On Losing a Day

Yesterday was a bust. I felt crummy all day long, and I had done something to tweak my back. As a result, I spent most of the day either in bed or otherwise unproductive, sleeping or being marginally entertained by a novel or Netflix. Was it unreasonable to be chagrined at the loss of 24 hours? Can we expect too much from a day? I can understand those who say it's pathetic to expect each day to "count" toward some long-range ends, who criticize our amped-up work ethic at the expense of other goods--friendship or living in the moment. Still, if I err, I want to err on the side of attempting too much, of overreaching. This may be a mistake, but it's the gambit I choose. Yesterday my body did not cooperate with this philosophy. It hurt to move! I faced unpleasant hard facts, or "facticity" as Sartre called the unchangeable conditions to which we must adapt. But today is a new day: What was facticity yesterday is not facticity today. The sun is shining, and it's Memorial Day. Who knows what is possible?

Medically Assisted Miracles

At church last night, the speaker challenged the modern phrase "death with dignity" as oxymoronic. Death, he said, is the ultimate consequence of evil. I agree: Poetic interpretations that present death as a natural good miss the mark. Humans know that death is loss, often horrible loss, and the process of dying can be anything but dignified. But, said the speaker, it's also possible to cling to life too tenaciously. When death is by all calculations inevitable, then to accept death affirms that life beyond earthly life is the ultimate good. Why not keep life support going and pray for miracle? On this scenario, the speaker suggested that a true miracle needs no help from life-sustaining technology, and that the idea of a "medically-assisted miracle" is yet another possible oxymoron. Is this true? When Jesus healed, he told the leper to wash in the river; on another occasion, Jesus healed the blind man by applying mud to his eyes. Many miracles mysteriously allied physical materials with supernatural intervention. The material and the miraculous cannot be antagonistic, because throughout the Bible they are ubiquitously paired. So often, it seems, Divine intervention uses the human element, bestowing dignity on man's impressive but ultimately inadequate powers.

How to Complain

Hilly and I woke up this morning with credible reasons to complain--she for the extraction of four wisdom teeth yesterday morning and I for chemo in the afternoon. When Stephanie drifted downstairs around 7:30, I asked how she was feeling. "Tired" she said. Then she looked over at Hilly bundled up on the couch and added, "But I don't think I'm really entitled to complain." She chuckled, realizing that two family members had been though the ringer. She had to cope with the logistics of caring for two on the mend, along with attending to the normal tasks of making a household go. Everyone has reasons to complain. After all, we live in a "hard-edged world," as writer Cynthia Bourgeault as noted; another writer, Scott Peck, put the matter plainly, "Life is difficult." I agree completely: Complaints are legitimate. When I worked at ETS in Princeton, NJ, a member of the administrative staff taped a funny poster on her office door. It said in big letters, "Official Complaint Form." Glued below was a tiny pad of peel-off forms, about 1/2 inch square. The instructions read, "Write Legibly." Complaining is okay because it's part of communicating about what's going on in our lives. Some complaints deserve elaboration, but others only minimal space. So speak up; and if your complaint is written, write legibly.

I'm Ready for Lightning

I returned from Austin late last night, connecting through Denver. The scheduled plane to Orange County had been struck by lightning on its inbound flight to Denver, so the United engineers grounded the aircraft to inspect it thoroughly. After a delay of two hours, they found a replacement airplane and we made our way back over the snowy Rockies to the OC. It's Friday morning now, and after a three day absence from campus I have only a few hours to check my mail, collect term papers to grade over the weekend, and meet with with a lecturer about a case of student plagiarism. It's a typical half-day. The afternoon is different, though, because at 1 pm I'm supposed to be sitting in the infusion center with a needle in my arm. I will begin another two cycles of chemo that will stretch over the next six weeks. Four infusions, four recoveries. Definitely not fun, but I'm thankful that I can anticipate the chemo more or less without dread. Indeed, I welcome the chemicals because I need their terrible toxicity. I need the lightning strikes that will take out the rogue cells that threaten my life. I want to keep flying, long and far.

