The night was unusually dark and the water unusually warm as I walked along the beach. Very few houses within view were lit, and even the moon and stars were obscured by storm clouds. Even so, I was content to make my way by the intermittent flashes of heat lightning dancing overhead — and a bluish-green sparkle blinking here and there around my feet as I shushed through the shallow surf.
Bioluminescent algae.
I prefer the scientific name, which sounds more poetic: Noctiluca scintillans. “Night lights.”
As my eyes adjusted, I could make out a family of four ahead — two parents and two children, a boy and a girl, walking my way. Drawing closer, it became clear that they were rapt by the scintillations, evidently their first time seeing the phenomenon. The little girl looked entranced, eyes wide as she stared at the fairy perched on her upturned finger. Her brother, though clearly fascinated, looked a bit dejected, unable to “catch” one of his own.
I bent down and carefully scooped a small patch of sand, careful not to disturb the glowing particle atop it. I held it out toward the boy. He…
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If you’re a reader of my blog or books, or if you’ve ever met me in real life, then you know very well by now the central theme of my writing, mentoring, relationships and… well, pretty much everything else. Let’s all say it together, shall we?
“You always have a choice.”
That seemingly simple statement has served as the guide for every talk I’ve given, every workshop I’ve led, every post on this blog over the course of eleven years and every chapter of every book I’ve written. I dare say it even turns up naturally in 80% or better of my personal conversations. In fact, those five words will serve as the actual title of my next book as well, where each of five sections will be devoted to just one individual word from that mantra: You Always Have a Choice. (Yes, there will be an entire multi-chaptered section diving into the single word a.)
I’m just as excited about saying it today as I have ever been, just as convinced of the life-changing potential it holds for those who accept it and then put into practice the truth of it. And it’s in this one central theme that every other piece of advice I’ve ever given finds its anchor.
Now again, if you know me at all in person or through my writing, then you know I don’t just say this. I do my best to live it out. I love the adventure of doing something new.
In my last blog post, for instance, I mentioned having seen for the first time in my life (and quite possibly the last) the rare yellow-crested night heron while on an excursion to a remote island in the Everglades.
I ended my last book, Alternate Reality, with a story about night diving with my friend Chad in the frigid Atlantic during an otherworldly phosphorescent algae bloom.
In between, I’ve share countless stories about everything from eating ox hooves and tripe at a Nigerian restaurant, to wearing a clown nose in traffic to cheer up other drivers, to lying down in the middle of a busy sidewalk and staring up at the stars with a friend who was stuck in a rut.
These stories have all been true. And I share them with others not to make myself out to be terribly adventurous, but in order to grab people’s attention and to provide a memorable hook for making broadly applicable points about life stuff that matters to each of us.
Every time I share such a tale, however, I’m also aware of the double-edged sword it presents. That is, people may focus on the stories themselves thinking “I could never do those things”—and so they wind up missing the big-picture truth behind the stories:
“You always have a choice.”
For this reason, I’m always careful to add that doing something new isn’t about being an extrovert or having money to travel or living near an ocean. Rather doing just about anything new…
taking a different route home from work one day
stopping into a local shop you’ve never visited just to see what they do there (whether you need the service yourself or not)
sampling a food you’ve never tried
listening to a music album or reading a book outside your normal genres
finding out the name of one nautical knot and learning how to tie it yourself
…provides pretty much the same benefit as exploring a sunken ship in shark-infested waters (yeah, so, maybe I did that as well, though the sharks were not part of the original plan).
And yet still, I know that many people go away feeling that such “run-of-the-mill” suggestions for doing something new every day are just a sort of consolation prize—like the pretty, popular girl in high school sitting you down and telling you in that helpful-on-the-surface-yet-somehow-annoyingly-condescending manner, “No, you’re… pretty too… in your own special kind of way.”
The truth is that I myself am by no means rich. Most of the new things I do in life are absolutely free. (And if they aren’t free, they’re cheap or something I’ve had to really save up for.)
Believe it or not, I’m also not someone people who know me would describe as a thrill-seeker. I just keep an open mind and trust myself to be spontaneous within reason.
And I’m 100% convinced that regularly breaking out of our comfort zone by doing something new is one key to happy living.
It wakes up your brain.
It revitalizes your energy.
It boosts your natural curiosity.
It keeps you present and alert for possibilities.
