So here we are in the midst of yet another holiday season. It's hard to believe that nine years have passed since my wife Cathy bought me a drum kit for Christmas. Nine years since I brought it home, set it up, and eagerly picked up where I'd left off some twenty years before. What's most noticeably different about this, my third time around, is the kit itself. It's an electronic set, a Roland V Series, the only acoustic pieces are the hi hat and cowbell which were part of an earlier set I had in the eighties. Oh and instead of being ditched out in the garage with the rakes and the shovels this baby's set up in the spare bedroom, stylishly flanked on three sides by an album and CD collection I've been procuring since puberty. From The Beatles to The Blasters, from Johnny Cash to Jethro Tull, these are some of the biggest baddest and most successful names in the music biz. These guys are my idols, my heroes, and it wasn't all that long ago that they were everything, and the only thing I ever wanted to be.
I was thirteen years old when I started collecting vinyl. Back then my folks went grocery shopping every Friday after work and packed in with the week's rations was the TV Guide. Now this wasn't the second rate version that came with the Sunday paper, this was the small screen aficionados handbook, the boob tube bible. For thirty-five cents you not only got a complete and thorough listing of all thirteen channels (whoopee) but page after page of insightful stories, features, and previews. Plus, in addition to all that, an irresistible, "Buy 1 get 6 free" offer from the good folks at Columbia Music Club. That's right boys and girls. For the way low introductory price of just $11.99 (plus shipping and handling) you could get a total of seven records or tapes shipped directly to your door. At thirteen and with nothin more than a paper route to fund my new found obsession this was clearly too good a deal to pass up.
Originally the way it worked was you would tear out the perforated insert from the pages of the magazine, painstakingly pencil in the corresponding numbers of your selections, and then send it off via U.S. Mail. However this Neanderthal type process steadily evolved over the years. One of the biggest advancements came with the innovative lick-em-stick-em stamp format. Now, instead of going through the trouble of marking down your selections by hand, you'd simply adhere the preprinted stamps directly onto the page. It was quite effective really, albeit lickin those stamps could get a little messy and if ya got em on crooked and then tried to straighten em out they did have a tendency to rip on ya.
I still remember anxiously awaiting my inaugural shipment. Everyday after school I'd storm into the house to see if my package had arrived, and when it finally did I tore into it with a blistering vengeance. Leaving a trail of plastic wrap in my wake I bee lined it for my sister's room where at the tail end of a Tom Cruise Fruit of the Loom style slide across the hardwood I dropped to my knees directly in front of her ultra modern all-in-one Panasonic hi-fi stereo system. First on the turntable was Bachman Turner Overdrive's Not Fragile. Next was David Bowie's Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars, then Foghat's Fool for the City, and so on and so forth. All I can recall thinkin was, "man, this stuff don't sound nothin like my brother's Neil Diamond records."
And so it went for weeks on end sitting at the edge of my sister's bed with the headphones on and the needle cued up, one good spin after another, song after song, record after record, memorizing the lyrics and liner notes, droolin over the photos and artwork. I soaked it all up like a sponge I tell ya, and all the while I never missed a beat, tappin my toes and slappin my thighs into a rosy shade of red. Then, I got an idea: With a pair of scissors from the kitchen drawer I poked a small hole into all four corners of the Not Fragile album cover, tied it face up to an old padded footstool with some twine, bought a pair of unmarked sticks and viola, insta-drum. Needless to say I beat on that thing like a belly club happy street cop for months. Until the following Christmas that is, when I got my first "real" drum kit, straight outta the pages of the Sears catalog.
As I'd mentioned it's a spare bedroom, approximately 10x10 in size. I recently spruced the place up a bit with some new blinds and a fresh coat of "Dreamy Space." Trust me I had no idea this particular light blue shade of interior satin was called that when I picked it out at the local Homey D's, but with a name like that it could've been baby shit brown and I still would've had em mix me up a gallon. In addition to the drums and the virtual wall-to-wall record collection, there's a mishmash stereo, a fake ficus I took a shine to at a yard sale, and a rockin chair I bought for Cathy when she was pregnant with our son Tim twenty-two years ago that tend to fill out the remainder of the room quite nicely. Like I said it's a relatively small space, and aside from Rudy, a once frail and frightened seven-ounce baby kitten Cathy heroically rescued last year, it's my space.
So here we sit, Rudy and I, gazing out the upstairs window on a Saturday morning tryin desperately to finish this post. Across the street I can see Mike loadin up the ten speeds for what I'm guessin is gonna be a meandering ride somewhere down Long Beach way. Mike and his wife Terri are great folks, in fact we've been neighbors for, well, long before any of us had kids, and their eldest boy Shaun is playin in the NFL. Again it's hard to believe how the years have flown by, seems like only yesterday we were goin to Shaun's little league games at Highlander Park.
If I recall Shaun didn't start playin football until later in school, however, it didn't take long to get himself established and become recognized as one of the top in his class, being named The L.A. Times Defensive Player of the Year while attending Los Altos High. From there he went on to USC where he made All-American and was Nominated for the coveted Lombardi Trophy before being picked up by the Detroit Lions in the second round of the 2005 draft. He currently plays nose tackle for the Houston Texans, a playoff bound team for the first time in franchise history.
But before we go on, I'd like to take ya back for a moment if I may to those USC years. Because here's a guy mind you who's earned nothin short of mega celeb status while still in high school, garnering nearly every athletic award and accolade imaginable. Now, as a Trojan, he's considered one of the top defensive players in the entire friggin nation, and yet here he is pullin up to the house in a beat up old Dodge Caravan. I mean honestly how cool is that? And trust me I ain't stretchin it a bit when I tell ya this thing was a total heap. Fact is the only salvageable part on that entire rattletrap was probably the shop rag the dude was using as a makeshift gas cap. Of course that all quickly changed when he made the pros and pulled up in a brand spankin new Cadillac Escalade. But happily Shaun didn't. (Change). Even today with all the allures of stardom he's still the good ol boy he's always been, and I for one wish him nothing but continued success.
Directly over my right shoulder beyond the stationary bike is a pint sized library of books, CD's, and DVD's on personal achievement. Written by some of the most well respected names in the industry these guys are in their own right some of the best in the business. And although they're not my idols, while I may not wanna grow up to be just like them, over the past few years they've certainly taught me a thing or two. In fact, maybe if I'd read some of this stuff twenty years ago I wouldn't have stopped drummin, or any other number of things for that matter, including ridin the stationary bike.
The downer is when I start to consider the wealth of info compiled by these advice-giving gurus I can't help but think what the hell am I doin jumpin into the ring with these heavyweights? Who do I think I am puttin in my two cents? And where if at all does Ingzig fit into all this? Although not overly concerned about the whole thing I do ask myself these questions from time to time, and in turn have spent untold hours tryin to better wrap my head around the so called competition. And while I must tell you that I haven't uncovered the definitive answer as of yet, I do know this.
Ingzig is not a movement or revolution. It's not a hell bent crusade or campaign for colossal change. It's not about resisting or defying the status quo for the mere sake of resisting or defying the status quo. It's not "More than a lifestyle" or "A way of life." Nor is it about "Finding a voice within the brand." It's not a well laid out plan with instructional software and a time limited money back guarantee. And it doesn't require or much less demand a deafening public address system of any shape or form, hand held or otherwise.
It's been nine years since I started playin again, and in addition to a few new riffs what I've learned is that reaching a goal or realizing a dream begins with making yourself a promise. And success, while worthy of the grandest stage, is generally achieved when no one's watching or listening, when no one's around to pump you up, cheer you on, or give you that all-encouraging pat on the back.
Nine years and aside from one attention deficient alley cat who pops in every now and then to take care of some personal business I've never had an audience. No praise or applause for a job well done; no one knockin down my door for a pair of autographed sticks. And that's okay, because for me that isn't what it's about these days. Hell even my longtime heroes have lost some of their luster lately, not because I no longer look up to em, but because I no longer look at em as rock stars. These days, dare I say it? They're just fellow artists and musicians who too are earnestly committed to honing their craft.
Ya know it's funny, when I see Shaun single-handedly shut down a running play behind the line of scrimmage in front of millions of fans on national television I don't see a larger than life persona or some gridiron gladiator. I see a wide-eyed little kid roundin for home at Highlander Park, a beat up old Dodge Caravan, and someone who, much like you and I, had himself a heart full of hopes and dreams, and then simply chose to make good on em by bustin his *^&@# ass!
And for me I think that's what personal achievement is essentially all about. The books, the CD's, the keynote speeches and the PBS specials, it's all good. But in the end it's not the polished presentations that impress me the most. It's not the professional advice that's had the greatest impact. It's the personal stories. And if you could take a peek over my right shoulder right now you'd see that those are the pages that tend to be flagged with sticky notes. Because time after time that's the kinda stuff that gets me teary eyed.
So where exactly does Ingzig fit into all this? I'm not sure. Will anyone ever lay eyes on these long-winded words of wisdom? It's hard to say. But again, I do know this: I'm not gonna stop doin what I'm doin. I'm gonna continue bustin my *@^%# ass. Because nine years ago I made myself a promise...one I personally plan to keep. See ya next time. Till then, keeep it up.
Go Texans.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Sunday, November 27, 2011
WE HAVE A WINNER
A few weeks ago my wife Cathy and I spent the weekend at Fantasy Springs hotel and casino located in not-so-near-by Indio CA. It's a bit of a drive for us but one we gladly endure every so often for a couple of reasons 1) Cathy likes to gamble, and 2) Cathy likes to gamble.
The 100 mile jaunt on Interstate 10 typically kicks off right after work on Friday afternoon, ETA approximately 7pm, ATM, ASAP. Sharp!
After makin quick work of check in and a non-nutritional bit to eat, it's a, "see ya hun have fun call ya later" dash down the main escalator past the revolving Wheel of Fortune in hopes of snaggin lucky number 3-001, a generous but somewhat temperamental keno machine with whom Cathy's had a love hate relationship for over a decade.
My own approach to the evening on the other hand is considerably different. It begins with a slow and meandering stroll, one that raises the inevitable question, "What the hell do I do now?" That is of course unless the Kings are playin, in which case I've got a decision to make. Do I shuffle upstairs and spend Friday night alone in a barren hotel room quietly watchin the game? Or, do I belly up to the bar, put in my request for one of the dozen or so flat screens to the bartender and if granted prepare to defend my affinity for hockey to a pack of diehard WWF fans who think Lord Stanley is an up and coming hip hop artist currently opening for Justin Bieber?
Not to worry, because as it turns out the Kings are off tonight. And it's probably for the best really, because today (like most days) I got up at 4am, and if all goes as planned it's gonna be another early git up tomorrow as well.
It does (go as planned) and at 6am I'm easin down the road with J.J. Cale on the airwaves and a topped off YZ450F in back. As I make my way south on highway 86 first light begins to reveal itself through the low-lying fog that blankets the Salton Sea, a massive inland body of water that half a century ago was aptly coined the "French Riviera of California." Today, however, the abandoned remains of this former tourist hot spot are little more than an eerie reminder of a bygone era. Coming into view just a few miles further south and to the west is the outlying landscape of Ocotillo Wells, a popular state vehicle recreation area that boasts over 40,000 acres of knobby-friendly terrain.