One-Legged Interviews

In the last day of the conference here at UT Austin, the morning's plenary speaker let fly a hundred or so ideas on leadership and organizational change. One struck me as particularly interesting: the one-legged interview. What the speaker meant by that funny term is the commonplace kind of interaction we have with co-workers as we pass in the hallways. He said that one-legged interviews are surprisingly effective mechanisms to lead organizational change because in just a few passing seconds we can ask, in what seems to be an offhand way, how X and Y are going, when X and Y are crucial new directions for the organization. I would guess that one-legged interviews are also effective in shaping morale and feelings of camaraderie. The ways that we interact say much about what we believe in and how we feel, and these interactions can influence others in surprising ways. Across life contexts--work, home, and so on--the content and tone of everyday encounters in the flow of life count for much more than we might guess.

Good Morning, Robert E. Lee

I'm in Austin, Texas, this morning--in a big room, with big furniture, next to a big University campus, UT. I woke early enough to take a short run up University Drive to the main campus promenade, admin building, and clock-tower. Just prior to 8 am, the day was already warm and sticky, but the campus gardeners were in force trimming shrubbery and mowing great expanses of lawn. Texas personality exerted itself in the dignified ambiance, and it was a presence with a past. The campus is nicely furnished with fountains and statuary. The first bronze man I met was Robert E. Lee, high on a pedestal, and the next was Jefferson Davis. Texan glory incorporates its past--its distinct history is marvelously reconciled with its present identity. Like Texas, we too are the products of our experience. Past is always context. With insight, our personal histories, flaws and false steps included, can be reconciled with who we are now, and contribute to our own signature identity, our place in the world.

Rich the Plumber

Yesterday, a plumber named Rich really helped us out. I seriously messed up a clogged drain in our bathroom. While trying to unplug a slowly draining sink on my side, I ended up causing a complete stoppage, with standing brown water, in both sinks. My handiwork, with collateral sludge, stink, and damp carpet graced our “vanity” though the weekend. We needed a plumber on Monday morning. One plumber referred another, who referred another, and so on, until Rich said, yes, he thought he could come before noon. Rich brought his power snake, assorted tools, and, crucially, his experience, knowledge, and skill. Within 45 minutes the standing sludge had cleared and both sinks drained freely. When Rich first showed up, I showed him my disastrous handiwork of dual clogged sinks. He smiled and said, “Well, you’re not a plumber. I couldn’t do your job.” He was right: we need each other. So here’s to all the specialists, whatever their status or regard. They can do things we can’t.

Pizza + Beer = Fitness

Just to illustrate how weird things get, consider: This morning I had my best run yet (longest and best pace) and weighed in at my lowest in a long time (167 pounds). I feel fitter, trimmer, and stronger than I have in probably a couple of years. The morning started extraordinary well: I woke up feeling great at around 5:30 am, got dressed, and hit the road. Could this unexpected vim be a natural consequence of last night's dinner? Stephanie, Hilly and I drove down to Carlsbad to meet up with the La Jolla crowd (The James Gang?) for Amy's 22nd birthday. We met at Pizza Port, which brews its own exceptional craft beer. My choice was Black Wave Stout to pair with pepperoni and garlic pizza. Now, granted, I limited myself to a single slice of pizza, which I ate slowly and with relish (emotional relish, not chopped pickles). And I slipped my single pint of Black Wave slowly and with relish (not chopped pickles). The obvious conclusion? In a tiny corner of the galaxy, for a brief span of time, the usual cosmic order was overturned: Pizza + Beer = Fitness. The geniuses of science formulate universal laws that give order to our experience, and those laws we must respect. Once in a while, though, a happy exception shows up. Sometimes those exceptions are to be noted and savored . . . with relish.

