Unconditional Positive Regard

Months ago, someone in one of my writer's groups spoke of aspiring to live a life of unconditional positive regard for others. Does this ideal appeal to you? If you feel like you've been living your life this way, for how long has that been the case? What strategies have you discovered to assist you to stay in that state of grace?

Since first hearing those words strung together, barely a week has gone by when I haven't reflected on how living my life this way would be undeniably healthier. This is especially so whenever I re-hear poisonous thoughts that have crossed my mind when interacting with certain people. I suppose it's fair to say that the phrase unconditional positive regard has begun to help me at least raise my baseline for being triggered by some people. 

But soon after I begin congratulating myself for evolving, something gets said that sets me back. Over the several months I've been working on getting healthier in this domain, I've noticed a common element in my setbacks: Politics and the toxic air infusing modern-day conversations about that subject. When did the demonizing of people with views different from our own take such an ugly turn? Connected to that question is another aimed at myself. Reflect on it with me only if you think it's worth it. In my remaining years, can I evolve enough to give others unconditional positive regard, more than just in passing?

Book Sorcery

Among the resolutions I made before stopping full time work in 2010, getting immediately involved with book clubs was my smartest. Four of the six charter members of my own book club - started in 2017 - are folks I met in earlier clubs sometime between 2010-2015. All four have enriched my life.   

Today's post began taking shape when some book sorcery occurred with one of these folks. She'd read Richard Powers's novel Playground before me and recommended it here in a comment late in 2024. Because I value the opinion of this reading soulmate, it took a place in my unmanageable queue. 

Reflections From The Bell Curve: The Line of Beauty

The post above was published June 8. Soon after, this faithful reader made another comment on my blog saying she planned to read The Line of Beauty soon, mostly based on a comparison I made therein between Alan Hollinghurst and Richard Powers, who both of us have adored since being transformed by The Overstory. Her comment spurred me to move Playground to the top of that nasty queue of mine. Fair is fair, right?

OK, now the book sorcery. I finish Playground early on June 29. My mind is blown. I go to the gym buzzing, trying to fully process what I just experienced. While working out, I resolve to write an e-mail the minute I get home; I've got to talk to her about this book. I get home. An e-mail from who do you suppose is at the top of my in-box? And what book was she writing to me about? The Line of Beauty, naturally. (BTW, she didn't like it as much as I did.) I insist we meet for coffee right away so we can further commune about our shared adoration of Powers and Playground and I can further extol the craft Hollinghurst brought to The Line of Beauty. I know she'll listen carefully and remain open to my evangelism.       

It gets better as the story ends. Over coffee, I mention to her how we each had - very close in time - finished books we'd recommended to the other. Then, we'd written - or were getting to write - e-mails to each other about those different books. And this occurred even though her recommendation to me was several months old; mine, just a few weeks. Crazy coincidence, no? She says - "Coincidence is God's way of remaining anonymous". How lucky am I to have friends who remind me of Albert Einstein's wisdom? And all because I joined a book club in Bradley Beach ten years ago.

Reflections From The Bell Curve: Help Me Keep This Buzz, Please

Words That Can Haunt Me, Part 20: Loyalty

loyalty: faithfulness to commitments or obligations

Loyalty - as defined above - has always been a bedrock value for me. Unfortunately, because a secondary definition - faithful adherence to a sovereign, a government, cause, or the like - has taken hold in our contentious national conversation, loyalty has now joined a long-running list of words that can haunt me. 

This is disheartening; being unfailingly loyal to friends and loved ones has long been a source of pride for me. But the toxicity recently attached to loyalty has infected me. How to begin reclaiming the word without aligning myself with a concept like taking a loyalty oath? Trying to ensure faithful adherence to a person - vs. being committed to uphold the laws of our land - is a distortion of this sacred value. Keeping commitments and fulfilling obligations are words to live by. A loyalty oath unconnected to the Constitution is antithetical to our democracy.

Ever felt a connection to someone you don't know well based simply on your sense that the person is fiercely loyal? I have. But the variety of loyalty that draws me toward someone has little to do with their faithful adherence to a sovereign, a government, cause, or the like. I'm drawn to those who are loyal to friends and loved ones. In my experience, loyalty is not something easily faked. Chronically disloyal people? Easy to spot; they reveal themselves by deed, oath or not.          

An Ending to a Beginning

When my first grandchild was born one year ago tomorrow, I was home alone. I'd spent the days leading up to that in regular contact with my wife, waiting for news, a flight to L.A. scheduled for October 5. 

Until early today, it hadn't registered with me that last October 2 was probably the first time since 1998 that the anniversary date of my beloved father's passing had slipped by without me continually thinking of him. I'm not even sure if the eeriness of back-to-back milestone dates occurred to me this time last year, given how understandably consumed I was with my daughter's imminent delivery. 

But this October 2 was different than last year. Today, Dad was by my side early. While driving to see some friends, I offhandedly remarked to my wife how sweet it would have been had he lived long enough to celebrate his great-grandson's first birthday tomorrow. Thoughts of him later surfaced during our walk with those friends and again during our lunch. Given my daughter was only eight years old when Dad died at seventy-nine in 1997, I realize any ruminating about him ever having had a chance to meet his great-grandson is pure fantasy. What's the harm? It kept him in my heart all day.  

I'm not superstitious. Nor do I attach any cosmic meaning to the proximity of the two dates. Still, when this post began taking shape in my mind as we arrived home, I decided right then I'd wait to publish it close to midnight - as October 2 turned to October 3 - no matter the time I started or finished writing. What the heck. From an ending to a beginning - twenty-seven years and one day.  

A Tenacious Perplexing Habit

Is there a meaningful distinction between useful "down" time and time wasted? Do you know anyone who appears to waste little time? If so, how does that person re-charge, i.e., what do they do during their useful "down" time? Which thing in your life that you consider a waste of time would you most like to jettison?

The goon squad called time is rarely far from the top of my consciousness. Probably starts with my introspective temperament, then moves quickly to my lifelong goal orientation, picking up speed with each newly learned larger-than-life story about someone, somewhere, sometime. You all know these stories even if you've never met one of these people. They waste little time, sleep far less than you or me, produce a staggering output. What do they do when they need to re-charge? What is the cost attached to living a life that wastes little time? Would you be willing to pay it? I would.

Today's reflection was birthed when a reader recently disinterred the post directly below, published on this date in 2011, my first year of blogging. The good news: I laughed while reading it because I made myself the butt of my own joke. The bad news: The perplexing habit referred to therein - a clear waste of time - is still with me fourteen years later. 

Reflections From The Bell Curve: A Perplexing Habit   

An Irreplaceable Gift

Foremost of the gifts my parents gave me was a stable childhood. Before becoming a parent myself, I vowed to give that same gift to any child of mine. 

Watching my daughter with my grandson over this first year of his life has persuaded me that her mother and I succeeded in passing along that gift to her. She - and my son-in-law - are unfailingly attentive to this little man. As such, they are providing him with an imprint he will carry his entire life. I know this to be true because that imprint remains with me from my earliest years. Nothing can take the place of stability early in any child's life. Every child needs to know they can depend, without exception, on their parents. 

Being with my grandson fills me with immeasurable joy, a joy sometimes interrupted with thoughts of the countless infants and toddlers worldwide who are living unstable lives. Modern day medicine has taught us that the living legacy of trauma - whatever its source - is difficult to surmount. When that trauma reaches back to early childhood, that difficulty can sometimes be intractable.   

Given that, how can any of us who were held continually, read to constantly, cared for unreservedly - as I was, my daughter was, my grandson is - ever be too grateful for such an irreplaceable gift? 

Public Service Announcement: 2025

Which public service announcement affected you enough that you almost immediately changed a behavior?  

Years before becoming a vegetarian, I stopped eating veal almost immediately after spotting a PSA that described the brutally short lives of these defenseless animals. Forty-five years later, the photograph accompanying that PSA remains as clear to me as any I have ever seen. Don't recall who sponsored it nor do I remember where I first saw it. But that PSA was - for me - a life-altering experience. 

Over my seventy-five + years, PSA's have helped to shift public behavior in several key areas. They've helped reduce litter, alerted people to the dangers of nicotine and the risks associated with drinking during pregnancy, promoted recycling. Asked to identify a contemporary issue in need of a PSA in 2025, what would be your top priority? Do I have anything in mind? What do you think? But I'd rather hear your idea first.    

 

Swing Time

Smart authors like Zadie Smith frequently exhilarate and demoralize me. Depending on the kind of day I'm having, I can toggle from one to the other during a single sitting with one of her books.  

"At eighteen she was already expert at the older woman's art of fermenting rage, conserving it for later use."  

Swing Time (2016) demands and deserves a reader's full attention. The surface story of two childhood friends who drift apart growing into adulthood is straightforward. But in Smith's masterful hands, a simple premise becomes a novel of ideas. Her sharp insights, startling intelligence, muscular prose, and undeniable gift for storytelling are some of the elements that will entrance you from the first page.