With a twist of the throttle I'm carvin my way down a well defined single-track that takes me deep into the badlands. Surrounded by an unending maze of washes and ridges I maintain a steady clip while gettin a little more settled in the saddle. But from the moment I open her up I know this ain't gonna be just another "that was fun" sorta ride. Bearing down on the foot pegs my 200lb frame feels especially light and agile this particular morning and the blue bike is responding favorably to my every white-knuckled whim. From the gnarliest up hills to the tightest and trickiest sand sections we confidently pick our lines and impressively find our groove. From one end of this sublime dust bowl to the other man and machine become one, and together, we proceed to masterfully tear it up.
Northbound back on 86 the postmeridian sun has transformed the fog-laden Salton Sea into a shimmering layer of glass that stretches openly across the Imperial Valley. I give Cathy a call to assure her that all is well, that all body parts are intact and fully functional. Moderately relieved she shares with me the "really" good news: she's on a roll, 'ol number 3-001 is loosening up. Elated, I pop in The Black Album and polish off a sequence of textbook Lars Ulrich impersonations before pullin into Del Taco for a couple of chicken softies.
Once back at the casino I instinctively find Cathy in the same spot as when I left earlier this mornin. Did I forget to mention that she is notorious for pullin all-nighters? Did I mention that last night was no exception? In any case I'm headed for the showers. Clean and clothed, I swing open the double doors and step out onto the balcony to ponder my next move. A full gainer off the top rail and into the bowtie shaped pool four floors down is what initially comes to mind, but I opt instead to settle into an overstuffed chair in the far corner of the room where I begin transcribing a backlog of thoughts I've been luggin around in my head since last Tuesday. The next thing I know Nancy friggin Grace is slammin some two bit small town investigator for his buffoon-like incompetence, Cathy's propped up on the bed meticulously counting her "blessings," and I've got less than 20 minutes to shake off any false notions that these aching bones of mine may not make it downstairs in time for our 6:30 dinner reservation.
"Good evening, can I start you off with something to drink or maybe an appetizer?"
Yea, how bout a shot of Sauza and a travel size bottle of Ibuprofen?
Just kidding, dinner was great, as was the company. As for the remainder of the evening, well, let's just say it was anything but unpredictable. Before our waitress can so much as utter the word Tiramisu it's a, "see ya hun have fun call ya later" dash down the escalator past the...well you know the logistics. But this time I too have to high tail it outta there, cause I got a date with the Rock Yard.
A small outdoor venue that consistently attracts some of the finest cover bands you could ever hope to see and hear, the Rock Yard is a welcomed departure from the deep-pocketed high jinks goin on back inside. As always I waste no time securing my spot along the table-lined walkway directly behind the drum kit. Not only does this give me an up close and personal view of all things technical, it also allows me to pan out across the crowd, almost as if I were on stage myself. What? We're at "Fantasy" Springs remember?
Tonight's show is the second to last of this season's summer series. and on tap is a tribute to San Francisco super group Journey. As the crowd continues to scuffle onto the grassy infield the band kicks things off with a solid rendition of La Do Da, followed by a non-stop string of oldies that take me back to 1977, to the L.A. Forum, where just a few months earlier that same year Cathy and I went on our very first date.
Once again the musicianship tonight is top notch. The drummer, a tall lanky kid who resembles Steve Perry more than Ansley Dunbar or Steve Smith, keeps perfect time every time. His rolls and fills are flawless and tasteful. He's clearly done this a few bazillion times before. As I periodically glance out into the crowd I can't help but notice a guy who is unabashedly beating to his own drum. Talk about two left feet, this dude's got the meter and measure of a dash mounted bobble doll barrelin down a pothole plagued Louisiana back road. Sadly, as he makes his way to the edge of the stage I realize he has Down syndrome, as well as, an ear-to-ear grin that is every bit as infectious as the pulsating music beneath my feet.
I'm tellin ya, this guy is havin a ball, hell he's even got a couple of hotties hangin all over him, and whenever an unsolicited pair of gyrating hips get fired his way he giddily (albeit awkwardly) returns the favor. The singer, obviously overcome with envy, hops off the stage to make it a foursome, and all the while I find myself incessantly peering around the impeding floor toms tryin to get a better look. Ahh, the raw and untamed power of three simple cords and a mega watt PA system. Long live Rock n Roll.
Driving home Sunday morning I quietly reflect on the past couple of days while Cathy peacefully "rests her eyes." Honestly, with her level of energy I'm surprised she gets any sleep at all, even after an all-nighter. Nonetheless I'm happy she had a fun filled weekend and walked away with a few bucks in her pocket. As for me, I definitely feel as though I cashed in as well. It's beyond rare when things come together the way they did on yesterday's ride, and for a few days anyway, I feel like I'm a richer man for it.
Last night the Rock Yard rocked, the band kicked ass, the drummer was clearly on his game and I was once again shrewdly reminded of what a few years of unwavering dedication can do.
As for our dear friend in the front row, I can only say that it was an absolute pleasure to have been in your company. You are in every sense of the word, a true winner. Not only did I thoroughly enjoy watchin you unwittingly steal the show, but your unbridled zest for life made me quickly recognize (even after a couple of near perfect days such as these) that in the long run it's about much more than just gettin in a groove or on a roll every now and then. It's about finding your own unique and personal rhythm, even if it is a little...offbeat. See ya soon, till then, keeep it up.
The 100 mile jaunt on Interstate 10 typically kicks off right after work on Friday afternoon, ETA approximately 7pm, ATM, ASAP. Sharp!
After makin quick work of check in and a non-nutritional bit to eat, it's a, "see ya hun have fun call ya later" dash down the main escalator past the revolving Wheel of Fortune in hopes of snaggin lucky number 3-001, a generous but somewhat temperamental keno machine with whom Cathy's had a love hate relationship for over a decade.
My own approach to the evening on the other hand is considerably different. It begins with a slow and meandering stroll, one that raises the inevitable question, "What the hell do I do now?" That is of course unless the Kings are playin, in which case I've got a decision to make. Do I shuffle upstairs and spend Friday night alone in a barren hotel room quietly watchin the game? Or, do I belly up to the bar, put in my request for one of the dozen or so flat screens to the bartender and if granted prepare to defend my affinity for hockey to a pack of diehard WWF fans who think Lord Stanley is an up and coming hip hop artist currently opening for Justin Bieber?
Not to worry, because as it turns out the Kings are off tonight. And it's probably for the best really, because today (like most days) I got up at 4am, and if all goes as planned it's gonna be another early git up tomorrow as well.
It does (go as planned) and at 6am I'm easin down the road with J.J. Cale on the airwaves and a topped off YZ450F in back. As I make my way south on highway 86 first light begins to reveal itself through the low-lying fog that blankets the Salton Sea, a massive inland body of water that half a century ago was aptly coined the "French Riviera of California." Today, however, the abandoned remains of this former tourist hot spot are little more than an eerie reminder of a bygone era. Coming into view just a few miles further south and to the west is the outlying landscape of Ocotillo Wells, a popular state vehicle recreation area that boasts over 40,000 acres of knobby-friendly terrain.
With a twist of the throttle I'm carvin my way down a well defined single-track that takes me deep into the badlands. Surrounded by an unending maze of washes and ridges I maintain a steady clip while gettin a little more settled in the saddle. But from the moment I open her up I know this ain't gonna be just another "that was fun" sorta ride. Bearing down on the foot pegs my 200lb frame feels especially light and agile this particular morning and the blue bike is responding favorably to my every white-knuckled whim. From the gnarliest up hills to the tightest and trickiest sand sections we confidently pick our lines and impressively find our groove. From one end of this sublime dust bowl to the other man and machine become one, and together, we proceed to masterfully tear it up.
Northbound back on 86 the postmeridian sun has transformed the fog-laden Salton Sea into a shimmering layer of glass that stretches openly across the Imperial Valley. I give Cathy a call to assure her that all is well, that all body parts are intact and fully functional. Moderately relieved she shares with me the "really" good news: she's on a roll, 'ol number 3-001 is loosening up. Elated, I pop in The Black Album and polish off a sequence of textbook Lars Ulrich impersonations before pullin into Del Taco for a couple of chicken softies.
Once back at the casino I instinctively find Cathy in the same spot as when I left earlier this mornin. Did I forget to mention that she is notorious for pullin all-nighters? Did I mention that last night was no exception? In any case I'm headed for the showers. Clean and clothed, I swing open the double doors and step out onto the balcony to ponder my next move. A full gainer off the top rail and into the bowtie shaped pool four floors down is what initially comes to mind, but I opt instead to settle into an overstuffed chair in the far corner of the room where I begin transcribing a backlog of thoughts I've been luggin around in my head since last Tuesday. The next thing I know Nancy friggin Grace is slammin some two bit small town investigator for his buffoon-like incompetence, Cathy's propped up on the bed meticulously counting her "blessings," and I've got less than 20 minutes to shake off any false notions that these aching bones of mine may not make it downstairs in time for our 6:30 dinner reservation.
"Good evening, can I start you off with something to drink or maybe an appetizer?"
Yea, how bout a shot of Sauza and a travel size bottle of Ibuprofen?
Just kidding, dinner was great, as was the company. As for the remainder of the evening, well, let's just say it was anything but unpredictable. Before our waitress can so much as utter the word Tiramisu it's a, "see ya hun have fun call ya later" dash down the escalator past the...well you know the logistics. But this time I too have to high tail it outta there, cause I got a date with the Rock Yard.
A small outdoor venue that consistently attracts some of the finest cover bands you could ever hope to see and hear, the Rock Yard is a welcomed departure from the deep-pocketed high jinks goin on back inside. As always I waste no time securing my spot along the table-lined walkway directly behind the drum kit. Not only does this give me an up close and personal view of all things technical, it also allows me to pan out across the crowd, almost as if I were on stage myself. What? We're at "Fantasy" Springs remember?
Tonight's show is the second to last of this season's summer series. and on tap is a tribute to San Francisco super group Journey. As the crowd continues to scuffle onto the grassy infield the band kicks things off with a solid rendition of La Do Da, followed by a non-stop string of oldies that take me back to 1977, to the L.A. Forum, where just a few months earlier that same year Cathy and I went on our very first date.
Once again the musicianship tonight is top notch. The drummer, a tall lanky kid who resembles Steve Perry more than Ansley Dunbar or Steve Smith, keeps perfect time every time. His rolls and fills are flawless and tasteful. He's clearly done this a few bazillion times before. As I periodically glance out into the crowd I can't help but notice a guy who is unabashedly beating to his own drum. Talk about two left feet, this dude's got the meter and measure of a dash mounted bobble doll barrelin down a pothole plagued Louisiana back road. Sadly, as he makes his way to the edge of the stage I realize he has Down syndrome, as well as, an ear-to-ear grin that is every bit as infectious as the pulsating music beneath my feet.
I'm tellin ya, this guy is havin a ball, hell he's even got a couple of hotties hangin all over him, and whenever an unsolicited pair of gyrating hips get fired his way he giddily (albeit awkwardly) returns the favor. The singer, obviously overcome with envy, hops off the stage to make it a foursome, and all the while I find myself incessantly peering around the impeding floor toms tryin to get a better look. Ahh, the raw and untamed power of three simple cords and a mega watt PA system. Long live Rock n Roll.
Driving home Sunday morning I quietly reflect on the past couple of days while Cathy peacefully "rests her eyes." Honestly, with her level of energy I'm surprised she gets any sleep at all, even after an all-nighter. Nonetheless I'm happy she had a fun filled weekend and walked away with a few bucks in her pocket. As for me, I definitely feel as though I cashed in as well. It's beyond rare when things come together the way they did on yesterday's ride, and for a few days anyway, I feel like I'm a richer man for it.