A Living Connection

What makes for a good relationship, an enduring friendship, or a successful marriage? At Mariner's Church last night, the speaker expressed an answer that made me consider the question for myself. He gave his impression (formed from counseling hundreds of couples) that the key to a successful marriage is mutual service. He said it's the everyday ways we show thoughtfulness to those we he love. But is service really the key? To me, it's close, but does not hit the precise center of the target. I do have a sense of what the center is, but it does not have a name. Instead, it's a quality of how we relate to each other--with grace and humor as well as in-the-moment enthusiasm. The relationship is marked by mutual respect and mutual enjoyment, and experienced as a kaleidoscope of emotions. But this description is analytical and what I mean is holistic--a unified, living connection. That vibrant connection is the true center, and though we can try to express it in words it remains mostly ineffable. Ultimately, its essence eludes analysis. It must be experienced.

Modus Tollens for Achievers

The aphorism "No pain, no gain," so familiar to coaches and athletes, is also good grist for the philosopher. Its basic form is that any gain necessarily implies pain, a straightforward assertion of "Gain, therefore pain." In the argument, gain is the antecedent and pain is the consequent. The ordering is logical, not temporal, because time-wise we think of pain preceding gain. Logically, though, we must put gain first. "Gain, therefore pain" is an argument form called affirming the antecedent (gain), which justifies the consequent (pain). This form is called modus ponens in classical logic. We are more familiar with the variation called denying the consequent, "No pain, No gain," whose logical form is called modus tollens. When we wonder why it hurts to pursue our most important goals or to solve our most pressing problems, modus tollens provides the answer. To deny the consequent, pain, is to invalidate the antecedent, gain. The logical path is ironclad. Tough minded logic can help us to steer clear of the fallacy of an easy fix. The ancient Greeks understood it, and we moderns should not forget it.

The Fundamental Attribution Error

Social psychologists have identified a persistent human tendency to misinterpret everyday events. The tendency is to ascribe human behavior to internal dispositions of the individual rather than to other causes. A student avoids people because she is shy by nature; a man loses his temper because his is an angry person. This is the fundamental attribution error: The causes of behavior are deemed to be intrinsic to the person. I see three corollaries to the error: (a) the explanation is not in the situation, (b) the explanation is not in active choices that the person makes, and (c) the explanation is not in the supernatural realm. Most social psychologists worry about (a) because it minimizes the effects of contextual circumstances. For me, though, (b) and (c) are also worrisome. Suppose a person consistently acts with kindness and integrity. Is the explanation simply because it's in his nature (a)? Or could it be that he has--by force of vision, will, and self-discipline--become a person of integrity. Or, could his sterling character be the result of a spiritual transformation whose origin has nothing to do with the material world, but whose cause is supernatural? As amateur social psychologists, we should worry about the fundamental attribution error--not only because it implies (a), but also (b) and (c).

Breaking The Flow, Gently

Most of us want to cooperate with others, to go with the flow of events--even expectations. For all our American valuation of individuality and independent thinking, of Emersonian self-reliance, what nurtures a functional community (a family, a team, a work group) is reciprocating with other people. We show our commitment by going along, and more than that by contributing. The thing is not to be passive, but to participate actively and constructively with others we respect or love. So what happens at a birthday party when we light candles, sing a song, and slice cake? Can we refuse a piece if we want to sidestep the calories--and if so is there a chance that the refusal will cause a tiny offense? It is possible. The question is not about cake, but about the many ways in which a person might, for good reasons, dislodge from the flow of expectations. To pursue our most ambitious and difficult goals we may need occasionally to navigate cross-current, even countercurrent. If we must disrupt things, can we do so with gentleness and respect? I think so. Learning how may be one facet of wisdom.

Wisdom Yes, Rationality No

We often commit to plans not knowing their full ramifications. Marriage is like that; so is raising children. Many other worthwhile projects, too, require an irrational willingness to go for it without knowing what "it" entails. Any worthwhile endeavor, especially one that stretches over years, is marked by gains and losses, smooth sailing and storms, confidence and doubt. Maybe it has to be that way. When the finish line is crossed or a mid-course milestone is reached, the achievement is all the more real for the texture of narrative that marked the way. Human projects are stories--perhaps epic, perhaps ordinary--not protocol pages from a technical manual. The story of a life is potentially a beautiful drama, a composition unparalleled. To insist that it be rational would quench its sparkle trail. This is not to say we should be foolish, because foolishness often ends in disaster. But an occasional dose of irrationality is acceptable, and maybe necessary.

