Category: Getting Older
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ValuesI intend on living a long, happy life.
It would be cool to be a great-grandparent, for instance. I’ve also got many things I want to do. Write books, learn new things, start businesses and non-profits, help my community. So many plans, so little time.
Age is not the limiting factor. Health is.
So how can I live a long and happy life? Dan Buettner, a National Geographic writer, believes he knows the answer. He founded the organization Quest Network, Inc. to conduct a study of “Blue Zones” – regions of the world where there are sizable populations that live active lives past one hundred years of age.
There are currently five known Blue Zones in the world:
- Sardina, Italy
- Okinawa, Japan
- Loma Linda, CA, USA
- Nicoya Peninsula, Costa Rica
- Icaria, Greece
Buettner and his organization studied these regions and discovered four key traits that all share, regardless of geography, culture, religion, or other factors.
- Move Naturally
- Right Outlook
- Eat Wisely
- Connect
Move Naturally
People living in Blue Zones don’t run marathons or lift heavy weights in gyms. They don’t sit in front of the TV or computers a lot either. Instead, they take a lot of walks. They climb up stairs. They hike up mountains. They even tend gardens, which require daily manual labor.
The Sardinians live on hillsides. So to get around, many walk up and down these hills all the time, even those in their eighties. Many Okinawans maintain personal gardens that they cultivate with pride. It’s not uncommon to see elders plowing and raking and pulling out weeds.
The trick is to do something active every day that you enjoy. That way, being active isn’t a chore; it is something you look forward to. And that’s why it works.
If you love doing cardio at the gym, then more power to you. Otherwise, take a walk around the block. Walk to the local grocery store instead of driving. Use the stairs instead of the elevator. Take a parking spot further away from the entrance of the mall so you have to walk a bit. Play sports with friends. Play the Nintendo Wii. Do something active everyday.
Right Outlook
Blue Zone inhabitants maintain a healthy perspective on life. They take time to slow down and relax from their hectic schedules. They use healthy outlets to vent their stress. They take problems in stride.
It’s not that they live boring, unexciting lives. Loma Linda is the home of a large medical university and medical community. Being a doctor is far from relaxing. The majority of these residents – those that regularly live long, active lives, at least – are also Seventh-day Adventists, a Christian denomination. Their religion aids in their ability to find peace with their frustrations.
Aside from mechanisms to dispel stress, Blue Zone inhabitants also deeply believe they have a purpose in life. That purpose could be as small as the Okinawan fisherman who sees his purpose is to fish so he can feed his family, or the Okinawan grandmother who knows her purpose is to care for her great-great-grandchildren. Religion also imbues a deep sense of purpose to Seventh-day Adventists.
Many don’t retire. They keep on doing what they enjoy doing, because they believe it is their purpose, their reason to get up every day.
Look for healthy outlets for your stress. Some use exercise, some take walks, and some create art to find relief. For others, it’s spirituality, religion, or their family and community.
A sense of purpose is also equally important. If you don’t have a reason to wake up every day and stay healthy, then find one. Spirituality and religion fill this hole for many. Family and community fill this for others. Still others find their purpose in their work or art. And sometimes your purpose isn’t bestowed upon you; it is something you go out and determine for yourself.
Eat Wisely
Those in Blue Zones eat healthy food in moderation. By healthy food, I mean their diets include a lot of vegetables and little processed food. Seventh-day Adventists are vegetarians. Okinawans eat lots of fresh fish. Sardinians consume homemade food. Each community has a different meal mix, though all contain a lot of vegetables and little processed food.
By moderation, I mean they don’t overeat. They don’t serve huge, American-sized portions. The Okinawans even eat from small plates as a means to minimize overeating. Others take breaks between servings. Since it takes several minutes before the feeling of satiation hits your stomach, taking a break can curb the amount you eat.
Include more vegetables in your diet. Decrease the amount of processed food and fast food from your daily intake as much as possible, or remove it altogether. You don’t need vitamin supplements as long as you eat a wide variety of vegetables, grains, and meats.
And perhaps even more importantly, reduce your portion sizes. Eat from small bowls. Take breaks between servings. You may find yourself feeling full without the usual volume you consume.
Connect
The last common aspect of all Blue Zone elders is their sense of family and community. To them, family comes first. Grandparents aren’t shut away in nursing homes. Respect increases with age, so the eldest are given the most respect.
They also feel a sense of belonging within their communities. Friendships endure throughout lifetimes. A person can count on a friend in time of need, and give selflessly when that friend is in need. You’ve got my back, I’ve got your back.
These tight bonds are formed with people of similar values as well. Everyone in a particular community shares the same core values of enjoyable activities (walks, hikes, etc), a healthy outlook (able to vent with each other, a feeling of purpose), healthy diets (natural foods in moderation), and a sense of belonging.
If you’ve been estranged from your family, consider making amends. Be the bigger person and take the first step at healing that bond. In cases where that’s totally impossible, foster the friendships you have, especially with those that share the same values. Consider being a part of a healthy tight-knit community, such as an activity group, special interest group, religious group, etc.
