WHY NOT ME?

You Can Be or Do Anything---ANYTHING!
Suck It Up, Princess and Get Busy Making It Happen!

I've just gotten back from an annual guy's weekend in mountains of extreme western North Carolina. For 23 years we've been getting together in some form to golf, hike, eat, drink, laugh and attend the Gathering of the Clans and Scottish Games on Grandfather Mt.

We had a wonderful time playing golf (shot a good round despite the strained back muscles--*never accept last minute swing tips from your scratch golfer friend), relaxing and drinking on the deck of a restaurant looking out over 40 miles of mountains and deep, curving valleys, and hiking up to Table Rock (despite the five-foot-long Rattlesnake in the path on the way down that caused Pat Houghton to wet his shorts.) But, it was on the long, lonely drive down there that I experienced a great "Fred Selfe moment."

Somewhere along the way I picked up the mobile phone and returned a call from Dr. Charles Sydnor. He's been a mentor since college and I always enjoy the chance to talk with him--about Nazis (a subject on which he is an expert) or football or business or just to catch up on life. Dr. Syndor (he KEEPS asking me call him Charlie, but I simply cannot do it, just as I cannot call my friend Virgil Goode anything other than "Congressman Goode") recently retired as CEO of Central Va. Educational Television and is back helping Emory and Henry and the new president, Dr. Reichard, with major development projects like Fred Selfe Stadium and the Center for the Arts. We talked so intently about the college's new sports complex and raising money for the $5 million project that I almost missed the first chapter of a new book on CD I'd purchased for the trip--Donny Deutsch's Often Wrong, Never in Doubt.

I've been watching Donny's show, The Big Idea (weeknights 10pm CNBC), for a few months now and really enjoy it. Could be Donny's style: refreshing, open, caution-to-the-wind, friendly and relaxed. Or perhaps it's the jeans, blazer and open collar dress shirt look, or the tough Queens, NY dialect, or the way he easily goes from politics to economics to pop culture that makes the show attractive to me. Whatever it is made me pick up the book on CD and now I had to go back and start it again. And I'm glad I did.

The "Fred Selfe moment" came when Donny described his life philosophy that took him from Van Buren High School to his multi-million dollar advertising agency and the CNBC show. He calls it: "Why not me?" It is the process of being driven by looking around at what you want, then converting that passive "wanting" into a true sense of ownership of the "want." Hey that guy has a successful business and I'm smarter, cooler, a better salesman, a better leader, possess a bigger set of cajones--why not me? The answer has to be I CAN! Ninety-nine percent of people are not born "great"--they work at it. They pull themselves up from the coalfields of Virginia or out of the streets of Brooklyn with the mindset that they can be or do anything. If you dream of being the CEO of a major company, take the steps to get there. If you want to be president of the U.S. know--really KNOW--that you CAN be that and get to work making it happen.

Once you own the "WHY NOT ME?"--change your thinking to I CAN BE/DO ANYTHING anyone else can be/do, you just have to figure out how to go about it. Simple.

That's really what The Big Idea is all about about probably why I like it so much. One night it's Bill Gates, the next night it's a mom, Alicia Shaffer, who turned her need for a better, more fashionable way to carry her baby into a million dollar product, the Peanut Shell sling.

If your sitting there with a big idea, or just looking at your mediocre company and wondering why a competitor is getting all the business or media attention, ask yourself "Why not me?" --I can do that--then taking the steps to make it happen. The only thing separating you from that success is the decision to BE that thing.

INDEPENDENCE DAY

Happy Fourth of July!

Enjoy the day with family and friends, but remember those who came before us and those who serve us now--our troops and their families.

Okay, one rant because I just cannot resist: I was watching the Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Contest (this is the start of the problem) live from Coney Island and overheard the emcee call the line of very odd men and women sitting in front of piles meat and buns, "athletes." Are you kidding? As someone who has been around real athletes I am appalled they call a guy dressed in a giant coonskin hat or a skinny Japanese guy with yellow hair who stuffs things into their mouths "athletes."