A Good Day, Says Talking Teddy

Lately we have been blessed with a series of really wonderful gifts, achievements, experiences, and surprises. Sometimes lightning strikes in rapid succession. But this can't continue, and so yesterday we contented ourselves with a merely good Monday. When four of us—Amy, Hilly, Stephanie, and I—sat down to dinner, we did "Talking Teddy." Years ago, when all the kids were at home, we used to pass around the head of a teddy bear honey jar. Whoever held the head could say something about their day; it was a token that gave its holder the floor to speak without interruption about something important to them. Though we lost the head of the honey jar a long time ago, we still do an abstract version of Talking Teddy once in a while. Yesterday, the Talking Teddy reports came in not as extraordinary, but as rather everyday activities and events. These included a few normal frustrations, but all considered the day's events were positive and pleasant. It was a good day, Talking Teddy was happy to report.

Champagne Flutes All 'Round

Compounding the shower of goodies this weekend, I heard from Oxford University Press last Friday that my book proposal was accepted and that a contract is being prepared. It's been an entire year since I met the editor at a conference in Philadelphia. There's a lesson here about the importance of waiting, about giving things time to incubate. Jenah took nine months plus a little to reach her full 10 pounds 13 ounces of baby glory. Our attendance at the Taylor/King concert took advance planning; we purchased the tickets for the Friday night event last fall. Good things may appear suddenly, but often they are delivered after much working and waiting, and sometimes uncertainty. So many good things: baby, book, baccalaureate, and much more. Last night in celebration we opened a bottle of Dom Perignon champagne, 2000 vintage. We poured its exquisite contents into champagne flutes and shared among Hilly, Amy, Bob, Kiely, Stephanie, and me. We had waited. Now we celebrated.

Cascade of Joy

It's turning out to be much more than a good weekend. Last night, at 10:35 pm, Jenah Joy Stice was born in Suva in the Fiji Islands. (Alternatively, because Fiji is west of the International Date Line, she was born later today--May 16.) We spoke to Lind and Kris via an early-morning Skype connection and learned that baby Jenah is healthy and happy. We are so grateful.

Amazing People, Beautiful Planet

It's been a pretty good weekend so far. Last night Stephanie and I saw James Taylor and Carole King in concert at the Hollywood Bowl. The music and the setting and were sublime. When James Taylor sang "Fire and Rain" and Carole King sang "It's Too Late" I was deeply stirred and grateful to be present. We returned home at close to 1 am (Hilly traveled with us to Westwood and spent the evening with her friend Tina at UCLA). I woke this morning at 6:30 to go scuba diving with my adventure buddy, Wayne. During the semi-chilly spring dive we saw two bat rays, a lobster, a baby octopus, and two enormous (coconut-size) sea hares. What an amazing world we inhabit! For all its tensions and tragedies, the earth is studded with beauty across the panorama of culture and nature. I wish, I hope, that this beauty will be preserved, even perfected, in the next life. Among Christian theologians conceptualizations of heaven are shifting toward visions that emphasize continuity between this world and the next. I love the thought--that what is wonderful now might be preserved forever. Thy kingdom come.