"Maybe luxury is the easiest matrix to pass through. Maybe nothing is easier to get used to than money."

Having now read three of her novels, I'm confident saying Zadie Smith is one of the smartest authors I've ever read. If time were an unlimited resource, I would re-read her books several times because I'm certain doing so would bring me closer to understanding everything she is offering. But time isn't unlimited, hence the demoralizing aspect spoken of above; I long to be smart enough to get all of her ideas the first time through. On the other hand, that exhilaration I feel just as often when reading her? Man, what a gas that is. 

"...and the thin stream of their objections was completely subsumed by the quick-running currents of my mother's talk."

Reflections From The Bell Curve: On Beauty And Synaptic Sparks

Rushing and Hurrying

What could be more mundane than a large tractor trailer slowly making a turn onto a narrow suburban side street? 

And yet, being directly behind that truck as it maneuvered, I found myself thinking of how frequently I rush and hurry to no useful end. I wondered: What drives me to act this way? Short of a life and death emergency, what is the point of ever being in a rush? How much would I reduce my stress by slowing way down? What gets in the way of me more often acting as deliberately and purposefully as that truck driver did while making his turn? How much has hurrying ever enhanced my effectiveness? How much does rushing contribute to a tendency to quickly lose my patience?  

Will these reflections - all connected to observing that truck - stop me from mindlessly hurrying the next time? Probably not. But perhaps these wonderings will bubble up at some point in the future when I'm impatiently rushing for no reason. Good enough.  

Assist With a Reprise

Having several music geeks as regular readers of my blog has had clear benefits. Foremost among those benefits has been assistance these folks have provided when I'm developing or updating one of my music appreciation/history classes. Hence, my request below. As always, if I end up using any idea of yours - music geek or otherwise - your compensation as a consultant will be negotiated offline. 

Tunesmiths: The Ascendancy of Singer-Songwriters was developed in 2017 and subsequently delivered several times over the next few years. In the reprise I'll be delivering later this year, I'm considering which singer-songwriters to add to update the course a little. This will not be a wholesale re-write. I'm just tuning up (ahem) my six-hour course to potentially include a few singer-songwriters who've earned a significant musical spot alongside some of the giants who came of age from the early 60s through the late 70s. Your parameters/my request follows.

* Suggest only singer-songwriters who've made their name without having first been in a notable band. For example, I did not feature Neil Young (late of Buffalo Springfield, etc.) or Sting (late of Police) in my 2017 course and don't plan to add either to this reprise. (In a more contemporary vein, this rules out Beyonce, for example, late of Destiny's Child.) The 2017 version began - as will 2025 - with Dylan. And that version ended with Elvis Costello who has had a long, significant, and growth-filled run since his debut in the late 70s. Any suggestion you offer for this reprise must post-date Costello and also be close to the high musical bar he (and Dylan) have set.   

* Except for Stevie Wonder, my 2017 version was pretty white. If you have suggestions to help me with this deficit, I'm listening. But please remember: Debut after 1980 and has since demonstrated musical staying power. 

* Last parameter: For any suggestion you make, please provide at least three songs that you feel make your case for the importance and the lasting appeal of your nominated singer-songwriter.

OK, get busy. I thank you and my brother - music geek par excellence - thanks you more. I've worn out his brain since I began developing and teaching these courses in 2014. Poor guy needs a break. 

Before the Hoopla Begins

I did not lose anyone close to me twenty-four years ago. Our national nightmare touched me when I learned a day or two after of the death of the father of one of my daughter's sixth grade classmates. 

It happened that I was in the middle of teaching a multi-week class on leadership at Northern State Prison in nearby Newark, N.J. that same week. From the windows of my classroom, even from that distance, dust from the debris was still visible, hovering in the air.  

For months leading up to this date next year, I suspect we'll all be inundated with reminders about the 25th anniversary. I'm certain most Americans - least of all those who lost someone close to them - do not need the hoopla attached to "big" anniversaries as a reminder to honor those who were taken on this date. And though I don't often think of the father of my daughter's classmate, this moment my thoughts are with his surviving family. I hope they've found a way to continue to heal.

So Far Away

Over these first eleven months of his life, either his grandmother or both of us have managed to spend extended time with our first grandchild almost every other month despite him living on the other side of the country. In addition, our daughter makes sure we "see" our grandson nearly every day either via phone calls using FaceTime or the pictures she regularly uploads onto Aura. The screen displaying up-to-date rotating pics sits on our kitchen counter, delivering continuous joy. Though I frequently disdain technology, I acknowledge the vital function both FaceTime & Aura serve having a grandchild so far away.  

And that distance felt most acute late yesterday as it dawned on me that my first Grandparent's Day had passed without me holding that little man close. I "saw" him but couldn't touch him. I heard his giggle but couldn't tickle him to prompt that giggle. I wasn't able to watch him react to any of the songs on the sixty-hour Spotify playlist I've constructed for his musical education. (Another benefit of technology; might be time to modify some of my reflexive disdain.) 

I hope every grandparent reading this post savored every moment spent yesterday with grandchildren. For those grandparents who have any of their grandchildren nearby: I sincerely hope you know how lucky you are. I'm counting down the days until late September when I get to belatedly celebrate my first Grandparent's Day reading to that little guy, playing the guitar for him, feeding and putting him to bed. I'll be thrilled just being in the same room with him. 

Olive & Lucy

I've never been a big fan of novels that feature a recurring fictional character. But now that I've read five of her uniformly excellent books over a period of nine years, Elizabeth Strout has made me a believer. I've become attached enough to Olive Kitteridge and Lucy Barton that I'm committed to following both wherever Strout takes them.

Lucy by the Sea (2022) is the third of Strout's books featuring Lucy that has thoroughly enchanted me although it's the fourth (of five) in the series. That fact alone is exciting because it means #3 (Oh William!) and #5 (Tell Me Everything) will bring me even closer to Lucy when I read them. Also, a trusted reading soulmate has raved to me about Tell Me Everything. Bonus: Olive Kitteridge appears offstage briefly in Lucy by the Sea. In that moment of pure reading magic, I felt like I'd bumped into an old friend. 

Strout's unquestionable mastery has never once let me down. I cannot recommend her too highly. If you begin with either Olive Kitteridge (2008) or My Name is Lucy Barton (2016), I suspect you too will be unable to let go. And after you get hooked, let's talk, OK?

 Reflections From The Bell Curve: Olive And I And Ouch

Reflections From The Bell Curve: Straight Into The Top Fifty

The Rest of the Megillah

Reflections From The Bell Curve: Kosher? Only This Bell Curve Maven Knows

Call me a putz, but because the post above has been one of my most popular since it was published eight years ago, I decided only a schlub would give up after one try. Besides, a few comments made on that post reminded this schmo of some critical Yiddish gems he uses regularly, stuff left out of the first part of this megillah.    

I ask you, what better word is there than schmear to describe what to do with the cream cheese before you begin noshing on a bagel? While on the subject, unless you know bupkis about food, how does anyone survive without blintzes and latkes? And no, I've never been concerned about what those foods might do to the size of my tush. Thanks to my forebears, the heft of my tuchus was a given before my first knish or the start of any collection of music-related tchotchkes. My shiksa daughter will attest to the fact that the size of my tush has little to do with consumption of kugel and the like. I'm grateful my schnozz falls within a more normative range.  

I'll conclude my spiel - like the first - lest any noodge accuse me of wearing out my welcome. But first I want to thank a fellow hiker - a real mensch - for providing me with schnorrer, the latest addition to my Yiddish treasure chest. He gave me that jewel recently via a comment made on my original 2017 post. I must admit, his long-delayed comment got me all verklempt. Mazel tov, John.    

Avoiding Mirrors

Allowing my anger to get the better of me has been a lifelong struggle. As I've gotten older, more often than not, I find my anger triggered when I'm frustrated. For example, earlier today I was yelling at my lawnmower when I had trouble with it. Though I'm relieved I learned early on to not (usually) direct my anger at others, people close to me are still sometimes subjected to unnecessary temper tantrums when I'm frustrated.

Given my own struggle, I do find myself giving wide berth to anyone I sense might have trouble controlling their anger. Doesn't matter how regularly I interact with someone with anger issues. If I pick up a vibe like that, I steer clear of that person. I realize anger is not contagious and also know I'm responsible for my own behavior. But even if my strategy is a bit illogical, I look at it as a way of avoiding a toxic mirror. Which mirrors do you avoid?

Actually, despite how illogical my strategy may be, I'm inclined to think avoiding mirrors is probably wise for me. I already spend a fair amount of time looking at myself without using others as mirrors.

Reading Riches

Once upon a time, before committing to the practice of keeping a book journal (April 2010), starting my blog (March 2011), or discovering Goodreads (January 2013), finishing a book involved little more than jotting down a few impressions on the final page, if the book belonged to me. 

Long ago, before attending my first book club meeting (May 2010), followed by being in/out of more than a dozen others (June 2010 - early 2015) prior to initiating a book club of two with a reading soulmate (summer 2015) and then starting my own club (January 2017), discussing books - except with my partner of forty-seven years - was a welcome but rare occurrence. 