Last night the Rock Yard rocked, the band kicked ass, the drummer was clearly on his game and I was once again shrewdly reminded of what a few years of unwavering dedication can do.
As for our dear friend in the front row, I can only say that it was an absolute pleasure to have been in your company. You are in every sense of the word, a true winner. Not only did I thoroughly enjoy watchin you unwittingly steal the show, but your unbridled zest for life made me quickly recognize (even after a couple of near perfect days such as these) that in the long run it's about much more than just gettin in a groove or on a roll every now and then. It's about finding your own unique and personal rhythm, even if it is a little...offbeat. See ya soon, till then, keeep it up.
Saturday, October 29, 2011
WHY DID THE CHICKEN CROSS THE STREET?
"Hmm?" To get to the other side you dimwit.
Appropriately so, a riddle is called a riddle for a reason, it's puzzling, perplexing, and generally requires a good bit of thought and ingenuity to solve. Yet part of a riddles charm is that the answer tends to be ridiculously obvious.
Remember the Riddler from the sixties television series Batman? Or how bout from the more recent film Batman Forever? If so, surely you can recall that gimmicky green outfit he wore, ya know the one "riddled" with question marks. So tell me, ya ever get to feelin that way when it comes to your hopes and dreams? Riddled with questions I mean? Questions like, "How the *^$&# am I gonna do this or how the *@^&% am I supposed to do that? Well mull no more, because the answer to these and other prodding questions is literally (and metaphorically) right at you feet.
That's right. While your hopes and dreams are definitely and distinctly your own, and while the path you take toward realizing those hopes and dreams will certainly be no different, in actuality there's only one way down any given path. And that my frazzled friend is one incremental step at a time. Bam! Questions answered. Riddle solved. Where's my easy button?
Oops, hold on a minute, as I recall the title of this post isn't "how" did the chicken cross the street, but rather, "why" did the chicken cross the street? And for good reason I might add, because therein lies the real riddle.
German philosopher Friedrich Nietzche once said, "He who has a why to live can bear almost any how." In other words, instead of gettin too hung up on how to do something, it sounds like what we should really be asking ourselves is, "Why am I doin it?"
"Every year in the U.S. we have dozens of major marathons that attract people of all ages and from all walks of life," writes Charles A. Coonradt in his best-selling book Scorekeeping for Success. "And out of the hundreds of thousands who compete only one can hold the men's record and only one can hold the women's record. Only one! So why is it that running marathon's remains such a popular sport? What could possibly be the appeal of a sport in which 99.9 percent of all participants don't stand a fighting chance of finishing first?"
"The answer," says Coonradt, "is that marathons allow everyone to win. Everyone entered may not be able to finish first, but everyone who enters the competition can in fact win. And that's because marathons provide us with an opportunity to tap into man's oldest yardstick of accomplishment: simply being better than we've been before - even if it's only by a second."
Make no mistake, running a marathon requires a superabundance of know how. There's any number of strategies, tactics and techniques that one must consider. But in all fairness it goes much deeper than that. Unlike a relatively short jaunt across the street, a marathon takes you down a long and difficult road that's notoriously riddled with hurdles and obstacles that are every bit as mental as they are physical, and at some point or another you inevitably start asking yourself why the #$&*@ am I doin this? And quite frankly, unless you've got a rock solid rebuttal, chances are you're gonna toss in the towel long before you ever begin to hit your stride.
But (and this is a ginormous but) if you can repeatedly answer this discerning question with ironclad conviction (oh and trust me it'll rear its ugly head again and again) then the odds of you someday realizing your hopes and dreams will increase astronomically.
Ya see here's the thing, asking yourself "why" can prove to be profoundly introspective. Why? Because it's personal not practical. Emotionally it strikes a chord, and the more you delve and discover, the more you realize it's also what fuels the fire.
So whether you're hoofin it across the street (short term task) or runnin a long and laborious marathon (lifelong ambition) try and do your best not to dwell too heavily on the how, but instead, learn to focus ever so intently on the why. Because when you can bravely answer that, then you'll surely have solved one of man's most mystifying riddles. Now, the obvious question is, "how" bad do you want it? See ya next time. Till then, keeep it up.
P.S. For the record, domestic chickens aren't capable of long distance flight. Therefore if ya rule out transcendental meditation and/or divine intervention one can only conclude that when it came to venturing across the street our foul-feathered friend's only real option was to (you guessed it) do it one cluckin step at a time. Damn, where the heck's that easy button?
"Hmm?" To get to the other side you dimwit.
Appropriately so, a riddle is called a riddle for a reason, it's puzzling, perplexing, and generally requires a good bit of thought and ingenuity to solve. Yet part of a riddles charm is that the answer tends to be ridiculously obvious.
Remember the Riddler from the sixties television series Batman? Or how bout from the more recent film Batman Forever? If so, surely you can recall that gimmicky green outfit he wore, ya know the one "riddled" with question marks. So tell me, ya ever get to feelin that way when it comes to your hopes and dreams? Riddled with questions I mean? Questions like, "How the *^$&# am I gonna do this or how the *@^&% am I supposed to do that? Well mull no more, because the answer to these and other prodding questions is literally (and metaphorically) right at you feet.
That's right. While your hopes and dreams are definitely and distinctly your own, and while the path you take toward realizing those hopes and dreams will certainly be no different, in actuality there's only one way down any given path. And that my frazzled friend is one incremental step at a time. Bam! Questions answered. Riddle solved. Where's my easy button?
Oops, hold on a minute, as I recall the title of this post isn't "how" did the chicken cross the street, but rather, "why" did the chicken cross the street? And for good reason I might add, because therein lies the real riddle.
German philosopher Friedrich Nietzche once said, "He who has a why to live can bear almost any how." In other words, instead of gettin too hung up on how to do something, it sounds like what we should really be asking ourselves is, "Why am I doin it?"
"Every year in the U.S. we have dozens of major marathons that attract people of all ages and from all walks of life," writes Charles A. Coonradt in his best-selling book Scorekeeping for Success. "And out of the hundreds of thousands who compete only one can hold the men's record and only one can hold the women's record. Only one! So why is it that running marathon's remains such a popular sport? What could possibly be the appeal of a sport in which 99.9 percent of all participants don't stand a fighting chance of finishing first?"
"The answer," says Coonradt, "is that marathons allow everyone to win. Everyone entered may not be able to finish first, but everyone who enters the competition can in fact win. And that's because marathons provide us with an opportunity to tap into man's oldest yardstick of accomplishment: simply being better than we've been before - even if it's only by a second."
Make no mistake, running a marathon requires a superabundance of know how. There's any number of strategies, tactics and techniques that one must consider. But in all fairness it goes much deeper than that. Unlike a relatively short jaunt across the street, a marathon takes you down a long and difficult road that's notoriously riddled with hurdles and obstacles that are every bit as mental as they are physical, and at some point or another you inevitably start asking yourself why the #$&*@ am I doin this? And quite frankly, unless you've got a rock solid rebuttal, chances are you're gonna toss in the towel long before you ever begin to hit your stride.
But (and this is a ginormous but) if you can repeatedly answer this discerning question with ironclad conviction (oh and trust me it'll rear its ugly head again and again) then the odds of you someday realizing your hopes and dreams will increase astronomically.
Ya see here's the thing, asking yourself "why" can prove to be profoundly introspective. Why? Because it's personal not practical. Emotionally it strikes a chord, and the more you delve and discover, the more you realize it's also what fuels the fire.
So whether you're hoofin it across the street (short term task) or runnin a long and laborious marathon (lifelong ambition) try and do your best not to dwell too heavily on the how, but instead, learn to focus ever so intently on the why. Because when you can bravely answer that, then you'll surely have solved one of man's most mystifying riddles. Now, the obvious question is, "how" bad do you want it? See ya next time. Till then, keeep it up.
P.S. For the record, domestic chickens aren't capable of long distance flight. Therefore if ya rule out transcendental meditation and/or divine intervention one can only conclude that when it came to venturing across the street our foul-feathered friend's only real option was to (you guessed it) do it one cluckin step at a time. Damn, where the heck's that easy button?
Thursday, September 29, 2011
MAY I HAVE MY ATTENTION PLEASE?
This tongue-in-cheek title comes courtesy of columnist Hugh O'Neill, and I thank him kindly for it. Because as you may recall, we last talked about our thoughts and the profound effect they can have on our everyday lives. What we didn't discuss, however, is what it takes to effectively assemble those thoughts. Or what might best be described as, the cost of paying attention.
It was Ralph Waldo Emerson who said, "There are many things of which a wise man may wish to be ignorant." Here (in no particular order) are a few of my own personal favorites.
Must see TV (yea right)
Late breaking news and headlines (i.e. car chases and sex scandals)
Saturday morning rituals that are anything but enriching
Stock market volatility
Octomom's growing pains
Gadget Mania (user friendly my ass)
Keeping up with the Kardashians
CNN
TMZ
Compulsive rubbernecking
Quick Fixes and Short Cuts (even though they may be all the rage)
These are just some examples of the kinds of things I try to shun or ignore. Bear in mind however that it's all a matter of choice. The trick of course is to choose; to filter out some of those swindling "time bandits" that can so often rob us of far bigger and better things. Now this doesn't mean ya gotta go bury your head in the sand, not at all, just get your mind outta the clutter.
AM/PM (the popular convenience store chain) has a slogan: Too Much Good Stuff, and the way I see it that's exactly what we're dealing with here. This round-the-clock barrage of infotainment we're being hammered with these days, this dizzying deluge of sensory overload isn't so much a bad thing as it is waaaaay too much of a good thing. Of course as it turns out that's also what makes it so damn debilitating. What I mean by that is not only does all this "good stuff" make it increasingly difficult to stay focused and on task, but (and here's the kicker) it makes it far too easy not to as well. It's a %$@&*^ double edged sword I tell ya.
Martha Beck, author of Finding Your Own North Star, says that the inner voice of our true self is so small and slight that virtually any distraction can drown it out, especially when we're just beginning to hear it. Without a doubt there are more things vying for our attention these days than ever before. The question is, are you ready to take back your inherent right to pay attention and begin listening to that inner voice? Are you willing to give it a sincere and "concentrated" effort? Are you personally prepared to engage in a one-on-one battle with these modern day weapons of mass distraction? If so, your best line of defense is to quietly disengage, and to consider for a nanosecond not only what all these things can do for ya, but also, what they keep ya from doin.
"The ability to focus one's attention is one of the sharpest tools a man can have," says O'Neill, and I for one fully concur. So don't be surprised if I can't tell ya who got kicked off the island last week, or if I come across a bit dumbfounded when it comes to smart phones and the like. Rag mags, ipods and long-winded post game shows, hey, call me ignorant, it's okay really. Better that than thoughtless. See ya next time. Till then, keeep it up.
This tongue-in-cheek title comes courtesy of columnist Hugh O'Neill, and I thank him kindly for it. Because as you may recall, we last talked about our thoughts and the profound effect they can have on our everyday lives. What we didn't discuss, however, is what it takes to effectively assemble those thoughts. Or what might best be described as, the cost of paying attention.
It was Ralph Waldo Emerson who said, "There are many things of which a wise man may wish to be ignorant." Here (in no particular order) are a few of my own personal favorites.