Weird Stuff Happens

Anomalies are events that depart from the norm--blindsiders and stunners that fall from the sky like a loose coconut. We ignore many anomalies, but others are so impactful that they knock us to the ground and leave us dazed. This morning I ran to the campus mini-observatory where earlier this year a poor graduate student was discovered dead, an apparent suicide. Premature death is anomalous in the most tragic way. I felt the tiniest trace of fear as I jogged around the isolated observatory; the fear was that I would see a dead body. My selfish concern was not for the imaginary dead person, but for myself--for the nonzero chance that I would have to deal with sudden emotional trauma. Anomalies, real and imaginary, can be intensely threatening, and so we sometimes try to avoid them or look past them: "That really didn't happen," we might say silently, and then move on. But what about good surprises, windfalls, blessings--even luck? Can't anomalies also present fantastic opportunities? Any given day can introduce a person, event, or insight that can transform us forever and for good. Sondre Lerch sings it happily, "Be prepared to be surprised!"

Twice As Slow

This morning while I ran through Uni Hills, my friend Wayne passed me. He was really cooking from my frame of reference. Going uphill, he moved twice as fast--or maybe neither of us was moving fast, but rather I was going a lot slower. Now I happen to know that Wayne and I are almost exactly the same age. We are similar in other ways: He is a professor and so am I. What then do I make of this morning's comparison? One persistent question for motivational psychologists is whether social comparison is helpful or harmful. In a previous post, I mentioned Kurt Lewin's discovery that performance in social contexts can surpass solo performance. When we compare ourselves with others, we sometimes raise our own expectations and aspirations. But social comparisons can also be discouraging and lead to the defeat of will or to a lowering of personal standards. Seeing Wayne pass me was slightly embarrassing but not really troubling. I'm building from where I am, basing my estimation of progress by my own prior baseline. I'm pretty sure Wayne does the same.

An Emotional Lie

Two days ago, I saw a movie on the airplane. At a particularly tense moment, the lead actor was affronted by a particularly callous question--one that was offensive to everything he loved and believed in. The question was legitimate in its own way--it had to be asked, but it hurt deeply. After a painful pause, the actor responded with a calm statement that answered the concerns of the person posing the question. In answering this way, the actor contained every sincere emotion. To answer this way was right: It was best for his children, his business, and even the greater societal good. And on a strictly rational plane he told the truth, but in telling it his true emotions were contained and concealed. Did the actor therefore tell an emotional lie? Our modern (or postmodern) sensibilities teach us that to emote feelings promotes mental health (because their expression is cathartic) and relational health (because communicating them is honest "sharing"). In the film, though, the scene was moving not because the actor expressed his true feelings, but because he suppressed them for the greater good. If he told a lie, it was a courageous lie, a loving lie, a beautiful lie.

Nature, Nurture, or Neither?

The forces that shape human behavior are classically divided into nature and nurture. Nature represents the genetic factors that shape the individual person. Many traits are correlated with genetics--most obviously physical appearance, but also intelligence and personality. DNA is not destiny, however. Experiential factors also shape human development. Nutrition, medical care, education, family dynamics, and culture each play a role in sculpting the individual. Which category, nature or nurture, is more potent? To some extent the answer depends on the trait. Height, for example, is strongly dictated by genes, but not completely. Many other traits, such as intelligence and personality, are affected as strongly by experiential factors as genetics. Nature and nurture seem to be fairly equally matched. But the two categories neglect a third factor that may tell us a great deal about human development, especially outstanding achievement. This is volition--more commonly called will--which is the ability to generate a goal and pursue it relentlessly. Layered on top of nature or nurture, volition works with potential to give birth to the actual. Volition, when played well, can trump its more well-known competitors. Will wins.

Surprise—It Worked

Today we filled a Dodge Caravan to capacity with books, clothing, and the varied accoutrements of a certain female college graduate—my daughter, Amy. How it came together was a study in complex problem solving. Let’s set aside the puzzle of planning the weekend and consider only today—specifically, getting all our stuff to the airport on time. The dimensions of each maximum capacity box could not exceed 62 inches, and the weight of each had to come as close as possible to 50 pounds without going over. We contained costs by mailing three boxes of books by U.S. Mail, which in turn meant locating a post office en route to the airport. Cost: $60. Savings: $240. When we reached O’Hare we checked the remaining nine 50-pounders at curbside, after which I dashed back to Alamo to return the rental car. The problem strands converged when we met up at Gate B-12 (though I had to carry Amy’s extra gear through security in a cheap sack with high heels protruding from the open top). The real-life problem complex we faced today is the kind that heightens alertness and blood adrenaline because the outcome is a tad uncertain. The surprising thing is that when together we faced our task with determination and a bit of good humor, it yielded.

