Jimi Hendrix’ last words in a poem found next to him on his deathbed

On average, a human eye takes between 300 and 400 milliseconds to complete a single blink. That’s roughly between three-tenths and four-tenths of a second.

That is how quickly life can change, whether we want it to or not.

In a blink of an eye.

Sixteen or seventeen years ago, I took my family to Disney.  I never went there as a kid growing up in Cincinnati, Kings Island was my magic kingdom.  However we had a friend who lived close to Orlando and we figured we could do a “two-fer”.  Drive from Indianapolis, spend some time with our friend Judy, then hit the road for the short drive to Disneyland.  My older son was 8 or 9, my younger son max was still in a car-seat.

Time with Judy was fun, I really don’t remember how long we stayed, not sure what we did when we were there… thoughts were on Mickey, Goofy, roller coasters and seeing the smiles on the faces of my kids.  I remember the morning we left, kids had barely slept the night before, too much excitement to spend a lot of time in sleepy-ville.

Before getting on the highway, we hit the drive-through at Mickey-Dees.  Not a common occurrence for the Drizin’s, but when you have two eager beavers in the backseat wishing and whining for mickey-ears, an Egg Mcmuffin and hash browns sounds like a great plan.   With food in hand, we took a left hand turn onto the on-ramp of the highway.  And then, life took a dramatic twist.

In a heartbeat.

They said the young man driving the SUV was running from a drug buy gone bad, and from the cops.  My rental car was “T-Boned”, hit broadside at about 80 miles and hour.  A direct hit.  I remember the ear-numbing sound, and then nothing.  I remember feeling the back of my head, wondering why it was so wet.  And then nothing.  I remember yelling to see if everyone was OK.  And then nothing.  I remember seeing glass everywhere.  And then nothing. And I remember being loaded into the ambulance.  And then nothing.

The paramedics who arrived first on the scene saw Joanie and the boys standing outside the car… shook up, but OK.  I was told that they didn’t think the person driving the car would be alive, the damage was that severe.  I was told they cut me out of the car, put me in a neck and shoulder brace, then onto the stretcher, and then transported me to the nearest hospital.

Two inches to the left and I would have been killed.  Two inches to the right and it could have been my younger son Max, strapped in his car seat.  The driver hit me straight-on the safety cage of the car, he couldn’t have hit it any more cleanly if he tried.  In fact, his “dead-on” precision, hitting my car where it was most strong and stable saved my life.  Everything happened lightening fast.

In a blink of an eye.

We never got to Disney that year.

Tuesday night, Carla and I were asked to conduct a mindset workshop for the Women Empowering Women Network, a local organization giving women an avenue to live, learn, collaborate & connect.  We’re pretty connected with this group, their CEO and board members are both personal friends and business colleagues.  The event was held at Emmaus Christian Church, a beautiful church located in Lafayette Square  Mall in Indianapolis.

The day before I was looking for some things for the event, and I came across a watch that was left at my house by one of Carla’s triplets, Kyle. Even thought the watch wasn’t working (a digital watch), I knew that he liked to wear it, so I gave it to Carla before she left our office for the day.  I didn’t give it another thought… until.

In the blink of an eye.

The even went very well, Camishe, the head of the organization was happy with the presentation that Carla and I put together, as was the audience.  We had a lovely visit with Pastor Henzy Green and his wife, Lady Nicole.  We made some new friends, and thanked God for giving us the opportunity to help others doing the work that Carla and I love.

It was pretty late in the evening when I dropped Carla off at her house, I didn’t take the time to say good-night to the kids (even though it was WAY past their bedtime), as I had a dog that needed to go out.  I didn’t sleep well Tuesday night, there are lots of things on my mind these days, including the amazing weekend at the Indianapolis Great Banquet (more about that on another blog post).  For the last month or so, I’ve gotten up early every day to help get the triplets out of bed, get them dressed and fed, and then out to the bus-stop.  Although getting up at 6 a.m. gets tiring sometimes, I enjoy the time I get to spend with them.

I usually check email/FaceBook before I leave for their house, and this was a note that Carla had on her FB page…

“Grateful to be alive at 4:30 am… The one night I didn’t check on the kids before going to bed myself, Kyle left a shirt draped over his lamp. Thank God his watch beeped and woke him up just before it caught on fire – plastic was melted… We are so lucky. Please teach your kids never to put something over a lamp!!”

In the blink of an eye.

I started shaking, thinking of “what might have been”.  How “lucky” that we had the workshop Tuesday night that forced me to look for things boxed away.  How lucky that the watch was found, how fortunate that I kept it, and gave it to Carla to give to Kyle.  How lucky that the lamp I had bought him months earlier was made of a thicker plastic than the one I had considered buying.  How amazing that the shirt he had placed over the lamp to provide a night-light for his brother was thick enough (and not made completely out of cotton) that it didn’t just burst into flame when the plastic melted.  How fortuitous that his broken watch was on his wrist, that the alarm went off at exactly the time it had to (4.30 a.m.), how blessed that the soft sound of a beeping watch woke him completely up, that he smelled the smoke, got down from his loft bed, and hurridly woke up his mom.  How blessed by God we were.  And how quickly and dramatically things could have changed.