Nowadays, the amount of activity that routinely follows the completion of nearly every book is roughly equivalent to a part-time job. I'm not complaining. By a significant margin, it's the most satisfying part-time job I've ever had. This is true because whether it's writing about books - in my journal, as a blog post, putting a review on Goodreads, or sometimes all three - or discussing them with that reading soulmate or the folks in my club (did I mention I'm also in an all non-fiction club?), all this additional activity helps to both extend the glow of excellent books and assist me in recalling more of what I've read. How do you ensure the riches of your reading life remain with you?

p.s. Silly to close this post without recommending something, right? The Beekeeper of Aleppo (2019) by Christy Lefteri is worth your time. It's a straightforward, unsentimental, sometimes harrowing tale of refugee life. Hard to read a book like this and not recognize how fortunate I am.

Fixing a Disconnect

Without question, one of the best gifts I've been given in Act Three has been the new friends I have made. These friends have come from book clubs I've joined, people my wife and I met through Road Scholar, folks from my music classes or my wife's involvement in the native plant movement, to name just a few sources. It would be difficult to over-state how much we've been enriched by these later-in-life friendships. 

There is, however, one small disconnect with respect to these friendships. Maybe you can relate? If so, perhaps you've got an easy-to-implement solution that has helped you minimize the disconnect?  

Whenever the single most important element in our life comes up in conversation with any of these new friends - that would be our daughter - these wonderful people are missing serious context. Although a few of them have met our daughter once or twice, others have never had the pleasure. In other words, our daughter is largely an unknown to these newer friends. And, of course, the reverse is true for us, i.e., we have almost no idea of much that's going on in the lives of the grown children of these same friends. In almost all cases, we can't even insert a face into any of the pictures that have been painted for us of these people who have meant so much for so long to the people who now mean so much to us.  

Not long after my wife first made me aware of this disconnect, I began wondering: Is there an easy-to-use, elegant app out there somewhere that can help with this? Even I, the reflexively disdainful cell phone basher, would welcome having an app dedicated to this end. I suppose I could start using "notes" to help me easily retrieve information about these people I may never meet but I'd still want to have a current picture alongside the critical stuff I want to remember like age, occupation, relationship status, location, # of children, etc. How better to show my newest friends how much they mean to me than by remembering things about the people that mean the most to them?     

A Triumph

The best way I can think of to adequately capture my musical triumph from about a month ago - without sounding boastful - is to keep it simple. 

There were about one hundred people in the auditorium including several from a local book club I belong to, some fellow hikers, folks from a writers group. The audience was with me from the start, evidenced by their enthusiastic participation to my impromptu request for a sing-along with Amazing Grace, the song used as historical context to kick off my ninety-minute presentation. The central premise of this offer, a synthesis of three earlier classes I'd delivered elsewhere: Music's critical role in reflecting and shaping the zeitgeist.  

Aside from a technology glitch or two, everything else fell into place. I'll never tire of exposing people to transformative songs like Strange Fruit or Hello in There or guiding them to listen to Nowhere Man or Big Yellow Taxi with fresh ears. I'm still vibrating.  

"If there were no music, I would not get through." - from I Don't Know Why (1993): Shawn Colvin  

  

 

Celebrating a Milestone (100 and Counting)

Watching The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry within days of finishing Rachel Joyce's eponymous novel, I realized anew how a faithful film adaptation helps cement the story line of a good book into the brain, even with the liberties often taken by screenwriters. Readers who are film buffs: Haven't you found this to be true? And in this case, because both were terrific in the roles, I've already forgiven the casting of Jim Broadbent as Harold and Penelope Wilton as Maureen vs. Bill Nighy and Helen Mirren, my obviously superior choices as I visualized the characters in my mind's eye while reading. Bookworms who are movie geeks: Do you do this? If yes, who have you cast in lead roles from the last novel you enjoyed?  

But even before breaking my record for the shortest duration of time between finishing a strong book and seeing an equally strong film adaptation, I knew Joyce's charming and moving novel would have a secure place in my RAM. Because The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry (2012) is #100 in the queue of books a reading soulmate and I have discussed since we kicked off our book club of two in 2015. Yes, I've been keeping track; it's something I do. List available on request.  

Today's discussion of our milestone book was unexpectedly enhanced as we arrived at the coffee shop where all but a few of our one hundred monthly meetings have taken place. Not only had the owners "reserved" our regular table, they also treated us to cupcakes & cookies, and asked if they could take pictures of us for their Instagram feed. 

My favorite part, aside from our usual rich conversation? My reading soulmate designed a bookmark listing all one hundred titles. It immediately took its place alongside my book journal entry for The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry. How did you most recently celebrate a significant milestone in your life?

Reflections From The Bell Curve: Bookonnection #4: Brief Encounters

Growing Older Together, Separately

A peculiar thing happened a few nights back, re-watching The Deer Hunter for the first time. When that film was released in late 1978, my wife and I had begun our life journey just eight months prior. It wasn't the first movie we saw together, but it was certainly one of our earliest. 

I was absorbed in the first scene that Robert DeNiro and Meryl Streep ever shared in a film and happened to glance at my wife as she was watching. Inexplicably, I flashed to how she looked sitting in the movie theatre next to me when we first saw The Deer Hunter. I then looked back up at the 1978 faces of DeNiro and Streep, very early in their enduring careers. Suddenly, my brain began unspooling scenes from some of the movies featuring De Niro and Streep that my wife and I have seen together over our forty-seven-year history. I waited for the film to end, opened my laptop, and perused their Wikipedia pages. Take a quick look and share with me a favorite film featuring one or the other of these gifted actors. I'll wait. 

Robert De Niro filmography - Wikipedia

Meryl Streep on screen and stage - Wikipedia

Given that massive body of work, aren't you able to easily anchor at least one milestone from your own life to a DeNiro or Steep movie from the same year? What milestone? Which film? In the meanwhile, even though Bob and Meryl are not aware of it, it now feels to me like the four of us have been growing older together, separately, for quite some time. This is especially true when I think of all that has followed from that first time my wife and I saw The Deer Hunter. 

p.s. Compared to many films from the same era, The Deer Hunter has held up remarkably well. 

Today's Medicine

Isn't it fair to say most of our days are spent either gearing up, doing, or winding down?

What percentage of your time would you estimate you routinely spend gearing up for the day ahead? Avoid judging the things you consider gearing up. If you work full time, chances are good you spend fewer hours gearing up each day than folks who don't, like me. Also, if you're raising children, the line between gearing up and doing can be more difficult to parse. Think of a typical day and give it a shot without overthinking. Call it gearing up, getting started, finding your groove, but while making your estimate, avoid putting anything in this bucket that is aimed at "accomplishing". 

Next part of today's thought experiment is likely to be trickier. What percentage of your time would you estimate you spend aiming to accomplish something, i.e., what I call "doing"? Although full time work clearly falls into this bucket, again, avoid judgments, even if your work can sometimes feel like you're not "doing" much. Think of this as the bucket with goals or aims or objectives attached to it, even if the goal is simply to make a living. 

I suspect estimating the percentage of time you routinely spend winding down might be easier than the first two, if only because winding down activities are generally those aimed at relaxation. Most of us can readily identify what we do to wind down/relax. Remember: Avoid judgments or comparing what you do to wind down to what others who you know say they do.  

Now for the question that most interests me. Except for those who struggle with sleep, most of us are awake about sixteen hours each day. As of this moment, what calibrations do you feel are called for in the percentage of time you routinely spend in each bucket? For some time now, I've been feeling like the percentage of time I take to gear up has gotten a little excessive. I know for sure I didn't start out my post full-time work life with so much gearing up each day. That said, I'm not at all convinced that increasing my percentage of doing is the right answer for me this moment, especially given how goal oriented I've always been. And those forty years I spent working full time - often with more than one job at once - are still pretty fresh in my mind.        

At sixteen hours a day, I've had about 438,000 hours so far to gear up, do, wind down. This moment? I'm feeling like more hours in the winding down bucket is the right medicine. Maybe moving up one or two of my regular winding down activities - e.g., meditation - to the start of my day will help reduce the excessive gearing up? Worth a try. Future calibrations? No doubt. With an optimistic 58,000 hours still in front of me, today's medicine is not necessarily going to work indefinitely. To keep the system in balance, fine tuning must be an ongoing process. What are your strategies for correcting any current imbalance you're feeling?

Another Maxim Dumpster-Bound

 Still waters run deep.

Although that hoary maxim may have some aqua-related validity, I'm about ready to jettison it in its most often-used application, i.e., with people. My life experience has repeatedly taught me that the enduring strong-silent archetype of literature etc. is often flawed. Perhaps some of those still waters run deep, but then again, they can also be stagnant. 