It promotes new ideas, new thinking, new connections, new solutions to old problems.
Most importantly, doing something new keeps us continually mindful of the practical truth that “You always have a choice.”
So today, I’m going to break some illusions about what “doing something new every day” more often looks like for me.
*****
Some years back, my friend Chad came into town for a whirlwind visit. We’d only get a couple of hours together before he had to head out.
We grabbed lunch at a place nearby and, as always, enjoyed some fun, energizing conversation.
When we were through, we still had a bit of time left and were determined to make the most of it. I don’t remember which one of us suggested it (either is as likely as the other), but we decided to go for a walk with the sole intention of finding something new to do—something that neither of us had ever done before.
Keep in mind as you continue here that we were in my home town a couple of blocks from my house, in an area Chad also knew well. And we were pressed for time. There would be no skydiving or piranha tanks or what-have-you.
A few minutes into our walk, eyes keen for opportunity, we came upon an old, cracked, weed-sprouting parking lot next to a building that had been abandoned for years.
“Ever been in this parking lot?” he asked.
“Nope,” I said.
So in we went, already having achieved our goal of doing something together that neither of us had ever done before.
Once in the lot, we looked around for something more, since (we mused) we had both been in an abandoned parking lot somewhere before, and since we did have a little more time before Chad had to go.
Already, though, just having entered the lot with the intention of seeing or doing something new had our synapses firing. I noticed some plants growing in the woods at the far end of the lot. I didn’t recognize them. Neither did Chad. So I suggested we go over and use our phones to try to identify the plant.
That was cool and all. But we were still itching for something that felt like… the thing.
Then we spotted it.
Walking side by side, we both stopped suddenly and looked down at the patch of concrete between us. We paused a few seconds to take in the sight. Then our heads slowly lifted in unison and we locked eyes, silly grins simultaneously taking over our faces. We’d found that day’s really-we-mean-it-this-time new thing.
A Popsicle stick.
And…
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My mom joined me for the first two weeks or so of my extended vacation to Naples, Florida. One of the many outings we enjoyed together was a three-hour tour (just like Gilligan’s Island!) by boat through the Ten Thousand Islands of the Everglades mangrove forests to a remote island where we could go shelling for a while before returning.
Before I tell you more about our day, I’m going to share with you a review someone left online of this very same tour they’d taken just a day or so earlier:
Nothing special
Probably the most disappointing [cruise we’ve taken]. We spent most of the time traveling to the remote island that really was no different than the beach at our condo. When we arrived at the island, we were on our own to explore, so if there was anything special there, we missed it.
We saw a few dolphins and some shore birds. That’s it. This cruise was a bust. I would not recommend this tour.
Now, let me share with you my own review:
Perfect Morning with Mom
The staff and crew were energetic and personable. We had good personal conversations with several, and they love what they are doing, which makes a difference. Our captain (Dave) and mate (Jack) were terrific.
We saw lots of wildlife, and Captain Dave stopped often for us to get great views, photos and videos. On our tour, we saw burrowing owls, snowy egrets, herons, cormorants, pipers, skimmers, limpkins, pelicans, osprey and pink spoonbills; three manatees; skates; and a huge pod of dolphins that were not shy, many of which swam and jumped in our wake or beside us for a while. We had enough time on the island to collect a good assortment of “keeper” shells, one of which I’d never found before.
Even without the wildlife and shell haul, the boat ride itself was fun, relaxing and surrounded by beautiful views.
I went with my mom, and we both had an excellent time.
How is it that such a dismal review and a raving review could both have been written about the same tour?
Before I answer that, so that you don’t think I was just being overly kind in my review, allow me to share some pictures with you of what my mom and I experienced…
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Most people who read my blog know me first and foremost as an author. So they are surprised when they learn that I do other things as well. (And conversely, those whose first dealings with me center on one of those other areas are always surprised to find that I’m also an author.)
Well, one of those other things I do is designing information systems. I’ve done this since I was a child and home computers first came out. But as far this story is concerned, here’s the simple version: I build fancy stuff with spreadsheets. Often, it’s stuff that few other people can figure out. And for that reason, I always have clients who seek me out and pay me well for this work (which I fit in between my writing and marketing and mentoring and…)
You might think these two worlds are incongruous, but in my mind, they’re just different ways of helping people. And I am passionate about infusing both with core values such as kindness.
