Redemption

I'd never read Truman Capote. It's hard to have grown up in the twentieth century and not have come across and read anything by him. But just the other day I picked up the Modern Classics book, A Christmas Memory, One Christmas, and The Thanksgiving Visitor, largely because I noticed it on a shelf in my house. He was an amazing writer.

In the story about Thanksgiving, the narrator is an eight year old boy who has been relentlessly and cruelly bulled by a twelve year old boy in his class, a young man who has failed grades, and comes from a background of failure. Our narrator, Buddy, lives with some older relatives, several sisters and a brother, in Alabama, and is closest with a lady in her sixties, Miss Sook, he calls her, who is in many ways like a child. Her simplicity causes her to favor the company of young children. But it also helps her to see deep truths that normal people would miss. This comes across in all three stories, and struck me deeply as I read.

Because of an act of kindness she does for Buddy's tormentor, the sort of favor he's never received from anyone, apparently, he changes. He becomes a better person, in contradiction to all his previous behavior. The story reminds us that almost anyone can be redeemed, or transformed. But it rarely happens apart from an act of love and kindness.

We tend to think in the opposite way, that bad people deserve bad consequences. But sometimes, a small act of acceptance, and respect, and care, can change a heart. The author Truman Capote suffered much in his life. And because of that, he has some lessons to pass on to the rest of us. Redemption is possible. Change can happen. But if it's radical enough, it has to be helped along by acts of love, which themselves are radical enough to make it happen.

Our lesson is simple. It's important to be able to rise above things, and even act in love toward someone who seems not to deserve it. That way, you just might help make something radically good happen.

Image and Reality

I turned on the radio the other day, and the first words I heard on my local NPR station were something like this:

Yeah, well, when I started to get better known, and, really, sort of famous, somebody told me my wife was worried it would all go to my head. As soon as I heard that, I had my people call her to reassure her. For some reason, it didn't work.

I had to laugh. In my own adventures as a public philosopher, I've even had such experiences. I think it was after doing some television commercials for Disney, and an appearance on Regis and Kathy Lee, back in the day of its peak popularity on ABC, followed by a session with Matt Lauer on the NBC Today Show, that my wife gave me a little blue button to pin on my shirt that said, "Almost Famous Person." I think she wanted both to celebrate those improbably experiences with me, and to remind me diplomatically that I was still solidly on the "ordinary person" side of the line in our culture of fame and instant celebrity.

My workout partner sometimes goes to GoodWill stores to look for old books. He recently gave me a novel set in North Carolina and UNC Chapel Hill, beginning in 1954, and then spanning a couple of decades, called Everybody's All American. It was published in 1981 by the prominent sports writer Frank Deford. It's about a great UNC football player who becomes a legend, and almost a myth - The Grey Ghost they call him. He's much larger than life because of his natural talents and tremendous exploits as a running back on the football field. People treat him differently. His girlfriend is the most beautiful woman anyone has ever seen. Everyone also treats her differently, both because of her physical attributes, and of course, since she's with The Ghost. They are a couple who bring larger-than-life glamour and a certain electricity with them wherever they go.

The Ghost, Gavin Grey, never seems quite comfortable with the way people relate to him during his glory days. And yet, when it eventually ends and all goes away, he's desperate to return to those times, or to recreate some measure of it all. He goes to the pros. He flourishes, but then he's injured. They retire his jersey. And he falls from Olympus. He finds quickly that he just can't deal with ordinary life. He shows that he's become addicted to the legend - to the excitement and the action, and especially to the glory of doing something with his distinctive talents, and doing it exceptionally well. This addiction then spirals into others and eventually takes him down, in an act of tragic desperation.

What does a teacher do without a class, a judge without a courtroom, a doctor without patients? Most of us have a situation in our lives where we feel useful, helpful to others, and appreciated for what we do. If that situation comes to and end, as it does at retirement, or for empty nesters, with the departure of a child, or perhaps when business wanes, how do we fare? Are we able to reinvent ourselves and launch into a new adventure, appreciating what's past, but looking forward to what's ahead? Is the source of our self image and our self esteem deep enough to withstand a loss of great affirmation and any positive attention we've enjoyed? Or have we become addicted to something in ways we ourselves may not easily identify or understand? 

The plight of the college star who graduates, or the pro athlete who retires young, of the musician whose records are no longer the hits they once were, or the actor who now doesn't get the parts he long enjoyed - these scenarios are well known. Deford does a great job in his book of describing one, in a compelling story of loss and diminishment. But smaller versions of the same problem can come into any life. We all experience hills and valleys. We need to learn to live happily in the valleys, as well as high on the hills. Life is all about ups and downs. Without an inner balance, a center of philosophical equanimity, and a sure place for our own self understanding, we can suffer greatly from those times when the tide turns and the spotlight shifts.

What the Grey Ghost needed to realize, and what we all benefit from knowing, is that the true values of life amount to an inner game that may or may not be manifested in outer recognition or affirmation. We can enjoy that outer good when it comes, but it's best to do so without needing it or becoming addicted to it. This resilience of spirit isn't easy to attain. But those who have it are greatly blessed.

Where's Your Cow or Goat?

I believe we all have a spiritual need to feel useful, to take action to make a difference in the world, on however big or small a scale. And I also think that this provides us with an important hint as to how we should approach each day.

