I used this phrase today talking with Steve.  We were reflecting on the amount of change that has happened in my life in the past 5 years and the impact these changes have on me physically, spiritually, and to my brain chemistry and my inner health.  We talked about the fact that it’s almost like I razed the building that was “me” and began to build it up from scratch.

Steve told me that few people he works have gone through the kinds of 180° change that I have, especially in so short a time.  Blame my folks, I’ve always been an overachiever.  I was deaf until I was 3…LOL.  Nope, there will be no more of that victim story.

Almost five years. September 23, 2008. The day my dad died.

Almost five years. September 14, 2008.  The last day I spent with dad, munching on Red Robin burgers while we kibitzed and laughed.  “Are you living your dreams? What are you waiting for?”

And in those five years: Realization, disillusionment, regret, hurt, anger, guilt, fear… just for starters.

And in those five years: Separation, divorce, estrangement from my boys, a declining business.

And in those five years: A Savior, borne again, endearment, remarried, reborn, and transformed.

Oh, how I wish it were that clean, that easy, that straight-forward, that uncomplicated.

My life now is filled with emotion, something that I sorely lacked for 45 years.  They say that you can’t miss what you never had.  “They” were wrong, because I searched for that emotion, that intimacy, under more rocks and behind more doors than I can count.

And then I found it… no, I found her.  She is the one that showed me what I could have, if I only learned how to accept, how to receive, how to love fiercely.  Some days I’m really good at it, other days I’m not.  Fear creeps in,pitches a tent and sets up camp… and on occasion, invites his ungrateful and unruly friends.  But over time, sometimes mind-numbingly slowly, I have learned how to clear out the uninvited guests and plant trees where there once were fires.

There is still often damage, but I am working really hard to continue this journey.  And I thank God every day that I am not walking this path alone.  He… and “she” is with me.

Perhaps this second definition is more apt… more telling of my life at 50.

A line of demarcation may also be used to define the forward limits of forces after each phase of disengagement or withdrawal has been completed.

I am Marc Drizin.  I am Passionate Authentic and Loving.  This is the Man that I am.

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ap·pre·ci·a·tion  n.

1. Recognition of the quality, value, significance, or magnitude of people and things.

2. A judgment or opinion, especially a favorable one.

3. An expression of gratitude.

4. Awareness or delicate perception, especially of aesthetic qualities or values.

Lots there on the page.  Lots in my head too.

Today is the birthday of my older son.  He graced me with his arrival on January 22, nineteen hundred eighty-somethin’ and has been a joy ever since.  Whether being a ringbearer in my best friends wedding when he was 3 or 4, watching him learn how to ride a bike, seeing him up on stage in his 1st play, hiking up the trail to Machu Picchu with him when he was a young man, or seeing him graduate from Denison University.

I don’t think I ever told my son how much I appreciated him, how wonderful it was to watch him grow from a child with eyes wide open to an adult that is helping save the world. I guess I always thought he knew that I recognized the quality, value, significance, and magnitude of him.

I sat back in wonder as he taught his younger brother how to read,  smiled when I found him asleep with a book on his face late at night, tried to figure out what he was talking about in one of his many scholarly papers, or attempted not to laugh out loud when he told me college stories during a wonderful week together in Ecuador. I even understood when he told me that he couldn’t talk to me anymore after I got remarried.

So today,  I wished him a happy birthday in voicemail of his cell phone.  I told him how much I loved him, what an amazing present he is to me, how proud I am of his accomplishments, and how much I look forward to the time that we are together once again.  I told him that no matter what happens in the future,  he will always be a love of my life.

I realized today that we share a birthday in common.  Our birthdays are exactly 9 months apart.  So his birthday is really the day of my beginning. Another commonality we share among so many others.

As I write this, I find that there are so many people that I’m grateful for.  People that I have not told lately (if ever) how much I love them, how much they mean to me, how blessed I am to have them in my life.

My mom and dad, Buddy and Toby Drizin.  Through their hopes and dreams and ambitions,  their joys and their failings, their laughter and their tears,  I am who I am today.

