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.