In a recent New York Times article, Nicholas Kristof reported on some new studies on whether philanthropic giving really makes a difference, long term, for people living in poverty. It turns out that the most effective giving involves a cow, or a goat, or chickens. Seeds also help. What doesn't help much, it seems, is money. It's all about a certain way of giving hope, through an opportunity for action.

When impoverished people are given a useful animal, one that can provide milk or eggs, as well as a form of companionship, and almost a sort of partnership, they become more active generally in their lives. They work more, they take more odd jobs, they have a new form of hope. They've been given the possibility of an activity, a usefulness in their own lives, that can make a difference for how they and their families live. And this is a form of giving that works. You know the old adage about giving a man a fish, or teaching him how to fish. Research now bears this out in more ways that we might have imagined.

And this provides a hint for all of us. How much time do you spend wishing things were better, or simply regretting the way things are? Most of us perceive a gap between where we are and where we'd like to be. And it bothers us. We worry about it. Or we even resent it. Sometimes, we feel hopeless to change it. Imagining how things could be better can almost take the wind out of our sails, if we stay passive in those imaginings.

But here's the insight: We all need a cow or a goat or some chickens. We need seeds. But then we need to plant the seeds. It's not merely having a cow, but taking action and milking it. It's not just the companionship of chickens, the camaraderie of the coop, but gathering the eggs that makes a big difference for impoverished people.

And here's something universal. We all need to feel a sense of control over our destinies. Desperately poor people given a cow develop that sense and experience hope. They're given a path, something they can do to feel some measure of control over their destinies. We all need that.

It seems to me that we all have a spiritual need for a sense of usefulness, and control, and action. We need to feel that we can begin to close the gap between what is and what could be. For me, the cow, or goat, might be my personal library, or my computer, or my website. I can read and discover. I can write. For you, it might be the same thing. Or something about your job could be it. Or a friend may provide you, through your relationship with him or her, that metaphorical goat, or those chickens you need. But remember that you need to take action.

When we see opportunity, we feel a glimmer of hope, and that combined with real actions, however small, can create a path forward.

What's your cow? What's your goat? Where are your chickens? When we clearly identify our opportunities and act on them daily, we begin to close the gap and move into our proper future with the feeling of hope that will help to get us there.

Your Heart's Desire

Are you following your heart's desire?

Do you have any big dreams? If not, then why not? And if so, then are you also doing as well as dreaming in pursuit of your desire?

As I've mentioned before here, I grew up in an 800 square foot rental house on the outskirts of Durham, NC. We had small shelves of books in various rooms. And we often made trips downtown to the public library, which seemed to me as a boy like a magical place. My father was a high school graduate and lifelong reader. He always had a book in his hands, when he wasn't working at one of his many jobs. I recently rediscovered a book of his that had long been hidden away on one of my bookshelves. It was a boxed edition of a small format volume, with beautiful artwork on the box. Just inside the back cover was my father's signature, and a date: June 9, 1959. The book was Mrs. 'Arris Goes to Paris, first published in 1958. It was written by Paul Gallico, who was born in 1897 and was, to my knowledge, the first participative sports journalist, once actually knocked out in the ring by the heavyweight boxing champion of his time.

This wonderful short book is about a cleaning lady, or "char woman," in London, presumably in the 1950s, a Mrs. Ada Harris, who one day sees two ethereally beautiful dresses in the closet of one of her employers. She's never come across such beauty in all her life, and is astonished at the fabrics, colors, and workmanship of these garments. The lady of the house explains to her that they're both Christian Dior creations. On the spot, this older, working class widow forms an overwhelming desire to own a Dior dress for herself. She knows that she will never have an opportunity to wear such a thing - not within the tight strictures of her plain and simple life. But if she could just buy one and have it in her possession, and be able to gaze on it now and then, she feels her life would be complete.

She soon discovers that the price of such a dress is four hundred and fifty pounds sterling, more money than she can believe. But she's undaunted by the apparent impossibility of her heart's desire, and right away forms plans to gain this elusive object of her dreams. She saves a little. She enters sporting lotteries. She bets on a dog race. But as soon as she gets a little ahead, she's thrown back to square one. Still, she keeps her dream alive, and sacrifices both comforts and entertainments to save as much money as she can. She sits down to figure out on paper how long it will take to put away such an amount, making as she does the equivalent of about forty five cents an hour for her daily labor. The author writes:

Mrs. Harris had never in her life paid more than five pounds, roughly the equivalent of fourteen dollars, for a dress, a sum she noted down on the paper opposite the utterly fantastic figure of four hundred and fifty pounds.

He adds that she would not for a moment even have considered a dress costing fifty or sixty pounds. The Dior, however, was something on a level of its own. It was set apart, extraordinary, awe inspiring. He writes:

But the very outrageousness of the sum put it all into a wholly different category. What is it that makes a woman yearn for chinchilla, or Russian sables, a Rolls-Royce, or jewels from Cartier, Van Clef & Arpels, or the most expensive perfume, restaurant, neighborhood, etc.? It is this very pinnacle and preposterousness of price that is the guarantee of the value of her femininity and person. Mrs. Harris simply felt that if one owned a dress so beautiful that it cost four hundred fifty pounds there was then nothing left upon earth to be desired.