Is This Possible?
For some, this news is obvious to you. But for others, this may seem entirely impossible. How such a lifestyle can be followed in today’s society? I hear you. I know it’s not easy.
I don’t think it’s impossible either. It just takes some extra effort and a lot of discipline. Moving naturally and eating wisely are the easiest ones to do first, since they involve changes in behavior. The tough part is sticking to the new behavior long enough for it to become habit.
Having the right outlook and connecting to others are much tougher. The first involves changing a mental model that’s been ingrained for years. The second involves both behavioral and mental changes.
Part of having the right outlook is having healthy outlets for stress. This can include exercising, talking to trusted friends, or creating art. There are numerous self-help websites and books you can turn to for more ideas as well.
The other part of the right outlook is a sense of purpose. If you can’t find an easy answer, you are probably waiting for that purpose to come to you. Let me correct that misconception: that is not going to happen. Not everyone is lucky enough to be given their purpose. You need to go out and find your purpose. Create one. Look for something you believe in, whether it is a family member, a vocation, or a cause. As long as it allows you to follow these other traits and doesn’t harm others, embrace it as the reason you get up every morning.
Finding a community that accepts you is probably the toughest one to achieve. If you weren’t born into a tight-knit family or community, you will have to work hard to become a part of a healthy community. However, it’s worth the effort. Once you are in a good community, a sense of purpose will almost certainly come to you.
How do you find such a community? Church groups are an obvious source. Activity groups and special interest groups are another, though not all will give you an encompassing sense of community. Some people join such groups just to do the activity, then return to their own communities without further involvement in the group.
Neighborhood-based communities are also a good source. There are “gated communities” (a set of houses enclosed within gates) that try to engender such a sense of belonging, not only for goodwill, but for protection too (crime is less common in such neighborhoods).
For some, their work can also provide a viable community, though like activity and special interest groups, not all of the members may be willing to put in the same level of commitment as you. To them, it’s just a job, not a community.
I am lucky that I follow and have a lot of these traits. Hopefully I can continue to foster them throughout my long, happy life, and vice versa. For many, I had to work hard to create them. But once they’ve become engrained in my life, following them is as easy as eating and breathing.
Want to see more? You can watch Buettner’s talk at a TEDxTC conference on September 2009 about his study of Blue Zones. It’s a fascinating talk.
Now go live long and prosper. And talk a walk around the block while you’re at it.
What happened to my patience? I used to be a really patient guy. Especially when a friend had a problem and needed a consoling ear.
I’m still patient with most things, I’ll humbly admit. Waiting in a long line at the airport? No problem. Slow cashier at the supermarket? Take your time. The dentist is behind schedule with lots of patients? That’s fine, I’ve got plenty of patience for your patients.
Have a laundry list of complaints you need to vent? Okay. Want to vent and re-vent that same list tomorrow too? Um, sure. Need to repeat the same vents all month long? OMG I’m gonna punch you in the throat.
Well, no, I’m not really. But I can’t sit still and listen like I used to anymore.
In my twenties, I used to have what I called a Jesus Syndrome. I used to believe I could and should save everyone. If anyone, friend or stranger, had a problem, I would be willing to listen and do what I could to help out.
Sometimes it meant just listening. Other times it meant offering gentle advice to nudge them in the right direction (leading a horse to water and all that). And other times, it meant driving over to their house and helping them hide the bodies.
To some friends, I was a big brother. To others, I was almost a father figure. I didn’t mind either. Personality tests have indicated that I have the temperament of a teacher or therapist, and the informal roles I’ve taken have certainly been in that vain.
But then, around my thirties, something changed. My patience levels dropped. Or perhaps it’s my tolerance levels. Whichever it was, I can no longer summon the energy I once had to sit down and listen to someone vent endlessly. It’s draining, as opposed to — if you can believe it — energizing, as it once was.
I attribute it to my mind being an empathic sponge. After having a particularly depressing conversation, I feel depressed. After a particularly angry conversation, I’m angry. And so on.
After a while, it’s worn me down. It’s enough to wear anyone down.
By nature, I’m a positive guy. I see most problems as fun challenges and opportunities. It can take quite a bit to wear me down. About thirty years worth, apparently.
I feel terrible about this. Losing patience and tolerance is frustrating. If I could wring out my empathy sponge and start anew, I would. Then I’d be able to console those that need frequent consoling again.
Or maybe it’s better this way. Maybe those that need frequent consoling can’t be saved by me. The Jesus Syndrome isn’t a healthy syndrome after all. Why should I want to perpetuate it? When I have a family, they will be the ones on which I want to lavish my energy and attention. Close friends too. But not any ole’ person. Maybe this evolution of patience and tolerance is a natural and necessary step.
Meanwhile, those that need frequent consoling would perhaps be best served by professional help. A professionally trained therapist, counselor, or psychologist.
Or, a punch in the throat.
Nah, just kidding. Go for the professional help.