It's another fine example of how we tear things down--standards or titles--because the majority of people cannot reach them. Instead of raising people up to higher standards, we simply pull down the standard so anyone who can eat something quickly can be called an athlete. How would it look to see some slob covered in hot dog parts on the cover of Sports Illustrated alongside Venus Williams, Lance Armstrong, LeBron James, Peyton Manning, or Clinton "Ramgage" Jackson.We keep denigrating rare things until they no longer have meaning. And our culture shows it...so few have meaning.

Same thing goes for "video game athletes." These people sit on their backsides and press buttons. THEY ARE NON-ATHLETES! Get outside and skateboard for yourself. You are not Tony Hawk bacause you play his video game. To be Tony Hawk you have to skateboard--outside on a REAL skateboard with your own body. In fact, you have to master skateboarding and that cannot be done by flicking buttons sitting on a sofa. Instead of sitting around your living room in your nasty pajamas and thumbing your way to John Madden NFL glory, get outside and play the game. throw a ball; catch or kick one. Then, call yourself an athlete. Heck, call yourself John Madden for all I care, but if you don't play the game, don't take on a title you don't deserve.

On Paula Abdul's new reality show, Hey Paula!, her very odd stylist tells her people are trying to tear her down and she replies, "But I'm a warrior." A warrior? Is she kidding? She fights to stay sane or to find a new job or get to the Grammys on time, but she is NOT a warrior. The Marine (Maj. Doug Zembiec) in the post below is a warrior. My cousin Maj. Andrew Warren is a warrior. Paula Abdul is a quasi-entertainer.

Mr. Conspicuous Consumption, Arnold Schwarzenenegger calls himself an environmentalist because he has a hybrid Hummer? Or Al Gore whose carbon footprint on his five or six homes is greater than Honduras? We've used the word "revolution" to describe everything from razors to diet drugs to cat litter. What are we going to call an armed insurrection if we have one? Did I just answer my own question? Okay, what about the word "Czar"? Comes from the Latin "Caesar" and has been used as a title to describe the supreme ruler of Bulgaria, Serbia and Russia since the 900s. Now we have drug czars, war czars, energy czars, cupcake czars. When does the insanity end?

Drug dealers are not "alternative pharmacists."

Al Sharpton is not a "Reverend."

Bloggers are not "journalists."

Dr. Love is not a "Doctor." Come to think of it, neither is Dr. Hook. Oh, and hate to break your heart, but the Captain, of Capt. and Tennille fame, is not a "Captain."

Paris Hilton is not a ... well, Paris Hilton is nothing really.

Competitive eaters are not athletes. They are people who stuff foods into their bodies. Let's stop tearing down high standards and rare titles. Gives us all something for which to shoot. So the American guy, Joey Chestnut, who just beat the reigning champ, Takeru Kobayashi, by downing 66 hot dogs in 12 mins. should wake this morning and call himself a competitive eater or food stuffer, but not an athlete. Oh, and hot dogs are not really dogs, so maybe we should also rethink that.

WEAR IT, DECLARE IT, SHARE IT!

New Clothing Line Raises Awareness of Men and Women Serving in Our Military

My three nieces Kirsten (16), Connor (10) and Kaycie (8) sparked an idea that may make a big difference in our society. We were discussing our cousin Drew's service in Iraq and Afghanistan and what his family goes through while he is away for so many months. My three little girls had plenty to say about what it would be like if their fathers had to be away for that long. What it would be like not to have them kiss them goodnight, or read a bedtime story, or let them curl up in their lap watching TV.

One of my nieces blurted out that she didn't like war and the other two quickly agreed. According to them war is "yucky," "dirty" and "hurts good people." I seconded (fourthed?) their dislike of war and--in typical avuncular style--started into the theory of a "just war."

Big mistake. I knew I'd gone to far when little eyes glazed over and gum-filled mouths slowed and slacked as I waxed about the thoughts of Cicero, Augustine and Thomas Aquinas. "Uncle Dale," one of my nieces interrupted, "Are they your friends?" "Another asked, "Are they soldiers?"

