4 Things My Mom Has Taught Me about Mothering

1.  It’s extremely hard, but most of us are capable of it.  My mom has taught me that the act of mothering is perhaps THE greatest challenge—and THE greatest gift—of this human experience.  She also taught me to fully reject the social construction of the Western world that says that nurturing has everything to do with gender and biology.  I have had multiple Moms and Grandmas, some of them are related to me, many of them are not.  And some aren’t even women.  The blessed gift of maternal care springs forth from our spiritual essence and has so little to do with our biological realities.  A great Mom senses this, and is willing to make the unthinkable commitments associated with it, while seeing the vast rewards—both present and future.

2.  Take pride in it!  For my parent’s 25th wedding anniversary, I threw a big party in the town square of Clarkdale, Arizona.  Friends and I spent weeks planning it.  The gazebo in the center was transformed into one of three stages for a fast moving show that included readings, dramatic (and comedic) presentations, a narrator, as well as music and song.  It was rather elaborate, but the main takeaway and memory to this day was when the volunteer-actress (an old friend) portraying Mom adlibbed a line in which she said to me, “Oh you’re SUCH a good son.”  The crowd roared at the familiar refrain of my mom taking pride in one of her kids.  Meet my mom, meet my fan.  It’s embarrassing, but it’s something I now do with my own kids—with purpose.

3.  Be honest.  I continue to be amazed at the level of dishonesty—or perhaps more accurately said—the level of inauthenticity—that exists in family relationships.  Mom and I, though, would rather have a good old fashioned fight than have a “fauxly” friendly exchange to keep the peace.  This human experience is too real, and too brief for the fake.

4.  Be purposeful.  The power of intention to inform both short- and long-term outcomes should not be overlooked.  The mother-to-child relationship is complicated to be sure.  It is nuanced and layered.  And that’s what makes it badass.  Many can breed.  The choice, the intention, the use of purpose to summon excellence from the ordinary, though, requires a mom who is willing to tap into sacred heart-places, into resources often only available through sacrifice, and into that which most are too afraid to explore.

Posted in Active Compassion, Essence, Intention, Love, Lovingkindness, Mothering, Purpose, Selflessness | 12 Comments

“Fight! Fight! Fight!” (A 3-minute reading on the boundlessness of spirit, and of boxing on a rooftop.)

When I am away from my Ugandan home and based here in San Diego, I have the privilege of boxing with a sparring partner four or five days a week.  We do so on the rooftop of my 100-year-old building, overlooking the bay and downtown.  We see sailboats bob in the water.  We hear cruise-ships sound their haunting horns as they call passengers aboard, and announce their departures.  We watch the ships slowly navigate through the bay, and out into the amazing Pacific.

It is a surreal experience for me every time I workout up here.  So very far away from the realities in my Ugandan village.  So far from my kids.  So hard for me in many ways.  And yet a refreshment to my soul in other ways.  (I’m just glad I never have to go too long without another extended stay at home in Uganda.)

During a county-wide blackout in San Diego last year, residents of surrounding (higher) buildings were drawn out onto their balconies for the cool breezes, and in the absence of anything else to do.  They watched our sparring, and cheered, “Fight!  Fight!  Fight!”

It was fun.

On the other side of the building is the grand Balboa Park.  Every 15 minutes, the bells ring out from the clock-tower above the California Building.   When we’re boxing, we use the bells as markers to guide our workout.

I’m usually proud of myself at the first 15, grateful that I am not yet too fatigued.  (Boxing is the most intense workout one can get.)  Just before the 30 minute bells, I find myself kind of hoping they’re going to ring out soon.

And by the time the 45 minute bells ring out, I have been praying for them for at least five minutes.   Once the final bells ring out, I find myself elated.  Proud that I put in the work again.  Happy with my accomplishments.  Inspired.

And thrilled to rest.

I’m 38 years old.

I’m excited that I will soon enter my 40’s.

And I find myself wondering if these silly, arbitrary decade-marks in our lifetime aren’t something like the silly, arbitrary bells that ring out from the California Building.

And still we listen for them, look to them—for meaning and guidance.

I have so many impressive mentors and examples in this human experience.  Some are hearing the same bells I’m hearing.  Others heard them years ago.  Others are anticipating them.

Yesterday, I was interviewed on camera by three brilliant undergraduate students.  They plan to use the video to nominate me for an award.  (I’m humbled to even type that last sentence.)

Each of the students is Latin@.  We spoke Spanish and English.  We laughed when I had my “Diva” moments, asking for a certain angle from the camera shot.  (Believe me, once you have seen yourself on camera a certain number of times, you “get” the whole “better-side” or “better-angle” business.) = )

I told them about my kids; stories about these amazing spirits who, in their human experiences, have chosen to call me Daddy.

Huge teardrops formed in the students’ eyes.

“Mira, estoy llorando,” one guy said to the others.  [“Look, I’m crying.”]  He laughed.  Embarrassed.

When the laughter settled, I simply looked at him and said, “Thank you for crying.  Thank you.”

Jesus said to “Weep with those who weep.”  It’s a precious, powerful thing.

I hope I also communicated notions of purpose and social entrepreneurship and the power of partnerships and of active compassion.

But that sincere engagement with virtual strangers—of a different generation, another culture—was like that first 15-minute-bell in a sparring match.  You see, I’m grateful that I am not yet too fatigued.  But I know that in about 30 minutes I’ll be praying for—and rejoicing in…

What comes next.

I don’t mean this to be about age.

I do mean this to be about purpose.  And about grand, beautiful vessels charting out into vast waters.

And about an awareness of the limitations of this human experience…

But also of the boundlessness of our own essence as spirits who must…

Fight!  Fight!  Fight!

For all that matters.

Posted in Uncategorized | 2 Comments

“Even When We Don’t Want to” (A 70-second read on pressing into courage, selflessness and forgiveness.)

This blog post was prompted by a thought I posted on Facebook this morning:

I’m considering the beauty of Maundy Thursday, Christ’s final hours in His human experience. The Last Supper, the Passover meal. Washing of the feet. Communion. “Final” thoughts and commandments (“maundy” is Latin for “commandment”). Seeking ways to honor these thoughts, and to be present with the miracle.

I am personally dealing with a small matter of betrayal by a colleague.  At first, it felt almost sacrilege to compare my feelings of betrayal to Judas’ actions, the grandest betrayal of all.

But then I realized what I should be doing is comparing my reactions to Christ’s reactions to betrayal.

According to Scripture, Jesus did not focus on the person of Judas.  Instead, He saw the bigger picture.  He saw the consequences, dreaded them, asked God to “take this cup” from Him, and then pressed into purpose with courage and selflessness.

And in His final breath of His human experience, he asked that his betrayers and killers be forgiven “for they know not what they do.”

And so, as I said in my status update above, I am seeking ways to be present with this miracle.  In so doing, I too have considered throwing in the towel.

But now I am considering the bigger picture.  As is so often the case in matters of betrayal, the betrayer is acting out of a place of transference (meaning that psychologically they react to me as a representative of another person in their life, having nothing really to do with me at all [this is the "they-know-not-what-they-do" part]), and from a place of jealousy and competition.

Christ’s example of looking for the bigger picture is extremely powerful and important in this human experience.  Surely we don’t have time for the petty.

Instead, let us press into purpose with courage and selflessness.

And forgiveness.

Even when we don’t want to.

Posted in Being present, Betrayal, Christ, Courage, Duty, Easter, Forgiveness, Intention, Judas, Leadership lessons and principles, Lovingkindness, Maundy Thursday, Mercy, Psychology, Purpose, Selflessness, Somatic Knowledge, Spirituality, Transference, Wholeness | 6 Comments

“25 Things I’m Grateful for!” (My monthly gratitude list.)

