Since moving to Belgium, I’ve often been in an office or a store with a question for an employee. If that person isn’t sure about the answer, they’ll often say “I’ll talk to my colleague.”
Most times I pause when I hear that word … and reflect. It’s not a word that I often heard in Canada. I sense that it’s bigger than “co-worker”. There’s a sense of connection.
Yesterday I was reading a book by Sharon Salzberg, an American Buddhist meditation teacher. She referred to “my colleague Joseph Goldstein”. They were two of the founders of the Insight Meditation Society in Barre, Massachusetts, USA. “Colleague”.
Now I’m smiling. I like the word “colleague”. It sounds like people in similar careers, but it’s more than that. I sense caring about each other, shared goals, real contact.
Okay then. I will seek out colleagues … in coffee shops, in music schools, on the street.
A friend of mine graduated from the University of Ghent yesterday. I’ll call her Isabelle. She was allowed to invite three guests to the ceremony … and she included me! I was thrilled.
The first task of the day was remembering how to create a Windsor knot in my tie. The knot is so cool and triangular … but I hadn’t worn a tie for years.
So I Googled. Here’s one image of the process:
Steps 9 and 10? Sadly, the complexity baffled me, and my knot looked like a lump of clay.
So … I decided to let my hands remember. My brain went for coffee. On my third try, it worked! Delightfully triangular. What a good boy am I.
***
The ceremony and reception afterwards were grand expressions of celebration – everybody dressed up, including Isabelle in a stunning black top festooned with red flowers.
Smiles, families, friends. As each graduate’s name was called, she or he moved the tassle on their black hat from the left side to the right, signifying a life transition. Lovely.
There were about 600 people in the hall, including maybe 70 grads. So much commitment in that room – years of study or years of supporting those who study. It was a magnificent display of humanity.
Two of my favourite moments were at the reception. When one of Isabelle’s professors saw her, his face glowed and a smile filled the space. Same with a second prof who approached Isabelle.
I watched carefully. My friend has made a huge impact.
Like you, I’ve passed through many difficult moments in my life. Right now I’m not living any of them. Life is sweet and joyous, full of wondrous sights and grand conversations.
It’s so easy to forget the tough times. And to realize that they’ve contributed to the person I am today. Would I love people as much as I do if my earlier life was simply a series of smooth sailings? I don’t think so.
Here are a few recollections:
1. Maybe two months ago, my esophagus problems disappeared. For probably a year previous, I had trouble swallowing, and I’d go to bed each night with a vague dread. My doctor assured me that I wouldn’t die in my sleep because the body had a gag reflex … but I still wondered.
2. Watching my wife Jody slowly die from lung cancer over the course of a year. Being at her bedside, doing personal care, loving her.
3. Failing at several jobs. Being fired, laid off, or not making sales quotas: manager of volunteers at a hospital, life skills teacher at a college, personal development course teacher, life insurance agent, real estate agent, encyclopedia salesman.
4. Coming close to death four or five times in the Rocky Mountains in my twenties: on a cliff; clinging to a steep snow slope above a cold lake; being struck by lightning; etcetera.
5. For four years, having weekly swimming classes in the nude with other boys and being the only one who never learned to swim. I spent my time alone in the shallow end while my classmates did laps. I don’t remember ever receiving any instruction.
A. I forget people’s names. When I first meet them, I write down their names in my phone, with the vague hope that I’ll study them later. But I don’t … and then I see them again – now nameless.
B. I forget the names of objects. Imagine something that contains other things. In the moment, when I’m looking at the thing, I can’t locate what’s it’s called. Is it a box, basket, can, jar, bottle, bin, bowl, carton, bucket … or what? (I cheated just now. I Googled “names of containers”.
When I’m in a conversation, and one of those objects is the subject at hand, I usually retreat to “container”, since that’s all my brain creates.
C. I forget what I’m saying … even in the middle of a sentence. It just takes a tiny distraction, and the topic at hand disappears. I’ve shared this with good friends, and they kindly get me back on track, telling me what we were talking about.
***
I’m smiling as I write this. I’m done with pooping on myself because my body or mind isn’t living up to youthful standards. It’s an immense waste of energy. I have better things to do.
Tomorrow will be “Forgetting: Part Two”, a different slant on the subject – a focus on something far more important than forgetting someone’s name.