Before the strong, silent introverts out there begin objecting, I freely acknowledge that we extroverts - at times - have clearly earned our bad rep. Being called outspoken, opinionated, and arrogant have all applied to my mouthing off on occasion. On the other hand, isn't it possible that some taciturn types are silent as frequently as they are because they don't have much to say? A few traits I've observed in some still waters folks have tempted me to toss that tenacious trope into the nearest dumpster. Two examples:  

* A tendency to paint the world in black & white, either/or terms. Those bi-polar constructs exclude any kind of multi-dimensional thinking while also reinforcing confirmation bias. When nuance is misplaced - by either still waters man/woman or an extrovert like me - shallow conclusions, not deep ones, are the result. In other words, keeping it simple is fine; offering simple-minded answers to complex questions doesn't automatically make someone deep.  

* A predilection for staying on the surface both in relationships and conversations. More than one strong silent type I've known has told me they don't need "...any new friends...". Transactional relationships are OK; those pose little risk of intimacy. You know, what you can do for me or mine is fine. What either of us can do for the world? What for? And the conversations? Many of mine with the still waters cohort I've known have focused on either other people or events; sports are reliably safe. Over the years, I've tried intermittently to introduce ideas, feelings, life dreams, etc. into some of those conversations. Hasn't gone well.

What is your take on this maxim?   

A Formidable Legacy

Although the first third was too heavy on tech bro-speak for me, Mountainhead is worth watching for a few reasons, not least of which is to marvel at the acting versatility of Steve Carell. Fair warning: The premise is sadly plausible, the cluelessness of the four tech-bros disturbingly familiar, the celebration of unbridled avariciousness sickeningly real. In other words, the laughs throughout this recently released satire come at a cost, just as they are intended to.

Now about Steve Carell. Put aside his well-deserved notoriety as Michael Scott, the king of smarm, on the long-running TV series The Office. Instead, try remaining unimpressed with his range in Forty-Year-Old Virgin, Little Miss Sunshine, Foxcatcher, Beautiful Boy, and now Mountainhead. Like all actors - or writers or musicians for that matter - he's had his share of duds. But those five films alone - never mind his nearly flawless consistency in The Office - represent a formidable legacy. 

In his stunning writing/directing debut, Jesse Armstrong had the good sense to end Mountainhead with an extended closeup of Carell's expressive face. No words, nothing else in the frame. I defy anyone to remain unmoved. It's no exaggeration - and a testament to Carell's gift - to say I will never forget the final shot in this blacker-than-coal comedy.       

An Act of Simple Courtesy

 When was the last time an act of simple courtesy prompted you to speak to a total stranger?

While engrossed in a book on a train ride into NYC, the cell phone of the man sitting directly across from me rang. I sighed, anticipating a scenario that has frequently happened to me: My reading reverie would now be interrupted by a conversation of indeterminate length that I had no interest in overhearing. Instead, this gentleman said quietly - "I'm on the train; I'll call you back when I get to the station." And then he hung up.

I was almost too stunned to talk but soon realized this act of simple courtesy must be acknowledged. I said - "Thank you for not prolonging that call; that was courteous and respectful." He smiled at me. I returned to my reading.

I know this is not profound; perhaps it's not even unusual. Still, when he said to me "have a nice day" as he left the train and I said "you do the same" in return, I felt something genuine had occurred. And I smiled to myself reflecting on how his act of simple courtesy had been the catalyst for our interaction.

Bookonnection #4: Brief Encounters

Most of us can readily identify the people who have had a significant impact - for better or for worse - on our lives. When I've asked others about this, I'm unsurprised when folks first cite their parents or longtime romantic partners. After that, in my experience, it's harder to predict who might come next to mind when someone is asked about this aspect of their lives.   

Aside from being worth your precious reading time, Now Is Not the Time to Panic (Kevin Wilson, 2022) and The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry (Rachel Joyce, 2012) have little else in common. The former is a coming-of age story about two teenage misfits who upset the lazy summer equilibrium in their small Tennessee town. The titular character in the latter is a recently retired Englishman who impulsively decides to visit a friend he hasn't seen or spoken to in twenty years.  

But imbedded in each of these well-crafted and moving novels is a perfectly realized vignette about people who briefly enter the lives of the main characters, leaving a profound imprint. Fifteen-year-old Frankie Budge and sixty-five-year-old Harold Fry are each powerfully shaped by these encounters. Has this ever happened to you? More than once? How old were you at the time? Have you ever told your story to anyone? If you did, how successfully were you able to put into words the impact your brief encounter had on you? I love stories like this; I'd welcome hearing yours. And I think others would enjoy it as well.    

If you don't think you have a story like this, let me recommend you pick up either of these worthwhile books. I'm guessing that one or both of these talented authors will remind you of a story of yours similar to either Frankie's (with Dr. Blush) or Harold's (with Martina). Then, after you relive your story via Frankie or Harold, please try to remember to return and tell me about it.  

National Technology Turnoff Day

On this - my fourteenth attempt - I believe I've nailed it.

For this barren month without a single national holiday, how about we declare August 1 as National Technology Turnoff Day? Given how uphill this battle is likely to be, I propose we start with just the two steps below. I welcome any ideas you have for ways to build momentum here.     

1.) No device of any kind permitted in any public place on August 1. Just as we now ban smoking in public places year round, on August 1 only, the same goes for cell phones, tablets, laptops, etc. Picture families speaking to one another in restaurants, every train compartment being a quiet car, etc.   

2.) In residences, private citizens wishing to show support for the technology turnoff alert family, friends, guests, etc. that no devices are allowed in their home on August 1. Imagine conversations uninterrupted by ringing phones or buzzing text messages and people relying on their memories to recall information.  In a private residence, any fact in dispute can be settled via a reference book (dictionary, Atlas, encyclopedia!) or can wait for an answer until August 2.

As attached as I am to all thirteen holiday proposals I've made here on August 1 beginning in 2012, this one could be my favorite. That said, I purposefully waited to publish this post until just before August 1 became August 2. Wanted to be sure you read it - probably on August 2 or later - i.e., after National Technology Turnoff Day had ended. My ubiquitous rants about technology's intrusive and distracting effects on modern life and relationships always exclude my blog. 

"Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I contradict myself. I am large, I contain multitudes.": Walt Whitman      

Is This in Your PA's Job Description, Sir Elton?

When did you most recently have an extended period when your "to do" list seemed overwhelming? The last several months have often felt that way for me. 

On one hand, I'm grateful for my full and engaged life. On the flip side, I do find myself occasionally fantasizing about how freeing it would be to have a personal assistant to shop for groceries for house guests, get my car to the dealer for a factory recall, schedule doctor's appointments. I'd continue my kvetching if I thought nobody might notice how hopelessly privileged this sounds.  

Though I expect no one to endorse or join my whining, I also suspect I'm not alone here. No doubt, I indulge this privileged fantasy during periods like this because these mundane tasks interfere with what I think I'd be doing if someone else did day-to-day stuff for me. But would I? If that personal assistant suddenly appeared in your life, would you do all - or even some of - those things you think you'd like to do? 

While wallowing in fantasy land, why not go for broke? Given the opportunity, wouldn't you enjoy asking Sir Elton and several of his brethren which of the things they thought they would do they actually got around to doing, given all the hours they got back having a personal assistant? Though I'm sure any of you could easily tick off a long list of things you'd enjoy handing off to that imaginary assistant, in case you need one time-sucking vortex to get you started - one that has tormented me for several months - how about starting your imaginary PA's job description thus: Assume ALL Internet duties. This includes, but is not limited to, responding to e-mail, making purchases, filling out forms, managing passwords.   

Obsolete Stories

Of all the stories we each create to help us cope, perhaps the most difficult ones to let go of are those that are connected to our families of origin. 

It took a significant trauma in my family of origin to prompt me to begin examining a few of these ancient tales. The little bit I know about trauma has taught me I'm probably not alone in this regard. In addition, it stands to reason that the oldest stories would be the hardest ones to dislodge. Joan Didion once famously remarked - "We tell ourselves stories in order to live." I'm sure some of the family of origin myths I held onto in the years before that trauma helped get me through some rough patches. 

But for years now, some of those same stories have started to feel more like roadblocks than aids. At the same time, I'm learning how hard it can be to discard long-held myths, especially when I feel alone in attempts to dismantle, or even to inspect them. Add in my sometimes-volatile temper and its evil twin i.e., my big mouth, decades of shared history with all its attendant baggage, and an unwillingness all around to forgive easily, and what I'm left with are obsolete stories that interfere with genuine communication. 

What challenges do you face trying to free yourself of stories that have outlived their usefulness? 

When I Don't Get It

Pretty sure I'm not alone in saying sometimes I just don't get it. For example, a fair amount of modern poetry simply eludes me. When this happens, my internal conversation often ends up matching the kind of day I'm having. On a good day, I don't let my lack of understanding discourage me. My reaction on an in-between day is harder to predict. But when a bad day coincides with me not getting it, be it poetry, abstract art, avant garde theater or film, I can spiral into negative self-talk. How about you? What do your internal conversations sound like when you don't get it?