The caller ID displayed my family’s number. I answered cheerfully.
“Hello?”
“Hi Mike,” my Mom greeted.
“Hi Mom. What’s up?”
“I have something to tell you that might upset you.”
No one – I repeat – no one ever wants to hear those words from their Mom. No one. I sat down, took a deep breath, and asked, “Okay, what’s going on?”
“Don’t be upset when I tell you, okay?”
How can I not be upset when you tell me it’s news that might upset me, I thought. It’s impossible. Whenever someone tells you that you might be upset, chances are, you’ll be upset. And even before telling me, I’m upset just knowing I’ll be upset.
It’s like saying: “Don’t look down.” What does everyone do when they hear those words? They look down. It’s a natural reaction. When someone tells you don’t to do something, you do it. We’re all stupid that way.
“What’s going on Mom?” I asked, voice a little shaken.
“Don’t be upset, okay?”
What did I just say?? Well, I didn’t say it out loud. If this was upsetting news, the last thing I wanted to do was add more upset to the conversation. I bit my tongue and tried not to imagine the worse. Unfortunately, trying not to imagine the worse means… yup… imagining the worst. Death, destruction, divorce, diarrhea, dysentery… what could it possibly be?
“Okay, I won’t be upset,” I lied. I really wanted to know. “What’s going on?”
“You know when you were home two weeks ago?”
Frantically, I reviewed my trip two weeks ago. Seemed like a normal & uneventful trip. Nothing crazy or disastrous happened. No drama of any kind. “Yea…?”
“Well, when you knelt down to tie your shoes, I noticed something…”
I head my breath. There was a tumor on the back of my neck. Blood was gushing out. Blackened skin adorned my neck.
“I saw the top of your head…” she continued.
I cleared my throat. The tumor was on my head. It had a face and eyes. It was my conjoined twin, finally bursting to life.
“Your hair is thinning Michael. I saw the top of your head and your hair is thinning. Right at the top of your head. Your hair. It’s thinning.”
“What?” I blinked. ” That’s it Mom?”
“Your hair! It’s thinning!”
“You got me all worked up for that?”
“Don’t be upset now! I told you not to be upset!”
“Mom. I’m not upset. I know my hair is thinning. I thought you called because something crazy happened back home, like someone died or is in the hospital. My gosh Mom… you scared me half to death…”
“So you’re not upset?” She almost sounded disappointed.
“No Mom, I’m not. I know my hair is thinning. I don’t really care. If it happens, it happens. Nothing I can do about it.”
“You can use Rogaine,” she countered.
“I don’t need that. If I go bald, so what? It’s natural. This isn’t something I can control.”
“Sure it is, with Rogaine.”
Good thing my Mom couldn’t see me rolling my eyes. “Rogaine doesn’t grow your hair back. Not that I’m an expert on that stuff or anything, but I heard it only keeps you from losing more hair or something.”
“Don’t you want to keep your hair?”
“Mom.” I took a deep breath. “Am I going to be the same person with or without hair?”
“Yea…”
“So why does it matter?”
“Yea… So you’re not upset. That’s good, that’s good.”
“I think you’re more upset than I am.”
She chuckled uneasily. “I just called to tell you that. That’s all. I am glad you are not upset.”
“Thanks Mom. I think. Don’t worry, I’m fine. This is natural. Thanks for… uh… calling to tell me about this.”
“Sure sure.” She paused. “Are you sure you don’t want Rogaine?”
“Good bye Mom.”
“Okay okay. Bye bye. Take care of your hair!”
And with a Click she hung up.
Are you a love virgin?
Allow me to explain. If you go by the traditional definition of the word “virgin,” it means a person who has not had sexual intercourse. If you’ve ever bumped uglies in the night, hid the hot dog, or taken the bullet train through Yonker’s tunnel, then no, you are not a virgin.
What about a love virgin?
The term “virgin” can also be used in non-sexual contexts to mean a lack of something. A Pina Colada Virgin, for instance, is a Pina Colada cocktail without alcohol. A love virgin, therefore, is someone who has never fallen in love.
Some people go through life never experiencing love. Some do and don’t know it. Still others do and won’t admit it. While all three are potential dating hazards, the first kind — the true love virgin — presents an especially difficult case.
Most people have experienced it at least once. While there isn’t a limit to the number of times one could fall in love, it would be logistically difficult to have felt it more than, say, twenty times. Unless, maybe, you’re a thousand-year-old vampire or something.
For most people, love isn’t an emotion or a state of being that happens easily. It’s not like buying ice cream at the supermarket. It’s more like buying a condo or house, relatively speaking.
I’ll bet some of you are shaking your heads right now. “I fall in love almost once a month,” you’re thinking to yourself. “It’s not as rare as this doofus makes it sound.”
Sorry to do this, but see your bubble there? Now look at this pin in my hand. Burst!
If you fall in love that often, chances are you haven’t been feeling love. What you may have been feeling is infatuation. A very deep, passionate infatuation, perhaps, but infatuation nonetheless.