Years pass. Our lady eventually saves enough to fly to Paris for a day, and visit Christian Dior, to buy a dress. But she discovers that, even with the full amount of cash in her shabby old purse, such an acquisition isn't as simple or easy as she had hoped. She's at first shunned by those she meets at the cathedral of couture, as oddly out of place, unsettling, and unworthy of their notice. She doesn't belong in such a high end designer's showplace. But one haughty lady who serves as the manager of the enterprise eventually comes to notice the authenticity, independence, and fierce desire burning beneath Ada's awkward and untoward appearance. And, without giving away any of the amazing story that ensues, I want to tell you that in the dogged and impossible pursuit of her heart's desire, she ends up helping several other people to attain theirs. They see something in her spirit that helps them in their own challenges. She sees into their hearts and takes action, with small suggestions, that make all the difference for their unfulfilled dreams. There are twists and turns in Paris that I never expected. And on our hero's return to London there is the biggest surprise of all. As a result, her life is changed, in the end not by a dress, but by the adventure of seeking it, the things that happen along the way, and the realizations that all of it brings into her life.

The author wants us to understand the true value of pursuing our heart's desire. Whatever it may be, however worthy or unworthy it may seem in itself, if our quest for it is difficult and challenging enough, and if we engage in it with an open heart and authenticity of spirit, then throughout the pursuit we can often have the chance to do a form of good in the lives of others, as well as in our own, that we never could have imagined.

My father's copy bequeathed to me. I'd summarize it like this: One woman in pursuit of beauty, finds truth, goodness and unity abounding. In quest of her heart’s desire, she helps others to gain their own. Even a tragedy at the end becomes a wondrous gift.

Curiosity Has a Magic

Curiosity has a magic that's equal parts attention and desire.

It means you care, and makes you observe. Your mind is alive. Your perceptions are heightened. You now have a quest, however big or small.

Curiosity shines a light into the darkness. It chases away shadows and illumines what's hidden. It reaches out and feels its way forward. It's a collector of endless gifts.

It's a birthright. It's the push that makes the unknown to be known. Uncertainty piques it. Certainty ends it. Its job is to move on, farther down the road of possibility of what can be done and discovered.

Both delight and danger begin with curiosity.

Curiosity is the engine of innovation, the cradle of creativity, the air that genius breathes. It's fragile in some, and robust in others. Can it be cultivated? Can it be enhanced?

I'm curious.

I am.

Lessons From The America's Cup

The other night, I had a chat at the Eagle Point Golf Club with Russell Coutts, the man who has won more America's Cup Yacht Race victories than any other captain in the long history of the sport. I had first met him several years ago, and heard him speak about the challenge of bringing together great team members from various parts of the world and then winning against the top competition from around the globe. On that occasion, I first showed him my little laminated wallet card on The 7 Cs of Success, and he read through the conditions carefully, and then looked up at me and said, "This is what my guys do to come together and win."

As a reference, here they are. For true success in any difficult challenge, we need:

C1: A clear CONCEPTION of what we want, a vivid vision, a goal clearly imagined.

C2: A strong CONFIDENCE that we can attain the goal.

C3: A focused CONCENTRATION on what it will take to reach the goal.

C4: A stubborn CONSISTENCY in pursuing our vision, a determined persistence.

C5: An emotional COMMITMENT to the importance of what we're doing.

C6: A good CHARACTER to guide us and keep us on a proper course.

C7: A CAPACITY TO ENJOY THE PROCESS along the way.

It's amazing that philosophers thousands of years ago could grasp what it takes to win an America's Cup, or a National Championship, or a World Series, or an Olympic Gold Medal. I've had top athletes across sports tell me how surprised they are to see in The 7 Cs formula the ideas they've followed intuitively in order to attain the success they've had.

In speaking with Russell Coutts the other night, two related things came up. First: Our implementation of The 7 Cs has to be relentless in the face of difficulty and failure. In the latest America's Cup, the Nespresso team was ahead of Team Oracle USA by a whopping 7-1 score, with only one more point needed to beat Russell's guys. But his boss, Oracle founder Larry Ellison, had summed up what he had learned in the tech business by telling Russell, "NEVER GIVE UP." 

Russell said that when they were down 7-1, his guys never lost their confidence, but that the captain of the adversary boat, the Nespresso team, started worrying that something would happen. Then, it did. It's like the famous tightrope walker, Karl Wallenda, whose wife reported that earlier on the day he fell and died, she heard him say, for the first time ever, "I hope I don't fall today." And, he did. Confidence can be that important. And so can what we focus on.

Russell also talked about nerves before a race. The best people get nervous energy from the fact that they care, that they're committed. Confidence doesn't require a blindness to the challenges you'll face. In fact, to the contrary, a realistic estimation of the difficulty in any given task allows for powerful confidence, and a focused concentration on what it will take to overcome and prevail. Oracle USA did overcome and prevail, in what The Wall Street Journal called possibly the greatest comeback in the history of sports.

Like Russell's teams, I like to sail The 7 Cs. I hope you do, too.

Twitter Can Make You Stupid

According to a recent article in the Washington Post, Twitter can make you stupid, irritable, and tired.

For some years now, there's been a new understanding of the brain as in one important sense like a muscle. Constant use in processing information or making tough decisions depletes its energy and degrades the quality of its function. Because of this, you shouldn't appear in front of a judge right before lunch, or at the very end of the day, if you can avoid it. I'd avoid it altogether, but still, judges tend to be more reasonable and lenient first thing in the morning, or just after a good meal, which replenishes the depleted glucose stores in their brains that are then once again available for peak neural function, as well as fairness, justice, and kindness.

