MERRY CHRISTMAS

Season with Real Reason

Merry Christmas, everyone. I just got a subtle nudge from my great friend Tim Sams who wrote in an email, "Update your blog, man!"  Leave it to a brilliant, beardy carpenter drinking Bourbon on Christmas evening to only swing the hammer once AND use the word man.

So, I am pulling myself out of my post-amazingly large (and very delicious, thank you Mom;) Christmas dinner stupor to write this post. I planned on waiting until I got back to the N.C. coast, but since Burlin the tipsy, wizard carpenter commanded it, I will tell my recent Christmas story now.

I was in D.C. last weekend to see one of my favorite musicians, Rhett Miller (of Old 97s fame) at 

Black Cat and the show was amazing!!! Had a great suite at the Grand Hyatt, saw the White House Christmas tree, had a great dinner, saw Rhett, and stayed out into the early morning (3:00 am!) with friends. And while I truly couldn't afford to be away from work and present buying, I counted it as a little Christmas gift to myself and had a wonderful time. Even got together with my beautiful friend Elena P. who helped me speed-shop at Tysons Corner and nearly checked off my entire list in a blur. Plus, I bought myself a great pair of Pumas;-) And while they weren't a surprise when I unwrapped them this morning (have already worn them a few times) they made me happy.

So, anyway, I got home around midnight Sunday, did a little packing, and finally fell asleep sometime after 1:30am. Had to be up early and hit the road to be in Greensboro, NC to meet my friend and client Don for a lunch meeting. I left about an hour early so I could stop at Southern Seasons in Chapel Hill to buy a basket for Don's gift. I was work out, all hopped-up on coffee, caught in early morning Raleigh traffic, and on the phone trying to schedule three photo shoots, ad copy for two different ads, negotiate a contract, and taking notes (please don't try that while driving 80 mph;-). I know I looked down somewhere around Faison, N.C. and noticed I needed gas, but knew I had about 25-30 miles on reserve and would stop later. 

Later came in the far left lane of Interstate 40 when my little SUV lost power. Just slowed down and wouldn't respond to my pumping of the accelerator. It hit me--I'd forgotten to get gas. I WAS OUT OF GAS! and speeding down a bust highway. I checked the three lanes to my right and wrestled the steering wheel to take me across the lanes and up a convenient off-ramp. The SUV topped the ramp and limped about 40 yards until I slid it onto the shoulder. I WAS OUT OF GAS! In all my years of driving, I'd never run a car out of gas. Never! And there I was, on a minor exit, on an exceptionally cold morning, with nothing but office buildings around for at least a mile in either direction. The first thing that crossed my mind was that it was par for the course for my year-end: Laptop crash, loss of everything on it, BlackBerry mishap in which my trackball wouldn't stay in so I had to get a new one and AT&T couldn't transfer the saved info. on the old one to the new one, NOW I was sitting on the side of the road in an SUV with no gas on the way to a business meeting. 

I got out of the car, closed the door and took a long look up the road in both directions. As I was contemplating how far I would have to hike and deciding which direction to go and larger SUV came toward me from the exit ramp. It pulled up and the passenger side window came down. A smiling man leaned across the console and asked if I needed any assistance. I told him the story hoping he would offer to drop me at a nearby gas station. Instead, he offered to go and get the gas and bring it back to me. I, of course, accepted and watched him drive off then climbed back into my car to wait. 

Ten or so minutes passed. I pulled on a knit cap and wrapped my scarf around my neck in the metro-way I'd learned from walking around cold, windy, snowy D.C. when I lived there. As I did, a negative thought popped into my mind: Maybe he wouldn't come back. Maybe he stopped to be nice, but was late for work and, while he wanted to do the right thing, would keep on trucking and I'd still have to walk those few miles one way, get the gas, and walk the few miles back. ALL IN MY NEW PUMAS!  

I shook the thought from my mind. This guy had a genuine smile. He looked like a good guy and heck, he didn't have to stop when he saw me. I wasn't flagging him down or anything. He stopped because he was a good guy. Yep, he would be back soon with the gas. 

I got out of the car and did a walked around it once. Just cleared my head and took in some cold air to wake me up. As I made my way back to the driver's side I saw the same SUV coming up behind me. Genuinely Nice Guy waved as he pulled up. He then hopped out, went around behind his car and came back carrying a bright red plastic container with a bright yellow cap.

