It Really is the Little Things, revisited

Like many others, I’ve often said "it’s the little things." Back in November of 2008, I even wrote a post titled It Really is the Little Things. I discussed how little things that pop up in our day-to-day lives bring us moments of happiness. Now I see that the same is true of sadness.

I was hunting through my car for an item I’ve misplaced when I found a folded white cloth under the front passenger seat. It only took a moment to puzzle out that it is my father’s handkerchief that must have fallen from his pocket in July when I took him to the hospital for the last time. The realization brought a rush of images and emotions to the present. I could feel the fear in my own body as I saw myself helping my father get out of the car. And I felt nausea as I saw myself pulling away to park while my sister and my daughter wheeled Dad in to the emergency room entrance for a direct check in to the hospital. I recall my uncertainty as I decided to stay or leave so late that night. It was to be only an overnight stay, but deep in my gut, I knew that it was more. He stayed just four nights before we stood by his bed saying our final goodbyes. It all happened so quickly. He walked to the car on a Saturday night and by Tuesday morning he was breathing with only the help of a ventilator. A day later, he lay lifeless before us.

All of that from a handkerchief found in my car.

I’ve talked about my father in numerous conversations in the past few weeks. I’ve worked on opening his estate. And, I’ve written emails and letters to my siblings about my father’s posthumous financial affairs. A few recounted moments do make me teary, most notably when he mouthed “I love you, too” wearing an oxygen mask after the ventilator tube had been removed. Other than those moments, I’m mostly fine. But then I’m caught completely off guard by picking up his wallet, getting a forwarded piece of mail that had been sent to him from my children’s school or finding a handkerchief. These things unearth simple, yet deep memories and represent a future that might have been. I can imagine him paying for lunch at a sandwich shop, walking through the school for one of the kids’ events or pulling out that handkerchief to cover a cough (always the gentleman). This is what I’m left with now that the breath and the flesh have gone.

It truly is the little things.

Letting Go. Going Forward.

Urn by Sandi Finney. www.holepottery.com

The last few months have been difficult. My father went to the hospital on June 1 and stayed five weeks. Extensive stage small cell lung cancer. He went home for only four days before returning to the hospital where he took a lightening fast dive toward death. He passed away on July 14 with all four of his adult children at his side. I held his hand as he took his last breath. That was a Wednesday. By Saturday we were standing by his casket and on Monday I picked up his ashes. Just this past Monday.

I now have the oddest feeling. I'm 43 and parentless. Yeah, I realize I'm not the first person on the face of the planet to be there. I know that lots and lots of people younger than I can say the same. But it's still odd. It just is.


The other odd feeling that gnaws at me: this is a time of transition, of opportunity. I'm keenly aware of other "passings" in my life. None are as monumental as saying a final goodbye to Dad. Yet they are there.

For example, on the day of my father's death, I learned that a professional group I've been committed to for nearly six years is folding. Those group meetings had become a ritual in my life and my business self grew a great deal during those years. The group and its rotating line up of members had become a part of me, especially the business me.

In much smaller examples, two of our pets died the same week as my father. My windshield cracked and I had to replace two tires.


And another business organization I've staked much of my identity in has presented me with a proposition that I think I'll refuse. I cannot make a strong business case for moving forward with it and my gut tells me that it's time to let it go.


Let it go. Let go.


I'm certainly learning a lot about that these days. About impermanence. Nothing lasts forever. Not one thing. Whatever I hold dear can be gone in a moment. The very thought makes my head burn, though less and less with each passing event that reinforces it.

I'm grieving. But I won't sit alone with my grief for long. I'll move forward in some yet undetermined way, listening to my inner wisdom and investigating with a curious air anything that interests me. I'll follow that strong set of compass headings that are my values and my larger sense of Self. I'll relish love and joy. I'll embrace knowledge, creativity, possibilities, connectedness, the human spirit, friends, family. I'm sure I'll spend a fair amount of time in introspection. I'll nourish my soul and seek inspiration. And I'll look to meaningfully serve people who need whatever I can provide.

Really, it's the most fitting tribute I can think of for my father – to go on living in each moment as beautifully, compassionately and strongly as I can.

Someone recently asked what traits I got from my father. Go back two paragraphs, start at "I'll embrace" and read to the end of the paragraph. That's what I got.

Facebook Friends: To Simplify or Not to Simplify?

I've been wrestling with whether to pare down my Facebook friends list or leave it alone. I only have around 250 friends. Only. That's funny. Really? Only 250 friends? There's the issue.

Can I really have that many friends? Maybe. M-a-y-b-e. Anthropologist Robin Dunbar of Dunbar's number fame says the number of manageable social relationships is 150. I hear Dunbar is studying Facebook to see if this principle applies there. I kind of wish I had his answer now. But then again, I think I know.