Ok, so back to Twitter. The Post article reported that, on average, we're exposed to and process five times more information every day than people did just twenty years ago. Add to that an ongoing stream of social media and you get a serious overload, even independent of what you're reading on Twitter or deciding to say there. It's not just the endless stream of Kardashian tweets. It's simply the constant exposure that can wear you out, even in short bursts, or in sessions lasting less than the common length of "Always On." The scientific claim is that people who check their phones incessantly for texts, emails, and their Twitter stream become mentally compromised, although I'm sure other experts would flip that claim around. If you're smart enough, wouldn't you avoid that in the first place? Maybe not.

Here's the problem: The more unimportant stuff that we think about and decide about, the less well prepared we are for handling the crucial stuff. No wonder meaning of life issues get neglected when there's always a new tweet on how you can lose weight/market yourself better/improve your public speaking/get a raise/get a deal/ or get more Twitter followers if you'll just click on this link, and give us your email address for THIS FREE DOWNLOAD THAT WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE.

The cognitive psychologists interviewed for the Post piece are just coming up with one more reason why we should follow the advice of my friend Bill Powers in his book Hamlet's Blackberry, and wisely moderate how we use our communication devices, giving ourselves the breaks that we so richly deserve. To be or not to be, out of the stream - that is the question.

So: Give yourself a break now and then. Jump out of the stream and dry off. Bask a bit in the warm sun of peaceful calm. Avoid the new stupid.

That's real Twisdom.

Go-Givers Beat Go-Getters

Marc Lore, an entrepreneur and co-founder, Chief Executive Officer, and chairman of Jet.com, an e-commerce startup meant to challenge Amazon, recently wrote this:

At 22, I evaluated my first job based on what I could get out of it. But I have since learned that you can achieve much greater success if you focus on what you can give. Ultimately, I have realized that success is not a measure of your salary, title, or degree, but the impact you have on others and the collective happiness of the people you touch.

I've been lucky to have that attitude throughout my whole career. When I went to graduate school in religious studies and philosophy, it never even occurred to me to ask anyone how much careers in those fields paid. And it's a good thing I didn't! When I hit the job market with a double PhD from Yale in 1980, starting salaries for professors were ridiculously small. My children wore hand-me-down clothes from other professors' kids, who had done the same thing. We were in it to give, not to get. I wanted to tackle the big questions, and come up with new insights I could benefit from myself, and then give to other people. I learned in those years the power of giving.

Now, we're all learning it, through new research, as well as in our broader cultural experiences. In the book Give and Take, Wharton professor Adam Grant does a great job of showing how givers can prosper exceptionally well in the long run and actually become the most satisfied receivers of all.

In everything we approach, we should ask what we can give, first and foremost. Then, we may be amazed at what we can get, as a result. It's not the motivation, but the wonderful side effect, that those who give most prosper most deeply.

Life Purpose

Arthur C. Brooks recently wrote in the New York Times:

In a 2009 study published in The Journal of Positive Psychology, researchers interviewed 806 adolescents, emerging adults. and adults about their purpose in life. A key finding of the study was that being able to articulate a life purpose was strongly associated with much greater life satisfaction than failing to do so. In contrast, purposelessness — no matter how closely tied to worldly prosperity — generally defines a hamster-wheel life, alarmingly bereft of satisfaction.

What struck me from this statement, first of all, is that, on this particular study, it didn't even matter what you had articulated as your life purpose - some purpose was better than none. Imagine, then, the level of satisfaction that can result from a truly meaningful life purpose, and one that's deeply right for you.

What is your purpose? Can you put it into words? According to the study cited, that in itself can make a difference in a positive way. And the clearer you are about your sense of purpose, the easier it is to assess potential goals, business opportunities, and even social activities. If you're vague about your sense of life direction, meaning, and purpose, it becomes difficult to know what to say yes to and when to say no, apart from momentary feelings. But temporary feelings aren't always our best guides to long term good. A sense of purpose is a great guide forward.

What's yours?

The Bell Jar Danger

 A friend recommended that I read Sylvia Plath's 1963 novel, The Bell Jar, as an example of an early and quintessential piece of Young Adult Literature. Plath was a gifted poet at a young age, but had struggled with getting her work published. One magazine rejected her 45 times before it accepted one of her poems. She then wrote this novel under the sponsorship of The Eugene Saxon Fellowship affiliated with Harper and Row. But when she submitted the final manuscript, the publisher rejected it, calling it "disappointing, juvenile and overwrought." It went on to publication initially in England, and it subsequently become a rare modern classic, read throughout the world. Plath even posthumously received a Pulitzer Prize for her collected poems.

The protagonist of The Bell Jar is a college-age woman named Esther Greenwood. We get to know her first while she's on a fellowship in New York City, working during the summer for a famous women's magazine, and being treated to gala openings, parties, and celebrity events. The "girls" she works with are portrayed with that distinctive and witty chatter often seen in movies made during roughly the same period, in the 1950s and early 60s. You can clearly hear the rapid fire delivery of clever dialogue exchanged between the young ladies visiting the magazine. In the course of the story, Esther descends from Bright Young Thing With a Promising Future to psychological madness and a serious attempt at suicide. After a period of confinement in an asylum and a series of electro-shock treatments, she eventually seems to be returning to some semblance of her old self, however fitfully and slowly. But the story ends right before she's set to be released from the institution and launched back into normal life. The author herself famously committed suicide about a month after the book's first publication in the United Kingdom, and it was quickly seen as autobiographical.