"Sorry it took so long," he said. "The first place I stopped didn't have gas cans, so I had to find another." Genuinely Nice Guy was apologizing to ME? I, of course, told him how silly it was for him to apologize. I apologized for ruining his morning. I think he tried to apologize for something else, but cut him off with an apology for making him apologize. 

He handed off the red container and I opened the gas tank and placed the nozzle into the tank, but quickly pulled it back as gasoline ran down the side of the car. The can's nozzle had a hard plastic nub onto which one was supposed to place the cap so as not to lose it. In our case, it was preventing the nozzle from getting into the small opening of the tank. All of Genuinely Nice Guy's work in vain. Not to mention I'd be late for that meeting. Nice guy just smiled and walked toward his SUV. He disappeared to its rear and a few minutes later reappeared.

"Hey, I've got these wire cutters. Wonder if they will work?" He proceeded to place them over the hard plastic nub and SNIP! It cut through it like butter. SNIP again! And the nub was gone. Number one: What are the chances the guy has a tool like that in his car? One of the FEW tools that could cut through hard plastic like butter? There was no way this was a coincidence. 

I tried the nozzle, it fit! So, I emptied the 2 gals. into the car with ease. Once I'd finished I put down the can and took out my business card. "Hi, my name is Dale." 

He stuck out his cold hand, "I'm Allan."

"Look Allan, if I can ever do ANYTHING for you, please let me know." He studied the card and asked what SeaChange did. I explained and he pocketed it. He made his way back to his SUV and I followed thanking him profusely. Being the genuinely nice guy, he played it all off. After he climbed into the driver's seat, he leaned out of his window and said, "Merry Christmas!" He started the car and he drove of waving. 

I know Allan was real, but I can't help believing it was a gift from God. A reminder that there are Fred Selfe-powered people on every street (and exit ramp) in the world. And it was a less-than-subtle reminder that this Christmas season is not about Puma's or new laptops or new BlackBerrys or material things of any make or model. Instead it's about doing what Allan did, and being selfless. It's about helping others. It's about giving, and giving, and giving, and giving, and

giving. 

So, thank you Allan. You made my year--put me fully into the Christmas spirit and saved me. And thank you God for the lesson. You're really good at that;-) Thank you, Timmy, for making me write this. Oh, and thank me for the Pumas--because, really, they are smokin' new shoes and I needed them;-) 

I hope you and yours had a wonderful Christmas day and wish you a very prosperous 2009! 

Make it the year of BEING FRED SELFE!! 

EXHALATION

LOOKING AHEAD

I’ve learned some really important lessons this year. How NOT to use a chainsaw was one of the more painful. That one cost me surgery, an astronomical medical bill, a scheduled triathlon, and the proper movement of my left leg.

Another equally painful lesson I’ve learned in just the past month is about loss and letting it go.

On Sunday I awoke, filled a mug with Café Bustelo, and turned on my laptop to find my data missing. What data, you ask? ALL data: Every document and file gone. Music gone. Pictures gone. Everything gone. At first I panicked, paced frantically around my house—which is my usual way of dealing with catastrophe. Next I called professionals and spent hours on the phone trying fix after fix to no avail. The data wasn’t there.

Now, for you to understand my state of mind, I must also confess that just a few weeks before I experienced the end of what I thought was a life-changing relationship. Think driving a car. Not the most impressive car you’ve owned, but something about this car makes you want to drive. Makes you want to get out and take it places. Something about the car drives you. Something--everything--about the car makes you want to own it for life.

So, you start slowly at first, then opening it up to higher speeds, feeling it respond to the pressure on the accelerator, getting in-sync with your hands on the wheel. You look down to find you’re driving at over 100 mph. The world flying by, colors blurring, feeling one with the machine. Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, there is no gas in the car. None in the tank, none in the gas lines and none in the engine. The ride ends you never know what happened to the gas. How did it disappear? How could it happen when the ride was going so well? Nothing left but question. I’d been sleeping about 3-4 hours each night, not eating, working out furiously, and focusing my thoughts on work.