  1. Emails from my kids.
  2. After the long journey from Uganda, I walked into my American office on Monday and found a delightful gift and card from a colleague whose last day of work had been whilst I was away.
  3. That spiritual connections remain even when our human experiences take different routes.
  4. Electricity!  I am so very, very grateful for electricity!
  5. Having so many things to worry about.  Life is full.
  6. Seeing my kids wear San Diego t-shirts.  It makes the world seem that much smaller.
  7. That I haven’t suffered from jetlag on my last two trips home.
  8. Schexy sunglasses.
  9. All the amazing NEW peeps I met while home in Uganda this time.  I feel that lots of positive things await.
  10. Anticipation.
  11. The sound of falling water.  Or more precisely, the sound of landing water, when it makes connection with another surface, whether it be a body of water, a shower’s tiles, a rooftop, or a desert floor.
  12. The beauty of connection.
  13. Sandals.
  14. Eye drops.
  15. The note I discovered on my desk one morning while home in Uganda: “Morning, Dad.  Coffee is ready.  Just start the machine.  Out for school.  See you soon, Rogers.”
  16. That the above note now lives in my wallet.
  17. Progress on our latest business venture: Aidchild’s Olubugo Café.  (Pronounced: “oh-loo-BOO-go,” the word that describes a cloth made from the bark of the Mutuba tree.)  Opening in October.  This is a partnership with the Enlightened Hospitality Group.  We are especially grateful for this one!
  18. The warmth of the faculty at my University.  In the halls, they hug you and say things like, “I miss you,” during semesters where our schedules don’t overlap.
  19. Being missed.
  20. Missing others.
  21. That in Spanish, to express the sense of missing someone, we say, “Me hace falta,” meaning that the reality creates within Self a space, a gap, a lack, a need, a hole.
  22. Learning.
  23. That the two news stations that had both of their cameras and mics in my face the other day didn’t air the part where I couldn’t even pronounce my own title.
  24. Being nervous!  It means you’re up to somethin’.  (To read about some of what we have been up to, click here.)
  25. Every single one of my kids.
Posted in Active Compassion, Beauty, Being present, Conversations that matter, Encouragement, Gratitude, Leadership lessons and principles, Love, Lovingkindness, Opportunity, Purpose, Social Entrepreneurship, Uganda | Leave a comment

“Music in the Dark” (A 2-minute read.)

From my African journal:  Every evening, I hear music coming from an obscure location in the middle of my village town, Masaka, Uganda.  It is joyful music with heavy rhythms and multiple voices in song.  Between choruses, there are great shouts, and bursts of speech in Luganda.  I have trouble making out all the words, but I know that the sounds are coming from a church, and that the congregation is being exhorted into praise and repentance.

Tonight, a friend and I decide to go for a visit.

Based on my experiences in other Ugandan churches, I know that the color of my skin will create a distraction, and I will immediately be assigned an interpreter who will sit next to me, and shout simultaneous translation into my ear.  I am always blessed by the thoughtfulness, but also saddened that I cannot have just an average, anonymous worship experience.

But one must not dwell on what one cannot change.

We go into town, towards the music, but we have trouble finding the church.  Soon, we determine that it is on an upper floor of one of the two buildings now in front of us, both of them are still under construction.  (This is a common reality in emerging nations, that buildings are occupied before completion.  The mild weather here means that windows and doors aren’t really necessary, and the funds needed to complete a structure often take years to collect.)

The street is very dark.

There are people everywhere.

We ask for directions to the church.  Someone kindly shows us the way.  We step over rubble at the entrance, and then navigate up a very dark, winding ramp until we reach the third floor where we emerge into a space lighted by two naked light bulbs.

They seem so bright compared to the darkness.

White plastic chairs are arranged in uneven rows.  There are some wooden, backless benches as well.  The worshipers are all standing or dancing.

I realize that I am in the middle of a metaphor for the way many of us see our spiritual journey.  We start in a place of darkness and confusion, longing to understand the beauty and joy we sense in another place.  With guidance, we make a journey, over obstacles, upward, forward, ever beckoned by a promise of light and delight.

Selah.

We quickly find a spot in the back corner, on one of the benches, hoping to savor a moment before our anonymity is lost.  We get only a moment.

A smiley, warm-spirited young man shakes my hand with both of his, welcomes me, tells me his name is John, and begins to shout the translation into my ear.

And just like that, the music stops.  We are invited to sit down.  The pastor immediately launches into his sermon.

I hope that I am not the cause for this abrupt switch.

I assume that I am.

I wrote the above for a class exercise, and then answered this question:  Did the event serve the spiritual needs of those in attendance, including myself?

A: Partially, yes.  As my narrative and metaphor above describe, this is a space of light and joy in the midst of darkness and suffering.  I can understand why one would be drawn here, even as I was; people of faith communing together and expressing joy, exhorting one another to righteousness and goodness.

Personally, I struggled with the fact that I was not afforded cognitive space to really make meaning of all that I was seeing and hearing.  The physical space was much too loud and too boisterous for the personal contemplation and deep self-analysis I find important to my spiritual journey.

I wonder if the same was true for my fellow worshipers.

I also worry that the emphasis on noise creates a sort of high, something that alters one’s understandings of reality, and that creates an addiction rather than a commitment.  I can’t be certain of this, but it is something that I have worried about for many years.

In the end, I am grateful for those who guided us up the steps, for John who sacrificed his own experience to give me mine, and for this idea that there is a God who was there, too.

Posted in African wisdom, Beauty, Being present, Cognitive space, Divine Guidance, Leadership lessons and principles, Opportunity, Psychology, Uganda, Wholeness | 2 Comments

“Let’s Climb Out of the Bucket” (My reflections on the media lynching of ‘Kony 2012,’ and a renewed commitment to making new mistakes.)

My dad often tells a story about what it means to be a crabber (someone who catches crabs).  The crabbers place their catches, one by one, into a bucket.  Eventually, the bucket is full enough for some crabs to have the opportunity to stretch their claws to the rim of the bucket, and escape.  But when they try, the other crabs reach up and pull the climbers back down.

And no one leaves the bucket.  Instead, they end up in fryers and on dinner plates.

My friends, it seems to me that I want to neither be in the bucket, nor in the fryer, nor on the dinner plate.

I want to be in the sea; the magnificent sea of purpose, meaning, and of everything that my life-experience is meant to offer—even in the face of my imperfection.

I want to attempt to realize all that I can give to—and receive from—others in this mighty sea—pursuing greatness.

What does “greatness” mean?

Does it mean perfection?  Are only perfect-people capable of achieving great things?  Said another way, do only perfect-people have the right to pursue greatness?

My personal answer to this is a resounding NO.

I write this from the British Airways lounge of London’s Heathrow Airport on my way back to San Diego from my home in Uganda.  (The lounge is a “privilege” that results from my frequent flying between Africa and the United States.)

On Tuesday, I will be a panelist at a discussion of all that has transpired as a result of the Invisible Children viral video.  The panel will be presented in the fantastic facilities of my elite school.

Last night (at 12:40am today more precisely), I flew out of Entebbe, Uganda, leaving behind a very productive trip, but also a new trail of mistakes and errors; evidence of my imperfection.

Evidence of my learning.

Last week, I sat in a seminar led by the brilliant Dr. Bob Goodman—a workshop just for my staff and myself—on the shores of the tranquil Lake Nabugabo (a satellite-lake of the great Lake Victoria).  (Dr. Bob is also a member of Aidchild‘s board.)  As I think of us seated in that humble little room in rural Uganda, I am confident that if you would ask my team about my “perfection,” they would offer a sort of guffaw.  Perfect, I am not.  And so we might all [honestly] say of each other, I suppose.