I'm writing about it today because of its main image - the bell jar, a common piece of laboratory equipment at a certain stage of modern science that was shaped like a dome or a bell, and most often made of clear glass. It could be used to create a special atmosphere for plants, or a weak vacuum when most of the oxygen was removed from it. As she returns to clarity, Esther sees herself in her madness as living in a bell jar, with little atmosphere, where it's hard to breathe. But then she insightfully extends the metaphor to the college girl she knew in her dorm, gossiping, playing cards, and living an endless round of parties and boys that's cut off from the real world outside the artificial atmosphere of the campus.

What struck me most about the book is the bell jar image and its wide applicability. It's very easy for any of us to get stuck in our own bell jar, with an artificial atmosphere that we take to be real, but that actually cuts us off from the broader world around us. The bell jar can be many things - madness, or superficiality, obsession, or desire, or something professional and work related that gets out of control. Years ago, the executives at Enron and several other high profile companies were living and working in their own bell jar. So were many mortgage officials and traders, just a few years back, and they were as a result the people whose work plunged us all into a deep and long recession.  

A bell jar is created around us when we allow something to cut us off from the real sources of meaning and insight that are to be found more broadly and more deeply in life. There is a spiritual sickness and even a kind of death that can result. A life can spiral out of control. A business can crumble. Self destruction can ensue. We all know of leaders who've created around them an echo chamber, cutting themselves off from any fresh breeze of truth. They're in a bell jar of their own making. 

Any person, or group of people, can be endangered by a bell jar that results from their attitudes and actions. Are you in one? Is your company or community?

The bell jar is a serious danger that we're all well-advised to avoid. Don't let anything become your bell jar, and cut you off from the fresh air of life and wisdom and love and meaning that you could and should be breathing. Keep on your guard. It's hard to see at first when one descends around you. Its transparency, or invisibility, is especially insidious. And that's why it's such a common trap. When you allow yourself to escape the confines of any such bell jar that threatens to constrain you, you benefit from a rush of fresh air, and get enough of an independent perspective to recognize the jar for what it is, and stay out of it, as a result.

Friendship and Forgiveness

Today, I came across some statements from the poet David Whyte that I want to share. In his new book Consolations, he writes this about one of our most important ongoing experiences in life:

Friendship is a mirror to presence and a testament to forgiveness. Friendship not only helps us see ourselves through another’s eyes, but can be sustained over the years only with someone who has repeatedly forgiven us for our trespasses as we must find it in ourselves to forgive them in turn. A friend knows our difficulties and shadows and remains in sight, a companion to our vulnerabilities more than our triumphs, when we are under the strange illusion we do not need them. An undercurrent of real friendship is a blessing exactly because its elemental form is rediscovered again and again through understanding and mercy. All friendships of any length are based on a continued, mutual forgiveness. Without tolerance and mercy all friendships die.

That's a beautiful characterization of an immensely valuable thing in life, whose importance we easily forget. And I want to give you one more passage, because of the deeply wise advice it provides:

To remain friends we must know the other and their difficulties and even their sins and encourage the best in them, not through critique but through addressing the better part of them, the leading creative edge of their incarnation, thus subtly discouraging what makes them smaller, less generous, less of themselves.

Real friends help each other grow. We help our friends best when we encourage the best in them. Sometimes, yes, we need to point out a flaw with that honesty that only true friendship will muster. And it can be effective, when given and received in the right spirit. But more often, we help our friends most by encouraging them to be their best selves, through genuine praise and reinforcement. 

Life is a team sport. Great friends make for great teams.

A Land More Kind Than Home

There's a novelist named Wiley Cash who lives in my town. I've never met him but we have at least one friend in common. I recently picked up his first novel, A Land More Kind Than Home, and once I started reading it, it was hard to put down. The story is told from multiple points of view in a way that actually works, and helps, rather than confusing the reader. It's a winding tale about some people in the mountains of North Carolina, and crucially involves religion, big snakes in church, crime, murder, heavy drinking, a family broken apart, and a long road to redemption for one man you'd never have suspected as capable of it. My favorite sentiment in the book, one that the story has richly earned the right to announce, is uttered by an older lady near the end. As she sums things up, she says:

It's a good thing to see that people can heal after they've been broken, that they can change and become something different from what they were before. (305)

This is a hope that we all have, and a truth that many of us can attest. Something is going to break us, if we live long enough, and we can change and heal, given enough time yet to come. And the healing doesn't have to look likely, in order to happen. Redemption is the result of a multitude of forces at work over time. If we give people the chance to turn around, sometimes they will. It's a prime example of the true alchemy in our world.

Wiley's story is rich with a resonance of North Carolina's mountain people. But you might see and hear something similar in any poor, remote area of the country. The words and cadences of the characters reflect even what I heard in the piedmont portion of the state, growing up on the edge of a town in an eight hundred square foot rental house. Its setting strips away a lot of the complexities of modern life, to allow some of the elemental things to shine through. The story of the book will fascinate you, disturb you in good ways, and then lift you up.

I'd recommend it as a great summer read. And now, Wiley Cash already has another book out. So I've got more reading to do.

What an Idiot!

The country club swimming pool not far from my home is a great social place where neighbors visit and watch their kids frolic in the water, when they're not themselves swimming laps, or just lounging about in the water, often with a drink and a story or two. Last year, I had an interesting experience there. In the pool house locker room for gentlemen, I noticed one day that someone had left dark blue swimming trunks hung on a hook outside the showers. No big deal. But the next day, they were still there, and the next, and the next. One day I said to myself, "Who leaves swimming trunks hanging here and doesn't even know they're missing?" The next day, same thing. I shook my head. 