So here I was, on Sunday, with that not far behind me sitting and looking at a laptop on which I run my business and my personal life. Looking at nothing. I suppose I could have put on my running shoes and gone for one of those long runs during which I grit my teeth and my hands so tightly they ache for hours after. The ones where I push my leg to exhaustion then keep on until I’m running through sheer pain and sometimes wiping tears away so I can see the road.

But I didn’t. I sat down in my big chair and put up my feet. For the first time since the week before my relationship ended my heart beat slowly and my mind was at peace. There were no questions. No what if I’d said this or done that. No pain. Everything stopped and I could hear my heartbeat.

I did what I advised her (the woman I previously compared to a car--and to be very clear, she's really a wonderful person so, while I miss her, I don't regret her) to do when her job (a financial company in the midst of the financial crisis) hit the fan and her office was chaos and her job was to help keep things cool—I exhaled. I took a long, satisfying, deep, chest-empting release of breath and exhaled. Then I smiled. What I understood at that moment was that if the data was just hidden or non-indexed I knew someone in High Point who could extract it. If it wasn’t—if it was really gone, forever and ever amen—it just was. There was nothing I could do about it. Asking why it happened wouldn’t change the loss. The past, everything that happened prior to that moment, was past. Memories. Gone.

I had to live in the moment. I had to be here now. I couldn’t sit around, as Colin Hay says in his song by the same name, “Waiting for my real life to begin.” The relationship ended when I felt it end on a cold, Sunday when something in her voice shifted. It was really over when we were at a quaint country inn having a wonderful dinner and time and I caught her sneaking text messages to someone when I ducked out to give her new puppy water and let her out of my car for a little walk. Over. Everything I'd felt the moment before was gone.

The data wasn’t where I could get at it, so it wasn’t there. I had to accept that reality and do the next thing. I had to either have someone extract the data and buy a new laptop or just buy the new laptop and try to recreate what I could.

Start from scratch. She (the woman I previously compared to a car) told me once that she and her neices count down the days until they see each other until the night before when they announce, "No more days!" So, this moment for me was that point, "No more days!" My life has to continue in whatever direction I choose from this moment. No putting things off. No blaming events/people from the past for not getting or doing or having or being. No excuses at all. No more days. Today is it. I awoke this morning and made a huge list of things I AM DOING. Moving back to DC, apartment there, new clients, taking all the inherited money I have squirreled away because it embarrased me and putting it into viable investements, personal goals (triathlon in 09!!!!), selling the first novel AND the screenplay, etc. Sure, it's long, but I'm ticking it off as I go...and I'm going each of the 1,440 minutes I have today.

So, here I am. At the beginning. Nothing behind me, and an endless panorama ahead with a pretty good road map to get there.

One bright point: I called her (the woman I previously compared to a car) because she has the only known copy of the latest novel I’m writing. She emailed yesterday that she is putting it in the mail, so I’ll have it. And, even after the initial few seconds where I stopped breathing when her name popped up in my email in-box, I slept through the night. Finally. Things are looking up—and ahead.

NEW PAINTING

Remembrance Day

Thought I'd share my latest painting (24"x36" acrylic on canvas) Can you tell things are looking up?;-) Oh sure, my laptop opened yesterday with NOTHING on it--not one single doc or file or pic or music and neither of my novel/manuscripts. But, the sun came up today and I had a few cups of Cafe Bustelo and some really sweet texts from some really cheeky friends. Yep, I love poppies, don't you?

GIVING THANKS

Wishing you all a wonderful holiday. Please give thanks for each and every thing you have: friends, neighbors, family, husbands/wives, children, lovers, pets, your job, joy, happiness, pain, and grief. Reaffirm your appreciation of them and their importance to your life.

Give thanks for even the smallest, most seemingly insignificant things, because even the smallest can become the greatest.

I am thankful for all of you friends who come to this obscure blog and allow me to share my thoughts. You're the best!

FROZEN BOSTON

HELLO FROM THE FROZEN NORTH

I just returned from attending the Greenbuild show in Boston with my friends and clients, NCFI. Greenbuild is U.S. Green Building Council's international show and they proved their smarts/savvy by holding it in Boston in NOVEMBER! All joking aside, it was a great show and I had a fantastic time. Thanks to some new Selfe-powered friends for help navigating the T around the city and the great bottle of Catena Malbec that awaited me at my groovy boutique hotel. It was the ideal gift to thaw me after the long train ride. You ARE the best!

