
We Need a Rock Bottom
I like the last part of Mincraft Info’s description, “designed to prevent the player from falling out of the world.” In real life rock bottom is a hard place to be. Getting there feels like you are spinning out of control, falling through life, and getting hit with bad luck along the way. But, unlike Mincraft, rock bottom is hard to recognize in our everyday life. Unless we have a drastic fall (which does happen), one day we are sitting in the car wondering how life got so bad. And we start to change, but that is for another blog post. This is about rock bottom.
We tolerate a lot in our lives, from going to a job we hate to participating in habits that destroy relationships and even our own life. Even with all the inspirational material around us, we can continue to be unhappy, stressed; or whatever adjective that comes to mind to describe living life below our potential. That’s what rock bottom does, it tells us it is time to climb our way back.
Life is not Minecraft
In the game it is easy to know when you can’t go any lower. The only options are to mine at that level, or start moving up. But life is actually simpler. At anytime we can start making progress back to the top. We do not have to hit rock bottom to make a change. To be honest, we know what rock bottom would look like anyway. So, why continue on that path?
Asking the question, Would I want to do what I’m doing today? and being honest about the answer gives us real life bedrock. Whether it is a job, a relationship, or a habit, the question and answer let’s us know where we are in this world. The sad reality, as stated before, is that we will live with a NO answer for a long time. But we do not have to.
Hitting rock bottom, or seeing that what we are doing will lead to rock bottom is a powerful moment for us. It is not easy, it is painful, but it can lead us to the life we always wanted to live.
We have All been There
Through the pain, the confusion and frustration, let the rock bottom be the start of a great chapter in your life. Life may not be Minecraft but both of them are meant to be explored. See you at the top.
Yesterday I attended the funeral of my sister-in-law’s father. The main theme of the service was “stories.” There was a moment in the service for family and friends to share stories of him. One of the interesting aspects was the range of people who shared a story about him. From a granddaughter whose story was from the time she was eight (I think she is 10 now), to a childhood friend, who would be in their seventies, that had been a there during the during the last days, but more importantly been a friend for all those years.
Funerals always force us to consider our own mortality. To wonder who would show up, who would not. To consider what dreams we have accomplished and which ones we let slide. With such a strong theme of stories during the service I started to remember different moments in my life and all the different people that I shared those stories with. Some of them are still a part of my daily life; others have faded away. Only because life and time have a way of moving people away from us. I wondered who would come to my funeral, what story they might share because most of the stories really wouldn’t make much sense to anyone else besides us, the characters in the story. Only my best friend, Scott, would get the pop can theory story or the chocolate milk bombs. Only family will understand the power of a waffle iron. My family would only appreciate the Lemurs at the zoo story, or the attack of the goats. My wife is the only one who smiles when I mention the dollar menu at Wendy’s.
Our stories are important for a number of reasons. The first is because the stories make connections for us to people, places, and times. Holden, from Catcher in the Rye, might reveal this the best when he explains that he couldn’t leave Percy Prep until he could remember a story so he could say goodbye.
“What I was really hanging around for, I was trying to feel some kind of good-by. I mean I’ve left schools and places I didn’t even know I was leaving them. I hate that. I don’t care if it’s a sad good-by or a bad good-by, but when I leave a place I like to know I’m leaving it.”
Holden remembers an evening where he and some other boys stayed out throwing a football until it was so dark they couldn’t see the ball. Knowing that those boys might someday remember the same story gave Holden a sense that he mattered, that someone would remember him. That he was there. Something all of us strive for.
The second reason stories matter is because they developed depth to our lives. From laughing at the dinner table to packing a minivan with six kids to stay at a hotel in South Dakota, a life that has stories to tell is a life that is lived. That includes the stories of our challenges, of the moments when we failed. Stories like that are just as important for building connections with people and developing a life that is rich with experiences.
No matter who shows up to my funeral, I hope reading this post today spurred a story that we shared. But more importantly, I hope I spurred a desire to create even more stories… because at some moment in time, all of our stories will have an ending.
“Christmas, Easter, Halloween… what are the other holidays?”
Almost every night you will hear a conversation like this between my two middle daughters and me. We read a story, say our prayers, and then I ask them what their favorites are.
I ask silly questions, they give me silly answers. They will ask me to ask certain favorite questions, especially if they did something cool at school or daycare. Sometimes the questions lead us on tangent discussions. But no matter what, we end the day with laughter.
It is not the questions, or the answers, that are important. It is the few uninterrupted minutes we share to end the day. No TV, or mobile device, or even other brothers and sisters. Just us.
I don’t know if they will remember our nightly ritual when they are 30 years old, but I know that it is important to them now. It is important to me. I am coming to the understanding of how important the small everyday moments are to the foundation of relationships. The small shared giggles, the sharing of stories, or sharing that all candy is your favorite.