It is easy to confuse infatuation with love. Love isn’t a feeling that fades in a matter of weeks. It takes years, decades, even lifetimes. Or perhaps it never truly fades; it just evolves into a more elemental emotion.
Infatuation, on the other hand, is defined as an “all-absorbing passion” (see why it’s so easy to confuse it with love?) that doesn’t last. It doesn’t grow or evolve. It just remains at that level, then dips like the sunset.
If you are still in your teens or early twenties, it isn’t uncommon to be a love virgin. Some may even argue that you don’t really know what love is until you’re older, though I think that’s bullshit. But if you are still a love virgin at this age, don’t fret. You are not alone.
If you are in your thirties or forties, however, then you should be concerned. That’s a long time to go through life without ever falling in love. It isn’t impossible, but, well, something may be wrong.
Are you afraid of being hurt so much that you avoid relationships? Are you consciously or unconsciously isolating yourself from strangers? Are you ending relationships before they have a chance to mature?
There is something beneath the surface that isn’t quite socially healthy. Or at least, socially acceptable by the norm.
On the flip side, if you are dating a love virgin, then be careful. Just as a sexual virgin isn’t quite sure what to do with all the rods and cones, a love virgin isn’t quite sure what to do with all the messy emotions that come with being in love. This isn’t a slight against love virgins, it’s just a fact. Lack of experience begets lack of understanding.
For example, jealousy can play a big part in love. Most people new to love will find this curious, yet nagging emotion sitting on their shoulder from time to time. The little green devil may occasionally nip at them, throw an all-out tantrum, or crawl away and lurk just behind the ears.
With experience, many learn to cope with this emotion. They realize its roots in insecurity and put it away appropriately. However, a love virgin doesn’t yet have this experience. Thusly, the little green devil is out to play.
There is more. Mutual love is a delicate sheet of rice paper. Push too hard and it will crumble. Pull too hard and it will tear. With experience and a few failed relationships under your belt (no pun intended), you will hopefully have learned how hard to push and how hard to pull.
A love virgin at age forty, unfortunately, hasn’t had the benefit of such experience. Such an individual may unknowingly come on too strong and suffocate the object of their desire. So dater beware.
To be fair, there are many patient people in the world who can deal with a middle-aged love virgin, just as there are many understanding people in the world who can deal with a middle-aged virgin. (“You know what? I respect women! I love women! I respect them so much that I completely stay away from them!”) So it isn’t the end of the world if you are a love virgin.
But to those dating a love virgin, if you don’t have the patience or tolerance to deal with a new crop of emotions and lack of experience, be careful. Their only experience with love is what they’ve seen in movies. And as we all know, life isn’t like the movies.
I’m not sure when it first hit me. The desire to become an entrepreneur, I mean. All I know is, it has something to do with a pom-pom ball, some felt, and a pair of rolly eyeballs.
I blame it all on my Dad.
My Dad set up the foundation when I was in grade school. He came home from work one evening with a bunch of fuzzy pom-pom balls, sheets of felt, fabric glue, scissors, and a bag of plastic rolly eyeballs, top hats, baseball caps, and other assorted accessories.
The goal for my brother and I was to create a community of pom-pom people.
First, we cut out pairs of feet with the felt. Then we glued these feet to the pom-pom balls. Next, we glued a pair of eyes on each pom-pom. Finally, we individualized each one with accessories. Some received top hats. Some got baseball caps. A few had baseball caps on backwards because they were the bad-asses.
I have no idea how my Dad came by this idea. Maybe from a television show? Maybe from a magazine article? I wonder.
The next day, my Dad took these pom-pom people to work and sold them to his coworkers. He sold every single one.
Inspired by the demand, our family spent the next few weeks creating more pom-pom communities. We diversified and created all kinds of original accessories. My brother gave one a shield and sword-toothpick. I gave another a painter’s palette with swabs of paint (pieces of different colored fabric) and a paint brush-toothpick.
One of our favorites was a black pom-pom with a toothpick we colored red and a black piece of felt around his back — a lightsaber and cape. Get it? Pom-pom Darth Vader! Ah, to be young and imaginative.
Demand remained steady for a month or so. Production kept up with demand steadily. In other words, coworkers kept buying them and we kept making them.
He gave us portions of the money. Some of it was allotted to bank accounts my parents opened for us. Though we were too young to use any of that money, they instilled the virtue of saving money even back then. The remaining cash was used to buy toys and comic books.
Then we saturated the market. Demand fell. We had to scale production back. The unsold pom-pom people remained at my Dad’s desk until he sold every last one in the trailing months. My brother and I kept a few choice favorites back home. I still have a pom-pom painter.
The next time I engaged in an entrepreneurial activity was college, where I used my meager training in graphic and web design to do some freelance work. I did a few small jobs here and there, getting paid what I thought was a mountain of money, though I realize now it was pennies compared to what professional freelancers made.
