No Excuses!

New books, new ideas:

I recently found an audiobook, No Excuses; by Brian Tracy, and it spurred me to finish the update, proofreading, editing, and cover artwork for my own book. 

This is pretty much done; I still need to run the whole thing past other eyes to catch glaring and not so glaring errors. 

And add this essay.

First off, and credit where it is due, The above mentioned book by Mr. Tracy reminded me of this basic essential: I need to do the work. I am responsible. So are you.

The whole point of my book, of course is to affirm your ability. But, even more importantly, to get you off the dime and moving. So.

For on example, if you are in the artillery, you get your orders from your commander, and your sighting information from your forward observer. Then you aim, fire, evaluate, adjust your aim, fire again, repeat as necessary until the target is hit & destroyed.

Achieving your own aims is just like that: choose the goal, make the plan, work the plan, focus on the objective or outcome. Correct as needed, evaluate the progress, re-evaluate the goal. Ready, Aim, Fire! Evaluate, Make ready again, Aim, Fire! Repeat as necessary to achieve your goal.

No matter what, you are responsible. No matter if the cause of failure was at someone else’s hands, no matter if it was a (so-called) Act of God, you are responsible. If nothing else, you are responsible for your reaction to the circumstance. No excuses!

That said, I AM a good one for excuses. Even if I have ‘good’ excuses, they only get in my way. Too bad, so sad. I should pick myself up, dust myself off, and start all over again!

I lost my job some months ago, and ultimately deserved to. Never mind the reason; I was not performing to specifications. Anyone from the old shop who reads this, please understand, I do not blame my former work place. They did their best to keep me on, as the things I was doing right and well, I was doing very well indeed. However, I couldn’t keep my call times short.

I am slowing down, and that contributed to the loss of my former position. Again, not their fault. I was unable to find a strategy that allowed me to complete my call tasks on average in the time limit required of me.

I am responsible for that.

So, when I found Mr. Tracy’s book, and listened to it, it resonated. Maybe I didn’t like to hear the message, but the message was important, and I was open to it.

And here we are. 

I will give you a glimpse of my most recent vision:

In my immediate area we have a food desert. A thrift grocery that had been the source of food for the  area closed, and the building razed (as well as the buildings around it). Now, someone is setting to build a McDonald’s in a corner of the block. Considering the location, it should be a success. However …

What I wanted to do, and still want to do, is create a destination business, something that people not from the immediate area would want to visit. A business that, in and of itself, draws people (and their dollars) to it. Tentative project name: Nate’s Bistro and Dinner Theater.

Nearby, there would be a grocery store that would provide foodstuffs a notch above what the dollar store carries, but not so expensive as to be a hardship for the folks around to purchase. It would be good for it to have a specialty of some sort, like (for instance) a specialty bakery. This would be one more draw to bring people from outside the immediate area to our corner of the world.

And just for the fun of it, a bookstore and newsstand.

The bistro could have open mike ‘sing for your supper’ event, the theater would provide real world opportunities for the school of music and school of theater of the local university. The theater would also provide future sound and light designers opportunities to get real-world experience, and the back-stage scene shop would give makers of all sorts opportunities to make something big, as well as craft ‘show-specific’ mementos as one-of-a-kind keepsakes for whatever show being presented; these items  could be sold at Nate’s or as point-of-sale items at the bookstore.

The theater would become the primary destination, providing traffic to the bistro, and vice versa, giving exposure to the nifty little grocery, as well as an interesting brick-and-mortar bookstore for things you cannot get at the A-to-Z store online.

The nearby motels would benefit from the extra traffic, as would as the other businesses in the immediate area. As visualized, the convenience store would generally keep their clientele for the kinds of things the dollar store does best, the Gas & Go place would be the same. The in-coming Mickey Dee would not see the restaurant cut into the fast-food flow, or perhaps a little, as some would just want to sit down and take a load off their feet and dine comfortably instead of being in a rush.

All in all, making a destination dinner theater/bistro (with associated businesses) would be a good thing.

