Set Foot On The Stage

486. Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

When John was in college he was rehearsing a play. It was late, perhaps midnight, and the director wanted to do more work. The student-actors complained. The director asked them to follow him. He led them across campus to the medical school and pointed to the med students visible through the windows, hard at work burning the midnight oil. He said, “Your work is also capable of saving lives. If you are not working this hard you have no business being on the stage.”

Once, when I was assisting a director, he told the student-actors, “Each night on the stage your work will have the capacity to impact the lives of others. That is a very serious obligation. If you take it lightly you will do harm and it is best if you never set foot on the stage.”

This is how I understand art in all its forms. It is meant to change lives. It is meant to hold the central narrative of a community (the identity); the arts are the container of both tradition and change. It is necessary and powerful because it is capable of holding paradoxes. It is potent because is serves the conservative impulse while facilitating the path into the unknown. A healthy society is built upon a living art. A healthy society negotiates its paradoxes through its arts.

Reduce the arts to entertainment, intellectual concepts or a luxury for the elite, remove it from the schools and from daily life, and there is no center. Social gravity weakens with the absence of a coherent narrative – people are like planets and without the pull of narrative gravity they spin off into space and wonder why they feel so alone. Without a common center we will continue to kill each other for bling because we have no concept of what matters and what does not.

Rather than walk away from our arts, telling our selves they are too expensive or merely electives, it might be time to attend to our business, look within (that is the point after all), and set foot on the stage with a gravity worthy of our obligation to others.

Take A Peak Beyond Appearances

483. Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

Pal is a taxi driver. He was the driver at the head of the cue so he gave Lora and me a lift from the airport to our apartment. It’s a twenty-minute ride, no time at all yet enough for the story of a life. In 20 minutes we learned that Pal is from the Pujab region in India. He has lived and worked in the US for 25 years. With the exception of his father, his family now lives in the United States. He was mugged during one of his graveyard shifts at the 7-Eleven because he would not buy stolen property from a man who wandered in one night. He is a Sikh though he no longer wears his turban; he’s cut his hair and his beard. To a Sikh, cutting the hair and the beard are not done without good reason. Pal’s reason is safety. In the United States he has been beaten for his appearance. It’s better to fit in than to be beaten.

Central to the Sikh’s belief are radical notions like the equality of humankind and universal brotherhood. In my twenty minutes with Pal I learned that he was generous, gentle, bright, present, and open-hearted. He was not in a hurry. He loved his family. He worked hard. We unloaded our bags from the taxi and stood with Pal to continue our conversation. He showed us a picture of what he looked like before he went into hiding by cutting his hair and beard.

When Pal drove away I was awash with conflicting feelings. I was so grateful for our magic taxi conversation and his generosity – and equally saddened that in a country that prides itself on individualism, this man, this good man, does not feel safe being an individual. He was not beaten for his actions; he was beaten for his looks.

Once, someone I love but do not understand told me that, “not all Americans want this diversity thing;” an odd sentiment in a country comprised of immigrants. Evidently the diversity in his neighborhood made him uncomfortable and rather than walk toward it and meet his neighbors he chose to close his front door and fear. I wonder if he would have recognized Pal’s kindness or held him suspect because he looked different.

Of this I am certain: those who do not want this “diversity thing” are missing out. This “diversity thing” is a human thing and there are extraordinary treasures (human beings who do not look like you) all around. It only takes a moment to peak beyond the appearance, ask a question, and find the riches.

Truly Powerful People (480)

480.
Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

My grandfather is 103 years old. His mind is sharp and his body is worn out. He wheels around his retirement home in a space-age scooter, cutting sharp corners, pivoting on a dime, covering the distance to the dining hall in less time than I could run it. Until yesterday it had been eight years since my last visit, too long. For an hour we sat and he told us stories of his life, this man born into a horse and buggy world.

He is ready to go but insists that hell is full so he’ll need to stick around a bit longer. As he told stories I wondered how this world of computers, cell phones, and the internet must look through his eyes. He was born a few short years after Orville and Wilbur Wright lifted humans into the possibilities of flight. He saw two wars to end all wars that gave rise to atom bombs, nuclear power and the industrial military complex (he was at Pearl Harbor on that day of infamy), the rise of radio that gave way to television, refrigerators, moon walks, microwave ovens, international space stations, the rise and fall of the Soviet Union, the Hubble telescope, and this thing called Google,…he has lived an extraordinary life in an extraordinary era.