I think I had to travel for a few days, or maybe a week, to give some talks around the country, and when I got home, I decided to go back to the pool for a little exercise. Walking into the locker room, I couldn't help but notice - there were the same swimming trunks in the same place as before. I thought, "Really?" And, well, to make a long story short, my sightings of the shorts continued pretty much daily on through the summer. As the weeks passed, the blue bathing suit, as we say, stayed on the hook, like a flag flying in honor of missing items everywhere. "But who would use this locker room once, and forget his shorts, and never come back to get them?" I was puzzled. Most people who used the facility did so as often as I did, or nearly as often. Who would not notice their shorts hung up alone on this hook?

I told my wife the tale of the swim shorts, and some of the people working at the Sports Center complex that contains the pool. I'd regale them with the story of the forgetful idiot who loses his pants. I'd make it funny. We'd all laugh. And I'd still feel perplexed. 

By the end of the summer, I remember walking into the pool house, seeing the now very familiar trunks once again, and saying to myself "I really do wonder who the idiot is who still doesn't realize he's missing these?" And then for reasons unknown to me, I walked over and looked more closely.

It took me a second before I had a stunning realization and said to myself, now this time out loud, "Oh. I'm the idiot."

And, yeah, the moral of the story is just a little too obvious. So, fellow physicians, join me and let's heal ourselves.

Your Money Or Your Life

Decades ago, the famous television comedian Jack Benny did a routine that played off his reputation as being a cheapskate. In the sketch, a robber came up to him with a gun and demanded "Your money or your life!" Benny just stood there, silent, staring into space. The robber said something like "Come one! What'll it be?" And Benny replied with frustration, "I'm thinking. I'm thinking."

Let me ask you a question. Why do you do what you do? Is your goal in life to make as much money as possible? Maybe that's not a realistic aim in your current job. But is it a dream? Many people tell me that they indeed fantasize about "The Number" - the amount of money they'd have to make and save in order to just stop working and enjoy themselves lavishly for the rest of their lives. The fantasy is one of immense wealth and all its trappings. So they start a company, or play the lottery, whichever path their circumstances seem to allow. Some people work almost all the time, in pursuit of that number. They'll do whatever it takes. They'll pay any price.

But do a thought experiment with me. Suppose you came across a wise person with the ability to see the future. Imagine that she's always right. She has an unblemished track record. She could see what is to be, and also what would be if you were to keep on your current path. Imagine then that you shared with her a dream of riches and she said to you, "You can be wealthy beyond imagining, if you choose, but you will be miserably unhappy if you take that path." Let's say you asked for clarification. She replies, "Chase money, and you'll be wretched. Pursue a greater purpose and you'll find happiness."

How would you react? Would you doubt her words? Or would you heed them? 

Many people replicate the Jack Benny skit in their lives. The guy with the gun is just pointing out the choice they face. Will they give up their entire lives just to get as much money as possible? Or will they give up some money for the sake of a life?

I attended a meeting the other day where my friend Matt Ham spoke to a real estate company on the topic of his new book, Redefine Rich. His presentation was about how to define riches in a way that will be deeply satisfying, and and that will lead you to pursue all the right things, so that the treasure you attain will be something that no one can take away. There is no amount of money that's forbidden to a wise person, as Thales in the ancient world demonstrated. But there are ways of living that are. When we understand that, we truly prosper. 

Should You Study Philosophy?

A couple of weeks ago, the New York Times columnist Nicholas Kristol wrote an essay in praise of the humanities, entitled "Starving for Wisdom." In it, he argued vigorously in favor of college students taking serious courses in philosophy, literature, history, and the other humanities and arts. In prose reminiscent of C. P. Snow's famous book, The Two Cultures, he showed ways in which we need both the sciences and humanities in our educations.

The comments the piece generated were telling. Angry fathers wrote that a humanities degree wouldn't get their kids a good job. Barely literate rejoinders suggested that such frivolity is a luxury for the elite who come from vast wealth, and can't be indulged in by students who have had to borrow the money for an education.

I found myself worried about both the negative comments and many of the positive ones, endorsing a study of the humanities. Whether college coursework in the humanities is worthwhile or not ultimately turns on a principle you learn while studying the humanities - a view from ancient Greece and Rome that the value of most things in this world depends on how they function in our lives. Will a college course in philosophy elevate a student and bring practical wisdom, or will it deprive him of a vocational boost that he could have gotten from one more course in business, or engineering? It all depends on the way in which the course was taught and the way in which the subject was studied. Both the professor and the student have the chance to ruin their time together by their choices along the way. But if each is performing masterfully well in his or her own respective capacities, magic can happen.

It may surprise you to learn that, as a philosopher, I don't go around recommending that people take philosophy courses or read philosophy books - except for mine, I should quickly add. The wrong courses and books can be an absurdly monumental waste of time. But the right courses and books can be life changing. It took me years to learn how to tell the difference.

There is a game that academics learn to play, and play well. Professors in the humanities are typically smart enough to discern what will get them promoted and tenured, and even intellectually esteemed by those who work in their field. That doesn't necessarily translate into writing or teaching on issues of general life significance and value. But those who focus on the right issues and take penetratingly wise approaches to those issues can confer on their students advantages in work and life that are impossible to replicate in any other way.

Great philosophy confers great advantages. And the same is true of work in any of the humanities, which is not just an area of study for college, but for life.