In the blink of an eye.

There is a wonderful healer in my life, my therapist Steven Cooper.  He has taught me more in the last year than I can ever explain.  He works with me, Carla, and the triplets.  We have referred friends and family to him.  He is truly part of our family.  Steve said something to both me and Carla during one of our sessions late last year that changed the way we both see the present, and the future.  I’m not sure what we were talking about at the time, and I won’t get the reference exactly right, but this is the gist.

It was October, and Steve said “October is almost gone.  10 blinks of an eye for each of the 10 months that have passed.  For every year, you have only 12 blinks.  In a decade, there are just 120 blinks in total.  That is how quickly time passes.”  It’s a story that we have repeated to our friends, associates, dream-catchers, and vibrant-lifers.

Ambrose Bierce, and American writer born in the 1840′s gave us this quote: “Day, n. A period of twenty-four hours, mostly misspent.”

Things can change in the blink of an eye.

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Who am I?

I used to know that answer, could relate it in my sleep.  I was the opening eight words of my first DiSC personality assessment coaching report… “Marc might be seen as obnoxious by some”.

I didn’t have to read the report any further.  32 letters that I believed captured my life in a nutshell.  The report was supposed to show me my “work style”, but another series of graphs showed that my work style was exactly like my natural style.  And not surprisingly, I reveled in it.  Thought it was a “positive” characterization of my personality, my view on life. My “D” was so strong (my DiSC “Type”) that I was used an an “unhealthy” example by the consultant hired to work with my team.

A “D” often shares characteristics like these:

• You enjoy solving problems, getting things done, and achieving goals.
• You want to be in charge. (You dislike being told what to do).
• You set high standards for performance (your own and other people’s).
• You trust your ability to produce results.
• You enjoy challenges and competition.
• You are willing to take risks, challenge the status quo, and break the rules.
• You make decisions quickly.
• You are impatient with people who “waste time” by talking or planning, who you think are incompetent, or who resist change.
• You don’t mind telling people they’re wrong. You value “telling it like it is.” You can be blunt.
• You bore easily.
• You get angry quickly (and you get over it quickly).

That’s the person I was “proud” to be, and that was the positive side of the write-up.

Here’s the flip-side of the same coin.

• Be blunt to the point of being rude. Like a tank, you run over people’s feelings.
• Be hypercritical, demanding, and short-tempered.
• Make rash and reckless decisions.
• Explode when you don’t get your way.

At my worse, I was a bully, a loud mouth, a tyrant.

Looking back, my “coin”  was worth less than I thought it was… in fact, during a tough last few years, I now see that my “D” personality was a direct result of me feeling worthless.

Who Am I?

In the last year, I’ve received some wonderful feedback from an ever-growing group of people I truly love.

“You bless me so richly.  Thank you for giving me a piece of your heart”

“You are the awesomest man I have ever met”

“You have such an amazing capacity to love.  You are one of the most authentic people I know.  You are a gift to the world”

“You are a powerful leader. Thanks for taking a stand for yourself so that you shine on others and teach them how to live vibrantly”

And from my dear wonderful beautiful Carla… “Thanks for giving me the gift of you“. A new eight words… another side of the coin.

The Third Side of the Same Coin.

Who Am I?

A friend posted this on Facebook this morning:

There comes a time in life, when you walk away from all the drama and people who create it. You surround yourself with people who make you laugh., forget the negative, and focus on the positive. Love all people and pray for the ones who don’t treat you right. Life is too short to be anything but happy. Falling down is a part of life, getting up is living.

I am a man who loves himself, but is working every day to “like himself”.

I am a man who realizes that he is not a “High D”, but often still act like one.

I am a man who creates drama, but knows he can’t just walk away from himself.

I am a man who has surrounded himself with people that make him laugh.

I am a man who prays for people that don’t treat him right.

I am a man who falls down.

I am a man who gets back up.

I am a good man.

I am a man.

I am VIA.

I am.

My name is Marc Drizin.  This is the man I am today.

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Or so my contract says.

It seems like lately the only thing I should be is committed.

I often times feel lost, without direction.  Everywhere I turn, I see a door close without another one opening.

That’s the power of the five percent.

Personal and business hopes and dreams that I thought had a solid foundation fold like a house of cards.

95% of an amazing day is overcome by 5% fear.

Forget Everything And Run

And I have spent a lifetime running. Fight or Flight?  Really?  It’s never actually been a real question for me.