On September 11, 2001, terrorists flew planes into two towers of the World Trade Center in New York City. This song is Bruce Springsteen’s tribute to the first responders who saved many lives.
The words and melody have power. At the concert in Barcelona, fans in the audience shift from dancing to simply holding one hand high. Even if we have never been through a trauma like 911, we know … the fear, the sorrow, that often are a part of being a human being.
Here are some words:
I heard you calling me Then you disappeared into the dust
Up the stairs, into the fire Yeah, up the stairs, into the fire I need your kiss But love and duty called you some place higher Somewhere up the stairs, into the fire
It was dark, too dark to see You held me in the light you gave You lay your hand on me Then walked into the darkness of your smoky grave
In the words of American baseball, life keeps throwing curve balls at us. It seemed like we saw the path clearly … but then the ball changed direction. Swing and a miss!
Or … it’s a fast ball, straight as a laser beam, right over the middle of the plate. We swing. The ball meets the sweet spot of the bat … and soars into the blue. Way over the outfield fence. Homerun!
All these words!
What if you don’t know baseball?
Oh well. Life will work out
What I’m building up to is this: We win and we lose. Triumphs and disasters. But what if …
“The good stuff” and “the bad stuff” of our days are just flows of energy, not to be grabbed onto or pushed away? That peace can live within the strikeout as well as the homerun.
Disclaimer: I’m not talking about huge things, such as not having food and shelter, being physically and emotionally assaulted by someone, experiencing excruciating physical pain. But I don’t know … is peace possible there too?
I subscribe to a Buddhist magazine called Tricycle. So many marvelous writers asking me to consider anew. Myozan Ian Kilroy recently wrote about contentment. I liked it. I hope you do too.
I have known many content people in my life. To be clear, they were not people in dire poverty, whose wants of food, housing, security and other basic needs were not met … These people were not highly successful people either. They were not the people who chased after high achievement and status. They were not usually people in positions of power. They were ordinary people, living ordinary and decent lives. They were people with little ego and few cares in the world. They were free within the boundaries of their own life.
Often, they had a quiet faith in things, believing that the flow of life would take care of itself and work out. In that sense, they were in harmony with their surroundings, whatever those surroundings were.
They were people who gardened in the neighborhood where I grew up, finding silent pleasure in planting and tending vegetables or flowers. Or they were old fellows sitting quietly in country pubs, unconcerned with the busyness of the world, meditatively sitting near an open fire. What was common among them was their centered presence. Their full being was right there in the situation they were in.
For me, these words ring true. I’m the guy in the pub, drinking cappuccino rather than beer. I’m also the one with the quiet faith that all will be well. Or in the words of Patricia Albere … Basic Trust. I too live an ordinary and decent life.
Robert Redford died a week ago. He was an acclaimed actor, a devoted philanthropist and an all-round lovely human being.
Robert is being mourned by millions. Other Hollywood actors have expressed their sorrow:
Bob was charismatic, intelligent, intense, always interesting – and one of the finest actors ever. He was one of a kind and I’m so grateful to have had the opportunity to work with him. (Barbra Streisand)
I can’t stop crying. He meant a lot to me and was a beautiful person in every way. He stood for an America we have to keep fighting for. (Jane Fonda)
[Robert was] that rare person where what you see is what you get. The decency he projected in his movies was genuine. (Dustin Hoffman)
Beyond the world of fame, others expressed their grief. Todd Sherrod, in his response to a Facebook post about Robert, spoke for the ages. Listen to the spirit within the words …
Redford was a true artist, great actor, and a truly remarkable human being. He was about something, and didn’t seem to get caught up in all the Hollywood nonsense. He’s what they call a dying breed.
My friends and I grew up in a time when the pictures were transformative, edgy, daring and brutally honest (1970’s). That whole class of actors … Pacino, Nicholson, De Niro, Fonda, Redgrave, Beatty, Hoffman, Caine, Streep, Eastwood, Duvall. It’s sometimes hard to believe that most of the guys we watched on the big screen in those days are now in their upper 80’s, and in some case 90’s. Where did all the time go, I often ask.