So does that mean that we should all stop trying?  Should we stop offering compassion in the best (though still imperfect) ways that we know?  Or may we allow compassion to create beauty out of our ashes?  Can we not allow the most exquisite pieces of this human experience to coexist with those places of failure? (PS I love using three x’s in one sentence.)

Now, let me be clear: I believe we must strive for excellence, we must be accountable for our failures, and we must never, EVER use our cause as an excuse.  My team and I messed up this past week (in a minor way), and we are owning it, being accountable, and working on how to “fix” it.  But shouldn’t we have the opportunity to do so?  Or must we be thrown under the bus and crushed—and stopped?

(I must add a comment about the fact that much of the backlash to the video has to do with accusations of colonialism and race.  I find it untenable to even suggest that compassion must be limited by economic or racial borders and constructs.  Nicholas Kristof said something similar, calling the notion “repugnant.”)

Stay in the bucket with the rest of the trapped-crabs if you want.  But the next time you see some imperfect crab reaching for the top, I beg of you to at least stand up against our bucket-society’s terrible calls to yank the climber back down.

As for me, I’m getting out of that bucket at all costs.  I shall dwell in a sea of imperfect people doing great things.

Things that matter.

And I will not assume that great work comes only from perfect people, for I believe there are none of the latter but much of the former.

Posted in Action, Active Compassion, Compassion without borders, Courage, Leadership lessons and principles, Mercy, Uganda, Wholeness | Tagged , , , , , , | 7 Comments

“Unexpected Ways” (An 80-second reading on what I am enjoying most about this human experience.)

Early this morning I was seated in the lobby of one of Kampala’s oldest hotels, The Africana.  The Senior Advisor to Uganda’s First Lady had asked to meet me there.  We have been friends for many years, and I happened across one of her properties yesterday, a space that would be perfect for one of our new initiatives.  She was eager to discuss the project, and so we made the early date.

She arrived and we exchanged the usual (and enchanting) Ugandan greetings, including a four-handed handshake, lots of questions about each other’s loved ones, and spots of laughter indicating delight.

Once seated, I asked, “And how is Mama?”  (This is how one inquires about the First Lady.)  I was told that she was fine, visiting another district, “extremely busy.”  No surprises there.

We then got down to business, and we just may have a deal on her property.  She also had some excellent advice for me, including the name of a “big person” (meaning “important” person) whom she was sure would be of help to my kids.  She then called this individual, and gave me a much-too-generous introduction, including a healthy mention that I am “a good friend of Mama’s.”  I smiled.

We promised to meet again tomorrow, and then set off on our busy days.  As I drove away, I reflected on the notion of favor.  In my leadership classes at Harvard, there was much discussion of favor, and of the idea of “luck.”  Many argue that “greatness” is often the product of chance encounters, and lucky sets of circumstances.  I see that, but I also like the idea of purpose and action, believing that they inform a “greatness” that is deeper than one that emerges from happenstance alone.

And then there is destiny and Divine guidance, the most purposeful and intentious (yes, it’s a sort of made-up word, meaning “having intent”) of life’s spiritual ingredients, leading to good things that emerge in unexpected ways.

Favor, purpose, intent, and action.

Today, I am especially grateful that all of these words exist to describe what I am enjoying most about this human experience.

Posted in Action, African wisdom, Being present, Conversations that matter, Counsel, Divine Guidance, Favor, First Lady of Uganda, Grace, Gratitude, Greetings, Intention, Leadership lessons and principles, Luck, Opportunity, Purpose, Uganda | Leave a comment

I answer the Q: What does “compassion without borders” mean to me?

Below is an essay that won a competition in celebration of a visit to my university by His Holiness, the Dalai Lama.  It was printed in a booklet, and gifted to His Holiness.  We had been challenged to answer (in 500 words or less) this question: “What does ‘compassion-without-borders’ mean to you?”  Below is my working definition, compiled in the middle of a glorious African night.  Please comment with your thoughts.

I remember the first time I stood before people in my home country to ask them to help orphans in another country 10,000 miles away.  (I was in the United States, talking about children living with AIDS here in Uganda.)  Most of the people in the room responded with tears and generosity—a compassion without borders.  They cared about their fellow person, no matter where she or he may be.

I also remember another person in the same room.   She raised her hand and asked a question I have heard many times since.  And no matter how often I hear it, it always takes my breath.

She began simply: “I have a question.”

“Of course, what is it?”  I replied.

“With so many needy children here,” she said, “so many suffering people in America—why should I give money to children all the way over there?”

I swallowed.

Then I looked directly into her eyes, and with my own compassion I quietly said, “There is absolutely no logical reason that you should.”

There was silence then.

I continued, “Compassion is not informed by that sort of logic.  This is precisely what makes it so special, so beautiful, and so powerful.  Compassion is not something we offer to each other from a place of compulsion.”

I paused again, looking for the words, then:  “Compassion springs forth from the raw beauty of the human spirit.  If we were forced to offer it, it would become something far different, something much less magnificent.  But when it is freely offered from one spirit to another—and graciously accepted in the same way—I believe it gives life its very meaning.”

Not many days later, I found myself in the space “way over there [here]” (as it had been put to me)—seated in the very humble office of the Postmaster in my small village in Uganda.  I was telling him about my colleagues’ and my work with orphans living with AIDS.

He sat back in his chair, and sincerely asked, “Why are you wasting time and money on these kids who are going to die anyway?”

Again, my very breath was taken from me.

But only for a moment.

Again, I looked my fellow person in the eye.

This time I asked my own questions: “What if it were you?  What if someone could help you—though you were ‘dying anyway’?  Would their help still be a waste?”

He didn’t reply.

So what is my definition of “Compassion without borders”?  Too often, there are political and geographical borders, there are life-and-death borders, and there are borders of logic and meaning-making.

But let us be modern-day explorers who see not the confines of these borders or the horizon, nor of budget and politics, nor of personal logic and public opinion.

But let us see be people of courage and purpose, people who see the precious liberty of discovery.

The power of purpose.

And the transformational and beautiful face…

of compassion…

without borders.

Posted in Active Compassion, Beauty, Compassion without borders, Courage, Dalai Lama, Leadership lessons and principles, Logic, Love, Lovingkindness, Mercy, Opportunity, Purpose, Spirituality, Uganda | 10 Comments

“Thought-Snapshots” (A 2-minute post from London–on contemplating delight.)

Two nights ago I was in a meeting with colleagues, discussing cultural implications for resilience among young people, and then off to a dinner with friends at a favorite eatery in downtown San Diego.  Last night I was crammed into an uncomfortable airplane seat for 11 hours, flying across seas and continents.  Tonight I sat in an old theater in London’s West End and watched Tyne Daly—an artist who has inspired me and challenged my thinking for years—as she gave a powerful and moving live performance on lessons of lost-love, purpose, and beauty.  Tomorrow night I shall be with some of my kids, at home in Uganda—where again I shall be inspired and challenged with more than notions of love, purpose and beauty.  These three life-gifts dwell there, and I can’t wait to get home.

Do you ever have a thought-snapshot like the above?  Sometimes my paragraphs aren’t as cosmopolitan.  They more often refer to places like Sonic, and a meeting about diapers—but they almost always bring me back to love, purpose and beauty.

One of the elementary schools I visited in New Zealand last year featured a bulletin board reminding students and faculty of Howard Gardner’s insights with regard to multiple intelligences.  I snapped a picture, and emailed it to him.  (I did a research project with him when I was at Harvard.)  He quickly replied that he got “a real kick out of the pic,” and went on to thank me for taking the time to share it with him.  I mention it in part because it’s fun to namedrop (I’ll be honest), but also because the notion of a brilliantly famous mind such as his getting a “kick out of” a simple classroom display—well—it spoke to me as well.

