If you have ever gone through a toll booth, you know that your relationship to the person in the booth is not the most intimate you'll ever have. It is one of life's frequent nonencounters: You hand over some money; you might get change; you drive off.
Late one morning in 1984, headed for lunch in San Francisco, I drove toward a booth. I heard loud music. It sounded like a party. I looked around. No other cars with their windows open. No sound trucks. I looked at the toll booth. Inside it, the man was dancing.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"I'm having a party," he said.
"What about the rest of the people?" I looked at the other toll booths.
He said, "What do those look like to you?" He pointed down the row of toll booths.
"They look like...toll booths. What do they look like to you?"
He said, "Vertical coffins. At 8:30 every morning, live people get in. Then they die for eight hours. At 4:30, like Lazarus from the dead, they reemerge and go home. For eight hours, brain is on hold, dead on the job. Going through the motions."
I was amazed. This guy had developed a philosophy, a mythology about his job. Sixteen people dead on the job, and the seventeenth, in precisely the same situation, figures out a way to live. I could not help asking the next question: "Why is it different for you? You're having a good time."
He looked at me. "I knew you were going to ask that. I don't understand why anybody would think my job is boring. I have a corner office, glass on all sides. I can see the Golden Gate, San Francisco, and the Berkeley hills. Half the Western world vacations here...and I just stroll in every day and practice dancing."
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Heart Song
Once upon a time there was a great man who married the woman of his dreams. With their love, they created a little girl. She was a bright and cheerful little girl and the great man loved her very much.
When she was very little, he would pick her up, hum a tune and dance with her around the room, and he would tell her, "I love you, little girl!"
When the little girl was growing up, the great man would hug her and tell her, "I love you, little girl. "The little girl would pout and say, "I’m not a little girl anymore." Then the man would laugh and say, "But to me, you’ll always be my little girl."
The little girl who-was-not-little-anymore left her home and went into the world. As she learned more about herself, she learned more about the man. She saw that he truly was great and strong, for now she recognized his strengths. One of his strengths was his ability to express his love to his family. It didn’t matter where she went in the world, the man would call her and say, "I love you, little girl."
The day came when the little girl who-was-not-little-anymore received a phone call. The great man was damaged. He had had a stroke. He was aphasic, they explained to the girl. He couldn’t talk anymore and they weren’t sure that he could understand the words spoken to him. He could no longer smile, laugh, walk, hug, dance or tell the little girl who-was-not-little-anymore that he loved her.
And so she went to the side of the great man. When she walked into the room and saw him, he looked small and not strong at all. He looked at her and tried to speak, but he could not.
The little girl did the only thing she could do. She climbed up on the bed next to the great man. Tears ran from both of their eyes and she drew her arms around the useless shoulders of her father.
Her head on his chest, she thought of many things. She remembered the wonderful times together and how she had always felt protected and cherished by the great man. She felt grief for the loss she was to endure, the words of love that had comforted her.
And then she heard from within the man, the beat of his heart. The heart where the music and the words had always lived. The heart beat on, steadily unconcerned about the damage to the rest of the body. And while she rested there, the magic happened. She heard what she needed to hear.
His heart beat out the words that his mouth could no longer say ...
I love you
I love you
I love you
Little girl
Little girl
Little girl
And she was comforted.
When she was very little, he would pick her up, hum a tune and dance with her around the room, and he would tell her, "I love you, little girl!"
When the little girl was growing up, the great man would hug her and tell her, "I love you, little girl. "The little girl would pout and say, "I’m not a little girl anymore." Then the man would laugh and say, "But to me, you’ll always be my little girl."
The little girl who-was-not-little-anymore left her home and went into the world. As she learned more about herself, she learned more about the man. She saw that he truly was great and strong, for now she recognized his strengths. One of his strengths was his ability to express his love to his family. It didn’t matter where she went in the world, the man would call her and say, "I love you, little girl."