Things began to change about a year and a half ago with a harmless little bible study class named “Sex Lies and No Videotape… The Story of Genesis” (yea, I know… killer title).  At about the same time I met a woman who literally turned my life inside out and upside down.  Months later we started a new company based on a shared vision of leading a Vibrant Life, then a second one, then a third… and only recently, a new life together.  I took my first communion 55 weeks ago, , taught Vacation Bible School, was baptized late last year, and accepted Christ as my Savior.  A completed (but still wandering) Jew. I moved out of the house I called a home for a dozen years last summer, lost all contact with my younger son, got divorced, moved into new offices last January, a new condo in June, a different house in December, and moved offices twice.  And I’ve fallen hard for three beautiful nine year olds…

Yea, that is a lot of change…  Didn’t quite feel like that much stuff when I was going through it, but re-reading that list… WOW.

And now I often feel like I can’t feel the ground beneath my feet.  Things that I saw so clearly yesterday are mere mirages today.  Decisions that took months to make are overturned in a minute.  The tiny little bit of control that I clung onto disappeared.  Even my new-found faith is being tested… and tested hard.

That’s the power of the five percent.

A dear friend told me that I was a really good prize for the devil.  For 48 years, I never gave Satan a thought.  But now, “Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil walks about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour.” (1 Peter 5:8).  I feel like Lion Chow, with a big Rib-eye steak necklace and antelope gym shoes.  A walking (sometimes running) target.  But when you don’t see the ground, when you can’t always believe what you see in front of you… “faith” is a tough thing.  Especially for someone so new to the team.  God and I talk a lot, I pray daily, double-up on church on Sunday (I like to hear stuff twice!), get involved with my faith family often, and read the bible to the triplets.

Yet that five percent continues to loom big in my rear-view mirror and even larger out the front windshield of my life.  This has been my lifetime struggle.  Left brain vs. right brain.  Logic vs random. Sequential vs. intuitive.  Rational vs. holistic.  Analytical vs. synthesizing.  Objective vs. subjective.  Looks at parts vs. looks at wholes.

The ninety five percent gets the left brain side of the argument.  I am truly blessed in my life.  I have a job that pays the bills and gives me extra to do fun stuff.  I have clients that like and respect me.  I have friends that care for me, that worry when I fall off the radar screen.  I have been through a transformation that has put me in a place I never thought I could reach.  And most of all, I have a future with a woman I love deeply.

And then the right brain starts to work….  and once subjective kicks in… oy.  For most people, “Worst” always feels heavier than “Best” does.  So even with pretty amazing things in my life, I concentrate on fear, worry, guilt, shame, anger, and resentment.  That’s one ugly six-pack.

That’s the power of the five percent.

My intent is not to get rid of the 5%, but to restrict it’s power to one nineteenth the power of the 95% that is awesome.  This is not an immediate process, it took my whole life to get me here, it isn’t a 20 minute trip to the gym to undo all crap.  But the amount of time is not a concern… because

That WILL be the power of the five percent.

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I Am Source

AN OPEN LETTER TO MY SON, MAX.

Source (n): anything or place from which something comes, arises, or is obtained; origin:

Dear Max,

I am Source.

I’ve spent most of the last year trying to understand this concept while going through the Zarvos leadership development coaching I’ve been involved in since January.  Some days I get it, other days I struggle mightily with the whole idea of Source.  It’s not a verb… it’s a noun.

For most of my life I’ve been running away from this basic truth. Max, I’ve made a career of blaming others for my actions or inactions.  I’ve made excuses about things happening “to me”, instead of realizing that I am Source.  I’ve complained about decisions I was “forced to make”, not accepting that every decision I ever made was a choice, MY CHOICE.  I’ve allowed myself to be a victim of my own story, implicating others for my own shortcomings.  Even your silence of the last six months I tried to turn around to make me seem like the injured party.

And all you ever wanted was for me to take responsibility.  For me to admit that…

I am Source.

Max, twenty five years ago, I did not understand the importance of the marriage vows I was about to take.   They were words on a piece of paper, “guidelines” that could be followed or forgotten as needed.  Heck, I even decided to delete the word “obey” from our vows… nobody was going to give me boundaries.  I was young. I was foolish.  At 23, I was still just a child.  Not an excuse Max, just a feeble explanation.  I am Source.

For the last twenty five years (and perhaps over my entire life), I wasn’t secure enough to love unconditionally.  My love had strings attached.  Unfortunately, one of those strings with your mom was the inclusion of other people in our marriage.  As head of the household, I should have been strong enough in my values, grounded enough in my beliefs, and honest enough with your mom to talk openly and honestly about the affairs that were a constant part of our quarter-century together… since the beginning. I am Source.

Max, I should have cared more about the impact my decisions were having on you, Josh, and your mom, but I was so caught up in my own crap, dealing with my own issues of self-worth and self-doubt that even though I could see the pain I was causing our family, I often felt powerless to stop or even change my own abhorrent behavior.  I said and did things that I have since forgiven myself for, but will never ever forget.  Although there is plenty of blame to share, the fact remains.  I am Source.