What are you getting a kick out of these days?  Allow your mind to visit a recent snapshot of days that mattered to you (better yet, write it down), and reflect on it.  What emerges as important in these snapshots?

At the aforementioned dinner, we shared a sorbet sampler.  “Oh that’s so good,” I said.  “What’s in that?”  My friends tasted, and tasted again, until finally they were able to figure it out.  That sample had been infused with tea.  An unexpected ingredient had brought delight.

These thought-snapshots can help us pinpoint those things that infuse our life and bring delight.  Often our emotions are saying of a moment, experience or thought-snapshot, “Oh that’s so good!”  Sometimes that’s expressed through laughter—or tears; through a robust joyfulness—or a profound peace; the whistling of a merry tune—or the silence of a Selah-moment.

The next time your spirit tells you that something is “so good,” I invite you to take a few minutes to savor it.

And then to identify a perhaps-unexpected infusion… that has made it so.

Posted in Beauty, Being present, Conversations that matter, Creating space, Essence, Howard Gardner, Leadership lessons and principles, Love, Purpose, Tyne Daly, Wholeness | Tagged | Leave a comment

“27 things I’m grateful for.” (My monthly gratitude list.)

  1. I get to see my kids in just a couple days!
  2. Thinking.
  3. Sitting in a café—whether one of Aidchild’s in Uganda, or one on a gray London street or on a sunny California porch—working on proposals such the creation of revolutionary clothes-washing machines, the use of boxing as a tool for peace education or empathy development, or strategies for paradigm shifts in education in emerging nations—music in my ears, hope in my heart.
  4. Using sickeningly cheesy (but true) phrases like, “You don’t have to be a star to twinkle!”
  5. Feeling like I’m getting better at boxing.
  6. The unexpected.
  7. TOMATOES!  Love ‘em.  Get to grow them nearly year-round both in Uganda and California.
  8. Giving and receiving compliments.
  9. Trying to define the undefinable.
  10. The perfect temperature for sitting outside whilst wearing a scarf and drinking hot coffee.
  11. The song of laughter, especially when heard from my kids.
  12. Sleeping in.
  13. Opportunities to effect change!  In addition to my travels between Uganda and San Diego this year, the university wants me to go to Chile, and back to Ghana.  Italy and the Netherlands also likely this year.
  14. The present of the present, the gift of today.  The here and now.  Of being.
  15. Catherine’s scratchy little voice.
  16. Learning that sometimes things just don’t work out, are misunderstood, or are otherwise imperfect.
  17. This song (click here).
  18. And this one (here).
  19. Eating with my fingers.
  20. Hearing on the phone, “When are you coming home, Daddy,” and having an answer that elicits excitement.
  21. Hats.
  22. Old friends.
  23. New friends.
  24. Contemplating the sort of greatness that has nothing to do with position, but rather with purpose, meaning and sacrifice.
  25. Flowers.
  26. A smile that beams from the eyes.
  27. My kids’ progress and success.  (Read about their scholarship here.)
Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment

“Africa in Your Tone” (A 90-second reading on how diversity informs authenticity.)

“Good afternoon, sir,” I said to a distinguished Ghanaian scholar who had just joined our already-crowded minivan as we headed out for more school visits in Kasoa, Ghana last month.  We then made introductions around the vehicle, and I mentioned that I had lived in Uganda for nine years, and still spend half my time there.  “Ah,” he said, “I knew I heard Africa in your tone.”

Anyone who has visited me at home in Uganda will testify to the fact that my manner of speaking is different there than it is in the states.  Why?  Because I choose to honor the African way of speaking English, and because I desire to be completely understood.

Many other non-Africans do the same, while others do not.  They rattle off in their peculiar (to Africans) accent at a “normal” (for the speaker) pace, walk away from conversations thinking they have communicated, but alas they have not.

As we navigate between circles and groups, it’s important to be able to find authentic ways to adapt our manner of self-presentation if we are to be the most respectful and effective.

Next spring, I hope to offer a course with a colleague.  It is called “Finding Your Academic Voice.”  (Years ago, my dad wrote an article that was entitled [in jest] “How to write and talk good.”  This course reminds me of that.)

So far, my research has led me, in part, to the notion of “code-switching,” a phenomenon that occurs for people who function in bi- or multi-lingual settings.  If you do so, you will likely acknowledge that your personality and ways of expression differ, at least slightly, according to the language that you’re using.  This is not a symptom of inauthenticity.  It is quite the opposite.  It is a reflection of our complexities, and of the many ways we have been given to express ourselves.

This is one of the beauties of diversity.  By engaging with a variety of groups and peoples, we discover new things about Self, and we invite others to do the same.

If you find yourself mixing with only those of one faith community, one gender, one age-group, or one race, etc., I would suggest that you are not only missing out on wonderful opportunities to learn about Other, you’re not fully understanding Self.  And this human experience is not nearly as rich for you as it is meant to be.

Posted in Academic Voice, African wisdom, Being present, Code Switching, Cognitive space, Conversations that matter, Discernment, Earning your voice, Leadership lessons and principles, Somatic Knowledge, Uganda | 5 Comments

4 Things I’m Glad I Don’t Know for Sure

For years, on the last page of the ‘O’ magazine, Oprah Winfrey has written about “What I know for sure.”  Today, I’m doing just the opposite.

In a reading for my “Spirituality and Health” class, I highlighted this phrase:

“Prior to conception, the soul exists as a drop of water in the Sea of Being.1

I liked the poetry of it.  But as I mentioned it later in class, I wasn’t sure I liked it as much.  My friend Tricia, a pastor and author who is also in the class, asked, “What if instead of ‘Sea of Being’ it said ‘mind of God’?”

The exchange invited me to revisit those things I FOR-SURE-know, and those things I FAITH-know.  Now some would argue these to be one in the same, and they wouldn’t be wrong.  When one has deep-rooted faith, the beliefs it inspires and empowers are held in the mind and the spirit with absoluteness, even in the absence of “evidence.”

“Faith is the essence of things hoped for, the evidence of things unseen.2

And yet there is a difference, a precious difference.  In my ponderings, I have developed a list of four things that I’m glad I don’t know for sure.

Their allure is in part their mystery.

The complete knowledge and understanding of truly grand realities could lead to fear instead of hope, to a sense of being overwhelmed instead of being inspired.

I remember one of the first times I stood on a Caribbean beach with a Ugandan friend who had never before seen the sea.  “It’s so big.  It’s so big.”  That’s all he could say.  Imagine if we could truly fathom all of the seas!  Their immensity alone would surpass our comprehension, and that which now is understood as beautiful and powerful would become daunting.  Many of those things I FAITH-know are like that.

That’s why I’m glad I don’t know for sure:

1)      What heaven really is,  what comes next.

“Eyes have not seen and ears have not heard all that God has prepared3.”

One of my favorite dinner-party questions is “How does your faith benefit you?”  As I endeavor to keep diversity in my life (click here to read about why I value diversity), I often find at least one person at the table who says, “I am an atheist.  I don’t have faith.”  To which I respond, “But you believe in what you cannot prove, and that requires faith.”  So I ask again, “How does your faith benefit you?”

The answer almost always has to do with a notion that they feel they can be more “present,” more focused on the here and now—since this is all there is.  While I don’t fully connect with that need, I feel that the mystery of heaven allows us to do something similar.  If we truly understood what comes next, wouldn’t we rush to get there—missing so much of the wonder of this human experience—which we must need in preparation for what comes next?