To that end, I choose to donate a little time each week as I’m able to helping answer posts on a couple of free online forums. Typically, I can only volunteer about a half hour or so per week; but I can get a lot done in that time, considering that the forums are designed to help people with relatively small stuff. A little knowledge sharing here. A formula tweak there.
Recently, I read a forum post from someone who appeared to be located in Romania, and who was requesting spreadsheet help. But in assessing things, what he required wasn’t small stuff. It was a highly customized, time-intensive solution (i.e., real work).
Usually, I’ll just pass over such posts or suggest that the person consider hiring a developer. In this particular case, however, I made the choice to “break my rule” and try to help the guy out anyway. You see, I’ve been especially aware lately of the need for tenacious worldwide kindness. And while it wouldn’t bring about world peace, going the extra mile for this stranger in Bucharest seemed a good opportunity to put feet to my convictions.
Still, it was a bit tricky. Sharing complex solutions on a free forum would create unrealistic future expectations for site visitors. In addition, I can’t offer in a free public forum the same level of complex work that my private clients pay me for.
But my mind was made up. I was going to help this guy (I’ll call him “Ivo” here).
Since Ivo’s shared spreadsheet contained his email address, I reached out to him privately rather than through the public forum. I introduced myself. I explained essentially what I’ve shared with you here: that I am a longtime forum contributor, that the help he required went beyond what I could provide through the free forum, but that I was willing to help him at no cost if he would simply share a copy of the sample spreadsheet with me.
Some hours later, his email reply popped up.
As I try to keep this blog family friendly, I’ll have to do some censoring:
“You bet. You [#&%@!] poor [*!@~$] scammer, eat [&$^#%]. Maybe that’s more useful to support your laughable existence.”
Here, I’d offered him free work —work I’d have charged any other client $150 for—and this was his response?
What would you have done at this point
Most people who read my blog know me first and foremost as an author. So they are surprised when they learn that I do other things as well. (And conversely, those whose first dealings with me center on one of those other areas are always surprised to find that I’m also an author.)
Well, one of those other things I do is designing information systems. I’ve done this since I was a child and home computers first came out. But as far this story is concerned, here’s the simple version: I build fancy stuff with spreadsheets. Often, it’s stuff that few other people can figure out. And for that reason, I always have clients who seek me out and pay me well for this work (which I fit in between my writing and marketing and mentoring and…)
You might think these two worlds are incongruous, but in my mind, they’re just different ways of helping people. And I am passionate about infusing both with core values such as kindness.
To that end, I choose to donate a little time each week as I’m able to helping answer posts on a couple of free online forums. Typically, I can only volunteer about a half hour or so per week; but I can get a lot done in that time, considering that the forums are designed to help people with relatively small stuff. A little knowledge sharing here. A formula tweak there.
Recently, I read a forum post from someone who appeared to be located in Romania, and who was requesting spreadsheet help. But in assessing things, what he required wasn’t small stuff. It was a highly customized, time-intensive solution (i.e., real work).
Usually, I’ll just pass over such posts or suggest that the person consider hiring a developer. In this particular case, however, I made the choice to “break my rule” and try to help the guy out anyway. You see, I’ve been especially aware lately of the need for tenacious worldwide kindness. And while it wouldn’t bring about world peace, going the extra mile for this stranger in Bucharest seemed a good opportunity to put feet to my convictions.
Still, it was a bit tricky. Sharing complex solutions on a free forum would create unrealistic future expectations for site visitors. In addition, I can’t offer in a free public forum the same level of complex work that my private clients pay me for.
But my mind was made up. I was going to help this guy (I’ll call him “Ivo” here).
Since Ivo’s shared spreadsheet contained his email address, I reached out to him privately rather than through the public forum. I introduced myself. I explained essentially what I’ve shared with you here: that I am a longtime forum contributor, that the help he required went beyond what I could provide through the free forum, but that I was willing to help him at no cost if he would simply share a copy of the sample spreadsheet with me.
Some hours later, his email reply popped up.
As I try to keep this blog family friendly, I’ll have to do some censoring:
“You bet. You [#&%@!] poor [*!@~$] scammer, eat [&$^#%]. Maybe that’s more useful to support your laughable existence.”
Here, I’d offered him free work —work I’d have charged any other client $150 for—and this was his response?
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We’ve heard it a million times: “Bad news sells.” And we’ve certainly had more than our fair share of it lately, haven’t we?