Max, perhaps worst of all, during the worst of times, I purposefully shut you out of my life.  Shame, guilt, anger, hurt, stupidity, intolerance, fear…  pick one, pick them all.  The more out of control I was, the less worthy I felt of your attention.  The more hurt I felt inside, the more I hurt you.  HURT PEOPLE HURT PEOPLE. I couldn’t show you love and affection, but was able to show it to strangers and acquaintances.  I couldn’t give you a hug when you needed it most, but was able to lead a Free Hug Day with people I didn’t know.  It’s taken me a few years to understand that I push people away I love the most because I have more to lose if I “screw up”… one hug is never enough… or so I grew up to believe.  I freely give away my love to strangers, because if it is rejected, I’m really no worse for the wear.

Because I am Source, the accountability for the results lie at my feet.

Am I solely to blame?  When you are Source, there is no “blame”.  This is my responsibility.  I am responsible for my actions.  No excuses.

Max, I can’t change the past; all I can do is choose for things to be different from this point forward.  And I have made that choice.  Moving out of our house this year was part of that choice.  Divorcing your mom after 25 years was part of that choice.  Developing a relationship with God is part of that choice, as was my recent baptism.  Working on myself, with the help of a wonderful therapist, an incredible group of 25 people in my VIA family, and my amazing partner Carla has been part of that choice.

And embracing my authenticity, leading with my heart and not with my head is part of that choice too.

For the first time in decades, I am not running from my “real” self.  I care, I love, I laugh, I cry, and I accept responsibility… freely.

Max, please forgive me for running away from you, for not being the father you deserved and needed, for giving my love so freely to others but withholding it from you and your brother, for not respecting and honoring your mother as I should have, for not being the strong moral man I knew I could have been.

Maxi-bear, I love you with all my heart.

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For the last week, I have made my one call every day. Since it’s me, I randomized the list by first initial of the last name. Today was the toughest name I wrote down… my Aunt Renee, my mom’s older sister and my godmother. I had “heard” that my aunt wasn’t happy with me… moving out, divorcing Joanie, and the “big one”… converting to Christianity. Considering my aunt’s role as my “spiritual adviser” (as my godmother), conversion was really hard for her to understand.

And although this sounds silly (and it is), my aunt sounds EXACTLY like her younger sister, my mom. Their laugh, inflections, even the way they breath is eerily the same. So, talking to my aunt was often, for me, like talking to my mom.

I haven’t spoken to my aunt in nearly six months. She moved out of the house she shared with her husband of over 50 years in Atlantic City a couple years after he died, recently moving into a retirement home closer to her kids. She got Bat-Mitzvah’d (at 78!) and is now going through confirmation. She had a fall and hurt herself pretty bad. And all along, I stood on the sideline and thought about calling… and never did. MIRED IN MY OWN VICTIM STORY…all the way.

I was senior today for Karen, Dave VO and Kathryn, my small group buddies. It was a really neat experience for me, and hopefully my buddies too. I asked them about their LOA, their visions… and at the end of the third call, realized that I never “called me”. So I spent some time looking over my LOA… and saw those names, and the name of my aunt. Today’s name.

I picked up the phone and called.

“Hello”?
“Hello Aunt Renee, how are you?”
“Who is this?”
“It’s your nephew Marc.”
“Mark-ie, is that you?”
“Yes it is Aunt Renee… I’m sorry it has taken me so long to call.”
“Marc, you don’t have to be sorry, I’m your aunt, I love you no matter what. Marc, can you call me back, I’m right in the middle of MahJong with the girls. It’s Thursday, but I want you to call me back tomorrow. Do you have my number?”
“Yes, I think it is the same number I am calling now, right?”
“(laughter)… Yes, that same number. I love you Marc.”
“(crying)… I love you too Aunt Renee”.

A perfect call.
One hug is enough.
LOVE IS ENOUGH.

My challenge to my Indy 64 family. Use the next 10 days to improve the relationships you have with those people you listed on your LOA. They are on the list for a reason.

Just call and say “hello”.

One hello is enough.

One hug is enough.

Love is enough.

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My big brother and I often heard this phrase from one or both of our parents.  It might have been said while we were sitting right up against the dividing line my folks would have created in the back seat of the station wagon.  Barry got the passenger side of the car, I was behind the driver.  The imaginary line my mom would “write” with her finger could not be crossed by me or my brother, except for car fire or a horrible wreck… really.  We crossed it all the time.  Poking, kicking, seeing which of us could get the other in trouble when mom (or dad!) turned around and caught us in the act.  It wasn’t that the punishment from the folks was bad, it wasn’t like they were really going to turn that car around on I-75.  But the embarrassment and ridicule of being the one caught really stung.

However, more often than not, my mom used to say Enough is Never Enough.  It was a way to spur me and my brother on to do more, to do better, to achieve a higher level of success, to never “settle”, to reach for those stars.

Mom knew I liked words; I was doing the jumble when I was four, read Moby Dick at six, did my first cryptoquip when I was seven, and nobody touched me in scrabble after my tenth birthday.  Mom knew I liked Anagrams too, a type of word play, the result of rearranging the letters of a word or phrase to produce a new word or phrase, using all the original letters exactly once; e.g., orchestra = carthorse, A decimal point = I’m a dot in place. (thanks to Wikipedia).