My big brother Barry, who helped mold my life in ways I never knew. He was never the “bad son” that I used to describe him as,  he was just a son, a young man trying to find his way, much like his little brother.

My aunts and uncles and cousins in Philadelphia, New Jersey, and Miami Beach.  You opened your houses and gave me a safe place to grow up. Houses filled with love and laughter and hope. My grandparents, Michael and Rae, Max and Dot, who never treated me like a child, who each instilled a sense of confidence that most days, I still hold with me today.

My ex-wife Joanie who gave me 2 of the greatest presents I have ever received… Thank you.

My older son Josh and my younger son Max… although so different, often times exactly like their dad.  You both have blessed me in so many ways, made me laugh and cry (often at the same time), and are the legacy of what I have accomplished on this earth. With you two, I have helped change  this planet for the better.

My friend Kent Burns who I get to spend each Saturday morning with eating a bagel and drinking coffee.  You have listened to me laugh and  complain and criticize, and have allowed me to share my deepest thoughts and hopes and dreams.  All the while, giving me a safe place to collect my thoughts and figure out my next steps.  Perhaps most importantly,  you are one of the first people to talk to me about God.  Sometimes I listened, often times I was rude. but you pressed on, seeing in me, something I could not see in myself.

To Jim and Nora Zarvos, I cannot begin to explain the difference you have both made in my life.  You have helped me understand myself, live with myself, and most importantly, love myself.  You have created a “space” that defies logic, one that provides exactly what is wanted and needed. Jim, it is no coincidence that you and I were baptized the same day, dedicating and rededicated our lives to God. Nora, through the gift of VIA, you helped me prove to myself that I AM a caring, compassionate, committed leader.

To my VIA family… you are just that, family.  Thank you for your friendship, caring, and unyielding love and support.  And often times that kick in the pants that was so desperately needed.  And Tracey, I do care enough about you to remember your name.

To my friend Jeff.  Thank you so much for teaching me about life in the last days of your life.  Your humor, wisdom, attitude, and Grace are templates for how I want to live my life, for the man I am learning how to be.  Through dying, you taught me how to live.  There is no greater gift a buddy could have given me.  It is not lost on me that you and my father share that same name… buddy.

To my friend and mentor Steve Cooper. Thank you so much for helping me understand who I am and why I am. Without you, I would not have been able to receive the most important gift in my life.

To my Carla, the most important person in my life. Thank you so much for believing in me when I had no belief in myself. My partner, best friend, lover, Guardian Angel… my wife. Thank you for giving me a future unimagined.  Thank you for being my dream manager. Thank you so much for pushing me to be the man that you knew I could be and the man God intended me to be.   The gift of you and our children is the greatest gift of all.

And to the hundreds if not thousands of people you have made a difference in this half century of what I call life, a quote from Emerson says it better than I “Cultivate the habit of being grateful for every good thing that comes to you, and to give thanks continuously. And because all things have contributed to your advancement, you should include all things in your gratitude.”

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He then said… “How long do you want to be loved, Is forever enough, is forever enough? How long do you want to be loved, Is forever enough? Cause I’m never, never giving you up”

I told him how hard it was for me to hear those words these days, that my fear is sometimes paralyzing. He asked me what I was afraid of, and I heard myself say the same words I spoke to our buddy Kris just this week. “The more amazing things I have in my life, the more I have to lose”.

“Drizin” he said, “haven’t you learned anything yet? Even if you lose it all, you still had it, and that my friend is the wonder of God. Marc, I lost it all, you know where I’m staying these days, and yet, this life of mine is a gift, that is why God calls it The Present”. Zuber got up from the table, kissed the top of my head and said “see you later… but not too soon”.

I still get to learn from my friend, even in my sleep.

I often think of that Saturday night during third weekend. The joy it was to have Carla as a senior in my VIA. The words she whispered to me as I was cradled during Lullaby. Pure unabashed taking…receiving the love of Indy 64.