That's why I often recommend to people what great books they may want to read. Books can be great for different reasons, and not all of those reasons relate directly to a life well lived or work extraordinarily done. The right books, though, can make all the difference for cultivating personal wisdom and guiding professional success. When you do it right, there is no study worth more than work in the humanities.

True Grit

Looking back over my life so far, I've noticed an interesting quality, which is, actually, a firm tendency.

Knock me down, and I'll get back up. Knock me out and I'll wake back up. I stay in the game, regardless. I have what seems to be an innate drive never to give up, even on goals that look impossible and things that seem hopeless. Maybe I'm just trying to live up to my middle name. Victor.

My first book was turned down 36 times. At rejection number 20, I guess some people would give up. I couldn't. I've had another book "passed over" by editors 45 times. Ditto. That's part of the reason I've had over twenty books published. If I have something to say, I'm going to say it.

When I was a professor at Notre Dame, I would often suggest something very new to the administration. As a result, I typically heard the words, "Well, there's a problem with that." I would always respond, "That's fine, I'm a problem solver. What can we do about it?"

There are many psychologists now deeming this to be the most important quality for success. They call it grit. I'm glad I have it it. And maybe it's no surprise. Nearly every morning of my southern childhood, I grew up eating grits. And at least one remains. And it's a big one. Grit. Determination. Persistence. Heart. Consistency through trouble, disappointment, and "No."

Is it a form of optimism? Often, yes it is. But really, it can even be independent of any confidence that I will in the end prevail in a certain project or aim. I'm going to keep going whether I win or not. Shut down the arena, turn out the lights, and I'll probably still be at it. Stubbornness may indeed be a close cousin to this drive.

When you're passionate about what you're doing, when you're a true believer in the task, then giving up seems dishonorable, disloyal, and maybe, at times, a disgrace. We may not be in this world always to succeed, but it seems to me that we're here to persist. That doesn't mean that you can't change tactics, adjust a goal as you learn, and perhaps go at the whole thing in a new way. It just means you never fold accept defeat. Any failure along the way is a step, an opportunity to learn, a moment to rest on the canvas before your next charge.

If the game is not worth the effort, then you're in the wrong game.

When I was in high school, I had long-distance friends in Chicago who liked to make fun of my North Carolina accent, but not nearly as much as they enjoyed mocking me for my love of grits. One of the greatest days of my life was when I was able to present them with a large container of  standard Quaker Grits, turn over the cylindrical box, and show them on the back the words 'Made in Chicago.'

Where is real grit made? In your heart. In your soul. And if you don't feel you have it, you can cultivate it. You can create it. You just have to find a way to be passionate about what you're doing, to care with all your heart. Commencement speakers are criticized this days for advising graduates to "Do what you love," as if that's a luxury available only to the very few. But anyone can be advised to "Love what you do." Because there's always a way. By nature, we are all discoverers of meaning. But most of all, we're makers of meaning. When what you're doing, or seeking, or chasing is meaningful to you, there's an extra resilience in your soul, a flexibility and strength that we all need for tough jobs, and worthwhile achievements. And that's true grit.

Bruce Jenner and Gender

Anyone who did not see Diane Sawyer's masterful two hour interview with Bruce Jenner on ABC television recently missed a Master Class on philosophical anthropology, psychology, and ethics. Jenner's evident intelligence, sincerity, and sensitivity to the big issues surrounding his lifelong struggle with gender issues helped to make the show instructive in ways I had not anticipated.

For anyone who missed the show, and who has not had the chance to glance at the cover of almost any magazine recently, the former Olympic great and Decathalon gold medalist, once declared "the greatest athlete alive," has revealed that he's had a lifetime struggle with gender identification. Born, of course, with the body of a man, he says that he has since childhood felt like a girl, and then a woman, in perspectives, thoughts, and interests. He sought to make clear that he is not homosexual, or gay. What he's experienced is different from that. He has been married three times and has fathered several children. He has loved his wives. 

One thing the interview made clear was that gender is a more complex issue than most people assume. Anatomy doesn't necessarily confer it. As in most things, the world is a more rich and complicated place than we often give it credit for being. I initially watched the interview out of curiosity, and came away with a deep sense of compassion, not just for what this one individual has been through, and is likely to go through, still, but for all of our brothers and sisters who are misunderstood in any way, and feel forced by social pressure to pretend to be something they're not, something that's not authentic, along any deep dimension in their lives. It brought home to me in a new way the power of the emphasis in eastern philosophies on compassion for all creatures, and wonder in the presence of the real.

When we understand the New Testament emphasis that "God is love," and grasp the profound empathy that real love embodies, we can approach issues like this with a new heart and a new wisdom. Despite the fact that these revelations have come out amidst the flamboyant media circus that is everything Kardashian, we, in a sense, have that whole spectacle to thank for providing such a public stage and forum for this issue to be raised - not only of gender identification, but of the need for compassion in all things.

In our complex world, a few things are simple. One of them is compassion.

Moods or Goals?

I think I remember an episode of Seinfeld where Jerry says about something, "I'm not in the mood," and George replies, "Well, you better GET in the mood."

What is a mood? It's something like an emotional inclination, a sensed attraction or repulsion to some activity or thing. Moods come, and they go. And we normally don't think of them as something within our control. You're in a bad mood, or a good mood. It's almost like the weather, we think. It is what it is. And it will pass.