This dilemma most upsets my equilibrium when it's literature I'm not getting. And I'm not referring to books like James Joyce's Finnegan's Wake. I realize that kind of writing is aimed at scholars who will spend years analyzing it line-by-line vs. being read and understood as a through narrative by people like me. But how about the bestselling novels of Dom DeLillo, Thomas Pynchon, David Foster Wallace to name a few? I've tried unsuccessfully to crack V - Pynchon's acclaimed breakthrough - at least four times. As challenging as Wallace's non-fiction can be, I end up getting about 80% of that. But Infinite Jest, the novel that catapulted him into the literary stratosphere? Each attempt has left me feeling much the way I do listening to John Coltrane's final recordings, i.e., lost, confused, demoralized.  

I'm reasonably sure my intelligence puts me somewhere on the bell curve, not as smart as the top 5% of the population, nor as limited as the bottom 5%. That leaves me wondering: When I don't get it, how many other people don't? How often will my brethren willingly admit that they don't get it? How does it feel not getting it? 

Three Gifts Via Book Ears

At least for me, paying close attention when others talk about books can reap real benefits. I don't think of this as eavesdropping. Instead, I call it using book ears.

Except while asleep, my book ears are rarely off. If I'm with a group I know to be discerning readers - like my longtime traveling companions from Road Scholar or folks in either my hiking or my writer's group - I make sure the volume control on my book ears is on high. At other times, I may adjust the volume control a bit just to be sure I'm paying attention to the other stuff in a conversation. Although, I am obliged to admit that any mention of any book in any conversation sets my book ears buzzing. Which worthwhile books most recently found their way onto your radar - and then your list - via eavesdropping? I've limited this particular list to just three of the most recent worthwhile novels I discovered via my book ears. In descending order - arguably, in the case of #2 vs. #3 - of accessibility:  

1.) Heartwood: Amity Gaige (2025). Without question, the most conventionally straightforward of these three, especially in subject matter (a hiker disappears without a trace; a search ensues) and approach to the narrative line. A genuine page-turner, in the best way. Book ears route: Overheard being discussed by a book club - not mine - while reading at my local coffee shop. 

2.) The Glutton: A.K. Blakemore (2023). Difficult subject matter - the re-imagining of a myth from 18th century revolutionary France about a young man who ate everything - told in a compelling, matter-of-fact fashion. Of the three, I suspect this one will linger longest with me. Book ears route: Overheard being extolled while on a hike with the group mentioned above.

3.) Flesh: David Szalay (2025). A graphically sexual and totally modern novel with a protagonist so passive I have trouble imagining anyone relating to him. Yet somehow this undeniably talented young novelist managed to immerse me in the protagonist's story enough that the final sentence ("After that, he lived alone.") felt like I'd been punched in the stomach. Book ears route: Overheard an animated conversation between a patron and two trusted librarians while waiting on checkout line.

Your turn. I'm waiting. 

How Cool Is This?

"Friends half our suffering and double our joy." - Cicero

At what point in your life have you felt like your friendships couldn't possibly get any richer? I've been feeling that way for a while. It's possible I'm not remembering some earlier period in my life when friends filled me up as much as my current group does. But not remembering an earlier time doesn't matter much, considering how fortunate I feel this moment. 

Here's just the most recent example why I'm feeling this way. At a meeting of my book club of two (How cool is this, having a friend that you meet with monthly to discuss a book? We're in our tenth year, BTW), that friend mentions a NY Times essay by David Brooks that she knows I would enjoy. Before the day is out, she sends me the link for the essay. I get busy and don't read it that day.

The next day - before opening the link - a different friend invites me to see a show in NYC (How cool is this, having a friend who invites you to see live music? Saw Graham Nash with her not long ago, BTW), and we begin making a plan. Before hanging up, she mentions an essay she knows I would enjoy and also recalls I don't get the NY Times delivered anymore. You've already guessed who wrote that essay, right? Both friends were right. It was amazing.

How cool is this, having a group of friends who have taken the time to know me well enough that they continually nourish me and, in the process, help elevate me as a thinker? 

p.s. The Brooks essay is entitled When Novels Mattered. Didn't provide a link because when I've tried including NY Times stuff in the past via my blog it hasn't always worked well. Won't be hard to track down if you're interested. 

A Pizza Mitzvah

I'd like to take full credit for a recent tiny act of generosity taken at a local pizza shop while enjoying my pre-workout slice. But I'm obliged to give partial credit to a stranger who paid for my coffee at my go-to convenience store some months back. That stranger said "pay it forward" to me when I thanked him. 

It could be that stranger's kindness was rumbling around somewhere as I watched five young boys - probably twelve or thirteen years old - negotiate how much pizza and soda they could afford with their combined cash. The interchange they had about their money vs. their hunger with the good-natured woman behind the counter made me smile, at first. But the uniformly polite and quiet back-and-forth that continued really caught my attention. And then, the perfect manners of one of them saying "Yes, please" to this patient woman moved me into action. 

I briefly thought about telling these boys how proud their parents would be if they had been watching the courteous behavior of their sons. After all, they had quickly learned and been disappointed by the fact of being able to manage just one slice and one soda each with their limited funds. But I quickly discarded the idea of only talking to them, anticipating they might think I was just a weird old man; these were teenagers. 

While finishing my slice, I quietly asked the counter woman to put an additional five slices in the oven and paid her. As I began walking out, she told the boys there was more pizza coming their way via the man leaving the shop. I got a final sign that my small act of largesse was earned as one of the boys said "Actually, thanks!" I replied "Actually, you're welcome."

#75: The Mt. Rushmore Series (3/4)

Reflections From The Bell Curve: #1: The Mt. Rushmore Series

My blog was still a toddler when Mt. Rushmore was launched in July 2012. At that point, unsure how long I'd continue blogging, I could not have predicted it would evolve into my most enduring series.   

Today marks the first time in its thirteen-year lifespan that I'm requesting help. First note the three metaphorical song titles at the bottom of this post, my first ever 3/4 size monument. Your mission, should you decide to accept it: SUPPLY ONE FINAL SONG TITLE TO HELP ME COMPLETE MT. RUSHMORE #75. Why this digression from the usual model i.e., where I present my choices and then assume you'll endorse the perfection of those selections and/or offer one-four alternatives for my august consideration? Two linked reasons: 

1.) My brain hurts. I've been searching - without using Google or any AI - for months for a fourth perfect metaphorical song title. I must move on or risk permanent musical brain fatigue. 

2.) Although this series has generated a fair comment rate over its lifespan, I suspect asking for a nomination to complete my 3/4 perfect monument might generate more than the usual participation.

Remember: In order to help ease my pain and ensure satisfactory completion, make your nomination a stand-alone song title and a perfect metaphor just like each of the three below. If you think I might be unfamiliar with your song, please note the composer and/or the artist most closely associated with it.  Compensation for the nominator providing the perfect fourth to be negotiated. Also: LONG list of considered - later rejected - song titles available upon request.     

* Bridge Over Troubled Water

* Sleep's Dark and Silent Gate

* Wind Beneath My Wings  

Smitten

When was the last time you were smitten?

My journey today with that word began when the capable moderator of a writer's workshop passed around an essay on reading by Vladimir Nabokov as a prelude to a stunning Billy Collins poem entitled Books, which she then distributed and read to us. Though I was familiar with the poem, it floored me anew. You would be right in saying I was smitten, although the word did not occur to me that moment. 

No matter. Because with Nabokov's wisdom and Collins's majesty still igniting me, the moderator then asked us to highlight words, phrases, or sentences from the poem to help us with some prompts she was about to give. Among others, the sentence Collins used to start stanza #3 in Books mentioning the voice of his mother had hit me hard on this re-read. Then, one of the prompts the moderator offered was for us to write about when we'd first been smitten by books. Now I was on fire. I was smitten by the exact verb our moderator had used, effortlessly connecting early memories of my mother and books. 

In addition, the word smitten brought to mind widely quoted advice Nabokov gave to aspiring writers about aiming for verbs that "...caress..." My brief response to the prompt, borrowing one word and one phrase from this remarkable poem, was midwifed by the caressing verb suggested by our moderator. I'm grateful for moments like this when cherished memories and words I write are fused.   

"My mother's voice was the music accompanying my introduction to books. She was the conductor; she was the score; she was the choir and the musicians. I can never repay the debt I owe her for the chords of language I've heard all my life."

Today's Thank You & Belated Acknowledgment

My mother was fond of saying you can never say thank you to others too many times, something I've tried to remember and do regularly ever since.  

Today, I want to thank folks who comment on the posts I select for the featured post widget located on the left side of my blog's home page. The boost I get whenever someone does this lingers for hours. Please know that I always reply to your comments, no matter how old the post is. Blogger makes doing so easy because all comments appear in the order in which they are made, irrespective of the date the original post was published. And solipsistic as it may be, part of that boost is connected to re-reading whatever it is I've resurrected from my archives so I can respond appropriately. Sometimes, it can be a little like visiting a younger version of myself. 