The day came when the little girl who-was-not-little-anymore received a phone call. The great man was damaged. He had had a stroke. He was aphasic, they explained to the girl. He couldn’t talk anymore and they weren’t sure that he could understand the words spoken to him. He could no longer smile, laugh, walk, hug, dance or tell the little girl who-was-not-little-anymore that he loved her.
And so she went to the side of the great man. When she walked into the room and saw him, he looked small and not strong at all. He looked at her and tried to speak, but he could not.
The little girl did the only thing she could do. She climbed up on the bed next to the great man. Tears ran from both of their eyes and she drew her arms around the useless shoulders of her father.
Her head on his chest, she thought of many things. She remembered the wonderful times together and how she had always felt protected and cherished by the great man. She felt grief for the loss she was to endure, the words of love that had comforted her.
And then she heard from within the man, the beat of his heart. The heart where the music and the words had always lived. The heart beat on, steadily unconcerned about the damage to the rest of the body. And while she rested there, the magic happened. She heard what she needed to hear.
His heart beat out the words that his mouth could no longer say ...
I love you
I love you
I love you
Little girl
Little girl
Little girl
And she was comforted.
Wisdom
Three cowboys had been riding the range since early in the morning. One of them was a member of the Navajo Nation. Being busy with herding stray cattle all day, there had been no time for the three of them to eat. Toward the end of the day, two of the cowboys started talking about how hungry they were and about the huge meals they were going to eat when they reached town. When one of the cowboys asked the Navajo if he was also hungry, he just shrugged his shoulders and said, "No."
Later that evening, after they had arrived in town, all three ordered large steak dinners. As the Navajo proceeded to eat everything in sight with great gusto, one of his friends reminded him that less than an hour earlier he had told them that he was not hungry. "Not wise to be hungry then," he replied. "No food."
Later that evening, after they had arrived in town, all three ordered large steak dinners. As the Navajo proceeded to eat everything in sight with great gusto, one of his friends reminded him that less than an hour earlier he had told them that he was not hungry. "Not wise to be hungry then," he replied. "No food."
It's Never Too Late
Several years ago, while attending a communications course, I experienced a most unusual process. The instructor asked us to list anything in our past that we felt ashamed of, guilty about, regretted, or incomplete about. The next week he invited participants to read their lists aloud. This seemed like a very private process, but there's always some brave soul in the crowd who will volunteer. As people read their lists, mine grew longer. After three weeks, I had 101 items on my list. The instructor then suggested that we find ways to make amends, apologize to people, or take some action to right any wrongdoing. I was seriously wondering how this could ever improve my communications, having visions of alienating just about everyone from my life.
The next week, the man next to me raised his hand and volunteered this story:
"While making my list, I remembered an incident from high school. I grew up in a small town in Iowa. There was a sheriff in town that none of us kids liked. One night, my two buddies and I decided to play a trick on Sheriff Brown. After drinking a few beers, we found a can of red paint, climbed the tall water tank in the middle of town, and wrote, on the tank, in bright red letters: Sheriff Brown is an s.o.b. The next day, the town arose to see our glorious sign. Within two hours, Sheriff Brown had my two pals and me in his office. My friends confessed and I lied, denying the truth. No one ever found out.
"Nearly 20 years later, Sheriff Brown's name appears on my list. I didn't even know if he was still alive. Last weekend, I dialed information in my hometown back in Iowa. Sure enough, there was a Roger Brown still listed. I dialed his number. After a few rings, I heard: `Hello?' I said: `Sheriff Brown?’ Pause. `Yup.’ `Well, this is Jimmy Calkins. And I want you to know that I did it.’ Pause. `I knew it!’ he yelled back. We had a good laugh and a lively discussion. His closing words were: `Jimmy, I always felt badly for you because your buddies got it off their chest, and I knew you were carrying it around all these years. I want to thank you for calling me...for your sake.’"
Jimmy inspired me to clear up all 101 items on my list. It took me almost two years, but became the springboard and true inspiration for my career as a conflict mediator. No matter how difficult the conflict, crisis or situation, I always remember that it's never too late to clear up the past and begin resolution.