Even if I could have 250 friends, it's debatable if all the people on my Facebook list are really friends. Of those 250, there are many I've never met and many that have friended me but never interact. That's hardly friendship. While some have apparently abandoned Facebook, there are those who post away but never interact, including me. Aren't we just taking up each others' space? I don't know that I'm learning much from them or that they're getting much from me.

So, I've kicked around the idea of simplifying my total Facebook stream. Here's what I'm thinking:

Leaving it like it is:

• I work in brand and marketing communications. Social media is clearly a strong, changing, growing communications channel. I need to stay on top of the ways that people use social media platforms to communicate.
• Some of my "friends" are people who could be connectors or even clients for my business. Facebook allows me to reinforce my personal brand (good or bad) in support of business development.
• Among my key Strengthsfinder themes are Connectedness and Input. No doubt about it, I like collecting, connecting and expanding. Purging, disconnecting and contracting aren't easy for me.
• I don't want to hurt any feelings. I mean, if they're in my friend's list, it's because I vetted them and determined they're good people. "Unfriending" sounds so ugly. This Wall Street Journal article didn't help me there.
• What if I miss something important or good by eliminating someone?
• I have set up lists that help me manage what I see. And I have the capability of hiding people.

Paring down the list:

• I'd simply like less noise in my Facebook stream. I'd like to read more from the people I really, really like. People who touch my heart and make me laugh. People who teach and inform me. People I actually would like to sit and chat with over tea.
• I crave authenticity in my life. I don't want a facade of popularity, of "more people must mean better quality."
• I'd like the people and things in my life to reflect my heart and be my true community.
• Yeah, they may be good people, but are we really enhancing each others' lives?

So, what do you think? Have you made a similar change in your Facebook friends list - or even in any part of your life? How did you feel before or after? Was guilt a factor at any point? What outcomes have you seen?

Here's An Idea Coffee (and Tea) Shop Patrons: Let's Share

Like many entrepreneurs and knowledge workers, I spend a lot of time working in coffee shops and cafes. I have an office, but I like getting out to change my perspective and be in the energy of other people working. Sometimes I'm between meetings and have enough time to get some things done, but not enough to go home and accomplish much. Coffee shops and cafes are great. In exchange for my buying drinks (tea for me, please) and food, the coffee shops and cafes provide me with free wireless and a place to plug in my laptop as well as a place to hold casual meetings. It's a nice relationship.

It seems that as more people have been laid off or have chosen to freelance, the coffee shops and cafes have become increasingly inhabited by more and more people. When I say inhabited, I mean inhabited. The issue is that some people just camp out all day without regard to the other humans moving in and out of the space. Add to that our American need to "own" a table and protect our space and you get a shop filled with lots of empty seats, but no where to sit.

Take right now, for instance. I'm sitting at a 4 top table in Henry's on East in Indianapolis. (Check it out. Great place with great people.) And I have to say I feel a little guilty. Here are three empty chairs and plenty of table space someone else could be using. (If it gets busy, I'll offer the seats to others. Or I'll move on.)

I have a proposal. How about we share? I hear that in Europe, it's standard to practice to take an empty chair regardless if someone is sitting at the table. Can we adopt that practice? It won't hurt you or me or anyone. Really. And it might actually help more people get some wireless and a place to sit – and help the shop earn more income so they can keep the doors open and the wireless free.

I'm thinking that the shops and cafes could offer some sort of table tag or tent or something that signals willingness to share. Maybe even just a card on the table. In a Twitter conversation about this topic this morning @y0mbo (John Uhri) said, "They could use those flip menu stands that show green and red based on willingness to share the table." It could even be as simple as a card that is red on one side and green on the other. Just lay it on the table.

I'd love to hear your thoughts on this. Have you noticed the issue? Have you seen anyone moving to solve the issue? Do you even think it's an issue? Any ideas?

P.S. Mobility is important and these places offer a significant service. So, while we're at it, let's help the shops as much as we can.

• Be an evangelist. No, I don't mean for you to prosetylize your religion to other patrons. I'm talking about telling other people about the shop and what you love about it. Help them market.
• Buy a little more if you can. They're in business. That free wireless costs them something. You don't always have to buy more than the $1.75 bottomless cup of Joe, but maybe you can add a bagel from time to time.
• Tip. It's easy. Toss the change in the jar. Give 'em a buck.

The Delicious Present

I left my house at 8:30 this morning headed for an appointment with my doctor. About 10 minutes away from home (and 15 minutes from the doctor's) I realized I'd forgotten my phone. Instant panic. I thought, "oh my God, how will I know if someone's emailed? And what if someone calls? Plus, that's my watch!" After a few moments of a quickening pulse I came to my senses. "It's only a phone. I'll survive."