2)     What came before.

Was I a drop in the Sea of Being, or a thought in the mind of God (which is what we can FAITH-know)?

What difference does it make?  A pure knowledge of that would likely crowd my already complicated ways of thinking and of making-meaning.  There is so much to do today and tomorrow, and there is already enough past for me to carry with heartache and grief, joy and nostalgia.  I don’t need more.  (Yet.)

3)     The immediate future.

How tempting it is to try to predict the future.  And yet how terribly troubling.  Again the wonder of the unknown is magical enough for me.  As it is, I can’t wait to go out to dinner with a friend next week, and I can’t wait to see my kids in a few days, and I can’t wait to finish my degree.  If I had a much longer list of things I couldn’t wait to get to, today would always be a place of disappointment, instead of a gift from that same place of the unknown, unexpected, and yet-unlived.

4)     How to do everything, know everything, or always have the right answer.

If these were true, the gift of learning would not exist.  The quest for discovery would be entirely unknown, as would be the thrill of the find.  There would be no longing to explore, no ecstasy in revelation, and no sense of drive to help us to climb out of disappointment.  No need to try again.

There would be no passion, no purpose, and no emotion.  Yuck.

In the research-world, those things we don’t FOR-SURE-know are called “knowledge problems.”  I like to call them “knowledge invitations.”

I am inspired and empowered when I stand on the shore of the spiritual sea—and accept these invitations to explore, learn, and discover—all that I don’t know for sure.

 

References: 1) Kelcourse, F. (2004). Human Development and Faith: Life-cycles stages of body, mind, and soul.  Chalice Press, St Louis, Missouri.  2)  Hebrews 11:1.  3) 1 Cor. 2:9
Posted in Being present, Cognitive space, Definitions of spirituality, Human development, Leadership lessons and principles, Mercy, Mystery, Opportunity, Oprah Winfrey, Psychology, Purpose, Uganda, Wholeness | 8 Comments

“Especially Set Aside” (An 80-second reading on creating space for conversations that matter.)

The music is pumped up on the car radio, you’re driving to a somewhat familiar place, but then suddenly you realize you’re lost.

What’s the first thing you do?

You turn down your radio.

Why?

Because you need to create cognitive space for the task of reorienting yourself.  Like a collection of jewels in a box, our thoughts consume space in our brain.  Music and noise also consume this valuable space.  When it gets crowded in there, concentration becomes dull—or impossible.

We have all left a pleasant dinner party, and reflected on how nice it was to “just sit and talk.”

Why?  Because space was made—especially set aside—for a conversation that mattered.

Space.

Often we must take deliberate steps to create these spaces—both cognitive and physical.

Turn the TV off.  Switch off the iPhones.

Have the kids put their toys away.  Honor your children’s needs by putting them to bed at the right time.  (Kids require 10 to 11 hours of sleep per day.  This means that if they get up at 6am, they should be in bed by 7pm.)

Dim the lights.  (Research shows that dimmed lights heighten our capacities for creative thinking1.)

Use the good tablecloth and your favorite dishes.  They wash up just the same.

Or go for a long walk in the park or through the woods.

And remember that the need to create space has not only to do with the physical, but also the cognitive.  Make space in your brain to allow thoughts to be nourished and to grow.  “For your thoughts become your words… your words become your actions… your actions become your habits… your habits become your character… [and] your character becomes your destiny2.”

Conversations that matter often must be orchestrated and directed.  The stage must be set and the right characters invited if a grand life performance is to be created.

Space must be especially set aside.

References:  1) Steidle, A., Hanke, E., & Werth, L. 2011.  Bright logic and creative shots in the dark: Illumination affects thinking styles and cognitive performance.  Chemnitz University of Technology, Chemnitz, Germany.  2) Author unknown.  I most recently heard Meryl Streep recite it as Margaret Thatcher in “The Iron Lady.”
Posted in Being present, Cognitive space, Conversations that matter, Creating space, Decorum and manners, Human development, Leadership lessons and principles, Lovingkindness, Opportunity, Psychology, Somatic Knowledge, Spirituality, Wholeness | 4 Comments

Don’t just do something, stand there. (A 1-minute reading.)

One of my first kids was initially brought to Aidchild covered in wounds—the beating kind.  Nearly every inch of his little body had been abused.  We don’t know his date of birth, but he must have been six or seven years old.  It was truly awful.

Like all of my kids, he quickly rebounded, and seemed to even flourish.  That said, he did have frequent anger issues.  And when he would become extremely frustrated (with minor, everyday disappointments or struggles), he would stand at the edge of our hill, and yell at the top of his voice.  A terrible, awful war cry.

Each time, I would try to calm him, comfort him, and quiet him.  But it didn’t work.  He would just shout all the louder.

Finally, unsure of what else to do (and I believe that I was responding to a prompting from Someone greater), I decided to join him.

I stood at his side, looked out over that hill, and let out my own war cry.  “I don’t know what we’re yelling at,” I told him, “but I am right here with you.”

Soon, peace came to us both as we stood there.  And shortly thereafter, he responded to frustration and disappointment in more healthy ways.

The cries were no more.

I shared this story in a class today, and the professor said, “Sometimes, we need to tell ourselves, ‘Don’t just DO something, STAND there!’”

Often, simply being present with another in their time of need—even when we don’t “get” it, comprehend it, or fathom it—can bring about tremendous health and change.

We don’t have to connect intellectually in order to support emotionally and spiritually.

So the next time you’re at a loss for what to do in the care of another, don’t just do something, stand there.

Posted in Abuse, Active Compassion, Being present, Courage, Discernment, Encouragement, Human development, Leadership lessons and principles, Love, Lovingkindness, Mercy, Psychology, Sadness, Somatic Knowledge, Spirituality, Uganda, Wholeness | 9 Comments

“Hello, TOO!” (A 90-second reading.)

Years ago, I worked for the President of the Arizona Board of Regents.  My office was in his law suite, along with his law partners and the lobbyists who worked for his firm.  I seemed to often arrive just behind one of the lobbyists, Missy, meaning I was walking several paces behind her from the parking garage into the office building.  And she almost always noticed, stopped, and turned around and walked back to where I was, so that we could enter together.

And it blessed me every time.

I can see stopping and waiting for me to catch up, but to actually backtrack said, “Hey, you’re cool.  Let’s spend an extra minute together.”

A few years later, I found myself staying deep in the Kenyan bush in a very humble home with some of the most amazing hosts I had ever known.  The latrine was a sort of outhouse, reached by crossing a bridge made of simple planks.  (“Walking the plank” took on a whole new meaning.)  Early one morning, I had walked the plank, done my business, and walked back across, rounded a corner, and nearly bumped into Daisy, the host’s 19 year-old daughter.  “Oh! Hello!” I said with a start.  I remember her hair looked about like mine must have, bedhead to be sure.  (I don’t remember there being a mirror.)  She smiled at my greeting, and said, “Hello, TOO!”  I liked that.

And early last semester, I was walking down one of the hallways in my building, and I spotted one of my students approaching.  I greeted her by name, and she stopped and said, “Wow, I’m impressed.”

“About what?” I asked.  “You know my name,” she said.  “We have only had two class meetings, and there are 25 students in that class.  I can’t believe you know my name.”

I was gobsmacked.  I couldn’t imagine that by simply adding her name to my greeting, I had added something to her day and to our exchange.

As I reflected on it, I remembered Missy’s morning greetings in Arizona, and Daisy’s bright “Hello, TOO!” and Ugandans’ careful, long, warm salutations—and vowed to become better at extending bright, attentive greetings.  I don’t always succeed, but I shall keep trying.