Having a taste of freelance work was but a sip of being self-employed, a common baby step towards entrepreneurship. The desire to be a business owner always stuck in my peripheral though — not just to be self-employed, but to be a business owner. Not as a freelancer, but as a leader who manages a company of employees doing something fun, profitable, and worthwhile.
Fast forward to 2007, way after the collapse of the Wild West Web. I finally decided to take a gulp, turn my head, and stare straight at entrepreneurship. I flirted with a few ideas, started a few projects, and did a few cool things with some friends, all of which further whet my appetite.
A year ago, I finally founded a formal business with two other entrepreneurs.
It’s still a young company, but it is already profitable, which is saying a lot in the current economic recession. Years of learning, preparing, and planning are beginning to pay off.
I just moved to a new apartment too. While unpacking, I found my old pom pom painter. A grand grin grew on my face. Life was coming full circle. That pom pom guy is sitting on my laptop right now as I write this. Once I finish, I’m going back to work (there is no such thing as a weekend for an entrepreneur).
What a journey it has been, from a pom pom ball to a small business owner. Thanks Dad! I can’t wait to buy my kids a bag of (metaphorical) pom pom balls too.
I, like many Asian Americans I know, turned lactose intolerant a few years ago. Right around the age of 30. And it totally sucked ass.
No more Cold Stones and Ben & Jerrys. Goodbye Pizookies. Hello estrogen-laden soy milk. (Reduced sex drive what??)
To be fair, this isn’t a case just for Asian Americans. A lot of people are lactose intolerant. It affects all ethnicities and cultures. The commonly cited number is 70-75% of the world’s population. That’s a heck of a lot of people!
In fact, it’s perfectly natural to be lactose intolerant. Lactase, the enzyme that breaks down lactose in our small intense, is gradually reduced as we get older. This reduction begins right after weaning and is practically all gone by adulthood. Bummer.
So if this is natural, why would I want to be able to drink milk? I’ll give you three reasons: Cold Stones, Ben & Jerrys, and Pizookies. I have a thing for sweets, what can I say?
My path to lactose intolerance reduction began innocently. One day, a friend casually mentioned to me that yogurt contains live bacteria that aids in lactose digestion. Hmm, I thought. So I did some research and found that:
Yogurt contains probiotics – microbial organisms that are naturally present in our digestive tracts. They are known as “friendly” bacteria. And more specifically, yogurt contains a particular kind of probiotics called acidophilus. If you want to get even more specific, it’s Lactobacillus acidophilus.
When yogurt is consumed, bile acids disrupt the cell wall of the bacteria in yogurt. This releases the enzyme beta-galactosidase (related to lactase) into the intestines, where it can enhance lactose digestion.
Not any yogurt will do, however. It must contain live active bacteria. Fortunately, yogurt labels clearly list whether or not they have live active bacteria – which sounds gross, I know, but it’s really a good thing. Remember, they are “friendly” bacteria!
With that in mind, I decided to try a very unscientific experiment:
- Eat yogurt every day for 2-3 weeks
- Drink a glass of milk at the end of each week
The results?
- Week 1
-
Lactose intolerance still there. And how. I admit, I didn’t drink a full glass of milk. But the effects were the same. I shall spare you the details.
- Week 2
-
Lactose intolerance is going away. Still a bit of its consequences, but a full glass of milk doesn’t have the, uh, intense adverse effects it once did. Experiment is working!
- Week 3
-
Lactose intolerance… gone! Holy crap! (Or lack thereof.) Hello ice cream, goodbye soy milk! This is a glorious milestone, simply glorious.
I’ve been drinking milk semi-regularly since then, with no problems at all. Well, perhaps I’ve been a might bit gassy, but hopefully that will go away in a few more weeks. My friends all sure hope so. Fut.
I can hardly say this experiment is reliable or conclusive. What worked for me may not work for you – just like acidophilus works for some, but not others. If you want to try this, consult your doctor or nutritionist first. After all, maybe humans are lactose intolerant for a reason. (And if you are allergic to milk, that’s a very different condition.)
Now pardon me while I enjoy this cup o’ Cold Stone ice cream. Mmmm!
Categories:
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In a Cafe,
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Values“I intend to live forever. So far, so good.”
- Anonymous
“I look forward to growing old.”
“Are you insane?” Lisa gasped. She regarded me like a little puppy that just ate his own poop.
I shrugged. “Why, you don’t at all?”
“I repeat: Are you insane?” She waved her hand dismissively. “You know what? Don’t even answer that.”
“Insane in the membrane,” I said in a small voice. She ignored me.
“I would love to be a kid again. To have no responsibilities, no worries, no stress. To wake up and be able to watch Saturday morning cartoons.” She looked out the window and sighed. “Life was so much easier back then.”
I leaned back and took a sip of hot mocha. “Was it really? As a kid, weren’t you in a rush to grow up and be an adult, so you could drive and drink and do grown-up things?”
“Well, sure, every kid wants that. But they don’t know any better.”
“And as a teen, weren’t you always stressed out about something dumb? Like over who you liked or who to take to the prom or final exams?”
