Winter Reprieve

Happy 2009.

Tomorrow I’m ringing in the new year by flying southeast from one corner to the other to visit mother-dear in FL and thaw out. In addition to catching up with mother-dear, I look forward to reading, writing, and running on the “world’s longest continuous sidewalk.”

I always get a kick out of how the locals dress for their chilly, 60-something degree, early morning runs: hats, tights, gloves. If you’re in the hood, I’ll be the shirtless guy representing the PNW.

The new year is a natural time to plan so I’m curious what you’re interested in me writing about this year. Dean remembered I have thoughts on church life and leadership that I’ll get to sometime this year. Friday’s post, “Fitness Year in Review” is dedicated to Travis who has not been timid about his interest in fitness topics. Other 2009 education or related requests?

Peace.

Out and back, sans hills.

Out and back, sans hills.

Natural Order Restored

You may recall that in October my 16 year-old daughter shattered my 500 yard free time (6:21 versus 6:28). Last weekend, at the Third Annual Rudolph’s Plunge, I attempted to reclaim the title that is so integral to my identity: family’s fastest distance freestyler.

Uppity daughter couldn’t fathom that possibility so she finagled an invitation to a Seattle concert. Fortunately the other two members of my posse were among the thousands (or tens) packed into the Water Cube (or Briggs YMCA) as I stood on the block.

I am not a talented athlete by any stretch of the imagination, however, I have developed a reservoir of endurance as a result of consistent training over the last 15 years. Another asset is an intuitive feel for even pacing. Case in point, the Seattle Half Marathon. The marathon website provides three pages of stats for each runner based on their timing chip. One graphic said that from mile 6.2 to 13.1 I passed 233 people and 6 passed me. I ran 7:20’s for the first half of the race and 7 flats for the second, hillier section. The art of the slow build.

Oddly, my Rudolph’s Plunge 500 may have been the worst paced race in my life. I don’t know why, but I went out WAY too fast. Long story short, I faded big time over the second half, but still finished in 6:17.5. L said at one point the announcer said I was on a 6:02 pace. Opps. It’s no fun going into oxygen debt and then not being able to recover.

Reminds me of a Prefontaine quote, “The only good race pace is suicide pace and today looks like a good day to die.”

I thoroughly enjoyed posting a 6:17 sticky note on A’s mirror that night before retiring.

And at the end of a quiet circle in Northwest Indiana, my sister just shook her head in disgust.

Even though A was recently named co-captain of next year’s team, I suspect she’ll just quit the sport now that the natural order has been restored and the family record is out of reach.

The Greater Good

In a few days the race to put up Christmas lights will begin in my hood. I’m anticipating a tight battle between PC and the Malamute for first place. In a month, the fam and I will drive slowly through our neighborhood and a few others rendering judgement on Christmas lights and decorations.  

“Wowa, nice lightage, I thought the deer was real, nine. Eight. Nine. Ten. Nah, can’t be a ten, Santa needs more air, he’s melting.”

Eventually we’ll pull up to our house and the grief will begin. “Zero! Zero! Dad, come on, it’s embarrassing.” And once again I’ll explain that by not putting lights up I’m contributing to the greater good because our dark house makes the others look so good by comparison.

No, its not just that I’m too darn frugal. Ten years ago, when we first moved to Olympia, I spent the first December silently staring at our roof. Day after day. At the end of the month, the family gathered around hoping I’d finally speak.  When I said, “Damn, that’s a steep roof line,” they couldn’t have been more disappointed. 

So the following year, I stared at the roof for a few days, recalled the double X’s disappointment, pulled lights out from under the house, and got the ladder out. Game on.

Fast forward thirty minutes. I’m spread eagle on the highest, steepest point of the roof, left arm and leg down one side, right arm and leg down the other, and I can’t move. PC finds it so funny he stops working on his lights to watch me try to figure out what to do. Instead of lending moral support he makes a few snide sexual jokes that I don’t find as funny as I might normally.

It was an unexpected place to take stock of my life and what I was most going to miss about it. I’m only half joking, I didn’t know if I could reverse my tracks without sliding off and I didn’t know if I’d survive the 15-20′ fall. I just hoped my family would appreciate the fact that I checked out trying to bring them a little Christmas joy.