So mom came up with this one… Enough is never enough because “One Hug” is never enough. One Hug is an anagram of Enough.  Voila.  A new phrase is borne…

I believe mom was saying “One hug is never enough, two is better, three is better still…”.  I heard something different.  ONE HUG IS NEVER ENOUGH. Literally.  If all you have is one hug, it won’t be enough.  One hug can’t change how someone feels, it can’t make a difference in someone’s life.  It’s taken me a bunch of decades to figure that one out… but with some great help and support from Steve, I have a better understanding of how that has played out in my life.

It has always been pretty easy for me to connect with strangers.  The first fifteen seconds are like an eternity to me, but once past that milestone, the floodgates of words and emotions tumble out of me like dice in the Yahtzee cup.  But people I love, people I care for…  those are tougher.

Enough is Never Enough.  One Hug Is Never Enough.

One call won’t be enough.  One conversation, one note, one email, one tweet, one glance, one smile.  Never enough.

And when you know you won’t be enough, that your efforts to connect will fall short.  Why even try.  Why even go through the motions.  Why try to connect when you’re going to fail.  Better to not even try and not be disappointed then to make an effort and fall short.

Fixed Mindset 101.

I know about Fixed and Growth Mindsets.  We spend a lot of time on the subject in the coaching work I’m currently involved in and the work I lead for Vibrant Life.

So, how does this show up for me?

I let people slip in and out of my life, especially those that are important to me.  People I should hug most are the ones that I wind up hugging the least?  Why?  BECAUSE ONE HUG IS NEVER ENOUGH.

I shy away from creating meaningful relationships with people because I’m afraid that I won’t bring enough to the table.  ENOUGH IS NEVER ENOUGH.

I don’t do the simple things, like following up on phone calls or emails from people I’m close to.  I shy away from just calling someone to say “hi”, ’cause in my mind, a simple greeting isn’t ENOUGH.

I stress about a conversation, playing it out in my head, wondering what I’ll see and whether it will be ENOUGH. And I get myself so worked up that I avoid the call, easier not to make it than to fall short in someone’s eyes.

Paralyzing stuff… until now.

My transformational coaching journey continues, Jim and Nora Zarvos are amazing in what they do, and I am truly blessed to have them, as well as Steve, all of my VIA family, and of course, my partner, Carla in my corner.

VIA teaches us the importance of changing the planet one person at a time.  One Hug is enough, and a great way to start.

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These days, my boys are “out of the house”, and in a way, out of my life.  They are still there, they just don’t need me as much as they once did when they were little, and I was much bigger, at least in their smaller eyes.

Today, I hope they see me as who I am trying harder every day to be; full of purpose, promise, and passion.  But I am also the one who has brought significant change in their lives, the one who made life decisions that impacted them in ways I didn’t imagine… as naïve as that may be.

One Talking, One Not

Harry Chapin put words to music in 1974, I was twelve at the time, and getting ready to start my year-long training for my bar-mitzvah, my ascension to “manhood” as a soon-to-be teenage Jew.   Cats In the Cradle says a lot, especially when you are searching, like me, for the right words to say.

For my boys:

My child arrived just the other day. He came to the world in the usual way. But there were planes to catch and bills to pay. He learned to walk while I was away. And he was talkin’ ‘fore I knew it, and as he grew, he’d say “I’m gonna be like you dad…You know I’m gonna be like you.

And the cat’s in the cradle and the silver spoon. Little boy blue and the man on the moon. When you comin’ home dad? I don’t know when, but we’ll get together then son, you know we’ll have a good time then”.

I made a lot of those decisions with my older son, I was young, climbing the corporate ladder, and worried that there were things I had to do, even if it meant missing first steps, or first words, or the first time he was able to explain Euclidean geometry.  OK, I made that last one up.

I vowed that I wouldn’t repeat the decisions I had made with my older son with any other kids we might have later.  As I got older, I realized the importance of things that money couldn’t buy, and how those moments meant to me, and my family.  Another job title, a few thousand more dollars, or a cooler office just couldn’t make up for what I felt I was losing.  And worse yet, the things I lost could not be replaced.  Sure there could be substitute memories and stories, but once a second is gone…  it’s gone for good.

My son turned ten just the other day. He said, “Thanks for the ball, Dad, come on let’s play.  Can you teach me to throw”, I said “Not today, I got a lot to do”, he said, “That’s ok”.  And he walked away but his smile never dimmed, and said, “I’m gonna be like him, yeah, you know I’m gonna be like him”.

And the cat’s in the cradle and the silver spoon.  Little boy blue and the man on the moon.  When you comin’ home son?  I don’t know when, but we’ll get together then son, you know we’ll have a good time then”.

I don’t remember of doing a lot of things with my dad when I was 10, he worked a lot, at his advertising company, the small neighborhood newspaper he published (and I got to deliver!), and the community theater that took a lot of his time.  However, I do remember going to a bunch of Cincinnati Reds games, first at Old Crosley Field and then Riverfront Stadium.  Rose, Morgan, Bench, Perez, Concepcion, Griffey Sr., Foster, and of course, Sparky Anderson, the Hook.