As Jeff walked away, I heard these words:

“As you wander through this troubled world
In search of all things beautiful
You can close your eyes when you’re miles away
And hear my voice like a serenade”

Yes. I hear these voices every day, sometimes even from dead people. All I have to do is listen. What a wonderful gift.

Lullaby

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No matter how I look at it, no matter what I try to do to change it. I am unable to affect the outcome. It’s inevitable.

I’m dying.

I started dying more than 50 years ago.  Over 18,000 days.  Nearly 450,000 hours.  26 million minutes.  1.6 billion seconds.

At 2.32 a.m., October 18, 1962.  Jewish hospital, Cincinnati Ohio.  My life started to end.

Some would argue that my life started to end nine months earlier, but that is not my battle for today, it can be fodder for another time and place.

I began to cash in my chips right after Dr. Friedman  spanked my butt in the operating room.  In with the good air, out with the breath of life.

I was closer to my maker at birth than many of my newborne peer group, an amazing set of doctors and nurses got me out of that hospital and into the loving arms of my mom and dad.  I spent as much time at Children’s Hospital and Jewish Hospital during my first years of life than many families do over their entire lifespans.

As I lay dying.

My thoughts were always about going home, about my future.  I was young, my whole life was in front of me.  Grade school in Roselawn, cub scouts (Den #6 Pack 625), Reds games at Old Crosley Field with my dad, tag football with my big brother.  Swimming at JCC, summers in Atlantic City, winters in Miami. My end of life was not a conscious thought… I was six, and loving life.

As I lay dying.

Junior High and Senior High at Walnut Hills.  My first job at Perkins Pancake House.  College at University of Cincinnati.  My first “real job” at Burke Marketing Research.  Even a nasty bout with Giardi lablia, losing forty-five pounds in a week did nothing to move death to the forefront of my brain.  My frontal lobe was busy with research, problem solving, and creating 30 year plans.

And then, January 22, 1987.  Good Samaritan Hospital in Cincinnati, it happened…

As I lay dying.

My older son Josh was born.  And mortality stared me right in the face through the dark brown eyes of an infant, totally reliant on me for his health and well-being.  As Lish McBride wrote “You know what the great thing about babies is? They are like little bundles of hope. Like the future in a basket.”  But that future carries a price, and the price is your own impermanence.

As I lay dying.

I didn’t start dwelling on my anniversaries of my birth, but each celebration of Josh’s; the birth of my younger son and his subsequent years; each reinforced the transient nature of my own life.  My own birthdays meant little… turning 30, then 40, and then 45 came and went with hardly a ripple. But my older son turning 10, my baby-boy starting to drive, Josh turning 21.  Those had meaning to me.

As I lay dying.

Another year has come and gone and quite the year it has been.  My life expectancy has not dramatically changed since that fateful Thursday morning 50 years ago.  Give or take, two-thirds of my life is over.  I can squeeze out some more life by eating better, exercising more, and moving to Japan.  Not bad choices, not hard remedies.  I’ve got a tremendous life ahead of me.  A new wife, wonderful set of 10 year old triplets, amazing friends, a loving, growing family… and a future unimagined.

As I lay dying.

I’ve decided, and more importantly am committed to living as C. Joybell C.  explains: “I have come to accept the feeling of not knowing where I am going. And I have trained myself to love it. Because it is only when we are suspended in mid-air with no landing in sight, that we force our wings to unravel and alas begin our flight. And as we fly, we still may not know where we are going to. But the miracle is in the unfolding of the wings. You may not know where you’re going, but you know that so long as you spread your wings, the winds will carry you.”

As I lay dying, I soar on the wings of eagles.