But, to achieve this, I need to have some financial resources to build on.

Hence, I need to get off the dime and be responsible. No Excuses!

Yes I Can!

So Can You!

Chaca, When The Walls Fell

 Still no completed ghost story, but I found something you might like that I wrote February 4th, 2018, when I was trying to see myself as something more than a broken down old man. 

I'm still a broken old man, even more so, but I do have some focus of will left. With that thought came this bit from almost four years ago:

                        This Old Man (2018-02-04)

            I’m not sure how it happened.

            Usually I’m very aware of my surroundings when I’m out. Especially when I’m with my little girl. My ’little girl’ is in junior high, and nearly the height of her mother; not so little.

            Maybe that was it; she was not a ‘little’ girl at all, anymore.

             Minding our own business at a table in the park, eating a Mickey-Dee’s lunch, a group of - no a gang of boys came up and casually surrounded our table. The boys were not much older than my granddaughter.

            One of the bolder youths came closer, saying, “Hello, little chicky, leave this old man and come with me, I show you some fun!”

            “He’s not an old man! He’s my grandpa!” she shouted back.

            “Even better! You come with me and my boys will keep your old grandpa busy.”

            The gang had us circled. As casually as I could I move my legs over the bench so I was half-facing away from the table. One of the other boys came close to me and leaned in. I could smell the cigarette odor, and the smell of marijuana, on his breath. “Don’ get up, ole man, Rickie – he take goooood care of your girl for you.” He leered a half-focused grin at me.

            Someone behind me poked my shoulder, “An’ we gonna take gooood care of you, too. Don’ worry about nothin’.”

            The first boy reached his right hand out and placed it on my left shoulder, the shoulder nearest the table, “You jus’ sit right there, an’ ev’ry thing will be fine.”

            “Pa-paw?”

            One of the circling boys said, “Maybe we can take turns.” The rest of the boys chuckled, their laughter low in the throat. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the first boy (“Ricky?”) take my girl’s arm to pull her away from the picnic table.

            The voice in my ear said: This is the moment.

            Leaning back against the hand behind me; the boy behind me, irritated, shoved me forward. Grabbing my cane from the table with my left hand, and leaning forward (unwittingly assisted by the boy behind me), I punched the boy in front of me’s solar plexus, putting as much of my weight behind the blow as I could. This boy’s leer disappeared as his eyes and his mouth went wide, gasping for a breath that would not come.       

            Standing and stepping away, and twisting to face the boy behind me, I got both hands on my cane, spaced wide, pushing it at the boy’s chest, stepping in to shove as hard as I could to knock him down. He couldn’t back-pedal fast enough to stay standing and went down.

            Stepping on his chest to the most direct path around the end of the table I saw Ricky dragging my little girl away from the table. Two more boys were between Ricky and me, the one on my left waved a knife. I think he meant to scare me.

            I stepped left, putting the other boy slightly behind the knife wielder. I swung my cane hard down on the wrist with the knife, and he screamed. He also dropped the knife.

            I brought the cane back up, and grabbing it with both hands as I had before, I shoved it into this boy’s chest and he went down. I stepped on him and went at the fourth boy. He came at me like a defensive line-man, ready to push me back. I met his charge, shoving him with the cane held as a bar in front of me, then twisting to the right, I stepped left, and let him slide past me. As he went by, I kicked him in his rear and he went down on his nose.

            That was four of the .. five? six? boys in the bunch. One of whom was standing to my left, holding on to my little girl … holding a knife to her throat.

            “Stay back!” he said. He spoke through clenched teeth, his own breathing as ragged as mine was; I was near the end of my effort.

            I have to wrap this up.

            “Baby Girl,” I said, using a name from her childhood, “Baby Girl, do you trust me?”

            Her eyes flickered to a long-ago memory, and she nodded.

            As the boy was saying ‘Shut UP, Old Man’, I said, “Ess-Dee-Are.”

            She blinked, widening her eyes. I gave a slight nod in reply.