It was not lost on me that, when asked about his life, he talked about the day he met his wife, a trip over the pass when the Model-T ran out of gas and people trusted him with a gas can, an aunt that read fortunes and gave him and his new bride a place to stay for the night. He talked of friends and relatives and his children.

Earlier in the day he’d taken a fall and he talked of the woman who held his hand as they waited for the paramedics to arrive. He was fine, reseated in his scooter, and the kindness of another human being became the center of the story. As I listened I recognized that the events and inventions are trappings –miraculous to be sure – but they serve only as the circumstances of our lives. The real story is in the people that we walk with on our passage through this planet and how we are with them. When I am 103 will I spend much time thinking about the gadget that connects me to satellite radio, the anti-gravity chair that zips me to the dining hall? Probably not. I’ll be grateful for the new easy knee replacements and non-invasive surgeries. Perhaps I’ll have new straighter teeth. However, when I fall, I hope there is someone available to hold my hand and wait with me until the paramedics arrive. And later, I hope someone comes to visit so I can tell them my story of the kindness of strangers, of the day I met my love, and the people that made my life rich beyond measure.

Truly Powerful People (460)

460.
Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

A week ago, Judy came to my studio and we talked for hours. When we talk, time has a funny way of condensing: 3 hours becomes three minutes. It is not uncommon for us, 3 minutes into our conversations, to notice the sun setting, the day slipping into night. We jump up, look at a clock, eyes popping at the time; with Judy I always feel the need to make sure my clock is not broken or that it didn’t somehow slip into east coast time. It is one of my favorite aspects of our relationship: so engrossed in our banter, we never have slow goodbyes – the ferry is about to sail or the meeting has already started; we rush to the door like teenage lovers whose parents came home early.

In our last “good god look what time it is” revelation, Judy pulled from memory this poem by Naomi Shihab Nye:

Red Brocade Pillow

The Arabs used to say,
When a stranger appears at your door,
feed him for three days
before asking who he is,
where he’s come from,
where he’s headed.
That way, he’ll have strength
enough to answer.
Or, by then you’ll be
such good friends
you don’t care.

Let’s go back to that.
Rice? Pine nuts?
Here, take the red brocade pillow.
My child will serve water
to your horse.

No, I was not busy when you came!
I was not preparing to be busy.
That’s the armor everyone put on
to pretend they had a purpose
in the world.

I refuse to be claimed.
Your plate is waiting.
We will snip fresh mint
into your tea.
.

Isn’t it lovely? Being busy is the armor everyone wears to pretend that they have a purpose in the world. How nice to stop pretending – even for a moment – and go back to the real purpose of living. Your plate is waiting.

Truly Powerful People (457)

457.
Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

I’m on the bus with 3 ladies from Wisconsin. They landed in Seattle without a plan and the wrong clothes for the weather we’re having. They came prepared for summer and were not prepared for the cold winds and freezing rain. It has not dampened their spirits. They are on an adventure and the wrong clothes are now part of a big story of stepping off the edge of the farm belt and into a new land called Seattle.

They’re asking me for tips: where to go to buy wool socks, what to do at the Market, how to best get around. Note: they purposefully did not rent a car because they wanted to navigate the city, to ask questions, to bump into people, to get lost; their plan was to step out of easy and into relationship. “People are so friendly here!” they exclaim. I am stunned at their brilliance and realize that the 3 ladies from Wisconsin are actually Midwestern-Buddha-ladies-in-training. They are not from the big city so talking to strangers is, in their rulebook, polite, so they are talking with everyone. The culture of the bus transforms as the usual stone-faced crowd opens and giggles with the Buddha trio.

We hear a harrowing tale of the drunk man that sat at their table the previous evening. “We were having margaritas!” they declare, “But he was too young for us!” and giggle riotously. “But we did ask if we could borrow his car.” They smiled knowingly as the nearest Buddha to me leaned close and whispered, “We didn’t want him to drive home in that condition. Plus, we thought we could stop by the store for supplies on the way.” Then, she winked.