As someone who takes my own advice perhaps more than anyone, and ever keeping in mind that central theme of mine — “You always have a choice” — I went beyond simply turning off the bad news to making an active search of good news.
Would you believe that there is actually a whole news site called Good News Network?
There I read an article that not only held true to the claims of offering good news, but that introduced me to something I’ve suspected was true for some time, yet for which I had no proof.
Until now.
I encourage you to read that article for yourself. But the short version is that researchers from California and Italy teamed up to conduct a study which reveals that people with greater empathy and wisdom are less lonely.
Conversely, as you might have guessed, that means people with less empathy and wisdom are more lonely.
Well, that seems easy enough, right?
Just get more wisdom.
Get more empathy.
Be less lonely.
Phew! Glad we solved that one so quickly.
Hmmm…
In reality, those two qualities — wisdom and empathy — are a bit hard for most people to nail down. After all, how do you measure something like wisdom? How do you gain more of it, for that matter? If it were a matter of merely reading the array of inspirational memes that endlessly scroll across our social media accounts all day and pressing the “Like” button, we’d all have wisdom to spare. None of us would ever be lonely.
Likewise, if empathy were gained simply by being around other people, or commenting on their posts, or hitting the sad emoticon button when they post that they just broke up with their boyfriend again, empathy would be the norm (and, therefore, loneliness the exception).
Alas, not so.
Here’s a quick self-check for wisdom:
1.) Do you listen as well as you speak?
2.) Are you known for being…
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One day last week, I wished a friend of mine a happy birthday. He turned 30 and was feeling old. Interestingly enough, he was a sophomore in high school when I met him, and I was older than he is now. So I was able to paint a convincing picture for him as to just how young he still is.
As we talked about getting older, a famous quote came to mind:
“With age comes wisdom.”
Yet I’m inclined to agree with the second half of Oscar Wilde’s observation on the matter:
“… but sometimes age comes alone.”
I don’t need to look very far to find middle-aged adults who are just as petty, rash, irresponsible or egocentric as they were when they were teenagers. (Some, in fact, are even worse off now than when they were younger.) Likewise, I know many in their twenties who are quite well-adjusted and have exemplary character.
That is, wisdom comes not merely from experience but from intention to ponder that experiences. To learn from it. To make new choices.
To change.
Well, after this exchange with my still-young friend, my eye was immediately drawn to a seemingly trivial bit of movement in my living room—a sight so familiar to me that, if not for that particular conversation, it would certainly not have been noteworthy let alone served as the inspiration for a blog post.
At the open window, the edge of a sheer white curtain floated and fluttered in the spring air.
In that moment, I was transported to a particular night in February back when my birthday friend was still in high school. He and a dozen or so other guys his age were gathered in my home on a Monday night for our weekly meet-up. They crowded onto the olive green sectional or found space on the living room floor, happily munching on pizza, which was the norm.
The conversation that night coalesced around a theme. Many of them expressed that they invited change, that they wanted more for their lives, that they were open to deeper connection with others and a sense of real purpose. They came faithfully each week, ready to absorb. They were honest about who they were and where they excelled or struggled. They took part in discussions and read books. But they hadn’t seen the personal progress they’d expected “by now.” They still weren’t feeling or experiencing whatever it was they thought they should be feeling or experiencing.
One or two of them even hinted that they were disappointed that the other group members hadn’t gone to greater lengths in supporting them during the week between meetings.
Where was the magic that would grant them the life they were looking for?
As they continued sharing their thoughts, I got up and headed for the kitchen, presumably to grab another slice of pizza for myself. What no one noticed was that, on the way, I cranked the heat up another ten degrees.
Even at a moderate 70°, I can tell you that 15 teenage boys will heat up a room quickly. With the thermostat now at 80°, it wasn’t long before the sweat was trickling and they were begging for relief.
Instead of lowering the thermostat, I opened the two windows along one side of the room. “Let’s see if this cools things down quickly.” But even though it was a frigid winter night, the temperature in the room didn’t drop by even one degree. No air was coming in from those open windows.
“That’s not working,” they moaned. “Can you just turn the heat down?”
I had them where I wanted them. Breaking the current flow of conversation, I said, “The windows are wide open. Why do you think the cold air isn’t coming in?”
One of them held his hand up to a screen, as if he thought for a moment that maybe a tropical heat wave had mysteriously descended upon New England. I could see that they were thinking. Another offered, “Maybe there’s no wind tonight.”