When I got down and thanked PC for his wonderful support, I was shaking. Right then I swore off our roof for good. You want lights, find another house. 

Since then the X’s have made half-ass efforts at putting up lights above the garage and around the front door.

It’s sad they haven’t embraced my “greater good” argument, but what can I do?

As I write this, I’m staring out my home office window at the exact part of the roof where I almost met my maker. Over the years a light layer of moss has formed on the wood shake panels. And they’re moist this afternoon as a result of this morning’s fog.

Until they find another house, I will focus on living and the neighborhood’s greater good.

Thanksgiving DayS

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday of the year, hands down. Especially when I can avoid congested freeways and flying.

In part because it’s among the least commercial.

We don’t have any elaborate traditions really, we tend to slow down, kick on the gas fireplace, catch up with one another, eat too much, and reflect on how much we have to be thankful for. On the weekend we’ll cap it off with 24 hours in Seattle where I’ll burn off some of the extra calories in the Seattle Half Marathon. 

Interesting context for Thanksgiving this year. People are losing their jobs while their homes and retirement accounts rapidly decline in value. And despite the excitement generated by profound political change, there’s deep-seated foreboding about our economy and the world’s economy. Recently, my international stock index fund crossed the “minus 50% year to date” threshold.  

On a personal level, this academic year is shaping up to be considerably more stressful than normal. And yet, I have so much to be thankful for. . . a secure job, inspiring students, wonderful friends, a healthy and loving family, a warm home, ample food, a beautiful place to live, a peaceful political transition, and I could go on and on.

What I wonder though is how can we infuse a Thanksgiving-like appreciation for all we have to be thankful for throughout the year? 

At the beginning of this year, I wrote about our impending trip to Norway in this way, “My hope is we’ll be changed as a result of our Northern retreat, both individually and collectively.  When school and full-time work begins again in September, and we return to our regular routines, I hope there’s a legacy of intimacy that helps us better manage the pace of modern life and relate to one another and others with even more patience, kindness, and love.”

I don’t feel as if I’ve succeeded in managing the pace of modern life, therefore, I doubt that I’m relating to my family and others with increased patience, kindness, and love.

Managing the pace of modern life and incorporating a Thanksgiving-like appreciation throughout the year are closely related. Slowing down is a prerequisite for taking stock of one’s personal “for this I give thanks” list. 

More specifically, a commitment to daily meditation or prayer helps, as well as, associating with people who have a year-round thanksgiving-orientation.

How do you combat cynicism and negativity? What suggestions do you have for me as I try to be even more thankful throughout the year?

Alcoholism

John Daly. Professional golfer. Bomber off the tee with amazing touch around the greens. More personality than most PGA foursomes. Major championship winner. 89th on the all time money list at $9m.

History of drinking, divorce, domestic violence.

Found last week in a drunken slumber outside a closed Hooters restaurant in the middle of the night in Winston Salem, NC. Apparently had drunk so much and become so belligerent his friends bus-left him.

Seattle sports talk host, like others in the media has two things to say. 1) Funny mug shot and funny that Hooters is one of his primary sponsors. 2) Sad that he could have been financially independent “and lived a life others just dream about” if he had just not drunk so much.

There’s absolutely nothing funny about alcoholism. Ever. It’s an insidious disease. Nearly every recovering alcoholic stays sober with the help of others in an Alcoholic Anonymous like support group. I knew Daly was in trouble when from the very beginning he said he wasn’t into meetings, he was going to beat it himself. 

I couldn’t feel more differently than the Seattle sports talk host.

Let’s not confuse one’s W-2 forms and one’s legacy. Talk host would lead us to believe Daly’s tombstone will read, “Earned $9m, but it easily could have been double that.” 

The tragedy is not Daly’s unfulfilled golf potential and lost income. The tragedy is the shattered lives he’s left in his wake—children, ex-wives, friends, family, business associates.

Hope I’m wrong, but I don’t expect it to end well for Daly or for those who still care about him.

Finish Strong

No, this isn’t about the election.  It’s about well. . . finishing strong.

When shooting hoops, always end with a swish from downtown. Backing up, holding the release, palming your face, and yelling “face” to no one in particular is optional.