“Do you have a plan for the day?” another rider asks, wanting to join the fun. “NO!” The Buddha trio chime in chorus. “We want to see what the day holds.” Buddha number one affirmed. “We’ll know our plan when the day is done!” added Buddha number two. Buddha number three smiled and announced to the bus: “Isn’t this great!”

Truly Powerful People (443)

443.
Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

Brain science tells us that memory is not the recall of an event; memory is the configuration or reconfiguration of sense elements. It is a story, perhaps familiar, but a story that we assemble according to the meaning we assign to the assembly. That’s why, over time, we reassign meaning to our memories. Old wounds become current strengths.

Because we like to believe that memory is fact, an actual event that happened just as we re-member it, we are also given to the notion that a memory is a fixed point in time. Lately I’ve been thinking about single points in time – particularly times that I was afraid or steeped in a story of betrayal or injustice. I stand in that point and for the fun of it, I take one step backwards in time. And then a step forwards. And, for a real kick, I take a step to the left or to the right. Here’s what I’ve learned: the initial point, the fear or injustice, makes no sense. From the initial single fixed point of view, the fear seemed meaningful. From any other angle, there is no sense to be made. Move past any moment and the story changes, the investment falls apart.

Deep in the woods at night when I was a boy, my brothers, father and I spent half the night stoking a large fire because a very large creature was circling our campsite. Trees rustling, branches snapping; we were terrified. Take one step forward in time. The large creature circling our camp…moo-ed. It was a wayward cow, a bovine escapee from a nearby ranch. We laughed at our assumption and told ourselves it was better to be safe than sorry.

Our fear made sense from a single point. Take a step forward and it is now a great family story. Mahatma Gandhi tells us that fear has its uses and I think that must be true. It can be fuel for action. It is certainly an opportunity for transformation when we are capable of taking a step to the left or the right. Mark Twain wrote, “Do the thing you fear the most and the death of fear is certain.” Now, when I am particularly dark or afraid, I think, “Why wait until later! Step left. Step right. What do you see now?”

Truly Powerful People (439)

439.
Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

Debra decided to be miserable. There was water damage in her apartment and the when the landlord identified the source he found the extent of the damage was much worse than he expected. The repair was nothing short of reconstruction. The work was scheduled to take 45 days. She told me, “I’m going to hate every moment of it. If I can’t control my space I go nuts. I’ll just hate it.” Assigning two “hates” to a single circumstance left no room for doubt: Debra was going to be miserable. Fifteen days into the repair I passed her in the hall and asked how the repair was coming along. Her answer, “I hate it. I hate every moment of it.” I was not surprised. She’d carried the two “hates” into her life just as she’d planned.

Ellen decided that there was nothing she could do. Like many educators she told me she “loathed” the standardization and testing madness that continue to drive the public schools into the dirt. She told me that her children were suffering, the teacher’s were suffering, and the community was suffering. And then she said, “There’s nothing I can do so I just go with it. What else can we do?” “Loathe” is a powerful word. So is “helpless.” Apparently, “helpless” is more powerful than “loathe.”

What is it to loathe and still choose to participate? What is it to decide that you are helpless? What is it to decide to “hate” your experience before you actually have it?

Once, while sitting in the passenger seat of a car spinning out of control on a freeway, time slowed and I closed my eyes because I’d decided that what ever was about to happen was surely going to hurt. I heard the tires squealing and the beating of my heart. And then, nothing; stillness. There was no crunching of metal, no breaking glass or screams of pain. I opened my eyes and saw my brother gripping the steering wheel. We were facing the wrong way and all the cars around us had stopped. We didn’t hit the concrete barriers, other cars, rails, or plunge into the river. We were still. My brother, with his eyes wide open said, “Do want to get a drink?” and then, “Welcome to Kansas City.”

We decided that we were fortunate. We decided that, although losing control of a car on an icy freeway bridge was thrilling, it was only necessary to do it once. We decided that there was a lot we would do differently if circumstance ever presented us with another icy bridge.