After a minute or so more, when I was sure their minds were open, I got up without a word and disappeared down the short hall. I opened my bedroom door (which I knew they would hear). Twenty seconds later, I returned and stood in the center of the room. I pointed to the open windows and, as if I were a sorcerer, freezing air whooshed into the room. In less than a minute, they were bundling up in the hoodies they’d so recently discarded; and within two, they were shivering and had had enough.
I turned down the thermostat, closed one window, leaving the other open just an inch or so as I revealed to them how I’d gotten that air to come in—to transform a stagnant space with something new and refreshing.
My secret? I had…
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My new book, TRIED & (Still) TRUE, just launched this past week. It’s been cause for much celebration.
It’s also been cause for a major lack of sleep.
And staying in sweats all day.
And not showering some days (which, if you knew me, is really saying something).
And, if I’m being completely honest, I even realized after 4:00 PM one day that I hadn’t even brushed my teeth yet.
So Sunday afternoon, when I ventured out for a trip north to visit my cousin, it felt strange to have the sun on my face, to feel the gravel of the drive crunch under my shoe-clad feet, which during the last few days had been bare.
Driving along the winding bucolic roads, passing apple farms and waterfalls that had iced over in motion, and with the sun playing like an old-fashioned projector light through the bare tree branches, I found myself singing aloud at the top of my lungs a song that’s been stuck in my head for the last few days:
We are the world
We are the children
We are the ones who make a brighter day, so let’s start giving
There’s a choice we’re making
We’re saving our own lives
It’s true we’ll make a better day, just you and me
If you don’t recognize it, it’s because didn’t live through the ‘80s or at least weren’t old enough to remember what was going on in 1985. “We Are the World” brought together some of the most well-known pop stars of the day to sing what would become the fastest-selling and highest-grossing single in American history, as well as the first song to ever be certified Multi-Platinum (Quadruple Platinum, in fact, selling over 20 million copies).
If you missed it in 1985, you may have heard it in 2010, when another all-star ensemble reprised the song to raise money for the victims of the devastating Haiti earthquake.
Anyway, there I was belting the song in my car. When I reached my destination, I was still humming it. And I got to wondering why. Why was this 35-year-old song stuck in my head? I hadn’t heard it recently nor talked about it with anyone. (As I say, I’d been holed up in my home for days around the book launch.) So why was this particular song burgeoning inside of me on this particular day?
Before I’d even reached the door, I’d figured it out.
I’ve had hundreds of interactions with people during the first few days since TRIED & (Still) TRUElaunched. Calls, texts, emails, blog comments. I’ve read each Amazon and GoodReads review. And I couldn’t help but notice that much of the positivity and praise has been shared alongside a common counterpoint that took this basic form:
“It’s so refreshing to read this encouraging, uplifting book with the world being so negative, divided and scary lately.”
I totally get it. I’ve placed myself on total news blackout for long stretches and turned on ad-blockers so that I can’t even see sidebar headlines when I check my email. If anyone in my friend group happens to mention certain names or events, eyes widen and bodies tense, as if Bloody Mary is on her way through the magic mirror. It’s easy to give in to the sense that “the world” is broken beyond repair. That this is it. The End.
But I don’t believe that.
As I wrote this new book, I delved into the lives of the people who brought us some of the most famous proverbs from history. I didn’t just talk facts. I talked lives, reminding readers constantly that those who penned the words that have become part of our literary legacy were real people just like you and me. They weren’t giants or superheroes. The most famous of them wouldn’t have been known by more of the population than the average person today connects with via social media. They were us. We are them.
And I’m here to tell you—they went through some things.
Subjugation by tyrannical emperors.
Religious purges.
Mysterious and gruesome plagues that killed millions.
Natural disasters on a scale not seen before or since.
They had no running water. No hot water on demand. No showers or baths. No porcelain toilets or toilet paper. No sewage system.
They did not have prenatal care plans and epidurals. Their anesthetic for anything from dentistry to amputation was a few swigs of whiskey and biting down on a stick. There was no counseling or medications for depression and anxiety. No pills to control blood pressure.
No multi-vitamins. No toothpaste and toothbrushes. No Tylenol. No dry skin cream.