When putting before teeing off, always end with a made putt. Pumping your fist ala Tiger is optional.

When retiring for the evening, always end with hugs, kisses, and rubs for the kids, partner, and dog. Stories, prayers, and tuckies are optional.

When swimming the 500 free, always save a little sumthin’ sumthin’ for the last 100.  Hoping out and dressing before your opponents touch is optional.

When eating Thanksgiving dinner, always end with warm pie and cold ice cream. Pretending to be European and lingering at the table for hours on end is optional.

When putting a wrap on a cycling season, always end with an epic ride in a beautiful setting with good friends. Using the brakes on the icy sections is optional.

Mount Rainier—Descending Sunrise—photo credit "T"

Rainier—Descending Sunrise—photo credit "T"

Too Excellent?

It gained momentum during the Pennsylvania primary when Obama passed on beer shots and rolled a few gutter balls. Hillary’s peeps went on the attack saying he’s not a regular guy, he’s an elitist, out of touch with beer drinking bowlers who work factory jobs and hunt on the weekends.

The criticisms multiplied after Hockey Mom burst onto the national stage. Obama was too professorial, too intellectual, too eloquent, too damn skinny. He was a media darling, because like him, the media are arrogant out-of-touch east-coast intellectuals. On the other hand, Palin was celebrated for not being professorial, not being intellectual, not being particularly eloquent. She was regular folk. She hunted moose.

Obama was a man of ideas, she was a woman of action. Like ordinary folk, she hopped from anonymous college to anonymous college before graduating and reading the sports news for a living. In contrast, Obama attended the Punahou school, then Occidental, then Columbia, then the bastion of elitism, Harvard, where he became the first African-American to edit the Harvard Law Review.

Even though we tell ourselves that education is important, people are suspicious of those that attend elite institutions. Obama went from editing the Harvard Law Review to a community organizing gig in Chicago which cynics charge was simply a calculated plan to jumpstart his political career. There’s another strike against him, too ambitious.

I understand cynicism, but maybe there was something about growing up poor that combined with classroom and extracurricular experiences at Punaho, Occidental, Columbia, and Harvard that resulted in a genuine social conscience.

For awhile there, at the end of the Republican Convention, when McCain-Palin pulled even, I thought our national motto had become style over substance. Better not to be too poised. Better not to be too intelligent. Better not to be too fit. Better not to be too ambitious.

All of a sudden conservative Republicans who always advocate for excellence over equity were back-pedaling en masse.

Obama illustrated there was a tipping point, one can be too excellent. I can’t help but wonder if latent racism explains why many on the right felt compelled to portray Obama’s excellence as elitism.

Even last Wednesday night, McCain repeatedly referenced how eloquent Obama was, by which he meant, he’s just too smooth, he can’t be trusted. 

So Obama’s probable victory will restore my faith that what I’ve attempted to model and teach my children—pursue excellence in school, learn to communicate well, take care of your body, be ambitious about serving others—still resonate despite the best efforts of the Palin fanbase to retreat on excellence and dumb down the election.

Breaking Point

How much can a guy take?

Today I watched my daughter beat my personal record in the 500 free. I know the book of parenting states very clearly that parents should celebrate whenever their offspring surpass them.

To which I say bullshit.

After I get this little run over with on Sunday, I will begin my quest to reclaim the family crown.  Just in case, please get Lance Armstrong’s pharmacist on the line (that was for you T!).

And yesterday, I watched years of personal economic progress erode in a few hours.  

So I guess yesterday I had my assets handed to me and today I had my ass handed to me.

At least a woman was nominated Vice-President.

Two Types of Self Esteem

Interesting discussion in class today. My partner was innocently describing a new Seattle Public Schools policy that requires students to maintain a 2.0 or “C” average. Related to that policy, teachers are required to assign “N’s” (no credit) to low performing students rather than “F’s”. Students who earn an “N” have to repeat the course if it’s required for graduation, but their grade point average isn’t altered.

This set off a fair number of our middle and high school teachers in training who expressed genuine frustration that this was further evidence that today’s students are coddled unnecessarily.

I was intrigued because many of them are products of the helicopter parent, child-centered, CA Self Esteem Commission generation.  