But the memories are resplendent, echoing the times of our youth, simply sitting in a darkened theater and being captivated by such tremendous performances from these great actors . I’ll never forget the times and the excitement placed upon our hearts, and the influences they had on me. It was powerful, and I am forever grateful to have come along during those times!
I did something a few days ago that I’ve hesitated to tell you. It smacks of “Look at me. See how spontaneous I am!” And I don’t want that to be me.
Still … it was awfully fun what I did. So why suppress the telling? Is there ego involved? Yep. Is there joy involved? Yep.
So just say it!
As I leave my apartment each morning, roaming towards breakfast, I usually say hi to folks I know who work at various businesses. My first stop is the Soup Lounge. I know Glenn and Maxim.
Typically I show up around 9:00 am, an hour before they open. Their door is ajar as they prepare for the day.
This particular morning I slept in. So I approached the land of soup around 10:00.
I walked into the restaurant. On the right, there stood Glenn behind the counter. Straight ahead and to the left there stood empty tables and chairs.
I stepped forward and took in the audience …
Welcome to the Soup Lounge. I appreciate you taking the time to include us in your day.
You’ve entereda hallowedhall, where the nourishment spans far beyond soup and a bun and an apple. I hope you feel the energy that’s here and the opportunity to connect with the folks at the next table.
Any questions so far? (A few hands up)
Yes, you in the back.
“Are you from their head office? Why are you talking to us?”
No, I’m not an employee or manager of the Soup Lounge. I’m a long time customer who knows a good thing when he sees it, and wants others to know.
Another hand, right in front of me …
“Why should I eat here, rather than at the other soup place down the street?”
Well, the other place doesn’t have … Glenn (gesturing to the counter). Look at that face. Look at his welcome.
A severe looking fellow in suit and tie …
“Are you usually mentally unbalanced or is this a momentary condition?”
Sadly (or happily) it’s chronic. And I don’t mind at all.
Etcetera
I glanced to the right. Glenn is busting a gut laughing. A little further to the right, in my peripheral vision, something was moving. Someone. Someones.
I stretched my neck towards the entrance. There stood seven or eight customers, beholding my speech. Two women smiled at me. The rest stared.
I was having breakfast yesterday at Pain Quotidien on the Korenmarkt. As I savoured the last few bites, a young server came up and asked “How was everything?”
I have some stock answers to questions I’m asked, designed to make people laugh. I keep meeting new people, so I keep using the same old lines. Such as …
I wish I was younger
The server had a moment of confusion and then she smiled. Of course she was asking about the food and not my life but I love going in a different direction.
And then my mind paused. Was my answer really true? Did I want to return to teenaged acne? Or revisit my low self-esteem as a vision teacher, the feeling that I was an imposter?
The response came swiftly: No.
The woman and I talked about our common teen agony – a face that resembled a pizza. Her skin is now fine. So is mine. But the memories! Especially some female friends leaving. (Sigh)
Then she asked “What was your favourite age?”
The answer blasted through > 76 … Now.
Everything stopped
We were silent
And then she was off to another table
***
Hmm. So is right now really the best? The body is less fast and less agile than fifty years ago. But the heart is wide open.
Continuing my current obsession with Blu-ray concerts, a new disc arrived today: A Musicares Tribute to Bruce Springsteen. About 25 musicians covering Bruce’s songs.
The photo shows Emmylou Harris singing one of my favourites: My Hometown. Here are some of the lines:
Now Main Street’s whitewashed windows And vacant stores Seems like there ain’t nobody Wants to come down here no more They’re closing down the textile mill Across the railroad tracks Foreman says “These jobs are going, boys And they ain’t coming back To your hometown”
I haven’t seen the Blu-ray yet, but one article talked about Bruce being on the edge of tears as Emmylou sang.
How marvelous to have your work appreciated. Your passion, your commitment to humanity. Bruce, and all of us, deserve life’s blessings.
I was sitting here reading the liner notes of the Blu-ray, and I came upon this:
Many people to thank. I began reading the names.
And then I stopped. I got what I was doing – looking for people I recognized, and ignoring the rest. I’d heard the name “Jon Landau”. He’s a record producer. But the next human being? “Marilyn Laverty” is a mystery. And all the way down to “Cindy Zaplachinski”. Unknown to me … and subtly dismissed in favour of fame.
How sad. Marilyn and Cindy deserve my respect and love as much as Jon.
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