Also, thanks to Sara Gutterman, CEO of Green Builder Media. Always good to see a familiar, smiling face. Look forward to working with you and Ron in 09.

I have to give a plug and recommend (highly!) the restaurant BokX 109...check out the menu http://www.bokx109.com/. Amazing dinner...smoked paprika fries done in duck fat! Are you kidding????? Nothing like a neat Knob Creek, fois gras, tenderloin, tater tots drenched in truffle oil and duck fat! They had a cardiologist on call. Big evening and just what I needed--well, perhaps I didn't but I've been really good and lost 28 pounds recently and am back in fighting shape--in fact my suit pants wouldn't stay up and my belt didn't have enough holes. So, one night of sin is okay, right?;-)

NOTE: That photo was taken Thurs. at 4:45 outside the Convention Center/Waterfront by a very capable person (thank you Alicia-you are a sweetheart;-) and I think the extreme cold made the camera hinkey. Or maybe I've just become fuzzy.

LATEST PAINTING

Thought I'd share my latest painting with you. Winter Begins, Again. 3'x4', acrylic on canvas.

THIS IS THE LAST TIME I QUOTE RUMI. EVER.

I hesitate to write this post. I’ve been contemplating it for weeks, and this is probably the worst time to write it because of my current state of mind and emotions. But, as it happens, a wise and wonderful woman convinced me over coffee in Old Town Alexandria yesterday morning to do it. She reminded me I wrote the book, Great Big Small Things, not for me, but for others and that those people--like her--came to this obscure blog to read and learn more. I pleaded that my current heartache would make the posting too personal and too dark, but she replied that I was allowed something personal. That it might have some bearing on the world around us, so I should be genuine and put it out there. Thank you, Elena. The spark in your eyes gave me the courage to write this and, as I promised, I write what is on my heart on this cold, rainy Wednesday morning.

I will never quote Rumi again.

I curse the day I stumbled upon Mevlana Rumi’s ruinous Diva-e Shams. I wish I’d never come across them or, at the very least, that I could go back in time and stop myself from ever reading his words, for I’ve lived them and they’ve shaped me into something I cannot seem to control. Something hard on the outside— strong of mind and body--yet brittle and roiling and dumb beneath. I blame Rumi, and I turn away from him now.

I should be like other men and worry about interest rates and stock prices and my 401K. My mind should be enthralled by NFL scores and stats and tires and hunting and such things. Instead, I read Rumi.

I stupidly think of starlight and how it travels millions of miles and years to reach my eyes. And I wonder if I seen it before. I think of the singularity--the place where soul meets the body. If pain transmutes or if we can shed it like a skin as we cross over. I wonder about the eyes of a bee and what they must see when they flutter around us. I consider the taste and smell of honey or a pear that drips its syrupy juice and see a thin, ruddy, beautiful face and hear a distinct, sweet voice. I waste my time caring about what holds us to each other and to the world around us. If on a sub-atomic level—like String Theory suggests—we are one because of the tiny vibrating waves that hold together each thing. Is this the music of our souls? Are these the notes of our great human symphony?

I wonder about the difference between our hearts and our souls. We humans put so much faith in our hearts. We even have a symbol for it that we use to represent love. Yet, we have no understanding of our souls. You could never draw it, nor do we have days assigned to it. It is overlooked and rarely considered, and yet, it is more important than the heart. Love resides not in the weak heart, but in the everlasting soul.

The heart is but an organ—an ill-designed mechanical pump, so delicate and complex. It is limited in size and scope and bound to the place it rides in our chests. It cannot overfill, for if it does it bursts and our life ends. The soul, on the other hand, is limitless. It expands to our greatest joy. It is where God lives and speaks to us. The Shekhinah.

Like an endless accordion file it opens again and again on itself to hold our passions and thoughts and prayers and loves and power. It can hold every moment of a whispered breath and all the pain and suffering in the world. Holocaust, genocide, rape, hunger, loneliness, despair, hopelessness, anger, terror, pain and suffering all fit within it. It’s the soul Rumi made me understand. The soul I’ve sought to know and for which I search in myself and others. And he’s damned me with it.