I now like to enter my offices, stop, assume a Namaste pose, and say, “Gracious good morning.”  (In San Diego that gets giggles.  In Uganda it gets a “Good morning, Sir.  How was the night?”)

People may think I’m silly, but perhaps in their future reflections it will bring a sense of warmth and a reminder of the pleasantries that make it oh-so nice to share this human experience with others.

Posted in Active Compassion, African wisdom, Decorum and manners, Earning your voice, Encouragement, Grace, Greetings, Leadership lessons and principles, Lovingkindness, Somatic Knowledge, Uganda | 4 Comments

“The Power of the Hand-Written Word” (a 50-second reading)

I sat down in my usual seat in class the other afternoon, and spotted a little envelope with my name on it.  I quickly surmised that it must be a thank-you-note from a colleague.  She and her husband had been to my apartment for dinner last weekend, and the note was a very gleefully-received gesture of appreciation.

I have a stack of simple notecards and letterhead at the ready, and I try to use them in place of (or in addition to) electronic notes of gratitude.  They often trigger a “thank you for your thank you” chain that is quite delightful.  It creates a special memory and bond as humans exchange purposeful and shared emotion.

In Luganda, when you say “Webale nnyo” (meaning “Thank you very much”), the reply is “Webale kusima,” which means “Thank you for appreciating.”  This “thank you for your thank you” chain is a lot like that, and speaks from that heart-place that is blessed by expressions of gratitude.  Expressions that took just a little more effort, a little more time, and the engagement of the entire hand (not just the thumbs).  The expression also invites itself into a happy-file or at least into a desktop drawer, where it will be rediscovered at some point, and the sentiment will be repeated and remembered.

And delight will once again be created.

Such is the power of the hand-written word.

Posted in Active Compassion, Compliments, Decorum and manners, Encouragement, Gratitude, Leadership lessons and principles, Love, Lovingkindness, Purpose, Thank you notes, Uganda | 1 Comment

“Is Sad Bad?” A discussion of the impact of sadness on human development.

When our emotions are picked and fastened together in a bunch—into our life-bouquet—each bloom emanates its own aroma resulting in the special perfume which is us.   Most people want to have beautiful, happy bouquets, but our collections of emotions sometimes develop differently, and melancholy flowers find their way into the bunch.  Is this bad?  Is a sad bouquet a bad bouquet?

What is a bad emotion?

An important distinction needs to be made between bad emotions and unhealthy emotions.  I suggest that, in some cases, an emotion might actually feel bad, unpleasant or even painful, and yet have a positive, healthy impact on the person (e.g. an empathetic sadness that leads to an act of compassion, or a logical fear of real danger).   I also suggest that, in just the same way, an unhealthy emotion might actually feel good (e.g. euphoria that leads to an impulsive and dangerous act, or excessive pride that drives someone into a situation for which they are not prepared).   I argue that any emotion—including sadness—is ‘bad’ and ‘unhealthy’ ONLY when experienced at irrational times and in unreasonable amounts.

When is sadness good?

In his seminal work, “The Laws of Emotions,” Dutch Psychologist Nico Frijda “loosely” defines emotions as: “responses to events that are important to the individual.”   From minor misfortune to major loss, sadness can be a logical, humane response, and often serves an important function in the experience of life.

On the minor side, even in children, we see the benefit of sadness in the self-regulation of behavior.  Consider empathy, for example.  Empathy is “shared sadness” that enables us to “respond compassionately to the feelings of others,” leading even a three-year-old to try to comfort a sobbing child; or giving a five-year-old pause before hitting another child and taking his toy (Butterfield, et al., 2003, p. 57-58).

On the major side are the more intense, heavier states of sadness, such as grief.  In my experience, the sadness that results from the loss of life is a precious part of my existence.

(In psychology, we often refer to “feeling tones.”  These tones are sorts of shadows of emotion, elements of consciousness that are not thoughts, memories or perceptions.  They are sensations similar to those described in my earlier post on somatic knowledge.)

The tone that shadows grief is most certainly painful—even tremendously so—but it is a sacred acknowledgement that someone has gone.  If such permanent departures went unnoticed by the emotions in this somber way, life’s sanctity would not be respected.  Perhaps loss would not even be avoided, and life would cease to exist.  Clearly in these cases, whether minor or major, children should not be prevented from experiencing sadness, but should be coached to tap into its powerful nature as they develop working models and relationships.

When is sadness bad?

Having defined a ‘bad’ emotion as one that is illogically timed or that is in unreasonable amounts, a sadness that occurs for no apparent reason can be a sign of unhealth or imbalance.  Unexplained changes in cortisol levels, for example, and hormonal imbalances may be to blame; meaning that the body is using the emotion as an alert that something is wrong (Rappolt-Schlichtmann, et al., 2009).

Considered another way, in Frijda’s Law of Apparent Reality, he speaks of “the weakness of reason as opposed to the strength of passion,” and of when “feeling means more than knowing” (1988, p. 352).  It should be acknowledged that this is another possible line between healthy and unhealthy emotions (good and bad).  When emotion separates us from reality and loosens our mental grip on the truth, it is detrimental.

This concept of separation is also important in relation to others.  According to Butterfield, et al. (2003, p. 58), when sadness is not shared (when empathy is not internalized), children turn inward, and it is “devastating” to development, leading to a lifetime difficulty in “finding friends, mentors, or social acceptance.”  This separation is clearly unhealthy, and can be used to define sadness as bad.

Emotional fundamental to being intelligent

One of my professors at Harvard, Kurt Fischer, often says that “being emotional is fundamental to being intelligent.”  Emotions, even difficult ones, must be embraced in one’s search for knowledge and growth.  And in that process of development, sadness regularly occurs.  Often there is a logical, biological or hormonal explanation.

Sometimes there is not.

Sadness can just fall upon a person.  While science seeks to define and understand the mind and the body, I believe that humans are also made up of a spirit.  It is this spirit that sometimes responds with what we call sadness.  The “principle of living a spiritual life” is key, enabling us to “deal with loss,” and to “perceive…meaning” even in sadness (Mascolo & Fischer, 2009).

Rather than an exit from reality, perhaps it is a profound pursuit of truth—indeed a solemn quest to know the very essence of compassion, tenderness, sensitivity and loving-kindness—as human sorrow embraces that which is noble and honorable.  And good.

REFERENCES
Butterfield, P.M., Martin, C.A., & Prairie, A.P. (2003).  Relationships are emotional connections. In Emotional connections: How relationships guide early learning (pp.46-64).  Washington, DC: Zero to Three Press.
Frijda, N.H. (1998).  The laws of emotion.  American Psychologist, 43, 349-358.
Frith, U. (2001).  Mind blindness and the brain in autism.  Neuron, 32(6), 969-979.
Mascolo, M.F., & Fischer, K.W. (2009, in press).  The dynamic development of thinking, feeling, and acting over the lifespan.  In R.M. Lerner & W. Overton (Eds.), Handbook of Life-Span Development.  Vol. 1: Cognition, neuroscience, methods.  New York: Wiley.
Rappolt-Schlichtmann, G., Willett, J.B., Ayoub, C.C., Lindsley, R., Hulette, A.C., & Fischer, K.W. (2009).  Poverty, relationship conflict, and the regulation of cortisol in small and large group contexts at child care.  Mind, Brain, and Education, 3, 131-142.
Posted in Active Compassion, Courage, Definitions of spirituality, Human development, Leadership lessons and principles, Lovingkindness, Mercy, Psychology, Sadness, Somatic Knowledge, Spirituality, Wholeness | 5 Comments

“Thank you for that courage!” (A 45-second reading.)

One day, many years ago at home in Uganda, I had the opportunity to give an employee some positive feedback.  He looked at me with a big smile and said, “Thank you for that courage!”