In many places and times throughout history, people weren’t out drinking with friends and celebrating on their 21st birthday. They were quietly reflecting on the notion that their life was likely more than halfway over. Living to the age of 40 seemed to them as living to 100 might to us now.
And yet, somehow “the world” continued on, no matter how bad things seemed in the midst of tragedy and hardship.
Here’s a snippet taken from page 26 of my new book:
One thing I have learned is that worry serves no purpose other than to waste otherwise good moments in the present.
I am also convinced, however, that we always have a choice. I cannot choose for a society, or even for a single other person. But I can choose what I myself will do, how I will live—right now.
Let me break down a few lines from that earworm of mine—“We Are The World”—in hopes of…
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In my last post, I invited you to celebrate with me the successful completion of a yearlong writing goal I’d set for myself in 2017.
Since that post, I’ve allowed myself a break from all things blog. It was strategic. I knew that if I were to just continue on writing at the previously set “goal pace,” I would have felt locked into it rather than having been able, as I did, to have closure on that goal—and to then begin a new one.
Well, today is the day I begin that new goal where this blog is concerned.
As my focus turns toward writing the next book—currently entitled Tried and (Still) True)—I want to be sure that I continue to give the concepts inThe Best Advice So Far adequate development. They are, after all, timeless—just as true and life-changing now as they were at the start of things.
I imagine it’s much the same as having a second or third child: being sure, with all the time and attention that the new addition requires, to continue to love and foster and invest in the firstborn.
An idea coalesced during my short writing break: Why not revisit the advice in every chapter of The Best Advice So Faragain, but from an as-yet-unexplored angle or with new stories?
As soon as the notion hit me, it just felt somehow right. Familiar and yet at the same time fresh and exciting. And so, for most if not all of 2018, that will be my new goal and focus. I’m not committing myself to stick stringently to plan, if something outside the express realm of the first book should happen along the way and burn to be told. But I believe it will make for a good guiding force.
*****
Sometime back in the early fall, I caught wind of a great deal on a three-day cruise out of Miami to the Bahamas. Little did I know at the time, when I booked a cabin for the MLK holiday weekend, that winter in New England would be plunging the region into weeks of sub-zero temperatures. During the worst of it, temperatures dropped to -19°F with wind chill affecting -35°F. Attempting such simple tasks as pumping gas (should one have run out of the house quickly without donning gloves) was not only painful but downright dangerous. And try as I might—whether by standing awkwardly with my toes tucked under the old-fashioned radiators in my home, or standing in the shower several times a day for no other reason than warming up—I was never quite able to thaw the blocks of ice that had replaced my feet.
So when the day finally came, I was beyond ready to walk barefoot on sun-warmed grass or sand, to squint with hand-shaded eyes at a too-bright sky—and to bask in the profligate luxury of feeling too hot.
As it turned out, the day I left for Florida, my own home area had a freakish warm streak approaching 60°, while Florida saw a relative cold spell, with one night dipping into the 40s. Still, their “chilly” was shorts-and-flip-flops weather for me.
The cruise was all I had hoped it would be, a real soul restorer. And yet, again, I was surprised by the abundance of generally bad behavior around me.
Before we even set sail, during the mandatory safety drills which required that all hands (and guests) be on deck, many people were disruptive and outright rude to the staff: crying out angrily in the middle of instructions that it was taking too long, or that they were bored, or that the (extremely patient) muster leaders were keeping them from the bar and drinks they had paid for.
I frequently passed people grumbling (to whom, I wondered) about the overcast sky.
Several cruisers with whom I tried to engage in friendly small talk while waiting in a line or on a transfer ferry (not, God forbid, keeping them from the bar or their drinks) were unnecessarily aloof—even dismissive.
Late one night, after a full day of fun on shore and a posh dinner in the formal dining room, I came up to the main deck and slid, smiling, into one of the large hot tubs. I asked the two other guests sharing the spa—a father and his college-aged daughter—how they were enjoying their cruise. They immediately began to complain:
…about the weather,
…about the “small” size of the (eleven-story) ship,
…about the “inferior quality” of the food.
Within fifteen minutes, able to tolerate it no longer, I politely extricated myself from the conversation in search of cheerier company.
Mind you, there were numerous dining options available at all times, each allowing all-you-can-eat access to, I dare say, several hundred varied and exquisitely prepared foods.
You’ll have to trust me when I say that I’m being generous to a fault as I describe the rude behavior of many aboard the ship. More than once, it was not only sad but uncomfortable, even for me.