For the remainder of my drive, I pushed away a few impulses to grab my phone, my imaginary phone, from my pocket. And while in the waiting room, I felt that familiar twinge when I saw my fellow waiters all happily, or perhaps maniacally, tapping away at their phones.

And then I settled in.

I looked around the waiting room at the colors of the walls and the curves and corners of the furniture. Then I glanced through the window to see big white fluffy snowflakes floating down from the sky. While each flake took it's own gentle journey to the ground, the combination of the wind's influence and each flake's choice of speed and path created a somewhat chaotic and furious dance of white streaks, bobs and swirls.

In that moment I realized that I've been missing a lot with my constant attention to what other people want to be saying to me. Like the individual flakes, we each get to choose our journey. Rather than pay attention to fury and chaos of others, I chose to focus on my own path.

After my appointment I could have rushed home to get my phone. Instead, I went to a restaurant for a good, slow meal. I wrote a little while I waited for that meal to arrive. When it came, I put my pen and paper aside and tasted every single bite, unaware of the time or emails or text messages or phone calls. My meal – and my time in the present – was delicious.

What path will you chose today? What will you savor? Tell me your story.

Big Snowy Sledding Smiles

My kids are in 6th and 4th grades and until yesterday we'd never taken them sledding. Life had always been "too busy" to carve out a chunk of time to put on all the warm gear, get sleds together and find a hill. And that made me sad. You see, every time there's a good snow fall, I think of the days when my father or my sister would take me to Shadyside Park for some good old fashioned fun.

In reality, I think I have been the block to this traditional winter activity. I've spent so many years too fat and too depressed to consider sledding even close to fun. Now that I've lost some weight and feel good [thank you (mostly) dairy-free, gluten-free, protein-rich, low-carb (and so on) diet], I'm ready to live life. In fact, I'm craving it.

So, yesterday, I convinced the family that we had the time. No one argued. Not a bit. We aired up that snow tube we'd bought years ago, the one that had remained neatly folded in its package awaiting a chance to slide. We found the foam sled the kids have used to drag each other around the neighborhood. We crammed it all, with us and a lot of big, fat cold-weather clothes into my little Scion Xb. And we drove off to conquer the hill.

After getting over the momentary shock of trudging uphill in heavy boots, I began noticing the faces of my fellow sledders. Smiles. All of them. And the sounds. Lots of laughter. There was nothing but sheer joy on that hill. Even after a nasty crash or two, the sobs quickly turned to laughter. People of all ages, from toddlers to people in their sixties, were having a blast. I even saw adults with no children squealing with delight as they shared a ride down the hill. These people, including me, were all living in the moment. If only for a few hours, we'd turned off the voices telling us that we had to do our taxes, clean the house, look for a job, write a report or get ready for that presentation on Wednesday. We we're simply living.

It was exhilarating!

I thank my Twitter friends @y0mbo and @johnbthomas who turned me on to the sledding hill at Ft. Harrison State Park. It's a good one.

Bagging Behavior - BYOBags

Just an observation here, for what it's worth, which may be nothing...

I've been noticing people using their own reusable bags at stores, something I rarely saw even a few years ago. Here's how I've seen the behavior break down by store.

• Target – A lot of people (half?) at the SuperTarget I go to regularly are using reusable bags. There has been a swift upward swing in BYOBags at Target.
  
• Meijer – I never see anyone reuse bags there.
  
• Wal-mart – a few bring their own. (Can't say I go there too often, either, so my observations here are weak.)
• Whole Foods - Most of their shoppers use their own. A few leave with brown paper bags from the store.
  
• Trader Joe's – At least half of the people reuse. The alternative is brown paper bags from the store.
  

Do you notice any kind of pattern relating to store brand? Based on purely my own observations, the stores with progressive brands seem to attract people who bring their own bags. These are the cool, designer-y, "I'm a Mac" stores. The more practical, traditional stores ("I'm a PC") don't.

Also, unless I've missed something, Meijer and Wal-mart don't offer a bag credit for using your own bags. I haven't received such a credit, at least. Target and Whole Foods offer a bag credit of about 5 cents per bag to use your own. I think Trader Joe's offers some sort of incentive. I used to get a ticket for every bag I used to enter a weekly raffle.

These stores are all relatively close to one another, by the way. So, I've ruled out geography as a factor. Being that my observations are limited to the stores I visit...well, let me just reinforce the completely unscientific nature of my observations.

Oh, one more...Aldi. They have always required you either pay for bags or use your own. I'm still surprised to see people buy bags there. I've been known to load my trunk with loose items when I forget my bags. (I know. I'm a dork.)

You've probably figure out by now, I take my own reusable bags to the store. Not just the grocery store where I finally remember them every time, but I also take them to clothing stores, bookstores, shoe stores, etc. There I need a little more practice before it's a habit.

That's it. No lesson. Just my reported observations. Any thoughts on BYOBags?