June 2016 – Page 2 – intramuralist ™

06/07/201606/07/2016

authenticity

One of our long time family traditions is that at the onset of any vacation or significant road trip, as soon as we hit the interstate, we pop in our fave Ricky Martin CD, skip to song #9, and blast it through the car speakers…

“Do you really want it?
Do you really want it?
Do you really want it?…”

And so begins Martin’s rousing “Cup of Life” rendition from 1999. After the bold question of whether we really want something, we are then encouraged to “go, go, go.” My question today is whether we really always want what we say we do.

Think about authenticity…

Authenticity is the respected trait of sincerity within existence, expression, or intention. It’s saying what you mean and meaning what you say. It’s getting what you paid for. It’s knowing what you hear, see, and sense is the real deal. It’s not fake. It’s synonymous with genuineness and bona fides. We say we really want it…

… or at least we think we do.

And yet as we continue to watch at least the vernacular of our current polarized, political climate seemingly spiral downward, we still cling to the perceived value of scripts.

Scripts are prepared texts of what a person will or will not say.

They are poll-tested, time-tested, and ensured as much as humanly possible to produce a specific outcome or emotion. They are often great speeches.

But… they are not written by the deliverer of the address. Scripts are typically written by screen writers, speech writers, or campaign staffers because they have the best education and experience aimed at eliciting the desired emotion. Scripts are not the authentic words of the one doing the delivery. The deliverer may pose that “this is exactly how I feel — thanks for writing this script” — but yet, it would be more accurately said that “this is better than I can say it” — meaning his or her actual own words may not produce the yearned for outcome or emotion.

Scripts are not authentic.

They are not genuine nor bona fide.

They are written for a reason.

But we say we want authenticity. In fact, while it’s no secret that this semi-humble current events observer has serious concerns about the economic effect of the advocated policies of a President Sanders, it seems that many are attracted to his perceived authenticity. Authenticity is refreshing… especially when too many others are so scripted.

But herein lies the problem; if a person’s authenticity leads them to say something that feels especially harsh or incorrect, we sometimes seem to prefer the scripting. We prefer the inauthenticity.

Really? Do we prefer a person who says what we want to hear? … one who knows what to share how, and with which particular audience — meaning they are utilizing their script especially well?

Or… do we prefer a person who is authentic? … transparent then, too?

My sense here is there’s a little bit of having our cake and eating it, too, as it’s not an easy choice. We want authenticity as long as we don’t disagree too much with what’s actually expressed; hence, we don’t always really want it. We aren’t quite ready to “go, go, go” and dispose of the long held script.

Respectfully…
AR

06/05/201606/05/2016

something new

Yesterday I did something I’ve never done before. It was one of a possible 25 things…

Voted for a Republican.
Voted for a Democrat.
Ran for elected office.
Whitewater rafted on class V-VI rapids.
Flew to France by myself.
Ate a pickle.
Got thrown out of a Major League Baseball game.
Sang with a top 40 band in a nightclub.
Hung out with Derek and Julianne Hough.
Shook a sitting president’s hand.
Lost my temper.
Got caught under a sinking sailboat.
Witnessed a boy hit on his bike.
Was on radio and TV.
Sat on the edge of the Rhein and the Thames.
Jumped off a cliff.
Emceed a hermit crab race.
Gave a speech.
Conducted a mediation.
Taught a class.
Wrestled a free t-shirt away from a group of ten year old boys.
Won at the blackjack table.
Cried.
Was judgmental.
Asked for forgiveness.

Ah, alas… while I have done all of the above (and some have been done or needed to do far more than once), yesterday, for the first time, my family brought home a dog.

With such a choice, I realize anew that we are a divided nation in far too many ways — in this case: pro-dog vs. no dog. We are — in my sincerely strong opinion — so good at finding things to fight about. We can — in my also sincerely strong opinion — do better at that… at giving grace to one another, to hold the opinions they hold, even when different than “mine.”

