Quotables

Some quotes I’ve enjoyed lately. I don’t have any of the authors, sorry:

  1. “For all of my flaws, which are MANIFOLD, at least I am doing this. At least I am taking care of myself. At least I am of use to my family, and to the other people around me. At least I am moving, stumbling upward, under the load I have determined to carry.”

2. “Want to lose half your friends? Work on yourself for six months. Want to lose the rest? Keep going.”

3. “Pros and cons of dating me are ironically both my mouth.”

And finally:

“Imagine sitting in a room, looking up at a tiled ceiling, and you notice that one tile is missing. JUST ONE. What would you concentrate your vision on the most? The answer is, of course, the missing tile.

Now that’s fine for ceilings- but not for life. Most of what is missing in our lives, or what we think is missing, cannot be replaced. Unlike a ceiling, life can never be made perfect. For that reason, concentrating on the missing tiles in your life is a big problem.

It makes happiness almost impossible.

There will always be something missing in your life.

No matter if it is our spouses, our work or our looks. The list is endless.

That’s the way we play tricks on ourselves and undermine our happiness, by concentrating on the missing tiles every one of us has.

So we really have a simple choice: do we focus on the rest of the ceiling, on all of the tiles we do have, or do we focus on the ones we’re missing?

To a large extent, the answer to that question will determine how happy you will be.”

Going Beyond Possible

My newest toxic trait is ordering books, then returning them. Maybe returning stuff does not sound toxic to you, but I do not make a habit of rejecting books. I love all books. I’ll read a book about terrariums for your pet snake if it’s sitting around.

But lately, even when I go to Barnes and Noble, I look at books and think, “Of course I want to read that. But do I want to own that?”

Nine times out of ten the answer is no.

For example, I was recently reading a book of interviews with comedy writers, and Adam Resnick was talking about Woody Allen’s humor books. I stopped reading and put the book down.

Woody Allen’s humor writing? How could this genre have gotten past me?

So I ordered all three paperbacks from Woody Allen, and when they arrived, I stacked them up on the counter. But as I stared at the stack, I realized I had no sense of satisfaction looking at them. They were in the library, after all, and these little books had no place in my personal bedroom library. Then I leafed through them, and since I got no thrill from the syntax,

back to Amazon they went.

Recently a hardback book arrived in the mail, and I wondered what had happened that would lead me to make such a huge investment like a hardback book. I could fill my gas tank for the price of a hardback book. I could buy a Le Creuset Dutch oven for the price of a hardback book. I could buy myself that big box of assorted chocolates that I love so much in the local candy store, the one that goes for $49.95, for the price of a hardback book.

But I digress.

Although it looked interesting, I decided to return it. But nope. For some reason, it was unreturnable. So to take a break in grading papers the other day, I decided to pick it up and read a little bit of it.

I’m glad I did.

In Span of Control, author and fighter pilot Carey Lohrenz tries to answer the following:

What can you control?

What do you do when you’re under pressure, overwhelmed, and ready to get what you really want?

Taken from Amazon book review:

At our core, we know at some points in our lives that we’ve lost control. We’ve lost our grip on what we really want and who we really want to be. In order to solve the challenges of chaos and make our goals, dreams, and commitments a reality, we have to understand that in order to succeed when the pressure is on and to improve our performance overall, we’ve got to know what we can and cannot control.

This is the partial basis for all of my speaking and writing in the past four years:

What can you control? And what can’t you? How do you continue to move towards your goals, when life seems to want nothing more than to throw unwanted obstacles in your path?

Of course I’m not a Tomcat fighter pilot, silly. But I think anyone could utilize the lessons Lohrenz puts forth in this book. Here are some gems:

Multitasking is a myth.

Fight for purpose.

Stay rooted in reality.

Grow your growth mindset.

Make good decisions.

Focus on what matters most.

Formulate a flight plan for success.

Go beyond possible.

And for God’s sakes, never forget:

Put the damn ladder down. Read the book if you want to know what that means.

Titles

Thank you for asking me what I’m reading. I’ve been avoiding this post, for a couple of reasons. First, it’s a very intimate question, isn’t it? Books are personal super powers. Everything I have accomplished up to this point is because of my personal library. It’s like admitting to someone what perfume you wear (I’ll never tell).

The second reason is because the titles I’m reading right now just aren’t very interesting. I go through phases. Sometimes it’s stacks of magazines, sometimes paperback novels, sometimes educational journals, sometimes Shakespeare, sometimes a revisit of Malcolm Gladwell, Bill Bryson and David Sedaris, my Holy Trinity. I just read a book on how to make good Youtube videos. Yaaaaaawn.