While I assumed that perhaps he meant to thank me for my encouragement, I liked the notion of courage as a commodity, something we can give to one another.

I soon learned, though, that the phrase “Thank you for that courage” is common in Uganda and comes from a literal translation of a Luganda phrase.

Since then, I have done some research and found that the word encouragement comes from 15th century French, meaning “make, put in” and “courage.”  I have also learned that the notion of “giving courage” seems to be prevalent in a number of religious and spiritual beliefs and is connected to mercy and a search for strength where there is weakness.

When I think of the times that I have been offered sincere compliments, I realize that they did cause me to stand a little straighter, to move with more intention, and to press on.

They gave me courage.

And consider this quote, attributed to Lao Tzu:

“Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.”

So, within the simple wrapper of a compliment we now have the power of mercy, the wonder of love—and the gift of courage.

Today, I shall seek opportunities to distribute courage—because I can.

Posted in Active Compassion, African wisdom, Compliments, Courage, Encouragement, Leadership lessons and principles, Love, Lovingkindness, Mercy, Uganda | Leave a comment

“In a Taxi that Runs Red Lights” (a 50-second reading on a life without rules)

A man arrives in a new country, and hails a taxi at the airport.  Not long into the journey, the driver runs a red light.  “Excuse me, but you just ran a red light!” the passenger says.  “Oh, don’t worry about it.  My brother does it all the time.”

The driver then runs the next red light, and offers the same, “Don’t worry about it, my brother does it all the time.”  This happens over and over until they get to a green light, and then the driver STOPS!

Exasperated, the passenger says, “I just don’t get it.  You run all the red lights, and then STOP at a green light?!”  To which the driver replies, “Well yes.  My brother might be coming the other way.”

Living a carefree life that ignores the rules sometimes sounds appealing. But the fact that we share this world with others means that, in order to survive, we soon discover that new rules must be created to compensate for the loss of the others.  And that which was once a pathway can become a hindrance.

Don’t focus on the red lights, the obstacles, and that which seems confining.  Focus on the green lights.  (Zig Ziglar calls them “Go lights.”)  Focus on the pursuit of opportunities (you gotta look for them).  Focus on that which makes us better.

(A big thanks to my dad for the taxi story, a favorite joke when I was growing up.  See Dad’s latest blog entry, “Uncle Therman’s Secrets of Success,” at www.duniganreport.com.)

Posted in Duty, Earning your voice, Jokes, Leadership lessons and principles, Opportunity, Rules | 2 Comments

“The Essence of Being” (Definitions of spirituality emerging from courthouse lunches and ancient markets)

“Quick question,” I said to a friend over lunch today at the courthouse.  (She has been serving on a jury for five days.  I was summoned for duty today.)  My question was: “What is your definition of spirituality?”  After I asked, we both impulsively laughed given that this surely was not a “quick question.”

You see, I had brought homework with me to pass the hours of waiting in the jury holding room.  The work consisted of readings for a class entitled “Spirituality and Health.”  And our first assignment is to write our own “working definition of spirituality.”

The holding room was an interesting space for the exercise.  Notions of justice and mercy reside at this intersection of humanity and spirituality, and informed my definition in ways that might have been missing from ponderings elsewhere.  As many do, I struggle at times with the balance of justice and mercy, ever-grateful for all the grace which I have been shown, and yet ever-cognizant of the importance of law in the fight against tyranny.  (“Where laws end, tyranny begins.”  –William Pitt, British Prime Minister 1783-1801, 1804-06 during the French Revolutionary and Napoleonic wars.)

The notion of duty is one for which I have great respect.  And as I stand up for “rights,” I am more than willing to report for “duty” in this system which is balanced on both.

After a short pause, my friend decided that “spirituality is the true essence of who you are.”  I liked that.

The word “essence” always makes me think of the many times I have walked through the ancient suqs in places like Marrakesh, Casablanca, and Cairo; truly bizarre bazaars that host a myriad of both delights and unpleasantries.  Just two weeks ago, I was walking with a friend through the Old Market in Kasoa, Accra, Ghana.  When we got to the fish section, I couldn’t help but sarcastically (and frankly) ask, “Do you smell something?” in reaction to the pungent odor.

In the suqs, you have similar experiences, then round a corner, duck through a small, low doorway, and emerge into an emporium selling the bases of all perfumes and colognes, the soul of every wonderful potion ever made.  Each one is called an “essence.”

And so my friend’s definition took me right back to one of those ancient emporiums, surrounded by humanity in its rawest form, and it spoke to me from the essences of beauty and delight.

Our short 15-minute courthouse-lunch was punctuated by our long wait to pass through security.  As we talked there, I second-naturedly removed my belt in preparation for the check ahead.  “Oh, excuse me,” I said as I realized the rather personal nature of the act.  We again laughed at the bizarre realities to which we have become accustomed in the modern world.  Again I reflected on justice and the fight against tyranny, the notion of spirituality in an all too ugly space.

As we parted ways—she to her deliberations, I to my wait and homework—I wondered how one factors “the essence” of who someone is into a decision about their legal innocence or guilt.

Before lunch, I had started a list of keywords and key-thoughts as I worked on my definition.  These included:

  • Wholeness.  (Mind, body, AND spirit.)
  • Meaning-making
  • Somatic knowledge
  • We are spiritual beings having a human experience.
  • Sensing
  • Ways of knowing

I added: “Your true essence.”

And then I wrote my academic definition for class purposes:

“Spirituality is the true essence of being.  It informs meaning-making and epistemologies through sensibilities and faculties which both enrich—and transcend the limitations of—the human experience.”

That is the language of academe.  In the language of the soul, though, words become irrelevant, and the definition emerges from the wisdom of feeling.  Such as the feeling I get when I remember:

  • falling asleep at Grandma’s side
  • standing over my child’s fresh grave
  • hearing Mom or Dad’s voice on my voicemail
  • receiving an unexpected expression of kindness
  • extending forgiveness
  • finding the capacity to survive and surpass things that should never have been
  • embracing hope when it seems impossible
  • and believing in a destination found where horizons aren’t.

Surely such as these are the essence of being.

Posted in Definitions of spirituality, Duty, Essence, Grace, Jury Duty, Justice, Leadership lessons and principles, Somatic Knowledge, Spirituality, Suqs, Tyranny, Wholeness | 4 Comments

Light or Shadow? Four questions I ask myself before offering counsel.

Wisdom is a precious commodity.  We must cherish it, carry it with humility and security, and offer it to others only through graceful, thoughtful exchanges that honor our spiritual essence.

In my last blog entry, I discussed our lack of tolerance, and our habit of rudely imposing our opinions on others.  We often use the phrase “Do you mind if I say something?” as a pathway for that imposition.

I believe we should use more tact, wisdom and grace as we speak into each other’s lives.  Over the years, I have developed four questions that I try to ask myself before I attempt to speak into someone’s life (and that I consider in reverse when approached with offers of advice):

  1. Have I earned my voice?  Have I shown this person how much I respect them and care for them?  Have I honored their opinion or role?  Have I shown them any random acts of kindness or extraordinary courtesy, sympathy or care?  Have I invested in them?
  2. How much does this weigh?  What is the weight of the responsibility of this attempt to effect change?  Years ago, there was a person in my community who felt it her right and duty to counsel EVERYBODY.  She felt she had the best insights about everything from their choice of apartment to their diet, from how they spent their free time to whom they married, etc., etc., etc.  I always wondered how she managed to carry the weight of all that responsibility.  Hear this: with control comes liability.
  3. Is this light or shadow?  We each have a light and a shadow.  The light beams from us with pride and pleases even Self as it is reflected on those around.  Our shadow, on the other-hand, is cast upon those around us, and displeases even Self when it is seen.  Often times, that which we want to change in another is really what we need to change in Self.  Allowing misunderstanding here to inform action will always lead to shame and unhealth.
  4. Is this help or intolerance?  Is this truly something that I cannot simply accept as one of the six-billion, eight-hundred-and-forty-million, five-hundred-and-seven-thousand other people on this planet?