Lisa pushed her macchiato aside. “Childhood is an idyllic time. Who to take to the prom is such a smaller thing than say, a mortgage you can barely meet. Right? Even someone as insane as you can agree with that.”
“Sure, but not to the kid at that time. When you’re a kid, every little problem seems like the end of the world. And that’s a lot of stress.”
She deflated into her chair. One listless hand picked up her macchiato and swirled it. “Still, I can’t help but think back to being a kid and missing those days.”
I took another sip of hot mocha. It was cooling off now. “I know what you mean. Relative to adult problems, kid problems are much, much smaller.”
“So,” she put her macchiato down, “why do you look forward to growing old?”
“You’re going to think I’m even more insane than you already do.”
“Impossible. I already think you’re damn insane. But go on.”
“Okay.” I cleared my throat and sat up straight. “I look forward to the extra responsibilities. Like: immediate and extended family; house and mortgage; potential businesses and investments. I look forward to being able to do more things, to understanding more about life, and to being responsible for bigger issues.”
Lisa arched one eyebrow. I continued. “I have these big goals of changing the world, right? Changing the education system, starting socially-beneficial companies, etc, right?” She nodded. “Those are my stretch goals. My realistic goals are to have a good family, to be the kind of grandfather who tells his grandkids lots of stories, and to be a writer.”
Lisa scratched her head. A loose strand of hair dangled and she tied it back up. I continued. “Personally, I didn’t like a lot of my childhood. I spent most of my energy trying not to be made fun of by racists. But it’s taught me to be much stronger. And I’ve found that each successive year that I live has been better and brighter than the last.”
I leaned back and shuffled in my chair. “Whoa, I feel like I just took a major dump.” She swirled her macchiato, then took a sip. I could tell she was digesting. Outside, a group of kids wandered by, followed by a loner. He looked at me and scurried off.
“You’re certainly one goal-oriented guy,” she declared. “I guess can see why you look forward to growing old too. People who have rough childhoods, then go on to make something of their lives, tend to look to the future.”
“It’s not that I had a rough childhood though,” I added.
“Right, right, I know. I don’t mean you had a bad one. But you didn’t have an idyllic one, at least. And since you’re someone who actually sets goals and achieves them, each successive goal you reach must feel great.”
I blushed. “Well, I…”
“Plus, and most importantly,” she started. I waited on the perch of my seat as she leaned forward and looked me straight in the eye. “You’re insane.”
“In the membrane,” I whispered.
She groaned. “And plus, who the hell doesn’t look back fondly at childhood and playing with toys and watching cartoons and having no worries?”
“What? Didn’t you just say…”
“Don’t even answer that.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Insane people never know when they’re insane. Tell that to your grandkids.”
Dear Adults,
Hi. I am a little boy living in a small town in America. One day, I will grow up and be an adult just like you.
I am writing to ask you something very important to me. Please don’t kill our planet.
My parents tell me how fun it is to be an adult. My Mom said there are great big waterfalls in the woods near our house. My Mom said there are hiking trails that go up and up and up. They sound like a lot of fun. I can’t wait to hike on them.
My Dad said there are beautiful animals all over the world. My Dad said there are kangaroos in Australia and pandas in China. I saw pictures of them on the TV. I would like to see them one day and pet them and feed them.
I don’t know if I can because our planet is dying. I learned in school that our planet is getting polluted by factories, cars, airplanes, garbage, and pesticides. All of those things are killing our planet. One day, our planet will be a big stinky ball.
I don’t want to live on a big stinky ball. Every time a garbage truck comes by our house, it smells so stinky. If our planet smelled like that, I would hurl like Chris did in the cafeteria at school yesterday. It was yucky.
I have a little sister too. She can’t walk yet. I get sad when I think about the planet she is going to have. I am sad already that I can’t swim at the beach anymore. My Dad says the water is too polluted now. My Dad says I would get sick if I swam in that water.
So I am writing for my little sister too. She will never get a chance to swim at that beach like I did. She loves playing in the water. I know because I got her a rubber duckie for her birthday and it is her favorite toy.
I learned in school that our president did not want to sign a treaty to help the planet. I learned all about bills and treaties and laws. I think a treaty that helps our planet is good for all of us. I don’t know why our president did not want to do it. My teacher tried to tell us why, but I did not get what she said.
Maybe it is because I am just a kid and don’t understand these things. I hope when I grow up, I will understand too. I bet you understand because you are an adult. That’s why I can’t wait to be an adult, so I can be big and smart like you.
I still wish you adults would stop polluting our planet though. I really like living here. My Mom and I recycle all of our glass and cans and paper. My Dad set up a compost heap in the backyard too. My Dad said we all have to do our part to save our planet.
I think if more adults recycled, we could help our planet. My teacher said some adults already do that, but not everyone. My teacher said there are many that still pollute and are killing our planet. I hope you are not one of those adults.
My little sister crawled next to me. I told her to wave at all the adults. Maybe if all of you saw my little sister, you would not want to pollute anymore. My parents said when my sister and I grow up, we will have to take care of the planet. I think that will be very hard to do if the planet is already dying.