            She became dead weight on the boy’s arm. The boy, not expecting it, let her fall. Finishing the ‘Stop-Drop-Roll’ she rolled as fast as she could away from the boy. The boy stood watching.

            As soon as she was clear, I stepped in and raised my cane, still gripped in both hands by its ends, knocking his knife hand up.

            “Run to the car, child! Call the police!”

            Letting go of one end of the cane, and reaching into my left front pocket I grabbed my keys and started tossing them to her. The boy took advantage of my distraction and slashed downward with his knife. It missed my face but cut open my shirt. I felt the slash like an electric jolt through my chest as the blade bit me.

            I dropped the keys as I focused on the face of the boy. His eyes were wide, his mouth open. I growled, like bear or a jungle cat, ready to pounce on my prey. This boy-predator didn't think he was so big any more without his friends. He was back-pedaling, as if he no longer wanted this fight. 

            I certainly didn’t want this fight, but I couldn’t let the matter rest and have him regain his courage when his friends recovered. I was sure boy #2 and boy #4 were already doing so. The cane was still in my right hand; I swung it at his knife hand, intent on breaking his wrist, breaking what was left of his spirit for this fight of his own making, my own vision tunneling.

            The fight would be over in a moment, one way or the other. The shock I was feeling from the cut was combining with my shortness of breath from my exertions. I felt like a puppet whose strings were being cut, one at a time.

            I saw the rubber tip of my cane hit his knife hand. It was the last thing I saw: my tunnel vision narrowed to nothing, the roaring in my ears became a roaring silence.

            Except, I seemed to be someplace. I was talking to someone. Or they were talking to me. It was dark, and largely noiseless, apart from the conversation. It was one of those ‘what-to-do-next’ conversations.

            I found myself saying, “For myself, I don’t care, but please make sure my wife and granddaughter are taken care of.”

            The reply: “Your family will be taken care of – you’ll take care of them.”

            I expressed my doubts in wordless thought, that none-the-less was answered, “You just need to rest a while. Then you will be strong enough to continue.”

            My wordless thought continued to the shortness of breath, the pain in my chest that had nothing to do with the cut, and the general feeling of exhaustion I felt. I mentally tried to raise my arms – and could not.

            The voice, if it was a voice, returned with the sentence, “My strength is made perfect in weakness – you know that.”

            And with that, the dream, or whatever it was, ended.

            Oddly enough, the next thing was noise, the roaring in my ears was back, and pains all over were telling me I was still interfaced with my body, and the world at large was starting to make its presence known: shrill sirens, accelerations and decelerations, not to mention the ‘come-over-darlings’ of sharp turns, and things rattling with each bump. Unfocused light was sneaking in under my eyelids, and on the next bump I heard a groan. My next thought was that person sounds like he’s hurting.

            The following thought: that groaning person was me!

            The pains, instead of just nebulous ideas, started coming in from my chest, my hands and wrists, and an ouchy spot on my left pectoral.

            As I wondered what this was all about, dribs and drabs of ‘the last things I remember’ slowly snuck into my mind.

            Then I thought, “Oh. Yeah.” 

            And decided to go back to sleep.

And there you go. Fiction is as fiction does, but if it ever comes down to cases, I hope I do as well as my dream self in this story, and end up finishing the fight before I run out of steam.

I don't have a lot of steam left. 

But I do what I can. 

Yes, I Can.

Yes, You CAN!

 

Which versus What

I was caught by one of those YouTube offerings the other night. You know the stuff: comedy, history, music, odd videos that don't categorize well sometimes.

This was a humor video, stand-up comedy by a lady named Jeanne Robertson (JeanneRobertson.com - free plug, enjoy) I liked it because it was my favorite combination of attributes: Clean and Funny. It didn't hurt that she is about my age (sixty-something), and spoke, indirectly, to this common issue of opposites attracting. She is a free spirit, not to say a blithe (does anyone use that word anymore?) spirit; and her husband is nick-named 'Left-Brain', for his down-to-earth, matter-of-fact, analytical ... oh, well, heck, let's just say it: 'Left-Brain' is a stick-in-the-mud. His idea of adventure is going to a different burger joint than usual.