Hmmm...I had fallen into the uncle trap. They were smart, but as I got into theory and philosophy I'd gone from cool guy to teacher in a flash. Instead of bore them any more, I decided to turn the conversation to what had sparked the conversation in the first place: the people in uniform serving in time of a war that has no boundaries and no definitive end point. I shifted the conversation to our cousin Ryan McGlothlin, a 26-year-old Marine 2Lt. killed in Iraq in 2005. Ryan was on a full ride fellowship to Stanford's doctoral program when he joined the Marines. After Sept. 11, he felt he needed to give back. He told his father, “Dad, I’ve been born into privilege, why should I ride on the backs of others?” He wrote to his family, “I know this war is not the most popular one back home, “but people must understand that to pull out before the Iraqi army is fully ready to assume responsibility for the security of their own country is not only irresponsible of us but would ensure the persistence of terrorism. If you walk through these cities and see how terrified Iraqi citizens are of the terrorists and how thankful they are that we finally came to their cities, you could not possibly consider doing this job incompletely.”

My nieces were riveted and I felt my heart slow and tears welling up as I recounted the story. Like most rural families, the McGlothins are close. We scratched out an existence in the hollows of Russell, Tazewell and Buchanan counties in far off fields and coal mines of southwestern Virginia. Ryan's death had affected all of us and I remembered the call from my dad when it happened. I sat back from my desk overlooking Conn. Ave in DC, then asked my assistant to hold my calls and meetings and walked around Dupont Circle for hours in a fog. I queried the girls: Did they know that about their cousin Ryan? That he'd given up his studies at Stanford to serve? Did they know that young people, men and women just a few years older than my oldest niece, were serving in Iraq and Afghanistan? Did they know that sometimes those young people who were doing their jobs because we ask them to, were wounded and killed? Silence fell over their little faces as they thought and thought about my questions.

One of the nieces finally broke the silence, "My friends don't know anything about Ryan. They don't think about anything but clothes and movies and the beach. Why don't we care more about good people like Ryan and Drew who serve in the army for us?" I didn't have an answer. "Uncle Dale, we should do something to get people to care about the boys and girls like Ryan and Drew who are in the war." The other two girls agreed. "We should make something so that people will remember them." Great idea! But what could we do?

That question consumed me for weeks. One morning as I was searching through U.K. coverage of the war, it hit me. It was right there in front of me--had been for years! The red poppy! Since I was a kid riding around our hometown with my grandfather I'd seen the VFW selling little plastic lapel poppies on street corners around Veterans Day, but as their numbers decline I've seen them less and less. In the U.K. and Canada, however, the poppy was everywhere. That was it! We could create a new look for the red poppy and create a line of clothing so that people could wear it to show they remember and appreciate the men and women in our military.

After a month or two of hard work we did it! Our line of tees, hooded sweatshirts and hats are now out and ready to roll. My nieces are so proud of them and are modeling the clothing for our website (which we hope to have up soon.) They are learning about costing, marketing, production, and design and the clothing will keep those marines, soldiers, sailors and airmen in people's minds and hearts.

We hope our new "rememberthem" logo really takes off and begins to appear everywhere. One of the girls suggested we give back too. So, for each item we sell, we're giving a percentage to the Fisher House--a nonprofit that provides a place to stay for family members of injured military personnel so they can be with them as they receive medical attention. Come on, wear "the power of the flower" and put on a Red Poppy to show you care about the men and women in uniform. This is not about whether you agree or disagree with the politics of war--it's about the sacrifice, dedication and service of people like Ryan and Drew. Yes, war is "yucky" and "dirty" and "hurts good people." But, the people who serve in our Armed Forces are our brothers and sisters, cousins, uncles, friends, neighbors, coworkers and even total strangers to whom we owe a debt. We must remember them. Above the din of anger and accusation and political rhetoric Remember Them!

HE EARNED IT!

I'd give this guy a buck

For creativity and his show of cajone-ness--I might even give him a fiver.

Priceless!

THE LION OF FALLUJAH

Remembering All Our Young Lions

I had dinner with my cousin Maj. Andrew (Drew) Warren and his lovely/lively wife Alice last night. I mentioned that just that morning I was in Barnes and Noble and happened upon a new book, Warlords, by 2LT Ilario Pantano, a Marine you may remember from the trial over his accusal of murder of two insurgents in the combat zone. Pantano had served under my cousin while awaiting trial and I found his acknowledgement in the first pages of the book: "To Maj. Warren for teaching us to 'be the hunter instead of the hunted.'"