In their view students need to be woken up and held far more accountable for their lack of effort. In arguing that point they referenced not only the students’ future unsympathetic employers, but the U.S.’s declining status in the world.  

As I listened, I thought about two types of self esteem, the superficial kind that is fleeting and the substantive kind that is lasting.  

I also thought about our recently held convocation, a traditional “first day of the academic year” celebration. There I stood in my academic gown with my colleagues clapping for the 700+ first year students as they paraded into the gym.

Since they hadn’t really done anything to warrant our adulation, my students would probably argue that was a fitting act of closure to their previous eighteen years of being coddled.  (Truth be told, it was their parents or financial benefactors who deserved our applause.)  

Superficial, fleeting self esteem is the result of being acknowledged, affirmed, adored, over and over.  No one is cut from the team, everyone gets the award, smile stickers all around. Positive encouragement is important, but substantive, lasting self esteem is the result of an evolving sense of efficacy. It’s the growing recognition that “I can do things that matter.”

I can read fluently, I can make music, I can speak a second language, I can write clearly, I can lead a small group, I can resolve problems peacefully, I can swim long distances, I can design a website, I can cook a meal, I can hit a backhand, I can rebuild an engine, I can make a positive difference in my community.

As one becomes increasingly competent in those types of activities, they become less dependent on public praise. Genuine self esteem is liking oneself not because idle praise is constantly ringing in one’s ears, but because there’s a quiet self confidence. No need to tell me I’m so wonderful all the time because I know I’m good at several things that matter.  

Young people with this quiet confidence aren’t nearly as desperate for peer approval and they’re more comfortable spending time by themselves.

Substantive, lasting self esteem results from a team effort—supportive family members, hardworking teachers, caring coaches, and other adults helping young people develop and refine meaningful skills.

And it’s an incredibly valuable gift that lasts a lifetime.

Work Life Imbalance

I was feeling a little down the other day until I heard my friend John say, “American workers are the best in the world.”  There’s 200 plus countries, most people would be thrilled to live in a top twenty country, but to you losers I say, talk to the hand, I’m number one.  

I think John meant American workers work as hard or harder than any other nation’s workers.  Probably because we’re among the most materialistic people on the planet.

Note what he didn’t say, “American workers are the healthiest in the world.”

When it comes to our commitment to work, don’t you and I, and therefore don’t we collectively, reach a point of diminishing returns?  People short change their families and health for the sake of work all the time, but it’s taboo to talk about. Instead we think of the hardest working among us as the most noble.  Our culture doesn’t encourage us to say “What’s wrong with you man? Go home and reconnect with the family.” Instead, we say “Damn, that person is a go-getter, a total gamer.”

Our attitudes towards work are culturally determined.  Other people in other places think differently than us about work.  Recently Sarkozy made waves about extending the French work week from 32 hours to 40.  A lot of hardworking Americans bristled at the news and took it as further evidence that the French are hopeless.  How dare they try to strike a different balance.  The gaul.

Norwegians also strike a different work balance.  Typically, they go home at 3:30p.m., their economy somehow hums along, and they spend more time exercising and connecting with family and friends.

And it’s not just the total number of hours we work that matters, it’s the nonstop, intense nature of our worklives.

Picture this.  Faculty conference room at Hedmark College University in Hamar, Norway.  Monthly social gathering.  Candle lit room with beautiful tablecloths. The entire faculty is there, enjoying one another’s company.  Stories are told about a few of the faculty.  We eat birthday cake and a few bottles of wine are raffled off.  Then there’s music, a beautiful instrumental piece performed by two music faculty, one on acoustic guitar and one on flute.  Afterwards, people linger into the afternoon.

In fairness, PLU faculty socialize monthly too, on the second Friday of the month, but I’m always anxious to fight the freeway, get home, decompress, and enjoy the evening with my family.  In Norway, the pace was much slower.  People took time to eat lunch together.  Two hour classes had two fifteen minute breaks built into them. People left work earlier.  

Could the joke be on us?  What if other workers in other countries, whether France, or Norway, or elsewhere are saying, “You’re right, you work the longest hours.  Congrats, you win.  Guess we’ll have to settle for better health and closer social relations.”