I’ve been told, no less, that what’s so beautiful about a dog is that they are often far better than the rest of us at unconditional love. They’re happy to see you. Our mood doesn’t matter. The differences of opinion we hold don’t matter. They are loyal. They love you no matter what. Differences and opinion and intellect and all the other earthly obstacles are removed.

So I’ll say what I’ve learned with most of the new things in life — more than the 25 moments listed above… I look forward not to what I will teach this pup…

But rather…

… what she will teach me.

Respectfully (with a faint bark from a back room)…
AR

06/02/2016

grateful for every step

It’s an excellent annual quest to find wisdom embedded in the collection of commencement speeches. This year — from Apple CEO Tim Cook encouraging George Washington U. grads to find “work that’s infused with moral purpose” — to Hank Azaria delivering advice in the varied voices of “The Simpsons” characters Chief Wiggum, Moe Szyslak, and Apu Nahasapeemapetilon at Tufts — there was yet one address I found myself returning to repeatedly. It was delivered by Sheryl Sandberg, the COO of Facebook, at the University of California-Berkeley two and a half weeks ago. I started by liking part of her intro…

“… Today is a day of thanks. A day to thank those who helped you get here — nurtured you, taught you, cheered you on, and dried your tears. Or at least the ones who didn’t draw on you with a Sharpie when you fell asleep at a party…”

She was also, wisely reflective…

“… A commencement address is meant to be a dance between youth and wisdom. You have the youth. Someone comes in to be the voice of wisdom — that’s supposed to be me. I stand up here and tell you all the things I have learned in life, you throw your cap in the air, you let your family take a million photos – don’t forget to post them on Instagram — and everyone goes home happy…”

She was bold…

“… Today will be a bit different. We will still do the caps and you still have to do the photos. But I am not here to tell you all the things I’ve learned in life. Today I will try to tell you what I learned in death…”

And then in a seemingly unprecedented message, Sandberg was transparent. She shared the story of losing her husband only a year ago. He was young; it was sudden and unexpected. She talked about being “swallowed up in the deep fog of grief — what I think of as the void — an emptiness that fills your heart, your lungs, constricts your ability to think or even to breathe.” And instead of pouring into these brand new adults by imploring them to “be all they can be” in all “the places they’ll go,” she shared with them an empowering reality. She shared with us… a deep truth — a lesson in death…

“Last month, eleven days before the anniversary of Dave’s death, I broke down crying to a friend of mine. We were sitting — of all places — on a bathroom floor. I said: ‘Eleven days. One year ago, he had eleven days left. And we had no idea.’ We looked at each other through tears, and asked how we would live if we knew we had eleven days left.

… Can you ask yourselves to live as if you had eleven days left? I don’t mean blow everything off and party all the time… I mean live with the understanding of how precious every single day would be. How precious every day actually is.

A few years ago, my mom had to have her hip replaced. When she was younger, she always walked without pain. But as her hip disintegrated, each step became painful. Now, even years after her operation, she is grateful for every step she takes without pain — something that never would have occurred to her before.

As I stand here today, a year after the worst day of my life, two things are true. I have a huge reservoir of sadness that is with me always — right here where I can touch it. I never knew I could cry so often — or so much.

But I am also aware that I am walking without pain. For the first time, I am grateful for each breath in and out — grateful for the gift of life itself. I used to celebrate my birthday every five years and friends’ birthdays sometimes. Now I celebrate always. I used to go to sleep worrying about all the things I messed up that day — and trust me that list was often quite long. Now I try really hard to focus on each day’s moments of joy.

It is the greatest irony of my life that losing my husband helped me find deeper gratitude — gratitude for the kindness of my friends, the love of my family, the laughter of my children. My hope for you is that you can find that gratitude — not just on the good days, like today, but on the hard ones, when you will really need it.”

Sandberg makes me think. About being grateful. For every step.

Respectfully…
AR