Re-visiting these older posts when someone makes a new comment also gives me an opportunity to re-read any comments that were made when the post first appeared. Coming across a frequent early commenter who has since stopped doing so, for whatever reason, can bring that person back into my life, at least briefly. In addition, as with the comment made by my daughter to the post at the bottom of this one, it's not uncommon for me to be struck anew by some insight from a reader. In this case, I realized in retrospect how my emotionally intelligent daughter - all of twenty-two years old at the time - had helped her old man navigate a thorny issue that had plagued him for some time. 

Sweetheart: Consider this a belated acknowledgment of your precocious wisdom, especially since I neglected to thank you or even to respond to your comment back in 2011. Mea culpa.  

Reflections From The Bell Curve: Repelling Toxic People

Recent Musical Highlights

Can't recall when I most recently had a week as musically satisfying and diverse as the one that ended about an hour ago. In reverse order, chronologically and with respect to both my degree of enjoyment and the notoriety of the musicians involved:

1.) Although I wasn't as surprised by Diana Krall's choice of material this second time seeing her, her re-working of Great American songbook standards in tonight's show was musically thrilling. Peak moments included her arrangement of All of Me for her trio, a mournful solo rendition of In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning, and the encore, a straightforward, moving version of the Brian Wilson classic In My Room. 

Reflections From The Bell Curve: Thanks For The Surprises, Diana

2.) On Wednesday, thanks to a tip from a friend, I was newly exposed to Marel Hidalgo, a ludicrously gifted teenage jazz guitarist. His live show - with a talented trio supporting him - featured two generous sets, the first showcasing the music of jazz giant Horace Silver, the second a vibrant reggae-flavored mix with original music and imaginative interpretations of a few jazz standards. Check out Hidalgo's reel via the YouTube link directly below.

Solo Jazz Guitar-15-yr old Marel Hidalgo

3.) Two nights before that, I attended an open jazz jam session, something I've been doing on and off for a while. After one song, feeling moderately pleased with what I'd played, I left the bandstand. Then I spent the next 90 minutes listening to this music I've come to revere, enjoying most of what I heard, including the work of two other guitarists. I tried not to compare my playing to theirs and was partially successful. Despite my lapse, in the end, I was pleased that I put myself out there, again.

What have been some recent musical highlights of yours?   

Help Me Keep This Buzz, Please

Playground (2024) will elevate you as a thinker while enchanting you as a reader. It might confuse you; it will definitely challenge you. If you've read or end up reading this most recent novel by the astonishing Richard Powers, please remember to contact me either here or offline. I desperately want to retain the glow of this extraordinary - if at times frustrating - reading experience for as long as possible. And I really want to hear your take on the mind-blowing conclusion, perhaps the most imaginative ending of any book I've read in two decades.  

My journey with this remarkable book was not a wholly smooth one. Because both of the trusted readers in my life who finished it before me - my wife and the reading soulmate who first recommended it to me soon after its release - told me simply that it was another home run by Powers, through the first 200+ pages, I was innocently captivated. As he did with both Echo Maker & Bewilderment, Powers grabbed me immediately with his undeniable storytelling gift, expertly balancing human dynamics with the miraculous mysteries of the natural world. As with The Overstory, I was dazzled by his staggering prose and masterful toggling of first and third person voices. But then the foreshadowing curveballs - make that screwballs - began to upset my reading equilibrium. Not enough to extract me from the compelling story but, my unanswered questions began accumulating. Playground demands any reader's full engagement.   

I'll spare you the details of my childish temper tantrum as I finished mid-day this past Sunday and tell you that all I could manage at that point was a visit to the gym to cool down. Later, two conversations with my wife helped me come to peace with the stunning denouement of this treasure. Still not able to let go, I scheduled a coffee meeting for early today to further digest Playground with that reading soulmate who'd first recommended it to me. That helped some more. But I'm far from sated. That's where I hope some of you enter the picture. Please: Help me keep this buzz, will you?  

Final note: Though tempted to write a post about some of the other novels I finished since publishing the post directly below on June 8, now I'm glad I waited until I read Playground. 

Reflections From The Bell Curve: The Line of Beauty

You're One Click Away from Musical Rapture

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JAZ1nfuluz0&list=RDJAZ1nfuluz0&start_radio=1

I am so fortunate to have dear friends who direct me to musical treasures like the performance above. I promise this will be the best five minutes you spend today. I defy you to stay unmoved watching it.

Coming soon: A re-construction of iteration #59 in my Mt. Rushmore Series. Thanks Ruth.  

Reflections From The Bell Curve: #59: The Mt. Rushmore Series

The Elusiveness of Clarity

Some days, things get clear for me. I feel like I understand myself and have less trouble accepting my flaws.  Music is cleansing; food tastes better; I'm more focused. In between those days, clarity is an elusive quality for me. How about for you?

I'm not unhappy or angry on those in between days. But I come across a little less grateful and patient, so invariably people close to me will ask if I am, in fact, unhappy or angry. And though some would call this my "mood", that strikes me as an oversimplification. Today I don't feel at all in a bad mood. I feel pretty good, well rested and happy with the interactions I've had so far. But I'm not feeling particularly clear.

One of the benefits of being committed to keeping a journal is I have learned to wait out days like today, knowing a day of clarity is not far off.  On the infrequent occasions when I indulge myself and read a few successive entries in old journals, I can sometimes detect an ebb and flow i.e., days like today vs. days of clarity. Still, I've not been successful in discovering what triggers those days of clarity or how to predict when they will occur. As always, I'm curious what you have learned about this elusive quality. 

Plateau, Schmateau

When did you most recently feel stuck? How did you dislodge yourself?

How many expressions do you suppose there are for those times when we hit a wall of any kind? And what is the link between feeling stuck or hitting a wall and locating the needed motivation to get out of our own way? Have you ever known anyone who has escaped this human dilemma, no matter what it's called - running out of steam, trouble locating the mojo, being dried up, whatever? If you know such a person, would you introduce me, right away? In the meanwhile, nomenclature aside, what is your go-to strategy when this plagues you?  

Although it usually pleases me when any reader finds value in the suggestions made by other readers to questions I pose here, I'm feeling less generous today. I'm not looking for a magic bullet - per se - but given my current stasis, my awareness about the predictability of plateaus we all experience in life from time to time is not real useful to me. I want a practical strategy - preferably one I can implement the moment I read your comment - to help me jump-start the engine, get the juices flowing, unclog the pipes, etc. These past few days, my usual stuff - exercise, meditation, reading, playing guitar - has not gotten me off the starting block. 

I guess right now I'd welcome the flexibility to be able to kick my own ass.

Putting Siri Back in the Bottle

Isn't it a near certainty that our lives are headed toward more dependence on technology? What is your guess of the impact of that increased dependence on the following: Attention deficit disorder? Listening skills? Critical thinking? 

The data I'm seeing does not fill me with hope. In addition, my regular interaction with others dismays me increasingly. I've had conversations with friends who acknowledge a connection between their diminished attention span and cell phone use. I've also witnessed - as I'm sure you have - many of the impediments technology helps to create with respect to listening and conversation, a phenomenon Sherry Turkle expertly explored in her still startling book Reclaiming Conversation (2015). I'm alarmed by the rising rate of adolescent suicide, a trend many researchers attribute to the pernicious effect of ubiquitous social media. The implications of AI - especially in the creative domain - terrify me.  

That said, my inadequate solution of near abstinence is complicated. First, it frequently puts me at odds with people, including loved ones. And in what is best described as an Uber-disconnect, I'm a blogger, for crying out loud.

Still, disconnect aside, despite my obstinate resistance to most technology, I'm neither advocating for a return to the horse-and-buggy era nor am I oblivious to the benefits technology has delivered. But I am deeply concerned where we are headed. Consequently, I'd sincerely welcome hearing from you. What are some practical strategies all of us can begin using to assist in putting Siri, Alexa, et al back in the bottle, at least from time-to-time?

Reflections From The Bell Curve: The Choir And The Monkey  

Delayed De-Brief

Even though more than a week has passed since we returned from our latest National Park adventure, I'm still de-briefing the time spent away from home. This ever happen to you, i.e., you feel like there's more to be extracted from an exceptional travel experience?

Front and center in my delayed de-brief is a sense of lingering gratitude for the unremitting miracle of nature. Each hike we took in Yosemite and Sequoia National Park was more spectacular than the one before. The breathtaking views in both parks defy description. I'll never forget the awe I felt walking around the world's largest tree. 

I've also had ample time to reflect on how traveling with Road Scholar has enriched our time away from home, beginning with the first trip we took with them in 2015. It would be hard to over-state how much more relaxed I am knowing I don't have to think about anything other than showing up on time each day; Road Scholar does everything else. The direct consequence of that? I'm fully present. I'm more receptive to the information the terrific guides dispense as well as the beauty engulfing me. I'm also more open to interacting with fellow travelers and my creative riffing feels limitless. Ideas and inspiration come at me - unimpeded - from everywhere. I don't need directions, hiking maps, or anything aside from water, my notebook, and a pen. Difficult to describe how liberating that feels. 