At age 43 I am experiencing Erik Erikson’s Psychosocial Stage 7 – Generativity vs. Stagnation. In this stage adults wrestle with the idea of contributing to the world through family and careers.
But my struggle is not the idea of contributing to the world, but how well I am making a difference. It has fostered a question that I have considered for a while: is it better to be good at a lot of different things or great at one or two things?
I am not a great father.
I am not a great husband.
I am not a great teacher.
I am not a great writer.
I am not great at anything.
I am good at a lot of things. I have done some cool things in my lifetime: from hosting creative workshops to coaching a 400-meter runner at Hastings College that ran with the great Michael Johnson at the Drake Relays. But that is the center of the issue, I have become good at a lot of different things but have not mastered any of them.
My struggle is that being good has not allowed me to make an impact in this world. I see so many of my friends and colleagues doing great things. Everyday they are making an impact that builds positive results in their world, and the difference I see is their focus is on one or two things. They are known as the expert, or the go-to person for their field. They are #rockstars. I would love to make such a difference in this world, but I am not a go-to person. I don’t have a focus on one thing that people know me for. I am good at a lot of things, but great at nothing.
Now, let’s back away from my struggle to connect to the idea of school and education.
The traditional school system is designed for our students to be good at a lot of different subjects. Understand, I strongly agree that we need a foundation in our education. But when a student graduates from high school are they great at something? Have they had the chance to start down the path of greatness?
Here is a stat for you: Almost 80 percent of students change their major at least once, according to the National Center for Education Statistics. In reality, about half of the students will change their major two or three times. So, they are not on the path of greatness until, maybe, their sophomore year in college. Throw in the idea of 10,000 hours to achieve mastery, and it is clear that school is not setting our students on a path of greatness.
So how can we design an environment to foster an opportunity for students to not only find their passion, but the chance to become great at it? First, get rid of the bells. The hardest part of being back in the classroom is the bells. Especially with 46 minute classes. There is no way for students or teachers to become engulfed in anything. To lose themselves in learning. To develop the intrinsic drive to become great.
Another area is standards. I know standards are a part of the educational landscape and will continue to be for a long time. Again, there needs to be guidelines that help schools build meaningful curriculum. But standards should be guidelines, not stone written rules that govern every single lesson we plan.
I know of teachers that will only do things that connect back to a standard. I remember going through the S.T.A.R.S. training and the moment when the person leading the training explained that dinosaur lessons in elementary school would have to be eliminated from the curriculum because dinosaurs were not a part of the standards. Kids love dinosaurs. Even my four year-old daughter will choose a book on dinosaurs for bedtime. How are we to help kids find what they love when we won’t even let them learn about things they like?
Why is greatness important? Our society is at a point that being good at something will not guarantee anything. To be honest, even being great at something is not a guarantee for success, but it improves the chances. I’m not talking about money, but about living a life that is filled with a sense of accomplishment. A life, as Erik Erikson theorized, a life where you feel that you have made a contribution to your family and the world.
To start out I want to give you a few dots that I will connect in a minute.
Dot 1: This quote, “All parents damage their children. It cannot be helped. Youth, like pristine glass, absorbs the prints of its handlers. Some parents smudge, others crack, a few shatter childhoods completely into jagged little pieces, beyond repair.”
― Mitch Albom, The Five People You Meet in Heaven
Dot 2: The metaphor “Life is a highway.”
Dot 3: My students’ view of life.
Dot 4: The windows in my car.
First, let’s expand Dot 2. If life is a highway than we must drive to get through life. Each one of us has our own “car.” We view life through our car windows. Which brings us to Dot 4, the windows in my car.
My driver side window fell into the door so I used packing tape to fill in for the window until I can get it fixed. The front window has a huge rock chip that sits just at the bottom of my line of vision. I can see out of both windows well enough to drive, but the view is skewed.
Dot 3. Everyday I hear, in some form, how much students dislike school, or that they don’t like to write, or they don’t like to read. I teach English. But also, everyday I learn more about the students’ fears and hurts of life. Reread Dot 1. But it is not just parents that create issues for students (or anyone). Just living life creates its fair share of damage to their windows, or view of life.
Let’s connect the dots. Everyone is on this highway, each driving their own car. A car with different degrees of damage to the windows. These damaged windows affect our view of life. This damage creates a challenge for us to overcome as we drive, so we cannot see that every driver is dealing with his or her own damaged windows as we go through each day.
At times the highway seems so dangerous, but it is not because we are bad drivers. If you really think about it, with all the different ways the windows become damaged, and how we make it through everyday, we are pretty skilled drivers. The way to make the highway safer is to focus on fixing the windows people view life through.
It is all Connected 