Must see TV (yea right)
Late breaking news and headlines (i.e. car chases and sex scandals)
Saturday morning rituals that are anything but enriching
Stock market volatility
Octomom's growing pains
Gadget Mania (user friendly my ass)
Keeping up with the Kardashians
CNN
TMZ
Compulsive rubbernecking
Quick Fixes and Short Cuts (even though they may be all the rage)
These are just some examples of the kinds of things I try to shun or ignore. Bear in mind however that it's all a matter of choice. The trick of course is to choose; to filter out some of those swindling "time bandits" that can so often rob us of far bigger and better things. Now this doesn't mean ya gotta go bury your head in the sand, not at all, just get your mind outta the clutter.
AM/PM (the popular convenience store chain) has a slogan: Too Much Good Stuff, and the way I see it that's exactly what we're dealing with here. This round-the-clock barrage of infotainment we're being hammered with these days, this dizzying deluge of sensory overload isn't so much a bad thing as it is waaaaay too much of a good thing. Of course as it turns out that's also what makes it so damn debilitating. What I mean by that is not only does all this "good stuff" make it increasingly difficult to stay focused and on task, but (and here's the kicker) it makes it far too easy not to as well. It's a %$@&*^ double edged sword I tell ya.
Martha Beck, author of Finding Your Own North Star, says that the inner voice of our true self is so small and slight that virtually any distraction can drown it out, especially when we're just beginning to hear it. Without a doubt there are more things vying for our attention these days than ever before. The question is, are you ready to take back your inherent right to pay attention and begin listening to that inner voice? Are you willing to give it a sincere and "concentrated" effort? Are you personally prepared to engage in a one-on-one battle with these modern day weapons of mass distraction? If so, your best line of defense is to quietly disengage, and to consider for a nanosecond not only what all these things can do for ya, but also, what they keep ya from doin.
"The ability to focus one's attention is one of the sharpest tools a man can have," says O'Neill, and I for one fully concur. So don't be surprised if I can't tell ya who got kicked off the island last week, or if I come across a bit dumbfounded when it comes to smart phones and the like. Rag mags, ipods and long-winded post game shows, hey, call me ignorant, it's okay really. Better that than thoughtless. See ya next time. Till then, keeep it up.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
WHO'D A THOUGHT
When asked how he discovered the law of gravity, Sir Isaac Newton casually replied, "By thinking about it all the time."
Now I may be steppin out on a bit of a limb here but I'd bet that Newton's rather uninspiring reply could also easily have been that of Einstein if asked how he discovered his theory of relativity. Or that of Darwin when questioned about the theory of evolution. Be it the case or not, my point is that whatever it is that you'd like to someday achieve or accomplish, whatever you're interests or ambitions might be, it's important that you think about em, and think about em often.
Here at Ingzig we talk a lot about effort, a term that generally implies some sort of physical task or toil. But I'm here to tell ya that Everyday Earnest Effort is every bit as much about mental prowess as it is about physical fortitude.
French novelist and poet Antoine de Saint-Exupery once said, "You give birth to that on which you fix your mind," and I for one most definitely agree. However, I'd also like to point out that although I'm not against it, when it comes to personal "achievement," I personally don't place too much merit on practices such as creative visualization, a mental technique that uses one's imagination to allegedly "attract" high levels of success and prosperity. Why? Well, because I for one have blissfully envisioned Ingzig being a well established company for years now. I've seen the sandstone colored building that boastfully bears our name. I've worked alongside like-minded people who enthusiastically share our ideals and have hung out with the good folks who help support our efforts by proudly wearin our wares. Trust me, I have many times over been to the events and expos where our logo is poised within arms reach of the big boys and have repeatedly watched our Keeep It Up motto zoom past me on the 405 fwy. These colorful images are as clear as a bell, and in no way am I embarrassed or ashamed to tell ya that I hold each one of em very dear to my heart. But the bottom line is, they're just images.
The same could be said about drummin. In the sense that I can visualize or imagine myself layin down a sick solo all I want. But if fundamentally I suck, it just ain't gonna happen. The way I see it, perceiving it is one thing. Achieving it, is another.
"Well now wait a minute Pat, it sounds to me like you're contradicting yourself." No, I'm simply sayin that it takes a bit o' both, insight, as well as, execution. For instance, I think about these posts each and everyday, literally, without exception. I carry a digital recorder with me at all times so when somethin good does pop into the ol noggin I can get it down on tape pronto. But I also take the time to put it all down on paper, where I then painstakingly edit, organize, write, and rewrite. And when that's done, I start the entire process over again until I eventually come up with somethin that I feel is actually worthy of print. I wish I could tell ya it's all purely the result of one full-blown moment of spontaneous inspiration but it's not.
"In his personal diaries there is an oft-cited passage in which Mozart reports that an entire symphony appeared, supposedly intact, in his head. Yet no one ever seems to quote the next paragraph where he talks about how he refined the work for months," notes Jonathan Plucker, an educational psychologist at Indiana University.
"We all have our ah-ha moments, but as a rule, breakthroughs tend to take years of hard work," proclaims R. Keith Sawyer, author of Explaining Creativity. "[They] happen not in one brilliant flash, but in a chain reaction of many tiny sparks. Despite romantic myth, ideas don't magically appear in a genius' head out of nowhere, they build on what came before."
"That's *&^%# fascinating Pat, unfortunately I'm not your average genius." Fair enough, "average Joe," who by the way just so happens to average about 3000 thoughts per day. That's right. Studies show that we humans, regardless of IQ or creative flair, have approximately 3000 thoughts a day, or somewhere around 125 an hour. So...given that mind-boggling statistic ya might just wanna ask yourself, "What the hell am I thinkin?"
James Allen, author of As A Man Thinketh said, "A man cannot directly choose his circumstances, but he can choose his thoughts, and so indirectly, yet surely, shape his circumstances." Face it, everyday you and I have the opportunity to shape and reshape our lives with our thoughts. Not so much with good or happy thoughts mind you, but with deep and deliberate thoughts, attentive thoughts; thoughts that...well, just might make ya stop and think. See ya next time. Till then, keeep it up.
When asked how he discovered the law of gravity, Sir Isaac Newton casually replied, "By thinking about it all the time."
Now I may be steppin out on a bit of a limb here but I'd bet that Newton's rather uninspiring reply could also easily have been that of Einstein if asked how he discovered his theory of relativity. Or that of Darwin when questioned about the theory of evolution. Be it the case or not, my point is that whatever it is that you'd like to someday achieve or accomplish, whatever you're interests or ambitions might be, it's important that you think about em, and think about em often.
Here at Ingzig we talk a lot about effort, a term that generally implies some sort of physical task or toil. But I'm here to tell ya that Everyday Earnest Effort is every bit as much about mental prowess as it is about physical fortitude.
French novelist and poet Antoine de Saint-Exupery once said, "You give birth to that on which you fix your mind," and I for one most definitely agree. However, I'd also like to point out that although I'm not against it, when it comes to personal "achievement," I personally don't place too much merit on practices such as creative visualization, a mental technique that uses one's imagination to allegedly "attract" high levels of success and prosperity. Why? Well, because I for one have blissfully envisioned Ingzig being a well established company for years now. I've seen the sandstone colored building that boastfully bears our name. I've worked alongside like-minded people who enthusiastically share our ideals and have hung out with the good folks who help support our efforts by proudly wearin our wares. Trust me, I have many times over been to the events and expos where our logo is poised within arms reach of the big boys and have repeatedly watched our Keeep It Up motto zoom past me on the 405 fwy. These colorful images are as clear as a bell, and in no way am I embarrassed or ashamed to tell ya that I hold each one of em very dear to my heart. But the bottom line is, they're just images.
The same could be said about drummin. In the sense that I can visualize or imagine myself layin down a sick solo all I want. But if fundamentally I suck, it just ain't gonna happen. The way I see it, perceiving it is one thing. Achieving it, is another.
"Well now wait a minute Pat, it sounds to me like you're contradicting yourself." No, I'm simply sayin that it takes a bit o' both, insight, as well as, execution. For instance, I think about these posts each and everyday, literally, without exception. I carry a digital recorder with me at all times so when somethin good does pop into the ol noggin I can get it down on tape pronto. But I also take the time to put it all down on paper, where I then painstakingly edit, organize, write, and rewrite. And when that's done, I start the entire process over again until I eventually come up with somethin that I feel is actually worthy of print. I wish I could tell ya it's all purely the result of one full-blown moment of spontaneous inspiration but it's not.
"In his personal diaries there is an oft-cited passage in which Mozart reports that an entire symphony appeared, supposedly intact, in his head. Yet no one ever seems to quote the next paragraph where he talks about how he refined the work for months," notes Jonathan Plucker, an educational psychologist at Indiana University.
"We all have our ah-ha moments, but as a rule, breakthroughs tend to take years of hard work," proclaims R. Keith Sawyer, author of Explaining Creativity. "[They] happen not in one brilliant flash, but in a chain reaction of many tiny sparks. Despite romantic myth, ideas don't magically appear in a genius' head out of nowhere, they build on what came before."
"That's *&^%# fascinating Pat, unfortunately I'm not your average genius." Fair enough, "average Joe," who by the way just so happens to average about 3000 thoughts per day. That's right. Studies show that we humans, regardless of IQ or creative flair, have approximately 3000 thoughts a day, or somewhere around 125 an hour. So...given that mind-boggling statistic ya might just wanna ask yourself, "What the hell am I thinkin?"
James Allen, author of As A Man Thinketh said, "A man cannot directly choose his circumstances, but he can choose his thoughts, and so indirectly, yet surely, shape his circumstances." Face it, everyday you and I have the opportunity to shape and reshape our lives with our thoughts. Not so much with good or happy thoughts mind you, but with deep and deliberate thoughts, attentive thoughts; thoughts that...well, just might make ya stop and think. See ya next time. Till then, keeep it up.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
WHAT THE CANUCK?
This past May the Boston Bruins shut out the Vancouver Canucks 4-0 in game 7 of the Stanley Cup Finals, making them only the fourth road team in NHL history to win a game 7.
Needless to say it was a tough loss for the favored Canucks who led the league in scoring and compiled the best record of the regular season. But even more brutal was the fact that they jumped out to an early two game lead. Yet somehow the scrappy Bruins, who had faced elimination in both the first round and the conference finals, were once again able to defy the odds and outscore their Canadian counterparts 23-8 in the series, claiming what columnist Helene Elliot describes as, "The toughest trophy to win in professional sports."
That evening as the final minutes ticked off the game clock fans found themselves filing out of Rogers Arena onto the chaotic streets of downtown Vancouver where police cars were burning and tear gas was being deployed to control the angry drunken crowd that was slinging bottles, smashing storefront windows, and setting garbage cans ablaze. The morning papers called it, "An all out riot." Canucks captain Henrik Sedin simply said, "This city and province has a lot to be proud of, it's too bad."
I'm a true-blue Kings fan, have been ever since their inaugural season in '67 when the Great Western Forum first opened its doors here in Inglewood California. Like the Canucks, the Kings have yet to earn the distinct honor of hoisting Lord Stanley's Cup, and like the Canucks, they too have come disappointingly close. It was in '93 against the Canadians, all looked promising for the Kings as they convincingly took game 1 of the finals only to have three straight heartbreaking overtime loses followed by a 4-1 defeat in game 5 crush any hopes of bringing the Cup home to L.A.
But that season the Los Angeles Kings lost more than just their best ever bid for the Cup. Our Dad who passed away a few months earlier that year was the consummate Kings fan. But more than that, he was a hockey fan; a sports fan. Born and raised in Europe he played semi pro soccer before coming here to the U.S. in '54, and although his fondness for the game never fully took hold on me, his inborn ability to play it most definitely did. Thus, from the age of eight to about fifteen I was affectionately dubbed the wunderkind, simply known throughout the soccer community as, "Number 10."