I may be running him down too much. If so, Mrs. Robertson is welcome to take me to task.

Some of the best relationships can come from such pairings.

Another person who has acknowledged these different pairings, and has had much to say about them is Dave Ramsey (www.ramseysolutions.com/financial/peace/ - another free plug), with his comparisons between the Nerd versus the Free-Spirit. His famous call: "Nerds and Free-Spirits Unite!" is part of his desire to get these pairings on the same page so they can have a successful life and not wake up poor.

And then there is us, my wife and me. On the face of it I am the 'Nerd' while she is the 'Free-Spirit'. And I can be very much the stick-in-the-mud, and very devoted to science, math, and other 'hard' studies. Whereas my wife is very creative, is a story-teller, creates wonderful costumes (the bear-cub has been just about everything for one Halloween or another, except a 'bear-cub'), can take the five forgotten things in the fridge and turn them into a wonderful meal.

So, it's obvious. I'm the nerd and she's the free-spirit.

Except we're not. Close observers will see that SHE is the one who keeps the books, or ought to, and LIKES it, and I am the one who daydreams. What we are, and always have been, are square pegs trying to fit into round holes. 

What is nifty, though, is that while we are oddities, we are also wonderfully matched. We have common interests, as well as complementary interests and skill sets. In other words, we have enough in common that we can 'pull together' in the same direction (most of the time, at least), and enough differences that we can cover each other's lacks, (most of the time). 

If I were the one to plan things, it's often done at the last minute, and jury-rigged. I need to have my dear, sweet, wonderful wife be the person to do the planning if it is to be accomplished, and accomplished well. 

Well, that's not quite true. I have been known to plan. I plan getaway times so that I KNOW I will not be late someplace. And I've heard the comments of fellow travelers (those riding with me), and fielded their questions/statements "we could've left later if you'd go faster."

And that was true. However, as sure as you are reading this if I had touched the accelerator and gone above the posted limit by even just a few miles per hour, the local constabulary, or county mounty, or Highway Patrol would be pulling us (me) over. And he would not be impressed that we were in a hurry to get to a sales meeting that we would now definitely be late to.

He or she would write the ticket listing the moving violation, as well as any other bonus issues that the officer's sharp eye would bring to light, smile, hand me the ticket, and tell me to drive carefully. And would my fellow sales-people help pay the fine? Maybe, but likely not. And the points go on MY license, not theirs.

So I plan for the time of the trip and don't speed.

I also planned for my career at the Big Red 'R', making sure I had all the bases covered and crossed every 'i' and dotted every 't', eventually becoming a manager of a store. 

I did well, but at the same time, it was too much for me.

Subject change: Jeanne Robertson (remember her) has a running theme in her talks: Always find the humor no matter the situation. If life hands you peanuts, make peanut butter. Or something like that.

I was fired from the 'Shack. I'll get into the reasons some other time. Maybe. But don't hold your breath.

I was fired, and it was not my first experience of being fired. I'm not sure you can easily come up with a humorous view of such events. I really never have. 

At the same time it can give you an opportunity to look at your strengths and choose a new direction. It kind of forces you to do this, actually.

So my longer-range goal of becoming a store manager, and my plans to get there, came to fruition. and I forgot the next step: consolidate the achievement and determine how to run the store honorably and successfully. Then make a new goal and create a new plan. 

I worked at doing the one and hadn't gotten to doing the other. I had also forgotten to find a way to relax. In time I might have come to grips with what I needed to do to keep my employees happy, my customers happy, and ultimately keeping me happy and healthy. With a smile on my face I think I might have taken that store to being a million dollar store. 

But that's water under the bridge.

I should mention at this point that my mom would cross up two metaphors: 'water under the bridge' with 'water over the dam', often coming up with 'water over the bridge', or sometimes 'water under the dam'.

Which brings us back to 'Which versus What'.

What is your focus? What are your strengths? Can you do it all yourself? Do you have the time to do it all yourself? If you had someone you could trust to do the things that person or those persons are best at how would that help you do what you are best at?