I idolized my father.  I think most sons do at this time.  Was he home as much as I would have liked?  Probably not, but he was there when I needed him to be.  Just as I tried to be with both of my boys.

I was about ten when I found out my dad was fallible, he made mistakes, some as big as his stature.   Perhaps I was growing up too, seeing situations through slightly older eyes.  It doesn’t matter what the situation was or how it got resolved, but I saw a different side of my father, one that I wished I would have seen years earlier.

When my younger son was 10, my older son was thinking about driving.  Life went by so damned fast; I barely had time to look around to see where I was, let alone wonder where everything went. I tried to balance work and life responsibilities, I probably did better than most, but not nearly as well as I would have liked.  Time is the one thing you can’t get back.

Well, he came home from college just the other day, so much like a man I just had to say: “Son, I’m proud of you, can you sit for a while?” He shook his head and said with a smile, “What I’d really like, Dad, is to borrow the car keys¸ see you later, can I have them please?”

And the cat’s in the cradle and the silver spoon, Little boy blue and the man on the moon.  When you comin’ home son? I don’t know when, but we’ll get together then son.  You know we’ll have a good time then.

I remember the first time my older son, Josh came back from Denison, the small college in Ohio he attended.  Max said “Josh looks taller”, and he was right.  The way he carried himself, the way he looked a little less like the little boy I once held and more like the man he was becoming.  Heart-wrenching.  Beautiful.

Around this same time, my mom passed suddenly, and the care of my father fell to me and my older brother.  Things that I wished I could do with my younger son became secondary to things that I had to do, things that I realize now I was blessed to be able to do for and with my dad.  As I tell people who are living in that “squeeze generation”, you don’t take away from your folks or your kids, you take away from yourself.

More than anyone, Max got the worst of it.   Home became more of a place to sleep and less of a place to stay.  Angry words weren’t exchanged, but precious few words were.  Anger, resentment, frustration, guilt, hurt… all there, none dealt with appropriately.  And so as is often the case, people drifted apart.  Words became more difficult to speak, feelings more difficult to explain¸ pain more difficult to let go of. Life Changed.  And my sons got caught in the middle.

I’ve long since retired, my son’s moved away. I called him up just the other day.  I said, “I’d like to see you if you don’t mind”, he said, “I’d love to, Dad, if I can find the time; you see my new job’s a hassle and kids have the flu, but it’s sure nice talking to you, Dad, It’s been sure nice talking to you”.

And as I hung up the phone it occurred to me, he’d grown up just like me… my boy was just like me

And the cat’s in the cradle and the silver spoon, little boy blue and the man on the moon, When you comin’ home son?  I don’t know when, but we’ll get together then son, you know we’ll have a good time then.

And so here I am.  Getting ready for an intensive five-day self-awareness and development program that will undoubtedly kick my ass the way my first foray into this process did.  You may remember my blogs about being “Barry’s Little Brother”, if not, search for it and you’ll understand.

So today, as I get ready for another major step forward for me in this new life I am creating, I am humbled, sad, and proud.  Humbled because God has taught me a lot these last six years, much that I was unwilling to listen to, even after repeated attempts to crack my thick skull… and my thicker heart. But change continues to occur, not just every Sunday at New Joy, but every moment of my life.  As a dear friend of mine said this morning… “It is good to see you let go.”

I am sad, because as the title of this blog suggests, one of my boys isn’t speaking to me.  I have caused him much pain, and although not speaking to him hurts me like nothing in this life has ever hurt me (even the death of my parents), I understand he has to find his own way, his own path, and hopefully, with God’s help, his way back to me.

And I’m proud of my boys, more than any one father should be.  My older son, getting his Masters (and perhaps PhD) at Northwestern, living a vibrant life, helping our people and our planet. I love you Joshua Michael.  And my younger son, growing up faster than he should, living a life yet unimagined, seeing the world’s possibility laid before him.  So many opportunities, so many dreams yet to be discovered, so many hopes yet to be uncovered.  So much life, and yes, so much hurt.  To my Maxie-bear…  I love you with all my heart.

And I’m proud of me, no longer afraid to put myself at the front of my own line.

I’ve been writing this blog for three weeks, I’ve cried more than I write.  Today, my friend from high school, Gail posted the following on Facebook.  I couldn’t have written a better close.  Thank you to my dear friend for letting me re-post this:

My promise to my kids ~ I am not your friend. I am your parent. I will stalk you, flip out on you, lecture you, drive you insane, be your worst nightmare & hunt you down like a bloodhound when needed because I LOVE YOU! When you understand that, I will know you are a responsible adult. You will NEVER… find someone who LOVES, PRAYS, CARES & WORRIES about you more than I DO!

And as I hung up the phone it occurred to me, they’d grown up just like me… my boys were just like me…

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Not exactly the definition I thought I would find first, but fitting.