All accolades aside, however, those really were some wonderful times, because it was really during those times that my Dad, both as a coach and as a Father, shared with me not only his infinite love and lore of soccer, but instilled in me the true spirit of sport. A spirit I'm so proud to say is still very much alive and well today.
This past May that spirit, that emotional energy, filled Rogers Arena right up to the rafters. You could see it, sense it, and feel it. And whether you were a Canucks fan, a Bruins fan, or a little league baseball fan you had to love it. As for the athletes themselves I just can't imagine it gettin much better than this. I mean to suddenly be a part of something you've dreamed about and dedicated yourself to year after year after year, something so rich in history and tradition, it's gotta be the thrill of a lifetime, and quite the privilege to boot.
Sport isn't about one game, one series, or one season. Nor is it just about your team or my team. This time around the Bruins proved to be the better team, and as a result, were deservedly crowned Stanley Cup champions. But the way I see it, everyone was a winner that night in Vancouver, except of course for those Canuckleheads raising havoc in the streets. And again, it's too bad, because in sports, as in life, nobody likes a loser. See ya next time. Till then, keeep it up.
This past May the Boston Bruins shut out the Vancouver Canucks 4-0 in game 7 of the Stanley Cup Finals, making them only the fourth road team in NHL history to win a game 7.
Needless to say it was a tough loss for the favored Canucks who led the league in scoring and compiled the best record of the regular season. But even more brutal was the fact that they jumped out to an early two game lead. Yet somehow the scrappy Bruins, who had faced elimination in both the first round and the conference finals, were once again able to defy the odds and outscore their Canadian counterparts 23-8 in the series, claiming what columnist Helene Elliot describes as, "The toughest trophy to win in professional sports."
That evening as the final minutes ticked off the game clock fans found themselves filing out of Rogers Arena onto the chaotic streets of downtown Vancouver where police cars were burning and tear gas was being deployed to control the angry drunken crowd that was slinging bottles, smashing storefront windows, and setting garbage cans ablaze. The morning papers called it, "An all out riot." Canucks captain Henrik Sedin simply said, "This city and province has a lot to be proud of, it's too bad."
I'm a true-blue Kings fan, have been ever since their inaugural season in '67 when the Great Western Forum first opened its doors here in Inglewood California. Like the Canucks, the Kings have yet to earn the distinct honor of hoisting Lord Stanley's Cup, and like the Canucks, they too have come disappointingly close. It was in '93 against the Canadians, all looked promising for the Kings as they convincingly took game 1 of the finals only to have three straight heartbreaking overtime loses followed by a 4-1 defeat in game 5 crush any hopes of bringing the Cup home to L.A.
But that season the Los Angeles Kings lost more than just their best ever bid for the Cup. Our Dad who passed away a few months earlier that year was the consummate Kings fan. But more than that, he was a hockey fan; a sports fan. Born and raised in Europe he played semi pro soccer before coming here to the U.S. in '54, and although his fondness for the game never fully took hold on me, his inborn ability to play it most definitely did. Thus, from the age of eight to about fifteen I was affectionately dubbed the wunderkind, simply known throughout the soccer community as, "Number 10."
All accolades aside, however, those really were some wonderful times, because it was really during those times that my Dad, both as a coach and as a Father, shared with me not only his infinite love and lore of soccer, but instilled in me the true spirit of sport. A spirit I'm so proud to say is still very much alive and well today.
This past May that spirit, that emotional energy, filled Rogers Arena right up to the rafters. You could see it, sense it, and feel it. And whether you were a Canucks fan, a Bruins fan, or a little league baseball fan you had to love it. As for the athletes themselves I just can't imagine it gettin much better than this. I mean to suddenly be a part of something you've dreamed about and dedicated yourself to year after year after year, something so rich in history and tradition, it's gotta be the thrill of a lifetime, and quite the privilege to boot.
Sport isn't about one game, one series, or one season. Nor is it just about your team or my team. This time around the Bruins proved to be the better team, and as a result, were deservedly crowned Stanley Cup champions. But the way I see it, everyone was a winner that night in Vancouver, except of course for those Canuckleheads raising havoc in the streets. And again, it's too bad, because in sports, as in life, nobody likes a loser. See ya next time. Till then, keeep it up.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
WEAK DAYS SUCK
We've all heard the cliches, "Thank God it's Friday," "Oh God it's Monday," "Same sh** different day." The banal list goes on and on, yet for many of us these commonplace expressions are much more than merely woeful chatter. They're a deep and direct reflection of how we spend a good part of our everyday lives - wishin and workin for the weekend.
For the majority of us that means spending upwards of 40, 50, and 60 hours a week doin somethin that, aside from puttin a few bucks in our pocket, is completely and utterly unsatisfying. And ya know what? That sucks. It's commendable. It's honorable. But it still sucks. And ya know what sucks even more? Not takin full advantage of the little bit of remaining time in your workweek to do somethin about it.
It's been said that nothing separates successful people from unsuccessful people more than how they spend their time. So...how do you spend your time, or in this case, your spare time? Let me guess, "What spare time?" "Are you *%&^$ nuts?! Okay, fare enough. But in the midst of all the perpetual chaos here's somethin you might wanna ponder. While we're all busy these days, we're not too busy, not by a long shot, not by at least four hours of TV a day according to Neilson reports. Not too busy for browsin the internet, for Facebook, Twitter, and for those impromptu jaunts to the mall. "Dinner and a movie?" "Sure why not?" Oh and how bout waterin the yard? Washin the car? and, well, you get the idea.
Now I'm certainly not sayin you don't deserve some downtime, however, if you happen to be a part of the growing population of adult Americans who are currently grappling with a lurking sense of discontent I suggest you maybe rethink how you spend it.
Here's a thought, when it comes to spendin some of that hard-earned cash in your pocket I'm guessin you probably wanna get the most for your money right? So why expect any less of your time, especially your spare time, ya know, that precious commodity reserved just for you to spend absolutely any which way you choose?
Time and money, seems like an appropriate enough analogy, but please, make no mistake, this has absolutely nothin to do with the age-old adage "Time is money." But instead, with the reassurring idea that your time is at the very least every bit as valuable. In fact, what I've discovered over the past few years is that the better I spend my time the more valuable it becomes. Be it an hour or two or a moment or two, when it comes to my time it's always a thumbs-up feelin knowin I've got the most "bang for my buck." Oh I exercise my right to relax alright, probably a bit too much so during hockey season, but even then if I don't get at least a little somethin done throughout the day that thumbs-up feelin goes south real quick. And that's simply because from a personal standpoint I feel as though I've let myself down, I didn't do what I needed to do, and that means a day wasted, as well as, an opportunity missed. And in the penetrating words of Austrian author Mary von Eber-Eschenbach, "Nothing is so irretrievably missed as a daily opportunity."
"Come on Pat you're talkin a few minutes here and there, maybe skippin a day or two now and then." "What's the big deal?" "No harm done right?" Maybe, maybe not. But here's someone (Courtesy of One Small Step Can Change Your Life: The Kaizen Way by Dr. Robert Maurer) who I'm sure would argue with you tooth and nail over just how big a deal a few minutes a day can be. Even one minute for that matter.
"Julie sat in examining room, her eyes cast downward. She had come to UCLA's medical center for help with high blood pressure and fatigue, but the family-practice resident and I could see that much more was going on. Julie was a divorced mother of two, and by her own admission a little depressed and overwhelmed, working constantly just to keep her kids housed, clean, and fed. Her only solace was relaxing for a half-hour or so on the couch most evenings. Clearly, the young doctor and I were concerned about about Julie's long-term health, her weight (she was carrying more than 30 extra pounds) and soaring stress put her at an increased risk level. Of course both my colleague and I knew a cheap and proven way to help Julie, and it wasn't a bottle of pills or years of psychotherapy. It was exercise. Regular physical activity could improve nearly all of Julie's health problems, give her stamina, as well as, boost her spirits. Once I might have offered this free and effective treatment with all the zeal of a new convert. Go jogging! Ride a bike! Rent an aerobics video! I might have said. Give up your lunch break, wake up an hour early if you have to, but just get up and make that commitment to your health five times a week! But when I looked at the dark circles under Julie's eyes my heart sank. We'd probably told hundreds of patients to exercise, but very few of them wound up making it a regular habit. Julie struck me as the perfect candidate for change in its smallest and least threatening form.
I looked on as Julie waited to hear what the resident had to say. As I predicted, she talked to Julie about the importance of getting some exercise, and just as she was about to tell Julie to spend at least 30 minutes a day on aerobic exercise, a recommendation that would have likely been met with disbelief and anger, I found myself jumping in. How about if you just march in place in front of the TV each day for one minute? The resident shot me an incredulous look. Julie, however, brightened a little, and said, "I could give that a try."
When Julie returned for a follow-up visit she reported that she'd indeed marched in front of the TV set for one minute each night. Granted, she wasn't going to get much healthier with just 60 seconds of low-intensity exercise. But during this second visit I noticed that Julie's attitude had changed. Instead of coming back discouraged as so many failed exercisers do, Julie was more animated, and with less resistance in her speech and demeanor. "What else can I do in one minute a day?" she wanted to know.
I was thrilled. A small success, yes, but much better than the all-around discouragement I'd seen so many times before. Again, this small action didn't do much for her aerobic capacity, but for Julie it had a different and perhaps even more significant effect. It opened a window to the possibility of fitting exercise into her life. Almost without realizing it this extraordinarily busy woman found a way to eventually meet the American Medical Association's guidelines for thirty minutes of cardio, and to actually enjoy it. For Julie, exercise had become a habit, one she now dearly missed if it were skipped."
Upon reading this story I felt that what resonated with me most was when Dr Maurer said, "This small action didn't do much for her aerobic capacity, but for Julie, it had a different and perhaps even more significant effect."
Gettin back to the time/money analogy for a minute, I guess you could say that what Julie's done is put a little spare change in the till each and everyday. And in hindsight that's pretty much what I've been doin for the past few years as well. Is it a lot? No, not really. Do I wish it were more? Of course I do. But the fact is it's adding up - it's definitely beginning to have an effect.
When I look back on my life thus far, it's painfully clear to me that it's taken quite some time to get to where I am today, (wasted time that is). And I've got a hunch that it's gonna take quite a bit more to get to where I'd one day like to be. But ya know what, that's fine by me, because quite frankly, a little "time well spent" seems like a reasonable price to pay for a more rewarding tomorrow, and a far better bargain than spendin my time wishin and workin for the weekend. See ya soon. Till then, keeep it up.
We've all heard the cliches, "Thank God it's Friday," "Oh God it's Monday," "Same sh** different day." The banal list goes on and on, yet for many of us these commonplace expressions are much more than merely woeful chatter. They're a deep and direct reflection of how we spend a good part of our everyday lives - wishin and workin for the weekend.
For the majority of us that means spending upwards of 40, 50, and 60 hours a week doin somethin that, aside from puttin a few bucks in our pocket, is completely and utterly unsatisfying. And ya know what? That sucks. It's commendable. It's honorable. But it still sucks. And ya know what sucks even more? Not takin full advantage of the little bit of remaining time in your workweek to do somethin about it.