We talked about Pantano for a bit then Drew asked if I'd heard of Maj. Doug Zembiec? I read and watch plenty of network and cable news, yet the name didn't ring a bell. He said he'd just returned from Zembiec's funeral in DC and wondered aloud why the media didn't make a big deal about the death of a man like Maj. Zembiec with whom he'd served in Kosovo, Afghanistan and Iraq. Zembiec was the commander of E Company, 2nd Battalion, 1st Marine Regiment. He has become known as the Lion of Fallujah, after a comment he made to the press after a fierce battle that his Marines "fought like lions..." but he was also given the name for his own personal tenacity and toughness.

I know Drew pretty well and when he (like most Marines) is impressed by someones character that person must be one heck of a leader. I found some stories about Maj. Zembiec and added them here so my readers will have a chance to know Maj. Zembiec and remember him for his service and sacrifice.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/05/16/AR2007051602860.html

http://www.militaryphotos.net/forums/showthread.php?t=112375

http://www.baltimoresun.com/news/local/annearundel/bal-soldier0514,0,3270173.story?coll=bal-local-arundel

Rest in Peace, Maj. Zembiec. Thank you for your service and sacrifice,
Wear a red poppy in remembrance of this lion and the others who serve for us.

ATTACKING THE ANGRY LOBSTER

Defeating the Big Things
Find your place to stand and you can move your world!

I was wandering around downtown Wilmington, North Carolina last week admiring the waterfront area with its restaurants, coffee houses, bars, antique stores, art galleries, and scores of other small businesses. I grabbed a cup of coffee from a local shop and stood admiring the water lapping against the wooden walkway that snakes along the waterfront giving visitors a great view of the spires and towers of the city's oldest attraction, the retired battleship North Carolina. I was lost--my mind numbed by repetitive slap, slap, slapping of the water against the wood. Suddenly someone touched my arm. I was so surprised I jumped, sloshing coffee all over the wooden planks. I turned to find a young man with a beard standing looking at me. While I was shocked by the encounter, he seemed nonplussed. I smiled to hide my embarrassment and he returned the smile as he apologized for scaring me. "Sorry bout that man!"

I did my best to play it off, but how often does a stranger actually touch you? I was in my own world one moment, the next a total stranger was inside my space bubble and touching my arm. Once I had my wits about me, I looked at the young man: he was dressed in dirty flip-flops and his feet were caked with grime. His shorts and zip-front sweat shirt had smudges of dirt and food drippings long-ground into the cotton fabric. His beard was scraggly and uncut for some time.

"Hey man, I'm trying to get one of those cups of coffee . . ." he pointed toward my half-full cup. "And I wonder if you might have a few extra coins . . . a quarter or two?" How often had I heard that line? I live in downtown DC where every twenty feet someone needs a little money "for bus fare just to get home," or "trying to get something to eat" or a "homeless Vietnam vet" trying to make do. Yet, this guy was different. First off he was young--maybe late twenties and most of the sidewalk and door frame panhandlers in DC are older.

In DC when asked for money for something to eat, I usually ask if I can get them something to eat at the closest fast food place. That usually ends the conversation as the person is not really going to use the money for food--I assume the real need is alcohol or drugs.

So, I offered to walk with guy back to the coffee shop to refill my cup and buy him one. To my surprise he accepted. As we walked I decided to strike up a conversation during which he was surprisingly open and frank. His name was Brian and he'd come to town a few years ago to attend college at UNC Wilmington but never graduated. He surfed. He worked as a "grip" in the local movie industry "sometimes." He was living in the apartment of a girl he'd met surfing at Wrightsville Beach a few months ago. He slept in his sleeping bag in the living room of the one bedroom apartment, but she was moving back to New Jersey and he was looking for another place. He was smart, articulate, and had a warm, kind smile. How could this guy be on the streets?