This kind of thinking leads to the opening of your mind and soul and that is where trouble and pain come in.

Rumi poems are like thick, amber honey held out to parched lips. They are sweet and strong and fill you like you’ve never eaten before. They cover your tongue and run down your throat like a trail of fire opening a way to the hidden soul. To those who eat of it willingly it provides not just sustenance, but becomes like manna. It opens the soul and white-hot light comes from within and changes you in an instant. You begin to believe in blue skies, and soft flower petals and that the most powerful thing in our human world is the sound of a baby laughing. You see hope in everything and a brother and sister in everyone. You wake and go out into the front yard and open your wings to rise into the sky where you float on invisible bubbles of warm air.

You believe, therefore you see.

He is sly, and dangerous, for he uses mundane things like wine and the wine bearer, the pearl and the ocean, the sun and the moon, the night and day, the caravan, and pilgrimage to make us believe he is writing about the world in which we all live. But that is a lie. He is writing about the world within us. The soul we hide. His words burrow into us and crawl into the folds of our brains and lodge there. Suddenly we are thinking of love and lips and kisses and eyelashes and smiles and the feel of warm fingers on cold skin. He traps us with his words until we can do nothing but see what he sees. Who can resist wine? Who can turn away from the moon?

But Rumi, in his ecstasy, denies the tangible world in which we live. When you seek the soul, you must turn inward and go so deep there is no sound or light or heat. It is a peaceful place. Yet, does the turmoil of the world around us disappear? No, it is still there with all the rules and laws that govern it and us.

When you climb a tree and go out on a limb to better see the beautiful indigo bird, you must remember the translucent truth of gravity. If you fall from the limb, you will continue to fall downward until you come into contact with the earth. If you fall from the limb you end up where you started. On the ground below the tree. You cannot be the same person again even though you were just in that place a moment before. There is pain from the landing. Perhaps a dislocated shoulder or broken bone that twinge each time you see a tree. And you are now weary of climbing any tree. They are suddenly too tall. Too thin of limb. Too difficult. Climbing trees is a silly way to spend your time.

I have kept my eyes on the soul and ignored the truth and laws of my natural world. I’ve fallen and— bruised and bloodied and broken—risen again to keep searching. Because I read Rumi. Because I quote Rumi. Because I think in his damned way and whirl like his dervishes when my soul opens to joy and love and kindness and kisses so deep and warm they make you into a single being traveling across space in toward the source of the starlight. I have been damned by his words, and cursed by my own soul.

Honey that once tasted so sweet—like there could never be anything sweeter come from God’s own hand—is bitter gall to me now. I spit it out of my mouth like yellow bile and watch it wriggle on the ground as it rots the dirt and kills the grass. So, this is the last time quote Rumi. These are the last of his words that spit out to rid myself of them and him. You have been dead for 800 years and remain dead. Take this back from me and ruin some other with it. For I refute it and will never quote you again.

"The minute I heard my first love story
I started looking for you,
not knowing how blind that was.
Lovers don't finally meet somewhere.
They're in each other all along."

Never again.

RANDY PAUSCH WAS SELFE-POWERED

Remembering the author of the "Last Lecture."

Randy Pausch, the Carnegie-Mellon professor whose "Last Lecture" to his students (former and current) wife, three children and colleagues became a viral sensation on the Internet, has succumbed to pancreatic cancer. In true Randy Pausch style--and because I watched and am a big fan of the lecture--we won't get into the details of his death, but rather we'll celebrate his life. Randy taught at UVa. when I lived in Charlottesville, and while I did not know him or his family, I have friends who did and say he was one of the most encouraging, entertaining and genuine people they’ve met. He was Selfe-powered! *(A new term I'm using to describe people who care about the Great Big Small Things;-)

Randy knew his cancer was terminal when he delivered what was actually titled, "Really Achieving Your Childhood Dreams,” yet, instead of being gloomy and sullen it was one of the most inspirational talks I've heard. It made me, and countless others around the world, want to live--and to live better lives.

He began by showing the audience scans of his liver tumors and explaining his grim diagnosis. "That is what it is, we can't change it, and we just have to decide how we are going to respond to it," he said. "We cannot change the cards we are dealt, just how we play the hand. If I don't seem as depressed or morose as I should be . . . sorry to disappoint you!"