My delayed de-brief also reminded me to add a note to our gratitude jar. I feel fortunate to have the means to enjoy experiences like these and doubly fortunate that my partner of forty-seven + years is a willing and enthusiastic travel companion.  

Reflections From The Bell Curve: Practicing Gratitude

Words for the Ages: Line Thirty-Six

"All your money won't buy another minute". 

I've never owned a recording by Kansas. That includes their biggest hit single - Dust in the Wind - the song from which the lyric above is lifted. Always liked the tune - nice acoustic guitar, inventive violin lines, subtle vocal harmony, moderately bleak but largely solid lyric - but I'd mostly stopped buying singles by 1978 and their other music didn't grab me enough to invest in an LP.

My disinterest in Kansas aside, I submit that terse phrase will outlive composer/lyricist Kerry Livgren. I hope he'll forgive the fact that I transplanted the word buy from the end of his phrase to the middle. In the original, Livgren needed buy to complete a rhyming couplet (with "sky"). But for me, the clumsy syntax of "...won't another minute buy" dulls the impact and lands with a thud. However, at least one faithful reader and good friend pushed back at my presumptuousness when I shared this notion. She gently chastised me for minimizing "artistic license". We agreed to disagree.

You decide where you want to land, then place the word buy where it suits you. No matter really because in the end, those concise seven words stand alone and contain a universal truth. They are words for the ages, clumsy syntax or artistic license notwithstanding. 

A Jolt

Happened to be changing the widget called featured post on the left side of my home page when I noticed a comment the older of my two sisters had made many years ago on the post I'd most recently resurrected from my archives. What a jolt that comment delivered to me. 

How I miss the once-frequent visits to the bell curve she made for years. Nowadays, I'll occasionally read a recent post to her, usually involving some family-of-origin folklore. Though she can no longer type in a comment, the smile on her face is often enough to tell me I've gotten through. 

I'm grateful for that smile just as I am for my sister's frequent comments during the first nine + years of my blog's life. In the early years, her comments helped inspire me to keep publishing even when my view numbers were discouraging and it seemed as though few people besides her, my wife, and my daughter paid any attention. And that jolt from her years-old comment then further reminded me of her early-in-life embrace of my awful high school poetry. It would be difficult to over-state how her lifelong support of my creative efforts has sustained me. Bad poetry, abysmal early songs, marginal musical endeavors, my blog; she never wavered. Who has been that kind of anchor in your life? When was the last time you acknowledged that person? What are you waiting for? 

 

Reflections From The Bell Curve: This Moment

The Line of Beauty

Since finishing The Line of Beauty (2004) a few weeks back, I've purposefully limited my reading diet to books of non-fiction. Alan Hollinghurst's Man Booker Prize-winning novel is literature of the highest order. It hit me with such force that I haven't wanted to risk being in the hands of a less capable novelist ever since. The closest recent analogue I can recall to this reading experience was how I felt upon finishing The Overstory (2018) in early 2020 and then subsequently gushing about Richard Powers's Pulitzer Prize-winning novel in seven blog posts over the remaining months of that year.

"Even disagreements ... had a glow of social harmony to them, of relished licence, and counted almost as agreements transposed to a different key."    

Hollinghurst had me right there, on page twenty-one. Smart sentences like that, all in the service of a pitch-perfect story about class in Thatcher-era England, adorn every chapter. The conversations in this masterful book - especially those featuring the protagonist (Nick Guest) and each of the four members of the wealthy Fedden family with whom Nick lives - are unimprovable. Details? "Dragon flies paid darting visits." Bringing a character to life? "...his tone combined candour and insincerity to oddly charming effect". Telling observations? "...he could make a mere gesture towards an action which would at once be performed by someone else."

Above all, The Line of Beauty transformed me as a reader, much like The Overstory did five years ago. This time, Hollinghurst helped me close a gap I reflexively create between myself and characters with money and power who collect beautiful things. Because all of Hollinghurst's characters were expertly rendered, instead of seeing them as "types" and feeling distanced from them, I saw them instead as flawed human beings, like me.

Reflections From The Bell Curve: To Be Continued 

Not Cut Out for Heavy Lifting

No maintenance required. Low - medium - high maintenance required. Uber-maintenance required. 

Using the five levels above, where would you place yourself on a maintenance required continuum? How closely would your self-assessment of where you are on that continuum match up with how others - especially those who know you well - see you?

While on our recent adventure to Yosemite National Park with Road Scholar, I reflected quite a bit on how grateful I am that my partner of forty-seven + years requires such low maintenance. Although I've known this since our first date in April of 1978, spending time with groups and observing what others seem to require as minimum maintenance invariably amplifies my gratitude for her. 

What does my gratitude for her low maintenance requirements say about me? How many of you in long-term partnerships have ever considered this angle, i.e., some of the reasons why we gravitate toward certain people based on how much heavy lifting we think we might have to do? I'm reasonably sure my selfishness has had a lot to do with the people I've been most drawn to throughout my life, including my partner. Under no circumstances could I ever see myself responding well to someone having what I considered to be trendy, frivolous, or expensive tastes. Nor could I see myself attracted to anyone who equated either stuff or undivided attention and adoration with affection. I'm too attached to my own exceedingly modest needs to react favorably to anyone at the higher end of that continuum. 

Not that I'd ever be in the running for anyone like that anyway. I'm certain that any person requiring a high or above level of maintenance would quickly surmise that I'm not cut out for heavy lifting.  

 

#74: The Mt. Rushmore Series

Even for those less music-obsessed than me, certain songs are guaranteed to conjure a specific time in a life. In my experience, the same applies for books - both for casual readers and bookworms - and for movies, cinephile or otherwise. 

For this iteration of Mt. Rushmore, I'd like to hear which specific detail - mundane or off-the-curve - is so inextricably linked to a movie that you immediately recall that film when that detail presents itself. My monument is listed chronologically backwards by date of the film's release. You'll soon understand why. List your monument however you choose.

1.) Detail: Port-a-potty. Film: Slumdog Millionaire. The direct inspiration for this post came during our just finished visit to Yosemite National Park. As I entered one particularly dingy port-a-potty, a scene from early in Danny Boyle's 2008 film wouldn't let me go. From there, it was easy for this movie geek to come up with three more details that simply can't be linked to any other film.

2.) Detail: Hedge maze. Film: The Shining. Even money you knew what film I would name before I did so. I submit anyone who saw Stanley Kubrick's 1980 adaptation of the Stephen King novel will never be able to separate a hedge maze - or the deranged look in Jack Nicholson's eyes - from that film.  

3.) Detail: Phone booth. Film: The Birds. Although phone booths have been featured in many movies, if you saw Alfred Hitchcock's 1963 film even once, I think you'll agree this detail and that film cannot be separated. Film buffs: Check out High Anxiety, Mel Brooks's hysterical 1977 homage to Hitchcock, phone booth included.   

4.) Detail: Shower. Film: Psycho. Within seconds after connecting port-a-potty to Slumdog Millionaire, shower = Psycho came to me. Since 1960, no year has ever passed without that shower scene crossing my mind at least one time. I suspect I'm not alone.    

If you can't come up with four, don't stress. Make one or more nominations. Unrepentant movie junkie that I am, I'd love to hear what comes to you.             

Glad I Did; Wish I Hadn't

 Glad I did; wish I hadn't. Wish I had; glad I didn't.

I'm not temperamentally inclined to spend a great deal of time thinking about regrets. But claiming there is nothing in my life I wish I hadn't done would be a lie. And the same goes for some things that I had the opportunity to do. Looking back now, there are a few of those I wish I had acted on. How about you? I'd welcome hearing which four things first come to mind when you consider the italicized phrases opening this post.

I'm glad I pledged to visit all the National Parks. In the end, I may not make it to all sixty-five - the five remote ones in Alaska and the one on American Samoa are a long shot - but had I never made that pledge, my connection to the natural world would feel smaller.

I wish I hadn't let my ego rule my early life as an aspiring musician and songwriter. 

I wish I had gone to Barcelona with my wife when that opportunity presented itself some years back. I foolishly let the price of the airline ticket dissuade me from joining her at the time. A bozo move, for sure. 

I'm glad I didn't let either the naysayers in my life or my pathetic early view numbers lead me to conclude that blogging wasn't worth the time or effort. This blog has helped me immeasurably - in several ways - to harness my creativity. 

Please share with me and others something you're glad you did and something you wish you hadn't. From there it should be easy to recall something you wish you had done as well as something you're glad you didn't.    

A Likely Last, Another First

Although it's possible I'll return to Yosemite National Park in my lifetime, it's much more likely this will be my last time experiencing this remarkable place. If you've never visited here, I'd suggest putting it near the top of your list. It's no wonder that the time Theodore Roosevelt spent with John Muir here in the early twentieth century inspired him to become the President who will be forever revered as the "father" of our National Park system.    

I briefly considered dazzling you with some pictures taken in the park over the last few days. But isn't it likely that the roadside image I included below - taken at the nearby Wind Wolves Preserve - will linger in your memory longer than yet another image of transcendent splendor? I mean really. How much beauty can anyone meaningfully absorb? Besides, I needed a first to go with the likely last I've described above to provide some ballast lest anyone accuse me of being morose. And this sign is surely a first for me. How about you? Got a comparable sign you want to share anywhere near as arresting as this?