I can’t wait to see the great big waterfalls in the woods near our house. I can’t wait to see kangaroos in Australia and pandas in China. I want to take my little sister to see them too, with her rubber duckie that I got her. I hope we can see them before they all become too polluted, like the beach, because then we will never get to see them.
Please don’t kill our planet. I don’t want our planet to be a big stinky ball. Thank you.
Sincerely,
Little boy
“God, grant me the courage to change that which I can, the serenity to accept that which I cannot, and the wisdom to know the difference.”
- Serenity Prayer
I find that each new year is usually better than the last. Which runs contrary to the beliefs of the Good Ole’ Days. Or that your college years were the best years of your life. Or that childhood was a magically warm and fuzzy time.
Not that I’m saying those beliefs are false. Childhood was definitely warm and fuzzy. I had Puff the Magic Dragon, kids nowadays have Harry Potter. Both were and are totally real to children.
But, for me, I believe the best years are yet to come.
More and More Responsibilities
My sentiment comes partly from my beliefs of the future.
I believe that parenthood is going to be a wonderful thing. I believe that owning my own business is going to be a wonderful thing. I believe that I’m going to be able to have a greater impact on my environment and society as I gain more experience in life.
That means earning more responsibilities, however.
To that, I say: Cool! I’d love to have more responsibilities. Hopefully I’ll also have the knowledge to make the right decisions with those responsibilities. Experience is what will give me that knowledge. So since experience grows as time progresses, the future means more experience as well.
I realize this is a very strange frame of mind. It’s not very common. Most people want to release themselves of responsibilities. They want to return to a simpler time in their lives, not make their lives more complicated.
The past sure seems like a simpler time. An easier time. With very few responsibilities. That’s why it is looked upon so fondly. Those were truly magical times, weren’t they? All you had to care about back then were your toys, your grades, or just yourself.
Looking Back with Hindsight
Hindsight is what makes the past seem easier. Since you’re looking back with all this accumulated knowledge, you can clearly see all of your decisions and outcomes.
However, if you were to ask your past self if life was easy, I’ll bet your past self wouldn’t agree.
Case in point: When you look back at your college days, you probably smile at all the fun you had, right? All the parties, the friends, the adventures.
While you were actually in college, I’ll bet you had a different view. You were probably stressing over your exams, thinking about that cute classmate who doesn’t even know you’re alive, or worrying about what you’ll do when you graduate. It probably felt like the hardest time in your life.
That’s one of the paradoxes of hindsight. It empowers you to rationalize the past into any view you want.
Looking Forward with Apprehension
Most people look at the future with apprehension and anxiety. That’s fairly normal. There are so many unanswered questions, so many unimaginable outcomes. Will I be successful? Will I get married? Will I have children? Will global warming destroy us all?
You’d be a fool not to be worried, right?
This comes from the fear of the unknown. It’s human nature to fear what we don’t know. Since we don’t know the future, we fear it. Simple as that.
I’ll bet when you were in high school, you were terrified of college. Excited about it too, hopefully, but maybe a bit frightened. Will I make new friends? Will I do well in my new classes? Did I choose the right major?
Now that you’ve gone through college, you can see that those fears were largely unfounded. You were able to handle all the things that frightened you. But at the time, those fears seemed very real.
Hopeful of the Future
I tend to look at the future with hope instead of apprehension. All those nagging, unanswerable questions are really just challenges and opportunities. They’re goals for which to strive. And serendipitous fortunes that will happen if they’re meant to happen.
It’s like the Serenity Prayer: “God, grant me the courage to change that which I can, the serenity to accept that which I cannot, and the wisdom to know the difference.”
If the Big One hits, the dreaded earthquake that sinks California into the ocean, then, well, I’ll deal with it the best I can. Or I’ll be swimming with the fishes. Either way, it’s not going to do me any good to worry about it now.
If a smaller earthquake hits, then I’ll deal with that too. Hopefully I’ll be somewhat prepared for it with earthquake kits and first-aid training. I can’t do anything about the Big One, but I can prepare for smaller, more likely earthquakes.
In the meantime, I’ll continue through life, learning new subjects and gaining new experiences to better prepare me for new responsibilities. Along the way, I’m sure I’ll spot a few great opportunities, business- or relationship-wise, and hopefully I’ll be wise enough to take them.
And those possibilities are what really, truly excite me.
It’s All in Your Mind
It’s really all a matter of perspective. The glass is half-empty, half-full, so to speak. It sounds stupid simple, but it’s an incredibly difficult principle to teach. Or learn.
Some are born with a hopeful outlook. Others learn it through difficult experiences. Me, I had to learn it the hard way. It took almost getting myself killed while sky diving to open my eyes.
Now that I’ve taken in this lesson, however, each year is better than the next. It’s not positive-thinking mumbo jumbo or self-affirmation psychobabble. It’s not even drugs. It’s just a simple outlook and a sense of hope.