(Yes, I’m going to start putting videos up on my Youtube channel. Before I was at “should,” now I’m at “have to“).

Right now I’m reading about book publicity, libel laws, education, and marketing. You can imagine the thrill quotient of my current titles. I don’t really read trash fiction. It has to be a phenomenal suggestion from a credible source for me to pick it up. The last two fiction books I read that I really liked were Gillian Flynn’s Gone Girl, and The Help by Kathryn Stockett. They both knocked me out.

Here are five titles I’m barreling through:

Limitless by Jim Kwik. This is about upgrading your brain, learning faster and unlocking your potential. It has a surprisingly large amount of mathematical equations in it, but there’s some good advice on how to use a larger percentage of your brain. If you’re getting only trash sleep, this book could help. Oh, and he’s Will Smith’s guru.

Waiter Rant by Steve Dublanica. Dublanica adapted his hysterically funny blog into this book. He’s so, so good, and this book deserves more publicity than it gets. Maybe if Barnes and Noble would take moronic vapid celebrity tomes off the shelves, there would be room for more genius like this gem.

TED Talks by Chris Anderson. I’ll be giving a TED talk in 2022, and when it’s time, I’ll post details. Anderson, HEAD of TED, gives the best line of the book at the end of the introduction: “Are you ready? Let’s go light a fire.” Just wait, ya’ll.

The Marshmallow Test by Walter Mischel. Sociology is my thing, and this book posits the following theory: A child is given a marshmallow and two choices: Eat this one now, or wait and enjoy two later. What will she do? And what are the implications for her behavior later in life? The ability to delay gratification is critical for a successful life. But is willpower prewired, or can it be taught? Mischel knows.

The Road to Character by David Brooks. Just how it sounds. How strength of character is often abandoned in exchange for wealth, greed, and desire. Trust me when I say there’s a scarcity of such people. This book shows great portraits of great people who managed to be successful without abandoning their ideals.

There you have it, a brief, boring and banal glimpse into my literary soul. Hope you didn’t fall asleep.

Ten Scrolls

I was not delivered into this world into defeat,

nor does failure course through my veins.

I am not a sheep waiting to be

prodded by my shepherd.

I am a lion

and I refuse to talk, to walk, to sleep

with the sheep.

The slaughterhouse of failure

is not my destiny

-Og Mandino

What do you say to your kid leaving for college? Good question.

If you’re sending your son or daughter off to college for the first time in a few weeks, you may feel fine. And your kid feels fine. You go shopping with him for a mini-fridge, and the price is fine. You move her into her dorm room, put up her twinkle lights, and they look fine. You take him out to lunch before you leave, and your salad is fine, and his chicken fingers are fine. And maybe your child already knows his roommate, and they get along fine. Maybe she doesn’t know anyone on campus yet, but she seems fine.

And it might be fine. But at some point, maybe you’ll be standing in your kitchen, or driving to work, or settling in at night for bed, and it won’t feel fine. Because it feels wrong. Unnatural. You can’t stop thinking about your kid, alone and unsupervised, and your brain goes into overdrive.

Is she lonely? Hungry? Nervous? What if he can’t find his way around? What if he oversleeps? What if he’s depressed but afraid to tell me? What if she’s overwhelmed? Scared shitless? What if he gets the flu and has no one to bring him juice and soup and comic books? What if she can’t get the WIFI going?

What if, what if, what if…

This happened to me, three times. The third time was the easiest of the three. The last kid is always the easiest, because they’re so darn independent. This was how my conversation went with my youngest when we were done moving his stuff into his dorm room and making his bed.

Me: Well…I guess that’s it.

Tommy: Yep.

Me: Do you want help with anything else?

Tommy: No, I think I’m good.

Me: Do you want me to hang up your clothes?

Tommy: No, Mom, it’s ok.

Me: Do you want to go get lunch?

Tommy: I just ate on the way here, remember?

Me: Oh yeah. But what will you do for dinner?

Tommy: I’ll figure it out.

Me: Ok. There’s a dining hall across the way…

Tommy: Mom.

Me: Ok, ok. Well, I guess I’ll go. Who will you eat with?

Tommy: Mom.

Me: Don’t forget that you can use your ID to work the washers and dryers.

Tommy: Mom, I know.

Me: And remember to leave your door open, so that when the other kids move in later they’ll pop their heads in to say hi. That’s how you make friends.