I’m tired of “trying”

That was the original title of this blog, but as is often the case in life, where you thought you were headed doesn’t always come to pass.  Like me and VBS.

VBS – Vacation Bible School.

I know, I almost fell off my chair when my Pastor asked me to participate.  She knows that VBS wasn’t part of my jewish upbringing, that I’m fairly new to the “Christianity thing”, and that I still (sometimes) feel like the outsider at church, the Jew in the Pew.  The Children’s Pastor also asked me to take part in the week-long event and told me that he knew the perfect kids for me, the oldest kids… are you ready…?

The Burpers and Farters.

Yes, these are my people.  These are my children. This is my legacy.

And what an amazing week.  Spending time with 15-20 kids for a couple of hours every night was a blessing that came at a perfect time in my life.  It’s fun to watch the world through children’s eyes; they see life so differently, both in a physical way, but also emotionally and yes, spiritually as well.

Children TRUST.  They accept what they are told (for the most part).  They give the benefit of the doubt.  They believe without asking “why” or “why not”.

They believe without asking “why”.

They believe without asking.

They believe.

For five days I thought I was the adult and they were the children.  I assumed I was there to help teach them,  and there I was learning as much, if not more, than the kids I was responsible for.

On the Sunday following the end of VBS, Pastor Connie asked me if I had enjoyed the week.  I know she knew the answer; I usually wear my emotions on my sleeve.  After I stopped giggling like one of my 10 year old charges she asked me what I learned during the week.  I heard myself say “I learned how easy it is to believe… you just have to stop trying”.

I have decided to quit “trying”.

Now don’t get me wrong, I am still working hard:

• Employee Hold’em and Ignite HR Consulting, helping companies better attract, motivate, and retain staff

• Vibrant Life, Vibrant Life-Compass, and Vibrant Life-Directions, assisting people in finding their purpose, passion, and promise

• Tributum, our new employee benefit company

• WorldVentures, our direct marketing travel business

• Books, speeches, & workshops with clients, customers, prospects and suspects

What I’m not doing is giving myself credit for “trying”.  As the wise sage Yoda once said, “Do, or do not. There is no ‘try”

I am no longer trying… I just am.

I am a human “being”, not a human “doing”

You don’t have to try to “be”… you already are.

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Selfless: having little or no concern for oneself, especially with regard to fame, position, money, etc.; unselfish

Two sides of the same coin.

I was having lunch with a dear friend, colleague, client, dream-catcher, and vibrant lifer the other day.  Sometimes we talk work, sometimes family, sometimes life.  This day was a “life” discussion.  While I was noshing on my triple grilled cheese sandwich and velvet chicken soup, we chatted about my most recent blog, I make people cry. She was at the Vibrant Life Action Meeting I was referring to in the blog, so she saw the interaction first-hand.

I was remarking about the last couple of sessions, and how we always come back to two themes for what keeps people from living their dreams and a more vibrant life:  Fear and Selflessness.  I’m still struck by a comment that was made by one of our Vibrant Lifers at our first meeting, I know I should get up at 5:00 a.m. to exercise, I just don’t.  But if a friend asked me to drive them to the airport at 5:00 a.m., I would do it without giving it a second thought.

She and I continued to eat our lunch (I started eating her fruit salad, she only likes grapes), and she said “Marc, maybe it is the same thing, maybe it’s more that people are afraid to put themselves at the front of their own line”.

Out of the mouth of a babe.

She knew I liked the comment, I stopped eating her lunch and wrote that line down.

I’ve been thinking about this for a couple of days now, “noodling” it over in my head.   I’ve heard myself over the last week tell a bunch of people “you have to take care of yourself or you won’t be good for anyone else“.  Some people were sick but wouldn’t go home to heal.  Some were totally stressed out from work but unwilling to deal with a lousy boss or even lousier job.  Some were unwilling to listen to me talk about WorldVentures, my direct marketing travel business, even though I was trying to give them a free vacation!  Some were complaining about how little time they had for themselves given all their responsibilities to friends, family, and loved ones.

Why are we afraid of putting ourselves first?  Why do we often put what other people want or need before our own?  Why does it have to be an “either-or”… why can’t we do both?  And even if it is an “either-or”, why do we so seldom put ourselves at the front of our own line?

I had a pretty damned good childhood.  My parents were not saints, but they did a good job of keeping me and my brother grounded.  We were taught right and wrong, ethics, morals, the Golden Rule.  Looking back, I try to think of lessons they taught, either as “teachers” or “examples”.

How did I become an ISTJ, what Myers-Briggs refers to as The Duty Fulfiller?  What were the things I saw or learned that pushed me onto this (so-far) life-long road?  Does my brother share the same thoughts and feelings, or does he allow himself to be more selfish?

Ah… Selfish.

The dreaded “S” word.

Funny how that word has such a negative connotation, while selfless is seen as so noble.  They both have the same “base”… SELF.  The “ish” doesn’t have anything to do with it… “ish” is simply a suffix used to form adjectives from nouns, with the sense of “belonging to”.  Belonging to self.