Fluidity and Other Virtues

It's late. I'm constructing this post at 11 pm after a particularly fine day. My daughter, Amy, graduated from Wheaton College this afternoon, but the program stretched all day long: baccalaureate at 9 am, a fancy brunch at 12:30, commencement at 3, and dinner at 7. Interspersed were hugs, laughs, chit-chat, and photographs--even an impromptu clean up at Amy's old house on Blanchard Street. The day was momentous and beautiful, but really full. I was able to do my run this morning, but had to wake up early--6:30 am Central Time--to brave the brisk Chicago dawn. My path led past five lazybones Canada geese stomping around in front of the Sara Lee building, which is next door to the Doubletree where we are staying. I ran (early) and now I blog (late); the two commitments were fulfilled. Another commitment, far more important, was also met: I did my best today to be a good dad. In return, I enjoyed the flow of people and events immensely. This required not rigidity, but rather fluidity--listening, responding, going with the flow of events. To get the day right, I had to hold fast in some things, but let go in others. Rigidity/fluidity. If mixed well, the two can help compose a beautiful day.

Rigidity And Other Virtues

This morning I have an early morning flight, which meant I had to decide whether to get up extra early to run. I wasn't sure there would be time to exercise in Chicago after my plane landed, so I set my running gear out last night in anticipation of a pre-dawn run. I began my run just after 4 am, about an hour ago; University Hills was as dark and quiet as I've ever seen it. Only one vehicle, a truck, passed as I neared home again. Would it have hurt to skip a day? Why go to all the trouble when instead I could sleep a little longer? A 4 am run seems minimally eccentric, bordering on oddball. For me, the answer has something to do with momentum, an unbroken chain, and an agreement with myself. I suppose mixed in is a little fear that the chain, once broken, would be severed for good--or at least more susceptible to breakage in the coming weeks. Rigidity can be a virtue, however, and in fact may be necessary to reach those long-term goals that depart from the normal flow of social events. We must, somehow, stay true--even if it means looking rigid. Did I say rigid? I meant committed.

Good Ideas Delivered Daily

Every day of the year treasures fall off the Good Idea Delivery Truck and land at your feet. The cargo is different each day: Today's ideas were not available yesterday, and they may be useless tomorrow. Like manna from heaven, good ideas may appear just in time but have a limited shelf life. They spoil quickly. You don't need to make every good idea your own. Some you will choose to let go; others you'll want to seize and act on. Don't think that every good idea must spring from your own mind--we dream up some ideas on our own, but often they come from other people. What happens if you encounter a fresh idea, a new opportunity, but fail to act on it? Don't worry: tomorrow will bring more good ideas. When a good idea falls off the Good Idea Delivery Truck and lands at your feet, pick it up and admire it. If it fits, put it in your pocket. Tomorrow, watch for the Truck as it appears just over the horizon.

Foreground and Background

Everyday situations are complex, interweaving social relationships, physical context, and purposeful activity. What do you focus on when there is so much to attend to? You have choices: Sometimes the social reality jumps to the foreground: People and relationships become primary. At other times, the physical environment assumes first importance--natural landscapes, works of art, or physical hazards. Often, though, we focus neither on the social nor the material, but on the the purposeful activity set before us. Everything else--the social and material realities--becomes context that might aid or hinder our work. Any reality can generate positive or negative emotions, but social relationships are especially potent. Ideally, we go about our business within a background of positive human relationships. Yet, as we know, the human dimension can be suddenly and powerfully negative. Worse, it can emerge to the foreground and claim our most focused attention, draining energy from our work. When this happens, we do well to do whatever we can to make it positive again and to regain attention to our purpose.