The next week, the man next to me raised his hand and volunteered this story:
"While making my list, I remembered an incident from high school. I grew up in a small town in Iowa. There was a sheriff in town that none of us kids liked. One night, my two buddies and I decided to play a trick on Sheriff Brown. After drinking a few beers, we found a can of red paint, climbed the tall water tank in the middle of town, and wrote, on the tank, in bright red letters: Sheriff Brown is an s.o.b. The next day, the town arose to see our glorious sign. Within two hours, Sheriff Brown had my two pals and me in his office. My friends confessed and I lied, denying the truth. No one ever found out.
"Nearly 20 years later, Sheriff Brown's name appears on my list. I didn't even know if he was still alive. Last weekend, I dialed information in my hometown back in Iowa. Sure enough, there was a Roger Brown still listed. I dialed his number. After a few rings, I heard: `Hello?' I said: `Sheriff Brown?’ Pause. `Yup.’ `Well, this is Jimmy Calkins. And I want you to know that I did it.’ Pause. `I knew it!’ he yelled back. We had a good laugh and a lively discussion. His closing words were: `Jimmy, I always felt badly for you because your buddies got it off their chest, and I knew you were carrying it around all these years. I want to thank you for calling me...for your sake.’"
Jimmy inspired me to clear up all 101 items on my list. It took me almost two years, but became the springboard and true inspiration for my career as a conflict mediator. No matter how difficult the conflict, crisis or situation, I always remember that it's never too late to clear up the past and begin resolution.
Follow Your Dream
I have a friend named Monty Roberts who owns a horse ranch in San Ysidro. He has let me use his house to put on fund-raising events to raise money for youth at risk programs.
The last time I was there he introduced me by saying, "I want to tell you why I let Jack use my house. It all goes back to a story about a young man who was the son of an itinerant horse trainer who would go from stable to stable, race track to race track, farm to farm and ranch to ranch, training horses. As a result, the boy's high school career was continually interrupted. When he was a senior, he was asked to write a paper about what he wanted to be and do when he grew up.
"That night he wrote a seven-page paper describing his goal of someday owning a horse ranch. He wrote about his dream in great detail and he even drew a diagram of a 200-acre ranch, showing the location of all the buildings, the stables and the track. Then he drew a detailed floor plan for a 4,000-square-foot house that would sit on a 200-acre dream ranch.
"He put a great deal of his heart into the project and the next day he handed it in to his teacher. Two days later he received his paper back. On the front page was a large red F with a note that read, `See me after class.'
"The boy with the dream went to see the teacher after class and asked, `Why did I receive an F?'
"The teacher said, `This is an unrealistic dream for a young boy like you. You have no money. You come from an itinerant family. You have no resources. Owning a horse ranch requires a lot of money. You have to buy the land. You have to pay for the original breeding stock and later you'll have to pay large stud fees. There's no way you could ever do it.’ Then the teacher added, `If you will rewrite this paper with a more realistic goal, I will reconsider your grade.’
"The boy went home and thought about it long and hard. He asked his father what he should do. His father said, `Look, son, you have to make up your own mind on this. However, I think it is a very important decision for you.’
"Finally, after sitting with it for a week, the boy turned in the same paper, making no changes at all. He stated, `You can keep the F and I'll keep my dream.'"
Monty then turned to the assembled group and said, "I tell you this story because you are sitting in my 4,000-square-foot house in the middle of my 200-acre horse ranch. I still have that school paper framed over the fireplace." He added, "The best part of the story is that two summers ago that same schoolteacher brought 30 kids to camp out on my ranch for a week." When the teacher was leaving, he said, `Look, Monty, I can tell you this now. When I was your teacher, I was something of a dream stealer. During those years I stole a lot of kids’ dreams. Fortunately you had enough gumption not to give up on yours.’"
Don't let anyone steal your dreams. Follow your heart, no matter what.
The last time I was there he introduced me by saying, "I want to tell you why I let Jack use my house. It all goes back to a story about a young man who was the son of an itinerant horse trainer who would go from stable to stable, race track to race track, farm to farm and ranch to ranch, training horses. As a result, the boy's high school career was continually interrupted. When he was a senior, he was asked to write a paper about what he wanted to be and do when he grew up.