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When I was six, I achieved the rank of “green seahorse” at the Jewish Community Center pool.  I was one of the first kids to wear a cap over my head, not because I wanted the extra speed, but because of the tubes in my ears, the problems I encountered physically if water stayed in them too long.  The pictures of me as a kid on the shore at Atlantic City or the beach at Miami always show cotton in my ears.  But I kept swimming.  I didn’t have that Michael Phelps long limbed body, but as mom used to say… I was very “svelte”.  It didn’t take much for my four foot long, 75 pound body to cut through water.  And, I had big hands, at least for my age.  I began to swim in seventh grade.  I could swim laps, minute after minute.  Hour after hour.  Day after day.  Couldn’t do backstroke, not good at breastroke, and could never get the hang of “the fly”, but freestyle, yes freestyle was my thing.  I had a great flip-turn, and a really good close.  But my start was ultimately my finish.  “Keep your head down” the coach would say to me before and after each practice race.  “You’ll hear the gun, then EXPLODE off the blocks”.  Sounds so easy, and it was for all the other Walnut Hills Eagles, but not for me.  I was always looking up… at the “horizon” if you will.  Just couldn’t keep my head down.

I was a line cook for a while at Perkins Pancake House in Cincinnati.  Cooking breakfast is a “guy thing”, and it beat being a busboy.  “Keep your head down” was a constant refrain from Jessie, the manager and James, the head cook.  A million pieces of bacon, sausage links and patties, over-easy, over-medium and over-hard eggs.  Pork chops, steaks, and ham.  French toast and pancakes, pancakes, and more pancakes.  The waitresses at Perkis were really cute, especially as a sixteen year old, so my attention often “wandered” when they rang the bell and yelled “order in”.  Not good when you are fry cook and you have to keep your head down so you don’t overcook or undercook a meal.  Julie and Jenny were more interesting to me than bacon and eggs, so I was put back on “dishes” after a brief and unsuccessful run.

I was an avid golfer late in my teens and early twenties.  I was lousy, but dictionary.com defines avid as “showing great enthusiasm for or interest in”.  I had great interest.  I had really good clubs.  But my swing drove everything to the right, or I hit “lawnmower shots”, barely a foot off the ground.  I took lessons, a lot.  “Keep your head down” I was admonished time and time again.  “I’ll watch where the ball goes, you just keep your head down, arm straight, elbow bent, knees bent, chest out, shoulders in, etc”…  Oy veh.  So I switched to Putt-Putt.  And still can’t keep my head down to get the ball through the windmill.

Thirty years later, I find myself with the opposite problem.  My strong desire – no, my incredible need to keep my head down.

To see the trash that lies at my feet.
To see the mistakes I have made.
To see darkness.
To see pain and disappointment.
To see what I am missing.
To see what I have lost.
To see the progress of just one solitary step.
To see my failings, my misgivings, my flaws, my weaknesses, my shortcomings, my imperfections, my deficiencies.

Keeping my head down keeps me firmly rooted in my past.

Unable to appreciate the wonder of what I have now and the unlimited potential of my future.
Unable to appreciate the gifts that I have and freely give to others.
Unable to appreciate the light and hope it brings.
Unable to appreciate the joy and love that others express to me and I provide back to them.
Unable to appreciate how much I have gained.
Unable to appreciate how far I have journeyed in my own self-exploration and transformation.
Unable to appreciate my failings, my misgivings, my flaws, my weaknesses, my shortcomings, my imperfections, my deficiencies.  THEY ARE PART OF MY PAST, YET THEY ARE NOT PART OF WHO I AM TODAY, WHO I CHOOSE TO BE.

It’s been a very rough week for me.  I have said things and done things to people that I love that have hurt them.  The “what”, the “why”, the “who” and the “how” are unimportant, except as a blueprint for my healing, getting stronger in my faith, being more loving, replacing anger with joy, reducing the panic that grips each of my days, and seeing the bounty that I have been blessed with.

When I’m in my darkest times, I can’t lift up my head and look my dear Carla in her eyes.  I know what’s in those eyes.  Love, compassion, understanding, hope, kindness, empathy, and care.  But at those moments, what I am afraid I will see is a reflection of my own eyes:  pain, shame, guilt, anger, fear, and resentment.  This is often how I see myself, blinded by what was recently referred to as my “cloak of victimhood”.

I am working every day to keep my head up, to keep my eyes on the goal, with the full recognition that I will stumble over things I may not see on that road.  If I keep my eyes open, I will succeed,

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8hsVICl7d8k

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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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