Isn’t that the real goal?  Isn’t that precisely the way to live  a more VIBRANT LIFE?  If we don’t belong to ourselves, who else should we belong to?  Does putting other people first allow us not to think of ourselves?  Is it our excuse for not taking action on our own happiness?  Do we think that St. Peter is not going to let us into heaven because we did things that were best for us, not at the expense of others… but because of others?

Fear of putting ourselves in the back of our own line… It sure seems a hell of a lot better than being content with our placing ourselves near the back.

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I played a clown in a junior high school production, full clown make-up (I was a “happy clown”), big red nose, rainbow wig, giant shoes, and a squirting flower on the lapel of my clown jacket.  The show was going great, and then came intermission, at which point I was to go out into the audience and “be a clown” (breaking that proverbial “fourth wall” in acting).  I was doin’ great… making balloon animals, juggling, some acrobatics, squirting people with my plastic flower (squeeze pump in my pocket), balancing on a high-wire with the help of an umbrella.

And then he saw me.

Couldn’t have been more than two years old.

Kids love clowns, right?

Um….

Not this one.  He looked right at me and screamed. Loud.  Ear Piercing.  Angry.  Scared.  Panicked.  Waking-the-dead.  Blood curdling.  Paint peeling.  Oxygen sucking.

I knew his parents… heck, I knew the kid.  But he knew “Marc”, not the guy in make-up.  Talk about ending an intermission on a high note.

Anyways…

Forward ahead 35 years. I’ve graduated to adults.

At our last Vibrant Life Action Meeting, I found a voice.  Honestly, I’m not sure whose voice it was, but it was very strong, it was very clear, and for a bunch of people… it was very direct.

I’m an “emotion” speaker.  When choosing between wanting a speech or workshop to make attendees “do”, “think” or “feel”, I choose the latter.  For the last two years, my own “dream-work” has shown me the power of words, voice, inflection… the “how” of speaking. Whether in a 45 minute breakout presentation or a four-hour workshop, I intentionally use the emotions of attendees to move us forward.  It’s not that I like to play with people, but the power of dreams is real, and this is the path that I have chosen for myself.

What has amazed me is the power of the “what” and one simple question; What are you scared of“?

As you know, the process of “dreaming” is just that… a process.  Start with a list of 100 dreams.  Put “completion dates” on them and they become goals, as goals are just dreams with a deadline.  Next, select three to five things to start working on.  Create tactics and strategies, even for bhag’s (big-hairy-audacious-goals).  Track your progress, adjusting the completion dates and strategies as needed.

Most folks never get past the list of 100 dreams.  Why?

Fear.  Four letters that stop people in their tracks.

Seneca said “If we let things terrify us, life will not be worth living”.

Nelson Mandela, in his autobiography gave us this: “The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear“.

One of the wondrous things about our Vibrant Life Action Meetings (VLAM’s) is the culture of safety and caring that Carla and I have built with our community of Vibrant Lifers.  It’s not just me and Carla, but the participants in our monthly action meetings are amazing, opening up, giving feedback, celebrating success, revealing themselves, their thoughts, feelings… and yes… their FEARS.

Our last VLAM had a slightly smaller attendance than we normally have, perhaps scheduling on Easter weekend had something to do with it.  We didn’t mind, it allowed us to delve more deeply than we normally do with a filled room, and both Carla and I took the opportunity that was presented to us. I have to admit that Carla is a natural coach and trainer, me, I’m trying really hard to learn.  I’m more used to facts and data… listening is not necessarily a core competency of mine.  And I’m often thinking of the “next thing to say”, so I’m not always, as Carla would put it, “present in the moment”.

But I was this weekend.  Perhaps it was due to some things I’m struggling with in my own life, my own dreams, my own future.  Perhaps it was due to the special meaning of this weekend to me as I continue my own religious path.  Perhaps I am getting more comfortable as a coach.

We were exploring the dreams of one of the vibrant-lifers.  It was a “simple” dream, basically moving across country.  Pickin’ up stakes.  What was stopping him?  FEAR.  Pure and simple.  He gave a reason not to go, and then in the same breath countered his own argument.  “What are you afraid of” I asked. Another reason, another counter. “What are you afraid of“?  Another reason, another counter.  “What are you afraid of“? Another reason, another counter.  “What are you afraid of“? Another reason, another counter.  “What are you afraid of“?

Each time, his answers more reflective.  Each time, more emotion.  Each time, more awareness.  Each time, more recognition.  Each time, more understanding.  And then the tears, slow at first, barely noticeable… then like a torrent of emotion washing over him, washing out of him.

One of the attendees gave him tissues, another got him a glass of water, two gave him hugs.  And then we all talked, and shared.  Exploring his specific fears, both rational and irrational.  And then opening up and sharing our own, ensuring that he knew he was not alone in being scared of the unknown, the future, the “road less traveled”.

Amazing.

You don’t drown by falling in the water. You drown by staying there.

I make people cry…  and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

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