He went on to provide some amazingly simple, humorous and heartfelt insight into living life fully and without regret:

SOME RANDY PAUSCH LESSONS

To live well, a person must first be grateful for being alive

Being alive and living does not mean that one has beaten the Grim Reaper

What matters more are the things that a person does between birth and death

The unchanging fact is that the Grim Reaper will come for every single one of us

To beat the Grim Reaper, a person has to live fully and well

To live well, a person must follow their heart and passion, and do what he/she is excited about

If a person has not found their passion yet, continue searching

A person should never give up the search for passion

Without passion, all a person does in life in merely waiting for the Grim Reaper

Passion is not found in material things

If a person uses material things as a measure of living well, they will always find other people around who have more of those things. This will lead to discontentment and unhappiness

Passion must always be grounded in people

Passion is about the relationship a person has with other people, and how they are able to gain the trust, respect, and love of those around them

Like passion, true love is worth searching and waiting for

A person should not settle for anyone, but rather, seek the person whose happiness is more important that one’s own

When the Grim Reaper shows up, it is already too late to do all the things you wanted to do, but did not get around to doing

At a person’s deathbed they are likely to regret what they did not do, not what they did

Randy says there are always obstacles (like cancer) in life, but he believed they serve a purpose. "The brick walls are there for a reason. Right? The brick walls are not there to keep us out, the brick walls are there to give us a chance to show how badly we want something. Because the brick walls are there to stop the people who don't want it badly enough," he said in his lecture.

Thank you Randy, for leaving the world a better place. God speed.

***(I tried unsuccessfully to upload the YouTube/Carnegie Mellon video of Randy's Last Lecture. If you'd like to view it, please go here and watch http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ji5_MqicxSo&eurl=http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=92922083)

FRED SELFE FIELD OF DREAMS

Phase One Nearing Completion

I stopped by dear ole Emory last week and was pleasantly surprised at the condition of Fred Selfe Stadium. The turf field is down and they are gluing in the numerals and stripes. The brick wall is up and they've cleverly chosen a beautiful white masonry cap for it--which looks absolutely gorgeous! The 12-foot fence was going up that very day around the entire complex. The supports for the massive new scoreboard (rumored to have instant replay capability!) are up and they were bricking in the bottom half. Earth moving equipment was furiously running back and forth from the east end of the field to the western end (Van Dyke/Brock end) to create the new "Wake Forest" effect of a grass hillside forming an angled wall as the western entrance. The massive concrete supports were up for the new lights. Giant rolls of tiny flecks of crumbed rubber--made from recycled tires--sits ready to spread atop a layer of sand in between the synthetic grass blades fiber woven into a poly fabric.

It was a treat to spend a hour talking with Coach Bob Johnson and run into Dr. Don Reichard (who was pumping iron next door.) Coach J offered to give me a brief tour and explained the entire building process (Phillipe, the French-Canadian supervisor of the company laying the field says Coach J has been on the field every day overseeing the laying of each brick and each load of dirt.) I left heading south re-energized and ready to help Coach Don Montgomery and the Wasps have a stellar 2008 season.

If you'd like to see more visit E&H's web site and take a peek. If you're in the area, stop by and see it for yourself. (Five or six cars slowed down to take pictures in the 30 mins. or so we were on the field;-)

Oh, and if you haven't donated, please do so now as we wrap up Phase One and get ready (after 2008 season) for the big Phase Two (new stands, new amazing field house.) Just drop a check in the mail to Emory and Henry's Dev. Dept. and note that you read about the excitement here and had to get involved!

Blue and gold shall reign on high!

SUMMERTIME

“Come to the edge, he said.
They said: We are afraid.
Come to the edge, he said.
They came.
He pushed them and they flew.”

COACH BOB JOHNSON

Honoring a Great Servant Leader

Please join me and many others for a day of honoring the 27 years of blood, sweat, tears and service of basketball coach/teacher Bob Johnson. This Saturday, Jan. 19 at Emory and Henry College:

2PM--Tip-off of men's basketball game
Halftime--Special Presentation
Following the game--Reception
4PM--Tip-off women's game
6PM--Reception for Bob Johnson at Townhouse Grill in Chilhowie

Come and show your support and thanks for a true servant leader and a great friend of Fred Selfe.