"That night he wrote a seven-page paper describing his goal of someday owning a horse ranch. He wrote about his dream in great detail and he even drew a diagram of a 200-acre ranch, showing the location of all the buildings, the stables and the track. Then he drew a detailed floor plan for a 4,000-square-foot house that would sit on a 200-acre dream ranch.
"He put a great deal of his heart into the project and the next day he handed it in to his teacher. Two days later he received his paper back. On the front page was a large red F with a note that read, `See me after class.'
"The boy with the dream went to see the teacher after class and asked, `Why did I receive an F?'
"The teacher said, `This is an unrealistic dream for a young boy like you. You have no money. You come from an itinerant family. You have no resources. Owning a horse ranch requires a lot of money. You have to buy the land. You have to pay for the original breeding stock and later you'll have to pay large stud fees. There's no way you could ever do it.’ Then the teacher added, `If you will rewrite this paper with a more realistic goal, I will reconsider your grade.’
"The boy went home and thought about it long and hard. He asked his father what he should do. His father said, `Look, son, you have to make up your own mind on this. However, I think it is a very important decision for you.’
"Finally, after sitting with it for a week, the boy turned in the same paper, making no changes at all. He stated, `You can keep the F and I'll keep my dream.'"
Monty then turned to the assembled group and said, "I tell you this story because you are sitting in my 4,000-square-foot house in the middle of my 200-acre horse ranch. I still have that school paper framed over the fireplace." He added, "The best part of the story is that two summers ago that same schoolteacher brought 30 kids to camp out on my ranch for a week." When the teacher was leaving, he said, `Look, Monty, I can tell you this now. When I was your teacher, I was something of a dream stealer. During those years I stole a lot of kids’ dreams. Fortunately you had enough gumption not to give up on yours.’"
Don't let anyone steal your dreams. Follow your heart, no matter what.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Life Is To Be Whole
Once a circle missed a wedge.The circle wanted to be whole，so it went around looking for its missing piece．But because it was incomplete and therefore could roll only very slowly，it admired the flowers along the way．It chatted with worms．It enjoyed the sunshine．It found lots of different pieces，but none of them fit．So it left them all by the side of the road and kept on searching．Then one day the circle found a piece that fit perfectly．It was so happy．Now it could be whole，with nothing missing．It incorporated the missing piece into itself and began to roll．Now that it was a perfect circle，it could roll very fast，too fast to notice the flowers or talking to the worms．When it realized how different the world seemed when it rolled so quickly，it stopped，left its found piece by the side of the road and rolled slowly away． The lesson of the story，I suggested，was that in some strange sense we are more whole when we are missing something．The man who has everything is in some ways a poor man．He will never know what it feels like to yearn，to hope，to nourish his soul with the dream of something better．He will never know the experience of having someone who loves him give him something he has always wanted or never had． There is a wholeness about the person who has come to terms with his limitations，who has been brave enough to let go of his unrealistic dreams and not feel like a failure for doing so．There is a wholeness about the man or woman who has learned that he or she is strong enough to go through a tragedy and survive，who can lose someone and still feel like a complete person． Life is not a trap set for us by God so that he can condemn us for failing．Life is not a spelling bee，where no matter how many words you’ve gotten right，you’re disqualified if you make one mistake．Life is more like a baseball season，where even the best team loses one－third of its games and even the worst team has its days of brilliance．Our goal is to win more games than we lose． When we accept that imperfection is part of being human，and when we can continue rolling through life and appreciate it，we will have achieved a wholeness that others can only aspire to．That，I believe，is what God asks of us－－not “Be perfect”，not “Don’t even make a mistake”，but “Be whole．” If we are brave enough to love，strong enough to forgive，generous enough to rejoice in another’s happiness，and wise enough to know there is enough love to go around for us all，then we can achieve a fulfillment that no other living creature will ever know．
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