Truly Powerful People (422)

422.
Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

Let me begin by saying that I have always liked big porches. That will mean nothing to you until the end of this post.

Aloof (adj): remote in manner. Separate. The antonym if aloof is friendly – implying that to be aloof is to be unfriendly. Once, many years ago, Tom said that I was the only person on the planet that was more aloof than he was. Out of seven billion people on earth I won the blue ribbon for aloofness. Tom awarded himself the red ribbon assuming the number two spot in the aloof games. I laughed heartily at his scorecard and told him I would have given him the blue ribbon. I was certain that he out-aloofed me by a mile. He snickered at my deflection and I accused him of deflection and his snicker blossomed into a full guffaw. “I’m shy!” I exclaimed. “I’m an introvert!” I claimed a bit too emphatically. I was a victim of my own label-libel. Who might I be if I stopped arguing so adamantly for my reticence?

I’ve been working on being less aloof for a decade. I’d have made an excellent hermit though I know my shack would have had a porch since I like porches. So, I would have been a conflicted hermit. I’ve attended Aloof Anonymous and have learned to make causal conversation at parties. Sometimes I smile when I have my picture taken even though I fear I look like Baron Sardonicus.

Enter the present day. Teresa is helping me market myself. She is brilliant and our first phone call left me speechless: she helped me see that my business is me – so, her homework for me was to discover how I could become more of my self (try this. It is an excellent task certain to lead through madness before illumination. Note: I’m making up the part about illumination). During the second call she reduced my brains to pudding: she agreed with Tom, though she did not know it (and I will not tell either that they have an ally in my blue ribbon aloofness); she said, “Your door is open. You invite people onto the porch. Why don’t you them invite into the house?” When I stuttered she said, “You allow people to see your paintings and have their own response don’t you? You don’t try and tell them what the painting is about or control what they see do you?” “No.” I agreed. “Then be like your paintings. Let people see you. Invite them in!”

In my stunned silence she snickered (suspiciously like Tom!) and said, “You thought you were exempt from this stuff didn’t you.”

Truly Powerful People (421)

421.
Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

This is an example of why Ana-the-wise is wise – and I am a David-the-slow-study. Our conversation this morning went something like this:

Ana: What are you trying to create with your work?

David: Success. I want to create success.

Ana: David! I’m confused. Aren’t you happy?

David: Yes. I’m very happy. Why are you confused?

Ana: Maybe it is not me that is confused.

David: (silence. I know Ana well enough to recognize the incoming dope slap). Uh……

Ana: Do you know what my teacher taught me about success?

David: (stepping lightly onto the thin ice) No…. What did he teach you?

Ana: My teacher taught me that the successful person was someone who knew how to be happy regardless of their circumstance. You seem like a happy person to me.

David: That’s true. I am a happy person.

Ana: You seem happy in all kinds of circumstances.

David: Yes, that’s true.

Ana: So you are already successful! Why do you set an intention for something you have already realized? You are teaching other people how to be successful, aren’t you?

David: I guess so.

Ana: No wonder you are confused!

(And so on. I might be confused about success but I am crystal clear about where to go for perspective, support, and wise-eyes).

The End (Or yet another beginning)

Truly Powerful People (418)

418.
Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

Mike was in an especially fearful place. Life’s challenges were stacking like bricks and she could see nothing but wall. In a particularly dark and monster-steeped moment the phone rang. It was her old friend Andrew. He asked the requisite conversation starter, “How are you?” and Mike, not wanting to unload the full weight of her monsters on Andrew instead confessed her fear. “I’m really afraid,” she said.

“Oh. Well, let me tell you what I do with fear?” Andrew chirped without missing a beat, “I put the fear in the palm of my hand, place my hand on the small of my back, and let the fear move me forward.”

Later, Mike told me the story of her conversation with Andrew. “Sage,” she said. “First, he didn’t commiserate and reinforce my fear. He made me laugh with the idea of putting fear in the palm of my hand. Second, I saw immediately that as long as I held the fear in front of me I was going to be debilitated because fear was the only thing I could see. When I placed it in the palm of my hand and put it behind me…well, the wall was behind me and I had some useful fuel to move forward. So I did.”