Tommy: MOM.

Me: I know, ok, ok. Well, I guess I’ll be going….(I sit down on his bed)

Tommy: Mom. Go. It’s going to be fine.

Me: Of course it is. Don’t forget to ask your RA about the WIFI…

Tommy: MOM!!

Me: Ok, I’m going now! Good luck (Hug).

Tommy: Thanks. And don’t worry, everything is fine.

Me: Of course it is.

And it will be fine. In a few weeks, it will no longer seem unnatural or wrong that they’re gone. Your kid will come through it like a trooper, and will figure everything out. And he’ll make friends, more friends than you can imagine.

Until then, if you want to send your child off with something other than a lecture, bed risers and cash, give him a copy of this book. I re-read this book once a year, and every human being on Earth should get a copy of it when he’s born. Enough with Oh, the Places You’ll Go. Give your kid a copy of Og Mandino’s The Greatest Salesman in the World, and let him take advantage of the sage advice contained in 100 pages:

Guide me in my venture, for this day I go out into the world alone, and without your hand I might wander from the path which leads to success and happiness.

Guide me so that I may acquire ability equal to my opportunities.

Teach me how to hunt with words and prosper with love.

Help me to remain humble through obstacles and failures, yet not hide from my eyes the prize that will come with victory.

Confront me with fears that will temper my spirit, yet endow me with courage to laugh at my misgivings.

Give me sufficient days to reach my goals, yet help me to live this day as though it be my last.

Guide me in my words yet silence me from gossip.

Discipline me in the habit of trying and trying again.

Bathe me in good habits that the bad ones might drown, yet grant me compassion for weaknesses in others

And let me become all you planned for me when I was born.

And remember. They WILL be fine.

Living Messengers

Throughout college and for many years afterward, I would often pay a visit to see my college roommate in Narberth. She’d take me to the swanky bars, and we’d spend some time with her parents.

I enjoyed being around her parents. I am and have always been an old soul, and I have never found spending time with older people a “necessary evil,” a burden or an inconvenience. Their lack of pretension, their experiences and their eccentricities have always resonated with me deeply.

Joanne and I recently met up in Philadelphia for lunch, and she suggested we take the short drive to her childhood home so that I could take one last look around. With her father (Jesse) passed and her mother (Barb) living near her sister in Florida, the house had been sold, and Joanne had taken on the Herculean task of clearing it out for the new owners. I jumped at the chance to walk through this house that had meant so much to me as a young college student.

As Joanne said, “my father saved everything.” Indeed. As we toured the house, room to room, from basement to attic, I could see she was not exaggerating. Boxes of books, receipts, papers, trinkets, and memorabilia glutted out of each room.

Jesse was a Renaissance Man, and resembled a more-distinguished version of Stan Laurel. He loved words, and music, and research, and pretty much anything that had to do with education and intellectualism. He had a dry wit, like trying to laugh through a mouthful of sawdust. It’s hard to say now, looking back, but I’m pretty sure I had a crush on him. I probably had a crush on every single one of my friends’ fathers, you know how I love older men.

Barb was Jesse’s Laurel to his Laurel. Soul mates, they resembled each other, “completed” each other. I can’t think of one without the other. I remember waking up in the morning, plodding down those (even now) creaky stairs, and hearing their soft dove voices in the kitchen. I loved standing in the kitchen while they made breakfast, and just soaking up their sawdust comedy routine. Joanne would make eggs and roll her eyes at the jokes she had heard a zillion times, lovingly correcting them when they would say something embarrassing.

But Jesse and Barb were never really embarrassing.

Jesse had hundreds of books, and Joanne had set aside a box for me. Books that she thought he would want me to have, on subjects we had in common. Word books, poetry books, empty journals for ruminations. The book I am most honored to have is a thin steno professional reporter’s notebook he had labeled “New Words.”

It sits near me now, filled with his handwriting, and contains words that even now, as an English professor and writer, I am not familiar with. Words like “taw,” and “rota,” and “demulcent.” His rigid, stoic printing style is familiar, and his presence jumps off each page. I send Joanne a picture of a page every now and then, when I decide to use a word in my writing. She loves seeing his handwriting too.

Words are thoughts, and an invincible power which will objectify themselves in the form they are given. To wit:

Words become mental places that will live forever; or they may become shacks which the first breeze may carry away. They may delight the eye as well as the ear; they may contain all knowledge; in them we find the history of the past as well as the hope of the future; they are living messengers from which every human and superhuman activity is born.