The DPDO Dilemma

Today I again experienced the DPDO Dilemma, though I have never called it that. Pronounced as if you are saying "tiptoe" with a cold, it is the Daily-Progress Daily-Observation Dilemma. The Dilemma is that to make regular progress on any dimension--whether skill, fitness, weight loss, or character quality--progress is usually not detectable when observed daily. Yet to improve over time, daily adherence to practice is necessary. The consistent application of effort lacks crucial motivational feedback for two reasons: (1) Daily progress is so tiny that it is undetectable, and (2) Daily progress is interspersed with losses, forming a sawtooth trendline. The DPDO Dilemma threatens discouragement to goal chasers, as it did to me his morning. I thought, "I should be running faster by now; I should be losing extra pounds faster." The DPDO Dilemma defeats many, but if we recognize its false implications ("I'm not making progress.") then we can cast it aside.

Fractals

Some years ago, the public became aware of mathematical progress in modeling complex systems, such as weather and ocean currents. Emerging models popularized under the banner of chaos theory showed that very complex, even chaotic, phenomena are often composed of simpler patterns. One interesting here insight is the fractal. Consider a coastline: Contours taken from a great distance above the earth have a certain random-walk look, yet photos taken much closer look essentially the same. Whatever pattern defines a coastline seems to be consistent no matter what the scale. Repeating patterns, called fractals, also show up in ice crystals. Like coastlines, the crystal patterns hold across scales large and small. Human lives, too, are composed of fractals. The pattern of single day bears similarity to the pattern of a week, a month, a year, and a lifespan. We can use the concept of the fractal: Compose each day so that it looks something like the ideal pattern over the long term. Repeat tomorrow and the next day. A pattern emerges that holds across time scales and defines a life.

The Big Rocks Go In First

My friend, Scott, teaches in a law school in southern California. During a recent breakfast together, I learned that he would teach the last class of the semester later that day. When I asked what he was going to teach, he said that he would conclude with a parable. In the parable, a professor brings to class a large glass fishbowl; inside the bowl, the professor gently places some large, heavy rocks until they reach the rim. "Is the bowl full?" he asks the class. "Yes," the class responds. The professor then pours in gravel. Again, the professor asks if the bowl is full, and again the class responds, "Yes, it's full." Now the professor pours in fine sand and poses the same question. Now the class is not so sure. Lastly, the professor pours in a pitcher of water until it reaches the brim. At this point everyone agrees: the bowl is full. But what does it all mean? After several students give their interpretations, the professor answers with his own: Life is rich and can accommodate a great variety of experiences, achievements, and commitments. But for life to work, the really big items--those that are essential--must go in first. Everyone else fits around the important things.

Degrees of Freedom

I once read about a man whose commitment to exercise was fanatical. The extent of his zeal was most clear when he became incapacitated, whether through disease or an accident, I can’t remember. Several times daily, while lying on his hospital bed, the man performed wrist curls with hand weights. He used whatever limited movement he could achieve to becomes stronger, if only in his forearms. Like him, we all face limited degrees of freedom in life opportunities. Those limitations reflect many different causes: the boundaries of our innate potential, the institutions of our culture, and our individual life histories and circumstances, favorable or unfavorable. Do we use whatever degrees of freedom remain to the maximum? Metaphorically, if we can do “wrist curls” but no more, do we reach for the hand weights?

Denver on Foot

Today I hit the pavement of the Mile-High City, whose thin air challenged my already depleted red blood cells. I stuck to the scenic areas: The 16th Street Mall and vicinity. When I got to Larimer Square, I looked to the west saw a magnificent snow-covered peak on the Rockies. The run made the view possible. Though the going was slow on account of reduced atmospheric O2, and even with having to manage stop lights, passing traffic, and a little cigarette smoke, I enjoyed being on the streets. I understood, again, why some sneer at the mention of running on treadmills. While on the pavement of Downtown Denver--yes, even in the tourist district--I felt that I got to know the place a little better than many of my fellow conventioneers.