*****
On Sunday morning, we docked in Nassau, Bahamas.
It’s not a beach sort of place. Rather, you exit the ship and are immediately greeted by a cacophony of urgent voices crying out from just beyond the iron fence:
“You! You! Taxi! Taxi!”
“City tour! Come now! I show you the best places only!”
“Beads! Necklaces! Good price, mon!”
Security guards usher cruise guests out of the melee and into a long, narrow—and carefully presented—strip of shopping options, where one can buy anything from Gucci watches and handbags to Vera Wang shoes at prices that hint at (if not outright tout) the use of slave labor.
Walking beyond the shops funnels the wayward invariably toward Queen’s Staircase.
The tall, steep set of stairs leads upward to—more shops on the periphery of what alleges to be the central attraction: Fort Fincastle.
For those who chose to look only as far as the wall or back toward the port, it’s idyllic:
But turn the other direction—to where the majority of the island lay beyond that wall—and the illusion quickly evaporates.
I stood on the barricade and hopped down a few feet to a square landing made of cracked concrete. From this perch, drifts of garbage became visible, piling up yards high against the wall. Peering through the nearest thicket of palms, I was able to just make out a shanty. A young woman slumped on the porch, watching a naked child and a chicken totter about in the dirt. A rope drooped low to the ground, laden with a few articles of clothing hung out to air.
I had no interest in the veneer that had been set up for tourists. I wanted to know the real people of the island. So it was that my travel companion and I decided to venture over the wall and into…
My mom has been putting in long hours for a while now, caring for her own mother, so that my 93-year-old Nana can continue to enjoy the familiarity and comfort of living in her home of more than 60 years.
In addition to being plumb tuckered out most days, mom was also sick heading into Thanksgiving day.
So for the first time ever, we had our small family Thanksgiving out at a local restaurant instead of at my mom’s house. No preparation. No dishes to do afterward. No leftovers to wrap and store. However odd it felt to set aside tradition this year, no one could refute the sense in it.
We were seated at a spacious, horseshoe booth at about 12:30. The meal was catered, buffet style.
Our server was a young woman named Kim. After making introductions around the table, I asked Kim if she would have any time after her shift ended to join her own family for Thanksgiving meal or desert. She paused, smiled in that way people so often do when they are trying to sound positive about something negative, and said, “All of my family has passed away.”
“Oh no…” I replied. “All of them? Or do you mean there’s just no one local?”
Kim sighed, though her half-smile stayed in place. “Well, I have some distant relatives, cousins. But my own family are all gone now. I figured I’d work today so that people who do have families could be with them.”
I took a moment to just hold Kim’s gaze and let that heavy disclosure stand in silence. Then I said, “Well, we will be your family for today. Let us be your comfortable table, no stress, OK?”
Kim was genuinely appreciative as she explained the buffet setup, then went to fill our drink order.
The meal was good. Plenty of offerings. And I was glad for my mother’s reprieve.
Kim stopped by many times to check on us. She was pleasant and did seem to relax and just be herself when she came to our table. After serving dessert, she brought the bill.
“Kim,” I said, “would you consider yourself an open person?”
Her eyes were curious. She nodded. “Yes, I think I am.”
I stood up to face her. “Good to know. Because… [click link below to continue reading this post]
You’re a contestant on an episode of Family Feud. You’re starting the round, facing off against your opponent, your palm hovering tensely above the buzzer. The host presents the next challenge:
“One hundred people surveyed, top five answers on the board … Name something that causes people to feel angry of impatient.”
:: BZZZT! ::
What’d you guess?
I have a strong suspicion as to the Number 1 answer on the board.
Despite the host of major issues happening across the globe at any given time, it seems few things in life routinely get people worked up quite like traffic.
In fact, this is so much the case that I wonder if we’ve conditioned ourselves at this point to start seeing red once the brake lights ahead of us get to glowing.
Likewise, in becoming comfortable with viewing frustration on the road as “normal,” we justify the bad behavior that so frequently accompanies it.
I’ve seen some of the most mild-mannered people I know get Manson eyes (Charles or Marilyn; both apply) in traffic…
…hands flying off the wheel in all sorts of interesting gestures as they [yell / screech / curse] at all the other people who dare use the same roadway and make “me” to have to sit in this @*$#! mess.
The Best Advice So Far 