How often do moods determine what you do, or don't do? I suspect that mood plays more of a role in most of our lives than we acknowledge, on first consideration. And it's usually quite subtle. You don't feel like making the call, or writing up the report yet, so you don't. You feel like taking a break, or a walk, and so you do. "I'm not in the mood for any more of this right now" can indicate a lapse of patience, or perseverance, or tolerance, or even a loss of focus that could result from not enough sleep, or not enough breakfast, or too much of something else the night before.

"You're in a real mood today."

"I think I'm in the mood for pizza tonight," or "Mexican" or "Italian." And, here's something interesting: We hardly ever think or say, "I'm in the mood for working really hard today" even though we might be. And we never say, "I'm in the mood for striving consistently toward my goals for the next five months." Why not?

We normally think of moods as temporary, passing, or fickle, and goal oriented behavior as, by definition, rational, continuous, or, ideally, consistent. Moods are about what you feel like, now. Goals are about what you're committed to bring about, eventually.

I've come to think that it's fine to respond to many of our moods, in moderation. It can even be good, if the mood itself is. But life is all about the balance, the dance, the weave and integration of rational and non rational elements - what the Greeks called the Apollonian and the Dionysian (for Apollo, god of rationality and Dionysius, god of the emotional and sensual aspects of life). If we're, overall, goal oriented and have as goals valuable aims that we really believe in, then that will in itself be something of a mood governor.

The wise man or woman's moods can most often be indulged, because they're the result of a life well lived. But the long path to wisdom requires monitoring, and often overruling, the fleeting and often blind demands of mood. On that path, we train our emotions, and our moods, to work in concert with our rational purposes and goals, giving us both boosts and breaks when we need them, and moments of restoration when that's required. We're not to be machines in work or life. And our moods can express our humanity.

What are you in the mood for, today?

Half Glass Living

One night at dinnertime, years ago, when my son Matt was at the ripe old age of thirteen, he walked into the kitchen, put a plate on the table, and said, out of the blue, “Dad, I've figured out that glass question.” I drew a total blank.

“What glass question, Matt?” I asked as I quickly searched my memory for anything we might have been talking about in the preceding hours.

He said, “You know, the one about the glass being half empty or half full.” Oh, that glass question. You know the famous scenario: A water glass contains liquid up to its midpoint. The question is then asked whether the glass is half empty or half full. Everyone then tells us that a pessimist will say it’s half empty, while an optimist will say it’s half full. The situation is supposed to be a test for inner attitude. It’s assumed that there's no objectively better answer. Either can be right, and yet neither is objectively preferable. What you say will be determined by what you are as an observer, not just by what the glass is as an item apart from you in the world.   

Well, my son wasn’t about to buy that. He had heard the question somewhere, and apparently it had been bothering him. He now had his own take on it. “So, what's the answer?” I asked with real curiosity, wondering how someone his age would approach this old classic. And, in reply, he said something that proved to me again the simple truth that you can be a philosopher at almost any age.  

He thought for a second and said, “It all depends.” Well, of course, when I heard these opening words, I thought that we’d be quickly going straight into the familiar and well trod territory of attitude relativism. But his next words surprised me and took us into a totally different direction. He said, “If you were filling the glass up just before you got to that point, it’s half full. If you were drinking from it or pouring it out just before that, then it’s half empty.”    

Aha! “It all depends,” people have always said, but they’ve thought the answer depends on the attitude of the person looking at the glass. Matt couldn’t accept that as the final word. It does all depend, he was saying, but it depends on what real process had been going on previously, in order to bring the glass to its present state. What something is sometimes depends on where it came from, on how it got to be as it is, and maybe even on where it’s in the process of going. That’s a pretty profound insight.  

There’s a lesson here for us all. How’s your glass these days? How’s your life? Is it pretty good, or pretty bad? If you’re like most people, you may think of yourself as somehow representative of roughly half-glass living. There are some good things in your life. And there’s a lack, or an empty space, as well. Well, then, if this is even remotely an accurate representation, the question arises: Is your life generally half full, or basically half empty? According to young Matt, it all depends. Have you been emptying it out, dissipating your energies, squandering your deepest self, alienating those who are closest to you, and as a result losing things of real value – or have you been filling up your life in the best possible way, adding elements of true value and deep worth to your daily experience? Have you been depleting or enriching yourself? What real process has been going on up until now, and is perhaps still presently occurring in your life, right now, or in your business? Where have you been, in this regard, and where are you now going?

Last Words

I've been reading a novel this week whose main character is fascinated with the last words of great people in history. As a southern boy myself, I've always loved the mythical last words of the legendary southern redneck: "Hey! Watch this!"

Or: "Look where I am! No, up here!"

Or: "It ain't dangerous at all."

Or: "Yeah, you can eat it. Watch me."

Or: "No. It's not loaded. I promise."

Or: "You just gotta hold it right. And, it's not that poisonous."

But most of those statements, I think, are normally followed by a profanity of some sort.

And they wonder why the southern redneck is a dying breed.

Last words can be instructive. One enlightenment philosopher, eating far too much at dinner, was told by his wife that he should not take another bite. Picking up an apricot and waving it in her face, he said, "What harm could this possibly do?" Then he popped it into his mouth, ate it, and dropped dead at the table.

My grandfather's last words were, "It's beautiful."

Thomas Edison was hardly more specific: "It's beautiful over there."

Steve Jobs' last words, reported by his sister, were "Wow," repeated several times.

But maybe my favorite last words were those of a famous nineteenth century American minister, Henry Ward Beecher, who said, simply, "Now comes the mystery."

Indeed.