Ask first.  Preach later.

Posted in Counsel, Decorum and manners, Earning your voice, Leadership lessons and principles, Light and Shadow, Tolerance | 6 Comments

“Mind if I say something?” (A 90-second reading on tolerance.)

Halfway through a first class meeting a few years ago, the professor announced a 10 minute break.  The person seated next to me, whom I had only just met, said to me, “Do you mind if I say something?”  Thinking it difficult to answer that question with a “Yes, I do mind,” I replied, “Of course not.  Go ahead.”  She then distorted her face and said, “Your pen STINKS!  I hate the way it smells.”

I looked at her, and tried to process what had just happened.  She had used the question, “Do you mind if I say something?” as a pathway to rudeness, and as an excuse for her lack of decorum and manners.  In the simple matter of a pen, it wasn’t really a big deal, but I fear that, as a society at large, we have adopted this strategy.  By asking permission to speak into someone’s life, we feel justified and welcome to say whatever we please.

Whatever happened to tolerance?

Surely we can embrace the fact that we share this world with others, meaning that at times—even often—we are going to encounter circumstances, situations, relationships and personalities that make us uncomfortable.  So what?  When did it become acceptable to put a premium on self-comfort?

Is there something wrong with being tolerant?  According to thesaurus.com, the following are all synonyms for the word tolerant:  advanced, benevolent, big, charitable, fair, forbearing, forgiving, humane, kindhearted, long-suffering, magnanimous, merciful, patient, progressive, receptive, sophisticated, sympathetic, understanding, and unprejudiced.

I would be happy to be defined by any one of those terms.  Let us exhort one another to be tolerant, long-suffering, and merciful.

By the way, as I processed my classmate’s statement about my smelly pen, I carefully (though quickly) considered my reply, and decided on the following: “Oh, I’m sorry!!  I didn’t notice a scent from the pen.  So what shall we do?  Do you want me to use a different pen, or would you like to find a different seat?”  In reflection, I’m not sure my reply was magnanimous.  What might have been a better response?  Please comment below.

Posted in Active Compassion, Counsel, Decorum and manners, Lovingkindness, Tolerance | 11 Comments

I Hope You’ll Dance (a 1-minute reading on somatic knowledge)

When the electricity is on in our small village of Masaka, Uganda, there is loud music blasting from speakers positioned in front of the stores that dot our main street.  This means that when I’m doing my errands, I’m often dancing.  One day, as I careened into a new shop, the keeper said, “Eh!  Even you feel it?” 

I have often reflected on that exchange, considering the notion of “feeling” the moment, and allowing it to influence your whole being: mind, body and spirit.  Somatic knowledge is like that.  (The word somatic comes from the Greek sōmatikós: of, or pertaining to the body, the physical.)  As a leader, it is important to be somatically aware, to be in tune with your visceral responses and reactions.  It is essential to feel.

When there is silence in a room, Professor Terri Monroe asks, “What is the texture of this silence?”  Ask yourself the same.  Sense what is happening around you.  Somatic knowledge can be a dear ally.  (Note that it can also be a confused whisperer.  Our feelings can have faulty mechanisms that trigger false alarms, so one mustn’t allow somatic knowledge to reign supreme.  Interrogate it when it’s not in sync with what your physical eyes are telling you.  That process, too, can be very telling indeed.)

So, when you begin a meeting, enter a new space, or meet someone new, don’t be afraid to tune into your gut reactions to the moment and see what’s there.

Similarly, the next time you “feel” a great song, I hope you’ll dance.

(If you’d like more info or to further discuss somatic knowledge, leave a comment below, and I’ll reply.)

 

Posted in Discernment, Leadership lessons and principles, Somatic Knowledge | 3 Comments

Four Leadership Lessons from a Ghanaian Immigration Officer

I keep thinking about the very intimidating-looking immigration officer who reviewed my papers as I exited Ghana on Thursday. He wore a dapper, tailored uniform, and sat very proudly in his cubicle. The vignette of order–within the larger scene of chaos that is the Accra airport–was remarkable on its own.  And even when one’s papers are in perfect order, the sense of vulnerability in the immigration line is unavoidable. The officer, in this case a soldier, has the power to decide if you may or may not continue on your journey. Your very freedom is in his hands.

After several questions, he asked one more. I didn’t hear him. Again, the noise of chaos surrounded us. I detected multiple languages being spoken within a four-foot radius of our own conversation. The milieu of cultures meant that everyone was speaking at different volumes, and the collective decibels echoed throughout the hall, consuming my mind-space, leaving little for this conversation.

“I’m sorry, sir, what did you say?” I asked. He looked at me with a smile, and repeated, “Won’t you come visit me next time?”

“Oh,” I said with a mix of surprise and delight. “Of course! I’d love to.”

Then the sound of the STAMP-STAMP-STAMP as my passport and papers received his official adieu, and I was off to London with a sense of enchantment.

Thanks to this kind Ghanaian officer, I have learned four important leadership lessons:

  1. Be decorous. This officer’s uniform and presence were exactly what they needed to be. He demonstrated that he was bringing his A-game to work, and the result was my respect and attention. As leaders, we might be tempted to rest on the laurels of our authority. The officer did not need a dapper uniform and proud presence to review my paperwork. His power was in place regardless of how he presented himself. But the fact that he took pride in his presence resulted in an elevation of our shared experience (and those of my fellow travelers) that should not be discounted. Decorum is wrongly underrated. A leader recognizes both the honor and influence of decorum, and uses it.
  2. Be aware of mind-space. My officer friend was not oblivious to what was going on outside his cubicle. He was sensitive to it, and made preponderant efforts to both communicate with me, and to make me feel comfortable. He could have just as easily spent his shift (and as a result, his career) comfortably seated in his cubicle, keeping engagement to a minimum. His work of processing visas and documents would be unaffected, and he would still be a success. His choices, though, to actually connect with me created enchantment, and meant that my final impression of his entire country was defined by delight. In so doing, he has greatly expanded his PURPOSE. (Dictionary.com defines PURPOSE as “the reason for which something exists or is made.”) By allowing his awareness to inform his purpose, the reason for his very existence expands beyond the bureaucratic, and into the spiritual. A powerful leadership principle to be sure.
  3. Be cognizant of the role of power. A leader often finds him/herself in a space that feels very much separated from the team. Be it a literal cubicle or office, or more likely, a socially constructed isolation that is natural amongst humans. We often detest this separation, and actively work to remove it or change it, but the fact is that we are often treated as Other, and we struggle to maintain an authentic understanding of what it is like to be the team-member functioning with little additional cognitive space to make-meaning of the situation in the same ways that we do. This Ghanaian officer seemed to get that. While he clearly owned his power, he also knew its implications, and allowed the understanding of both to inform his practice.
  4. Be unexpected. If you would have asked me for a list of ten possible ways the officer might conclude our short meeting, “Won’t you come visit me next time?” would not have appeared on the list. It was almost vulnerable, and an absolutely unexpected invitation presented at the end of a professional exchange as a sort of parting gift. A bon voyage that says “hurry back, we like you and we’re nice here.” Be nice. Give loving-kindness a seat at the roundtable. Be unexpected.

Posted in African wisdom, Leadership lessons and principles, Lovingkindness, Purpose | 6 Comments