It's been said that nothing separates successful people from unsuccessful people more than how they spend their time. So...how do you spend your time, or in this case, your spare time? Let me guess, "What spare time?" "Are you *%&^$ nuts?! Okay, fare enough. But in the midst of all the perpetual chaos here's somethin you might wanna ponder. While we're all busy these days, we're not too busy, not by a long shot, not by at least four hours of TV a day according to Neilson reports. Not too busy for browsin the internet, for Facebook, Twitter, and for those impromptu jaunts to the mall. "Dinner and a movie?" "Sure why not?" Oh and how bout waterin the yard? Washin the car? and, well, you get the idea.
Now I'm certainly not sayin you don't deserve some downtime, however, if you happen to be a part of the growing population of adult Americans who are currently grappling with a lurking sense of discontent I suggest you maybe rethink how you spend it.
Here's a thought, when it comes to spendin some of that hard-earned cash in your pocket I'm guessin you probably wanna get the most for your money right? So why expect any less of your time, especially your spare time, ya know, that precious commodity reserved just for you to spend absolutely any which way you choose?
Time and money, seems like an appropriate enough analogy, but please, make no mistake, this has absolutely nothin to do with the age-old adage "Time is money." But instead, with the reassurring idea that your time is at the very least every bit as valuable. In fact, what I've discovered over the past few years is that the better I spend my time the more valuable it becomes. Be it an hour or two or a moment or two, when it comes to my time it's always a thumbs-up feelin knowin I've got the most "bang for my buck." Oh I exercise my right to relax alright, probably a bit too much so during hockey season, but even then if I don't get at least a little somethin done throughout the day that thumbs-up feelin goes south real quick. And that's simply because from a personal standpoint I feel as though I've let myself down, I didn't do what I needed to do, and that means a day wasted, as well as, an opportunity missed. And in the penetrating words of Austrian author Mary von Eber-Eschenbach, "Nothing is so irretrievably missed as a daily opportunity."
"Come on Pat you're talkin a few minutes here and there, maybe skippin a day or two now and then." "What's the big deal?" "No harm done right?" Maybe, maybe not. But here's someone (Courtesy of One Small Step Can Change Your Life: The Kaizen Way by Dr. Robert Maurer) who I'm sure would argue with you tooth and nail over just how big a deal a few minutes a day can be. Even one minute for that matter.
"Julie sat in examining room, her eyes cast downward. She had come to UCLA's medical center for help with high blood pressure and fatigue, but the family-practice resident and I could see that much more was going on. Julie was a divorced mother of two, and by her own admission a little depressed and overwhelmed, working constantly just to keep her kids housed, clean, and fed. Her only solace was relaxing for a half-hour or so on the couch most evenings. Clearly, the young doctor and I were concerned about about Julie's long-term health, her weight (she was carrying more than 30 extra pounds) and soaring stress put her at an increased risk level. Of course both my colleague and I knew a cheap and proven way to help Julie, and it wasn't a bottle of pills or years of psychotherapy. It was exercise. Regular physical activity could improve nearly all of Julie's health problems, give her stamina, as well as, boost her spirits. Once I might have offered this free and effective treatment with all the zeal of a new convert. Go jogging! Ride a bike! Rent an aerobics video! I might have said. Give up your lunch break, wake up an hour early if you have to, but just get up and make that commitment to your health five times a week! But when I looked at the dark circles under Julie's eyes my heart sank. We'd probably told hundreds of patients to exercise, but very few of them wound up making it a regular habit. Julie struck me as the perfect candidate for change in its smallest and least threatening form.
I looked on as Julie waited to hear what the resident had to say. As I predicted, she talked to Julie about the importance of getting some exercise, and just as she was about to tell Julie to spend at least 30 minutes a day on aerobic exercise, a recommendation that would have likely been met with disbelief and anger, I found myself jumping in. How about if you just march in place in front of the TV each day for one minute? The resident shot me an incredulous look. Julie, however, brightened a little, and said, "I could give that a try."
When Julie returned for a follow-up visit she reported that she'd indeed marched in front of the TV set for one minute each night. Granted, she wasn't going to get much healthier with just 60 seconds of low-intensity exercise. But during this second visit I noticed that Julie's attitude had changed. Instead of coming back discouraged as so many failed exercisers do, Julie was more animated, and with less resistance in her speech and demeanor. "What else can I do in one minute a day?" she wanted to know.
I was thrilled. A small success, yes, but much better than the all-around discouragement I'd seen so many times before. Again, this small action didn't do much for her aerobic capacity, but for Julie it had a different and perhaps even more significant effect. It opened a window to the possibility of fitting exercise into her life. Almost without realizing it this extraordinarily busy woman found a way to eventually meet the American Medical Association's guidelines for thirty minutes of cardio, and to actually enjoy it. For Julie, exercise had become a habit, one she now dearly missed if it were skipped."
Upon reading this story I felt that what resonated with me most was when Dr Maurer said, "This small action didn't do much for her aerobic capacity, but for Julie, it had a different and perhaps even more significant effect."
Gettin back to the time/money analogy for a minute, I guess you could say that what Julie's done is put a little spare change in the till each and everyday. And in hindsight that's pretty much what I've been doin for the past few years as well. Is it a lot? No, not really. Do I wish it were more? Of course I do. But the fact is it's adding up - it's definitely beginning to have an effect.
When I look back on my life thus far, it's painfully clear to me that it's taken quite some time to get to where I am today, (wasted time that is). And I've got a hunch that it's gonna take quite a bit more to get to where I'd one day like to be. But ya know what, that's fine by me, because quite frankly, a little "time well spent" seems like a reasonable price to pay for a more rewarding tomorrow, and a far better bargain than spendin my time wishin and workin for the weekend. See ya soon. Till then, keeep it up.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
GOIN SOMEWHERE?
Rather than jumpin ahead at this point I thought it'd be a good idea to go back and expand on what we talked about in the last post. In part, because like so many of us, our son Tim would love little more than to shed a few extra-unwanted pounds this summer, thus for the past couple of months he's been tryin to eat better and exercise regularly. Yet so far it seems the only thing he's doin with any real regularity is hoppin on the scale, and from the discouraging look on his face it appears "the results" haven't always been to his liking.
Now I wouldn't go as far as to say I'm a diehard fan of The Biggest Loser, but my wife and I do watch the show on occasion, and while I tend to favor the competitive part of the program my wife prefers what's called "the elimination round." It's here at the end of every week that they announce who goes on and who goes home, and they determine this by calling on each of the remaining contestants to slip outta their sandals and belly up to the scale. He who loses the least amount of weight gets the boot.
What I've noticed again and again throughout this nerve-wrecking ritual is that despite one's revealing numbers and/or fate following the weigh in, regardless of their overall time spent on the ranch, when it comes time to pack it in rarely if ever does anyone do so with his or her head held down. Disappointed? Sure. Yet never defeated, but instead, with a renewed and resolved sense of commitment that seems to have em more determined than ever. I can only guess that's because it's become unmistakably clear to everyone at the ranch, as well as to the majority of us watching, that in the long run this is about more than just losing weight. It's about much more than looking better or even feeling better. It's about becoming better.
Singer songwriter Bob Dylan once said, "An artist has to be careful never really to arrive at a place where he thinks he's at somewhere. You have to realize that you're constantly in a state of becoming." After nearly nine years nowhere have I found this hard won lesson to be more true than behind the drum kit. With a dizzying blur of mixed results in my wake, there remains but one clear-cut goal still worthy of my time and effort, and that's to constantly improve and progress. If that means some lackluster returns along the way so be it, I realize it's all simply a part of the ongoing groundwork toward becoming a better drummer.
"We are at our best, and we are happiest," said co-founding Father of Personal Achievement Earl Nightingale, "when we are engaged and on the journey toward the goal." 3E for me is all about that journey. One that not only continues to take me in a direction I wanna go, but repeatedly brings me back to a place I desperately need to be. A place that astutely reminds me if I just stay focused on the task at hand, the rest, the results, both good (and yea) sometimes not so good, will take care of themselves.
I have no doubt that Tim will eventually reach his weight loss goal. In fact I have every confidence that wherever he sets his sights he'll see great things come his way many times over within his lifetime. And if not today, someday recognize that a disciplined effort far outweighs a measured result. Of course as a concerned and caring Father I can only hope that day comes a tick sooner than later, because to be quite honest with ya, that discouraging look on his face is anything but becoming. See ya next time. Till then, keeep it up.
Rather than jumpin ahead at this point I thought it'd be a good idea to go back and expand on what we talked about in the last post. In part, because like so many of us, our son Tim would love little more than to shed a few extra-unwanted pounds this summer, thus for the past couple of months he's been tryin to eat better and exercise regularly. Yet so far it seems the only thing he's doin with any real regularity is hoppin on the scale, and from the discouraging look on his face it appears "the results" haven't always been to his liking.
Now I wouldn't go as far as to say I'm a diehard fan of The Biggest Loser, but my wife and I do watch the show on occasion, and while I tend to favor the competitive part of the program my wife prefers what's called "the elimination round." It's here at the end of every week that they announce who goes on and who goes home, and they determine this by calling on each of the remaining contestants to slip outta their sandals and belly up to the scale. He who loses the least amount of weight gets the boot.
What I've noticed again and again throughout this nerve-wrecking ritual is that despite one's revealing numbers and/or fate following the weigh in, regardless of their overall time spent on the ranch, when it comes time to pack it in rarely if ever does anyone do so with his or her head held down. Disappointed? Sure. Yet never defeated, but instead, with a renewed and resolved sense of commitment that seems to have em more determined than ever. I can only guess that's because it's become unmistakably clear to everyone at the ranch, as well as to the majority of us watching, that in the long run this is about more than just losing weight. It's about much more than looking better or even feeling better. It's about becoming better.
Singer songwriter Bob Dylan once said, "An artist has to be careful never really to arrive at a place where he thinks he's at somewhere. You have to realize that you're constantly in a state of becoming." After nearly nine years nowhere have I found this hard won lesson to be more true than behind the drum kit. With a dizzying blur of mixed results in my wake, there remains but one clear-cut goal still worthy of my time and effort, and that's to constantly improve and progress. If that means some lackluster returns along the way so be it, I realize it's all simply a part of the ongoing groundwork toward becoming a better drummer.
"We are at our best, and we are happiest," said co-founding Father of Personal Achievement Earl Nightingale, "when we are engaged and on the journey toward the goal." 3E for me is all about that journey. One that not only continues to take me in a direction I wanna go, but repeatedly brings me back to a place I desperately need to be. A place that astutely reminds me if I just stay focused on the task at hand, the rest, the results, both good (and yea) sometimes not so good, will take care of themselves.
I have no doubt that Tim will eventually reach his weight loss goal. In fact I have every confidence that wherever he sets his sights he'll see great things come his way many times over within his lifetime. And if not today, someday recognize that a disciplined effort far outweighs a measured result. Of course as a concerned and caring Father I can only hope that day comes a tick sooner than later, because to be quite honest with ya, that discouraging look on his face is anything but becoming. See ya next time. Till then, keeep it up.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
READY FOR THE RESULTS?
Of course you are. In fact if you're like most of us you can hardly wait. Whether it's your intention or your aim, chances are your motives and motivations are largely fueled by your insatiable desire for results. And why not? After all, results (in our results-driven society) are the coveted crown of both personal and professional achievement. And as a result, tend to garner all the glory.
Despite all the overenthusiastic adulation, however, results truly are a wonderful and worthy thing. But they're far from the only thing. In fact, according to Roget's 21st Century Thesaurus, results are little more than an after-effect, a by-product, and an offshoot. They are "an effect brought about by something."
"An after-effect? An offshoot? Brought about by what?" you may wonder. Well, here's a hint. A process (again by definition) is a method, means, or manner. It is "a series of actions to achieve a result."