I’m not saying my life won’t be full of problems. There will still be awful days where I absolutely dread getting out of bed. But each problem is a challenge to be faced. Each mistake is a lesson to be learned.
And therein lays the key. The mental switch. It doesn’t just turn a half-empty glass into a half-full glass. It turns the half-empty glass into a business that fills up glasses. That’s the opportunity within the problem.
This year is almost over. And next year is going to be even better!
What’s more fun than bucket of possums and an electric eel? Playing with second graders, of course!
Two friends and I were lucky enough to get such an experience. Our company offers a program called Classroom Buddies. In it, volunteers can take time off during a work day to help an elementary school teacher take care of his/her class.
This year, we got a rambunctious and edifying second grade class. Rambunctious meaning they were like a bucket of possums on speed, with two electric eels. Edifying meaning they opened my eyes to how much things have changed since I was in second grade.
The school we served happens to have a large population of children from low-income families, many of whom are immigrants. The majority of students speak Spanish, though all classes are taught in English.
On our first day, the students jumped out of their seats to greet us. What a warm welcome. Some hugged us, some slapped our hands, most just stared at us and giggled—at what exactly, I have no idea (maybe I had a booger on my nose).
After introductions and trying to explain what we do at work, the teacher let her students ask us questions.
Now, what would you realistically expect second graders to ask? Something like, “Do you like your work?” or “Do I really need to study math?”, right?
If you did, you’d be a fool. Kids nowadays don’t care about things like work and math. They care about things like… well… dating and marriage. (Blame Britney Spears.) For instance:
“Are you married?” “Do you have a girlfriend?” “Do you have a boyfriend?” (to the girl in our group).
And for added fun, one asked the girl, “How old are you?”
“Um, how old do you think I am?” she responded.
“62!” the kid yelled. She’s not 62, by the way; nowhere near it. Maybe these second graders should care more about things like math.
Later, when the teacher wasn’t around, the kids opened up and just started talking about random things.
“My Dad works at WalMart,” said one.
“My sister is pregnant again,” said another.
“The police came to my house again, because my Daddy was yelling at my Mommy.” Yikes.
Each day we returned, we did some fun activity. Like make sock puppets. Or find Easter eggs. Or build gingerbread houses.
Oh yea, gingerbread houses. Want to hear another edifying experience? At our disposal were gingerbread men, liquorish, candy corn, candy canes, mini marshmallows, gumdrops, graham crackers, and icing for glue.
Some of the boys exercised their creativity with these items. For instance:
A gingerbread man holding a marshmallow was: a man throwing a snowball. Ah, that’s creative. Half of a gingerbread man lying next to a bunch of marshmallows was: a man ducking for cover behind a bush. Um, oh.
A gingerbread man holding a black piece of liquorish was: a man with a gun. Ah, I didn’t realize that was a common childhood memory. And a gingerbread man with a candy corn on his back was: a man stabbed in the back. Yikes!
The second graders didn’t exhibit any particular sociopathic behavior, at least, none that an untrained amateur like me could see. Sure, on the playground, there were bullies. But none of the kids were carrying a gun or knifing each other in the back, thankfully.
Speaking of the playground, the boys would often ask to play soccer. Some of the girls wanted to join in, but the boys shooed them away.
“Why don’t you want them to play with us?” I asked.
“Sometimes we do.”
“I’ll bet they always beat you, right?” I snickered.
“Noooo! But sometimes they chase us and try to kiss us.”
Again, remember: these are second graders we’re talking about. Back in my day, which admittedly is like a thousand years ago, second grade girls never chased boys and tried to kiss them. Or at least, they never chased and tried to kiss me. Sniff.
The energy level of second grade boys was extremely high too. They ran me ragged in a matter of minutes.
“Hey, I’m pooped, I’m going to sit here and watch you guys play,” I said.
“Noooo! You can’t sit down, you’re a big kid! You HAVE to play!”
Heh. A second grader called me a big kid. Nice.
It wasn’t all fun and play though. Several students had a hard time with English, so the teacher asked them read to us. Even though the books were first grade books, some still struggled. Hopefully we helped a little.
One boy, who only spoke to us in Spanish, was happily speaking to us in English by the end of the year. I like to think we reached him.
And just like that, the school year was over. But not before the kids left us with some parting thoughts.
One boy said to me, “Thank you for coming. I like you guys.” Aww, how nice.
One girl said to the girl in our group, “Can you be my Mommy?” Um, what’s wrong with her current Mom?
Another boy suddenly became very aggressive. He hit and tripped the other students repeatedly. “That’s a sign that he has a bad home life and doesn’t want school to end,” explained the teacher. “He doesn’t want to go home.” Damn, poor kid.
And so closed an edifying experience with a class of rambunctious second graders. Some of it was a symptom of the kids’ environment; some of it maybe was the growing influence of Britney Spears. All of it was an awesome experience.
Man, I’m pooped. Anyone have a quiet bucket of possums?
. . .
Ever have an edifying experience with second graders?