As he loaded his coffee with enough sugar to make a small cake I asked why he hadn't finished his studies at UNCW. "It was too big for me. I stood back and looked at it and it was just too much." He pointed his wooden stirring stick at me and said, "You probably think I'm a druggie, don't you?" I was stunned. I mean, yes I had assumed he did drugs and that was the reason for his current state, but his direct question threw me off and I couldn't answer. "Sure, you do. But, I'm not. I don't do drugs or drink alcohol. I just can't deal with the world, man. If you can't win, why play?" He laughed and turned to leave. "Thanks for the coffee man I'll pay you back one day." He winked and ambled on down Front Street

I spent the afternoon thinking about Brian's fear of the world; because as I see it that's exactly what it is: .Fear. That is so foreign to me--it's just not the way I look at things. I see a hurdle or challenge and roll up my sleeves and figure out how to take it on. Brian was a reality check. Hey, Dale, not everyone sees the world as you do. Not everyone thinks there's a monster under the bed and grabs the broom to see if it's true. Some people look at "big things" and think them too big. Some see an obstacle in their path and turn around and go back instead of taking it on. Some hide under the covers until they fall asleep or the sun comes up.

Not everyone is as afflicted by their fear as Brian. You may not be surfing and sleeping in someone’s living room, but perhaps you are afraid to go back to school to finish your degree, or change jobs even though you know it would better your life, or stop smoking, or lose weight, or even to stand up and let your voice be heard.

One of my favorite new books (I've mentioned this before) is Robert Greene's The 33 Strategies of War. In it there is brilliant example of how Brian and people like him who are afraid to take on "big things." A lobster looks intimidating. Can you imagine what a shrimp sees when it comes across a lobster? Imagine, if you will, a monster lobster--one the size of an RV. How would you see it? Huge? Well-armored? Scary? Here's how Greene describes it: "Its sharp claws quick to grab, it's hard protective shell, it's powerful tail propelling it out of danger." Intimidating? Sure it is. But, stop for a moment and think of its weakness. Think of the best way to defeat it. Flip it over. Yes, it's that simple. Underneath there is very little of the thick plating found on top. There is a soft underbelly. Many cracks and chinks in the thinned armor. Plus, the lobster on its back is helpless. All you need to defeat the lobster is a stick. A lever! As Archimedes (who did not discover the lever, but was the first to offer a mathematical explanation of how one works) said, "Give me a place to stand and I will move the world." With these simple things the monster lobster is not so "big." Not so intimidating. Not so scary. In fact, once you have it on its back, it's downright pitiful.

Find your place to stand!

IS IT FULL?

I don't usually pass along the many, many stories I receive via email each day, but this one is really worth it. My good friend Paul Overbay forwarded it to me and it really struck a chord. I've been traveling and working in NC and haven't had a chance to sit down to create a post in two long weeks. When I finally sat down this morning with the intention of whipping up a message, I first opened Paul's email with my coffee and it was so good I think I'll use it as the post. Thanks to those who passed it along and to Paul for passing it to me.

Priorities and Your Life Container
When things in your life seem almost too much too handle, when 24 hours in a day are not enough, remember the mayonnaise jar and the two cups of coffee.

A professor stood before his philosophy class and had some items in front of him. When the class began, wordlessly, he picked up a very large and empty mayonnaise jar and proceeded to fill it with golf balls. He then asked the students if the jar was full. They agreed it was.

The professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly. The pebbles rolled into the open areas between the golf balls. He then asked the students again if the jar was full they agreed it was. The professor next picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar. Of course, the sand filled up everything else. He asked once more if the jar was full. The students responded with a unanimous "yes."

The professor then produced two cups of coffee from under the table and poured the entire contents into the jar, effectively filling the empty space between the sand. The students laughed. "Now," said the professor, as the laughter subsided, "I want you to recognize that this jar represents your life. The golf balls are the important things: God, family, your children, your health, your friends, and your favorite passions--things that if everything else was lost and only they remained your life would still be full.

The pebbles are the other things that matter like your job, your house, and your car.The sand is everything else -- the small stuff. If you put the sand into the jar first," he continued, "there is no room for the pebbles or the golf balls.

The same goes for life. If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff, you will never have room for the things that are important to you. Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness. Play with your children. Take time to get medical checkups. Take your partner out to dinner. Play another 18 holes. There will always be time to clean the house and fix the disposal. "Take care of the golf balls first -- the things that really matter. Set your priorities. The rest is just sand."

One of the students raised her hand and inquired what the coffee represented.The professor smiled. "I'm glad you asked. It just goes to show you no matter how full your life may seem, there's always room for a couple of cups of coffee with a friend."