Which path is the better path to get you where you want to go? How does it help the people helping you to get there? Are they willing to follow you there? 

Why?

I watched/heard a TED talk some time back that illustrated these ideas. It is very much worth the watch.  (https://www.ted.com/talks/simon_sinek_how_great_leaders_inspire_action/  Yet another free plug. You're welcome.)

Why do I do what I do?

I have to be honest, I have never seen myself as a leader. This has gotten in the way of my being the head of my household, much to my wife's frustration, as well as the frustration of my children. I react instead of leading. Very little planning is done besides just day-to-day stuff. I have no idea where I want to be in a year or five, or even much further than the next five days.

In my position, what would you suggest that I do? How can I find my why? And where do I find the humor to sustain me and those around me? 

As always, though, whatever your plans are, whatever your trials are, whatever your strengths are, you can make it one more day, at least.

Yes, You Can!

He Musta Got Better

Robert Milne died June 5th 2005, at age 49.
That is not an extraordinary fact. Many people die at that age.
How and where he died is the extraordinary part: at an altitude of approximately 8850 meters during a final push to reach the summit of Mt. Everest.
When I knew Mr. Milne (we attended the same high school) he struck me a something of a nerd. 

That's ok. He was focused on a goal: to study computer science. He had a love of mountain climbing. The two came together when he was field testing a telemetry device in the most remote locations: mountaintops. He had, prior to this trip, already summited the highest peaks of the other six continents and had just this one remaining. He didn't quite make it.
You can't really say that he failed in his quest, though. He went where his vision led him and I presume died with few, if any, regrets. Having more than my share of regrets, I envy him that.
Harry Chapin (singer-songwriter, wrote Taxi, Cat's in the Cradle, 30,000 lbs of Bananas) wrote a bit of advice given to him by his grandfather. In the interest of NOT infringing on copy-rights, I point you to a link on Amazon.com: My Grandfather .

Do your best to fight your own fights, as much as you can, and the fights you care about. Fighting somebody else's fights may be necessary in the course of your life (and, of course, do your best with those, too).

But, do not neglect your own battles, your own goals, your own dreams.

Yes, You Can.

The Madman

"Is It Fun Being You?"

You know that the whole idea of this blog is to encourage you to be better at what you do, to achieve more, stretch more, learn more, be more. And I hope you accomplish all of that.

I hope you clear out the dead wood, winnow the wheat from the chaff, throw the dross on the slagpile and keep the precious metal of your personal art and craft.

But at the end of the day, after you've paid that bill, banked that dollar, put away your tools, and put up your feet to rest, ask yourself the question: "Is it fun being me?"

If you can answer "Yes," or "Yes, most of the time," then you are probably striking that balance that makes sure you aren't getting lost in the shuffle of your life. If it's "No," or "Not often," then do the reevaluation of your life, to see what you want out of life, and where you want to be in the one year, five years and ten years.

In other words, it's time once again to make sure the path you're on will get you where you want to go.

This is a small blip on your radar scope today, today being the day after the presidential election. Some of you are elated, while others are sad at the outcome. Still others of you (amazingly) couldn't care less about the outcome. Whatever camp you fall into, take it in stride, remember that ancient phrase: "This, too, shall pass."

Whatever else happens, I want to be earning enough that I am a net tax payer, instead of a tax receiver.

Whatever you need to do, within the limits of legality and ethics, do it. But, remember your core, the you that you are. Make others around you smile.

Have fun being you.

Yes, you can!

How Depressing

Apropos of nothing in particular, but this job search thing is getting me down. I hope I won't need to write a "Devil Discouragement III" entry, but life can be like that.

Remembering a verse I wrote some years back:

"Your Job is not your Worth,
You have Value from your birth.
Your loving given
Means more to livin'
Your Job is NOT your Worth!"

I have to focus on the good & look for the opportunities.

More on that later, maybe tomorrow. For now I have to go.

As Always,

Yes, you CAN!