Next stops: Kings Canyon and Sequoia National Park. Many say those parks are equally breathtaking, meaning some dazzle could be forthcoming. But there's an equal chance something quirky will capture my fancy and even odds the wi-fi will be spotty. In the meanwhile, this week my favorite National Park has to be Yosemite. But be sure to check back in soon.

Reclaiming My Film Geek Status

OK, this year I'm currently up to nine for ten only a few months after the best picture Oscar was awarded, meaning at least I'm ahead of last year's ratio in the same month. I began getting more and more behind in 2009 when the number of nominees for best picture increased from an easier-to-manage five to eight, nine, or ten. Consequently, because I've still not seen several post-2008 best picture nominees, my film geek bona fides started feeling a little suspect around this time last year. But I'm now slowly reclaiming my status; I saw the three 2024 nominees below over just this past two weeks.  

Of those three, I'm Still Here worked best for me end-to-end, a surprise because sub-titled films are not usually a go-to for me. The lead actress (Fernanda Torres) is clearly deserving of her best actress nomination as a ferociously devoted mother of five who holds her family together after her husband is "disappeared" by the military dictatorship that ruled Brazil in 1970.

Of the nine nominees I've now seen, Nickel Boys is clearly the most innovative. My expectations for this film adaptation were probably unrealistic given my reverence for the source material, Colson Whitehead's extraordinary novel of the same name. But in his directorial debut, RaMell Ross made an exceptional film that pulled off a feat I didn't think possible, i.e., he packed the same punch into the surprise ending of his film as Whitehead did with his Pulitzer Prize-Winning novel. 

The Brutalist had some terrific moments. And the main character - played by the always reliable Adrien Brody - is compelling even when it's difficult to like him. But for me, there were just as many moments when the script had a hollow ring to it. For example, the rape scene and the confrontation between the wife of the main character and the rapist both felt un-earned. 

If you've seen any of these nominees, I'm curious to know how your reactions match or differ from mine. And I'm even more curious to hear which of the ten 2024 nominees would have gotten your vote for best picture. After I see the last of the ten - Dune: Part Two - I'll report back on my vote.    

97th Academy Awards - Wikipedia         

Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch

As is often the case, I'm unsure what wi-fi service will be like during my time in three national parks over the coming weeks. If all is well, I plan to include a picture or two with some of the posts that get through. Though any image of treasures like those I'll be experiencing in Yosemite, Sequioa, and Kings Canyon are doomed to be inadequate, regular readers have sometimes commented on enjoying an occasional picture to augment a reflection. Promise to do my best to minimize the cornpone level.

In the meanwhile, I'm pleased our time away will be spent with three good friends we've been travelling with for a few years now. In total, one of those three has now visited seven National Parks with us (ten after this trip), and the other two friends have been our companions to three of those same seven; their tally with us will be up to four National Parks after this trip. And I'm even more excited that our time away will also mean spending a week with my daughter, son-in-law, and drum roll, please ... my brilliant, musical genius, all around joy, eight-month-old grandson. It's a good thing I set the tone early in the life of my book club to keep grandparent crowing to a minimum. Otherwise, I'm afraid the members of my club would have been subjected to non-stop bragging, prompting them to run from the last several meetings screaming. I can't help myself. 

Check in with me here periodically over the coming weeks. If no reflections from the bell curve are forthcoming for more than a few days at a time, assume one of the following: 1.) Spotty wi-fi; 2.) Your favorite blogger is too awestruck by the splendor of our National Parks to sit down at the laptop; or ... 3.) My grandson needs help translating The Iliad from the ancient Greek. 

A Gift and a Fuzzy Line

"I am here to live out loud.": Emile Zola

I've always considered my abundant energy a gift. But more than a few times in my life, people have told me that energy was wearing them out. I'm not always able to tell when my passion for something - and the energy feeding that passion - has overtaken me. Sound familiar to anyone? With people close to me, I can sometimes detect a tired look in their eyes telling me perhaps my passion-infused energy has crossed into attention-seeking territory. But picking up those signals from others remains an ongoing challenge. How about that? Familiar at all?

Where is that fuzzy line between living life out loud - as Emile Zola extols - and being too loud? As an extraverted man who has intense passions, that question is on the front of my radar regularly. We men have been enculturated to expect people to listen when we speak. And the extraverts among us are temperamentally inclined to use our share - or more - of airtime. Add in those intense passions and it's no mystery why the mansplainers of the world trigger me to the point of apoplexy. It's like looking at the worst image of myself. 

Using my gift wisely is a life's work. Which gift of yours presents you with a similar dilemma?

 

"Never trust people who don't have something in their lives that they love beyond all reason": from Beartown (2016) by Fredrik Backman

Reflections From The Bell Curve: Living Life Aloud

Jonesing for a Discussion

Among the things I'm grateful for, having a large number of readers in my life is near the top of the list. Even anticipating a discussion about a worthwhile book with any of these folks infuses me with energy. 

That delicious anticipation enhanced my recent re-read of The Interpreter of Maladies (1999), an extraordinary collection of short stories by Jhumpa Lahiri. My rationale for re-reading? Easy; a good friend - one of those readers I mentioned - had borrowed our copy. Soon after checking in to see how she was doing, I suggested we discuss whatever she'd finished up that point. (I'd already borrowed a library copy.)

But soon after reading the final heartbreaking sentence of the masterful opening story ("They wept together for the things they now knew" from A Temporary Matter), taking one story at a time became an untenable strategy for me. Lahiri's unshowy prose and piercing observations - particularly about assimilation - hurtled me through the second story (When Mr. Pirzada Came to Dine), an equal in every way to the opener. After then completing the title story, there was no turning back. Guitar, exercise, even eating moved back in the queue. The title story is so exceptional that I recalled many of its telling details from my first time through the book. But re-reading it revealed additional layers that had escaped me back in 1999. Such is the skill of this gifted author.

As assured as the next five stories are, the closer (The Third and Final Continent), elevated this reading experience from exceptional to transformative. After finishing that treasure, my jones for the discussion with my friend took on an almost frenzied aspect. I started planning which story we'd discuss first. One of my favorites or hers? I scoured my notes for some of the subtle details Lahiri sprinkles throughout each story like delicious treats and began wondering which of them my friend noticed. And which details did she pick up on that I missed? Which words, phrases, passages of dialogue, sentences, paragraphs that won't leave me alone are haunting her? Until we have our discussion, what do I do with all this energy? Can we start over again right after we finish?     

Words for the Ages: Line Thirty-Five

"A man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest." 

Until today's iteration, I've adhered to a guideline established at the inception of this series in 2017, i.e., not to repeat any lyricist. But a recent discussion about confirmation bias with a new friend persuaded me it was time to forego that guideline, at least this one time. Carefully re-read those twelve words above from The Boxer and share with me a lyric that more succinctly captures our shared human tendency to ignore information that doesn't support or reinforce our worldview. I'm standing by.  

In addition, if any lyricist deserves to be cited more than once in a series entitled Words for the Ages who can reasonably take issue with that lyricist being Paul Simon? Have others been more influential than him? Perhaps. More literary? Maybe. More consistent? Emphatically not. Put Paul Simon's entire catalog against any other twentieth century lyricist and compare song-by-song. After doing that comparison, return here and make your case for who has been more consistent. I'll wait.

In the meanwhile, I welcome nominations for an aphoristic lyric you would cite as words for the ages. Reach for a lyric that stands alone, i.e., one that doesn't depend on a rhyme to complete the thought. Next, make whatever you nominate terse enough to be easily recalled. The main point? Timelessness. I'll be right here.  

Reflections From The Bell Curve: Words For The Ages, Line Fourteen

Another Sweepstakes Win

If there's a sweepstakes for good fortune in a life, I've been a winner more than once. 

My winning streak started with a devoted mother who was involved in nearly every aspect of my young life. Chaperone on trips of every type, cub scout den mother, president of the grammar school PTA. I felt loved and cared for my entire childhood. My turbulent adolescence tested my mother in several ways. She passed, her love for me never wavering.     

If I worked at it, I could perhaps conjure a mother equal to the one my daughter has had. No doubt, like all mothers, she made mistakes with our only child. But ask me to recall anything specific beyond trivialities, and I'd have trouble. Without question, my daughter couldn't have had a better role model as an independent woman than her mother. In that respect, even conjuring an equal is challenging for me.

  

My daughter never knew either of her grandmothers. How then to explain her immediate and undeniable suitability as a new mother other than the adoration and attention her own mother showered on her from the second she entered the world? And so it was, from the first moments I saw my daughter holding my new grandson last October. In her face, her touch, her very essence, I sensed both my mother's spirit and my wife's laser-like focus on our daughter as her life began.  

I now look forward to the day my grandson recognizes he's won the same sweepstakes as me. With a mother and grandmother like his, I suspect I won't be waiting long.