So...there you have it. There's your answer. A result is something that is "brought about" by a process. Here then, is the impending question. If results are in fact little more than the result of a process, why the *^&% is it that the results continue to pocket all the praise?
As I've said many times before if there's one thing Everyday Earnest Effort has taught me it's to fully appreciate the process, and trust me I ain't alone on this. In his book Do You!, Hip Hop mogul Russel Simmons echoes my sentiments again and again. "I'll say it one more time," asserts the award-winning author. "The actual work is the process by which you obtain happiness. Not the results. Please understand that. Don't think that there's gonna be gold at the end of the road. Instead, value the process, and you'll see that the road has been paved with gold all along."
Personally, I've gawked and gazed down that road for most of my life, fancifully dreaming of all that's possible. And sadly, it's led me to give up far too soon on things I dearly love. Because just like the young boy who in this age-old Zen story travels across Japan to the school of a famous martial artist, I too had one eye stubbornly fixed on the destination.
When the boy arrives, he meets with the master who asks, "What do you wish from me?" I wish to be your student and become the finest karateka in the land," the boy replied. "How long must I study?" "Ten years at least," the master answered. "Ten years is a long time," said the boy. "What if I studied twice as hard as all your other students?" "Twenty years," replied the master. "Twenty years! What if I practice day and night?" "Thirty years," was the master's reply. "How is it that each time I say I will work harder, you tell me that it will take longer?" the boy asked. "The answer is clear," said the master. "When one eye is fixed on your destination, there is only one eye left with which to find the way."
These days I'm happy to report I've reset my sights. Sure I still tend to glance down the road every now and then, but I'm no longer puttin the cart before the horse. Instead, I'm focusing on the process, I'm honoring that process, and through doin so, have gained an entirely new perspective.
Surely you've heard the expression "Stop and smell the roses." Well consider this if you will. The next time you feel the urge to arch over and take a whiff, reach down and grab a handful of the soil those roses are rooted in. Go ahead, give it a good long look, coddle it for a moment, then, gently let it sift back down between your fingers. Now understand, that without some things others simply cannot flourish and grow. Not roses. Not ourselves.
Results, like roses, in all their radiant splendor, will no doubt always shine brightest. That's just the way it is. Yet with that said, isn't it good to know what really, and I mean really, makes em shine. See ya soon. Till then, keeep it up.
Of course you are. In fact if you're like most of us you can hardly wait. Whether it's your intention or your aim, chances are your motives and motivations are largely fueled by your insatiable desire for results. And why not? After all, results (in our results-driven society) are the coveted crown of both personal and professional achievement. And as a result, tend to garner all the glory.
Despite all the overenthusiastic adulation, however, results truly are a wonderful and worthy thing. But they're far from the only thing. In fact, according to Roget's 21st Century Thesaurus, results are little more than an after-effect, a by-product, and an offshoot. They are "an effect brought about by something."
"An after-effect? An offshoot? Brought about by what?" you may wonder. Well, here's a hint. A process (again by definition) is a method, means, or manner. It is "a series of actions to achieve a result."
So...there you have it. There's your answer. A result is something that is "brought about" by a process. Here then, is the impending question. If results are in fact little more than the result of a process, why the *^&% is it that the results continue to pocket all the praise?
As I've said many times before if there's one thing Everyday Earnest Effort has taught me it's to fully appreciate the process, and trust me I ain't alone on this. In his book Do You!, Hip Hop mogul Russel Simmons echoes my sentiments again and again. "I'll say it one more time," asserts the award-winning author. "The actual work is the process by which you obtain happiness. Not the results. Please understand that. Don't think that there's gonna be gold at the end of the road. Instead, value the process, and you'll see that the road has been paved with gold all along."
Personally, I've gawked and gazed down that road for most of my life, fancifully dreaming of all that's possible. And sadly, it's led me to give up far too soon on things I dearly love. Because just like the young boy who in this age-old Zen story travels across Japan to the school of a famous martial artist, I too had one eye stubbornly fixed on the destination.
When the boy arrives, he meets with the master who asks, "What do you wish from me?" I wish to be your student and become the finest karateka in the land," the boy replied. "How long must I study?" "Ten years at least," the master answered. "Ten years is a long time," said the boy. "What if I studied twice as hard as all your other students?" "Twenty years," replied the master. "Twenty years! What if I practice day and night?" "Thirty years," was the master's reply. "How is it that each time I say I will work harder, you tell me that it will take longer?" the boy asked. "The answer is clear," said the master. "When one eye is fixed on your destination, there is only one eye left with which to find the way."
These days I'm happy to report I've reset my sights. Sure I still tend to glance down the road every now and then, but I'm no longer puttin the cart before the horse. Instead, I'm focusing on the process, I'm honoring that process, and through doin so, have gained an entirely new perspective.
Surely you've heard the expression "Stop and smell the roses." Well consider this if you will. The next time you feel the urge to arch over and take a whiff, reach down and grab a handful of the soil those roses are rooted in. Go ahead, give it a good long look, coddle it for a moment, then, gently let it sift back down between your fingers. Now understand, that without some things others simply cannot flourish and grow. Not roses. Not ourselves.
Results, like roses, in all their radiant splendor, will no doubt always shine brightest. That's just the way it is. Yet with that said, isn't it good to know what really, and I mean really, makes em shine. See ya soon. Till then, keeep it up.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
STORY TIME
Ever feel empowered after readin a good book, hearin a great song, or watchin a gripping movie? How about after listenin to a motivating speech or talk, or seein the home team come from behind to narrowly win it at the buzzer? The reason I ask is because on the slipcover of a book I recently read were printed the praiseful words, "This empowering book..." Now, although it was a good read and all, I gotta tell ya, I'd be lyin if I told ya that it left me feeling empowered. Inspired? Yea. But empowered? Eh, not so much.
Of course maybe if I'd written the book. Maybe if I'd spent countless hours dauntlessly gazing at the empty page pondering the exhaustive list of potential reasons why I can't or shouldn't write it and wrote it anyway, then I'd feel empowered. Maybe in the midst of a long and turbulent string of sleepless nights wrestling with the unthinkable idea of what if I don't do it I did it anyway, then I'd feel empowered. Maybe if in spite of all my doubts and fears I eventually conquered all my doubts and fears by simply buckling down and focusing on the work at hand, then I'd feel empowered. Maybe, just maybe, if after the better part of a good long while I had remained fully committed to doin that work and through it all finally proved to myself once and for all that I could do it, then, I would feel empowered.
Remember Taylor from the last time around, the 18-year-old girl who loves playin soccer but hates those dreaded running drills her coach doles out to the team during practice? Personally I felt that was a pretty inspiring story. But I'm guessin that if anyone was empowered by Taylor's story it had to be Taylor herself. I mean after all, she made the commitment, she put in the effort, she endured the pain, she took the necessary steps to find her stride, and after two tireless months of puttin her nose to the grindstone she's the one who hit it. Empowering? Hell yea! For Taylor.
The point is, inspiration is one thing, and if ya need some just take a look around. Because what you'll find is that while Taylor's story is a unique and personal one, it's also one that's not all that uncommon. If you're lookin to be empowered, however, well, that's another thing altogether. That's a whooole 'nother story. One I'm sure is just waitin to be written. Get my drift. See ya soon. Till then, keeep it up.
Ever feel empowered after readin a good book, hearin a great song, or watchin a gripping movie? How about after listenin to a motivating speech or talk, or seein the home team come from behind to narrowly win it at the buzzer? The reason I ask is because on the slipcover of a book I recently read were printed the praiseful words, "This empowering book..." Now, although it was a good read and all, I gotta tell ya, I'd be lyin if I told ya that it left me feeling empowered. Inspired? Yea. But empowered? Eh, not so much.
Of course maybe if I'd written the book. Maybe if I'd spent countless hours dauntlessly gazing at the empty page pondering the exhaustive list of potential reasons why I can't or shouldn't write it and wrote it anyway, then I'd feel empowered. Maybe in the midst of a long and turbulent string of sleepless nights wrestling with the unthinkable idea of what if I don't do it I did it anyway, then I'd feel empowered. Maybe if in spite of all my doubts and fears I eventually conquered all my doubts and fears by simply buckling down and focusing on the work at hand, then I'd feel empowered. Maybe, just maybe, if after the better part of a good long while I had remained fully committed to doin that work and through it all finally proved to myself once and for all that I could do it, then, I would feel empowered.
Remember Taylor from the last time around, the 18-year-old girl who loves playin soccer but hates those dreaded running drills her coach doles out to the team during practice? Personally I felt that was a pretty inspiring story. But I'm guessin that if anyone was empowered by Taylor's story it had to be Taylor herself. I mean after all, she made the commitment, she put in the effort, she endured the pain, she took the necessary steps to find her stride, and after two tireless months of puttin her nose to the grindstone she's the one who hit it. Empowering? Hell yea! For Taylor.
The point is, inspiration is one thing, and if ya need some just take a look around. Because what you'll find is that while Taylor's story is a unique and personal one, it's also one that's not all that uncommon. If you're lookin to be empowered, however, well, that's another thing altogether. That's a whooole 'nother story. One I'm sure is just waitin to be written. Get my drift. See ya soon. Till then, keeep it up.
Monday, March 14, 2011
TAYLOR MADE
I gotta level with ya, it felt pretty awkward puttin passion in its place last time around. But in all honesty I just couldn't resist, primarily for two reasons. First, when it comes to personal growth and achievement I know as well as anyone that deep down ingrained passion is priceless. But by and large it's somethin you're born with...or not. 3E on the other hand is somethin you work at, and that I'm reasonably convinced makes it somethin we can all potentially benefit from.
Secondly, even if ya do possess the passion, ya still gotta put in the effort, cause there's still plenty of work to be done. Passion may be priceless when you're chasin your dreams, but I can tell ya firsthand it's as worthless as God given talent or ability if that's all you're willing to bring to the table. Doin what'cha love requires a helluva lot more that just doin what'cha love, and I think the following excerpt from Success for Teens illustrates that pretty well.
In the book, Taylor, 18, tells of how she loves playing soccer, but has always hated doing running drills during practice to improve her conditioning. She has played soccer since the age of 5, but as she got older and the game got more competitive, her coaches made the team perform more running drills to stay in shape. Her team would spend the first hour of their three-hour practice on conditioning. And on the days they didn't have practice, her coach told the team to run three miles in 30 minutes.
"For the first month, I couldn't even finish the three miles," Taylor says. "I would stop at about two and a half because the pain was so great. It made me sick to my stomach to run that far. And there were days when I wouldn't run at all because I didn't feel like it."
Taylor thought maybe she could get away with not running, but during practice, it was obvious which players did and didn't complete their conditioning drills. She began lagging behind, unable to keep up with her teammates. She soon realized she was hurting her team, and their chances of reaching their goals at the end of the season.
From that point forward, on the days she didn't feel like running, Taylor made herself put on her shoes and work on her conditioning. "Even if I had to start slow, I realized I was at least trying, instead of sitting at home," she says. "The first day I could only do two miles in 30 minutes. It was slow and painful because I hadn't been running. But once I kept going, I could see myself getting faster, and as you see yourself getting faster, the easier it gets."
It took Taylor two months to be able to run three miles in 30 minutes. She was then able to play an entire soccer match without feeling worn out. Soon college coaches who were scouting her high school team started noticing her excellent conditioning. They sent her emails commending her on her ability to play at a high level the entire game. Ultimately, Taylor's willingness to make small strides toward her goals paid off big. She is now attending college on a scholarship and is playing soccer for the school team.
Kudos Taylor, for doin something you love, as well as, the other things that most of us don't. Or won't. See ya next time. Till then, keeep it up.
I gotta level with ya, it felt pretty awkward puttin passion in its place last time around. But in all honesty I just couldn't resist, primarily for two reasons. First, when it comes to personal growth and achievement I know as well as anyone that deep down ingrained passion is priceless. But by and large it's somethin you're born with...or not. 3E on the other hand is somethin you work at, and that I'm reasonably convinced makes it somethin we can all potentially benefit from.
Secondly, even if ya do possess the passion, ya still gotta put in the effort, cause there's still plenty of work to be done. Passion may be priceless when you're chasin your dreams, but I can tell ya firsthand it's as worthless as God given talent or ability if that's all you're willing to bring to the table. Doin what'cha love requires a helluva lot more that just doin what'cha love, and I think the following excerpt from Success for Teens illustrates that pretty well.
In the book, Taylor, 18, tells of how she loves playing soccer, but has always hated doing running drills during practice to improve her conditioning. She has played soccer since the age of 5, but as she got older and the game got more competitive, her coaches made the team perform more running drills to stay in shape. Her team would spend the first hour of their three-hour practice on conditioning. And on the days they didn't have practice, her coach told the team to run three miles in 30 minutes.
"For the first month, I couldn't even finish the three miles," Taylor says. "I would stop at about two and a half because the pain was so great. It made me sick to my stomach to run that far. And there were days when I wouldn't run at all because I didn't feel like it."
Taylor thought maybe she could get away with not running, but during practice, it was obvious which players did and didn't complete their conditioning drills. She began lagging behind, unable to keep up with her teammates. She soon realized she was hurting her team, and their chances of reaching their goals at the end of the season.
From that point forward, on the days she didn't feel like running, Taylor made herself put on her shoes and work on her conditioning. "Even if I had to start slow, I realized I was at least trying, instead of sitting at home," she says. "The first day I could only do two miles in 30 minutes. It was slow and painful because I hadn't been running. But once I kept going, I could see myself getting faster, and as you see yourself getting faster, the easier it gets."
It took Taylor two months to be able to run three miles in 30 minutes. She was then able to play an entire soccer match without feeling worn out. Soon college coaches who were scouting her high school team started noticing her excellent conditioning. They sent her emails commending her on her ability to play at a high level the entire game. Ultimately, Taylor's willingness to make small strides toward her goals paid off big. She is now attending college on a scholarship and is playing soccer for the school team.
Kudos Taylor, for doin something you love, as well as, the other things that most of us don't. Or won't. See ya next time. Till then, keeep it up.
Friday, February 18, 2011
PASSIONATE. PASSIONOT.
Today I'd like to talk a little about one of Donald Trump's prerequisites for success. He talks about it often and always with a great deal of conviction. He claims that without it the chances of being successful dramatically decline. He is affectionately referring to passion, that strong and deep-seated love for what you do, and/or hope to do.
Kevin Hall, self-proclaimed word nerd and author of Aspire, argues that it's about more than just love. "Passion, as does path," he says, "comes from suffering. It means that you're willing to suffer for what you want. So the question isn't so much are you passionate, it's are you passionate enough to keep going; to finish what you started?"
Me, I consider myself an extremely passionate person, yet I'll be the first to admit that I've veered of the path more times than I care to remember. Nonetheless, I've always felt that passion is an integral part of any well-deserved success. So much so that I originally dubbed "Passion On" the unofficial motto of Ingzig. But as things continued to unfold I kept thinkin, "What if you're not brimming with passion? What if you don't have that certain somethin that lights a fire under your aspirations? Does that mean you don't have any worthwhile goals?" The more I thought about it the more I questioned whether passionate was in fact appropriate for Ingzig, and of course if not, what was? Alas, after a relatively short string of sleep-deprived nights it hit me.
Earnest: A synonym for determined, devoted, diligent, purposeful, constant, steady, sincere, and passionate, was just the constituent I was lookin for. It both fit and felt right, plus, our good friend passionate was part of it, but an equal part, no more no less, and for me that was critical. Because in the end, more so than anything else, Ingzig celebrates a process, one that requires some work, and that work (as any successful person will attest) isn't always (as passionate might imply) eloquent, emotional, heated or heartfelt. In fact just the other day I was watching an instructional video in which legendary rock drummer Tommy Aldridge was sharing his techniques for double bass playing, techniques he said he'd worked years at to perfect; work he himself described as "Boring, Boring, Boring." Now I'm not sayin Tommy isn't passionate about playin, on the contrary, not only do I think he's proven again and again that he's "passionate enough," but also, that passion alone simply isn't.
Make no mistake, if you're in hot pursuit of your passion, if you are indeed doin what you love consider yourself one of the lucky ones. Because the truth is you'd be hard pressed to find a greater source of motivation. On the other hand, if you haven't been blessed with this "rare" and precious gift try not to feel as though you've been short changed, because trust me, there's a whole lot more to it. So pull up your bootstraps, set some goals and hone some skills. Stay hungry, stay focused, and most importantly, stay disciplined. Honor the work involved by doin it, again and again. Granted, you may not always love it, but they'll come a time when you'll damn well appreciate it.
Note: Les Brown is a motivational speaker, coach, and best selling author who recently added radio celebrity to his resume. Not long ago I tuned in and lo and behold just before goin to a commercial break he urged his audience to call in and talk about their passion. "Tell me what's in your heart," he asserted. "What is it that gets you excited?" Upon his return to the air he immediately voiced his disappointment over the number of lines that lit up. "Come on people, I know you're out there," he exclaimed. "Surely there's somethin that gets ya outta bed in the mornin." Now I might be reading way too much into this but suffice it to say the somewhat dismal response to this reasonable request once again had me thinkin about all the good folks who (and I know you're out there) don't echo Mr. Brown's enthusiastic level of passion. However, at the same time I couldn't help but take a bit of comfort in the encouraging fact that we've all got some hopes and dreams, and that there's a really good chance that the only thing standin in the way of em comin true is a little Everyday "Earnest" Effort. See ya next time. Till then, keeep it up.
Today I'd like to talk a little about one of Donald Trump's prerequisites for success. He talks about it often and always with a great deal of conviction. He claims that without it the chances of being successful dramatically decline. He is affectionately referring to passion, that strong and deep-seated love for what you do, and/or hope to do.
Kevin Hall, self-proclaimed word nerd and author of Aspire, argues that it's about more than just love. "Passion, as does path," he says, "comes from suffering. It means that you're willing to suffer for what you want. So the question isn't so much are you passionate, it's are you passionate enough to keep going; to finish what you started?"
Me, I consider myself an extremely passionate person, yet I'll be the first to admit that I've veered of the path more times than I care to remember. Nonetheless, I've always felt that passion is an integral part of any well-deserved success. So much so that I originally dubbed "Passion On" the unofficial motto of Ingzig. But as things continued to unfold I kept thinkin, "What if you're not brimming with passion? What if you don't have that certain somethin that lights a fire under your aspirations? Does that mean you don't have any worthwhile goals?" The more I thought about it the more I questioned whether passionate was in fact appropriate for Ingzig, and of course if not, what was? Alas, after a relatively short string of sleep-deprived nights it hit me.
Earnest: A synonym for determined, devoted, diligent, purposeful, constant, steady, sincere, and passionate, was just the constituent I was lookin for. It both fit and felt right, plus, our good friend passionate was part of it, but an equal part, no more no less, and for me that was critical. Because in the end, more so than anything else, Ingzig celebrates a process, one that requires some work, and that work (as any successful person will attest) isn't always (as passionate might imply) eloquent, emotional, heated or heartfelt. In fact just the other day I was watching an instructional video in which legendary rock drummer Tommy Aldridge was sharing his techniques for double bass playing, techniques he said he'd worked years at to perfect; work he himself described as "Boring, Boring, Boring." Now I'm not sayin Tommy isn't passionate about playin, on the contrary, not only do I think he's proven again and again that he's "passionate enough," but also, that passion alone simply isn't.
Make no mistake, if you're in hot pursuit of your passion, if you are indeed doin what you love consider yourself one of the lucky ones. Because the truth is you'd be hard pressed to find a greater source of motivation. On the other hand, if you haven't been blessed with this "rare" and precious gift try not to feel as though you've been short changed, because trust me, there's a whole lot more to it. So pull up your bootstraps, set some goals and hone some skills. Stay hungry, stay focused, and most importantly, stay disciplined. Honor the work involved by doin it, again and again. Granted, you may not always love it, but they'll come a time when you'll damn well appreciate it.
Note: Les Brown is a motivational speaker, coach, and best selling author who recently added radio celebrity to his resume. Not long ago I tuned in and lo and behold just before goin to a commercial break he urged his audience to call in and talk about their passion. "Tell me what's in your heart," he asserted. "What is it that gets you excited?" Upon his return to the air he immediately voiced his disappointment over the number of lines that lit up. "Come on people, I know you're out there," he exclaimed. "Surely there's somethin that gets ya outta bed in the mornin." Now I might be reading way too much into this but suffice it to say the somewhat dismal response to this reasonable request once again had me thinkin about all the good folks who (and I know you're out there) don't echo Mr. Brown's enthusiastic level of passion. However, at the same time I couldn't help but take a bit of comfort in the encouraging fact that we've all got some hopes and dreams, and that there's a really good chance that the only thing standin in the way of em comin true is a little Everyday "Earnest" Effort. See ya next time. Till then, keeep it up.
Monday, January 10, 2011
HUNGRY NEW YEAR
Happy New Year! And I mean that. Then again what exactly does that mean? I mean "happy." What does happy really mean?
Now while the jury may still be out on the definitive interpretation of happiness, I'm guessin that you have a pretty good idea of what makes you happy. And so too apparently does University of Pennsylvania psychologist Martin Seligman. In his book, Authentic Happiness, he notes that in our ongoing quest for happiness most of us will no doubt find ourselves spending the better part of our lives pursuing pleasure. Yet he also points out that of the three "examined" components of happiness; pleasure, engagement, and meaning, it is pleasure that is the least consequential to a satisfying life, and that engagement and meaning are far more important.
Now as much as I enjoy the simpler pleasures I'm gonna have to agree with my man Marty on this one. Because when it gets down to a deeper level of happiness, the kind that tugs at the old heartstrings, those simple pleasures simply can't hold a candle to the sort of personal satisfaction that comes from being fully engaged in something truly meaningful, nor should we honestly ever expect em to.
When I started drummin again in '02 I wasn't unhappy, in fact, overall things were pretty good. Still I knew somethin was missin. At the time, I felt my life could largely be broken down (as well as summed up) into twenty-four hour time slots that aside from being chronologically connected were for the most part detached and independent of one another. Once I made the commitment to drummin, however, each day became intimately intertwined, there was a flow, a reassuring rhythm if you will. Suddenly, instead of frayed and fragmented, my life felt much more cohesive and coherent. Everyday was now more than just another day, it was another golden opportunity to build and improve on what I did the day before. Subsequently, I feel my life's become a steady and continuing work in progress, one with a newfound sense of meaning and purpose. And yea, this has all no doubt made me very happy, but better yet, it's made me hungry for more.
Speakin of that, tonight's opening night of the 2011 Supercross season and you can bet there's gonna be a horde of hungry riders out there ready to bang bars for that top spot on the podium. Motocross by the way is my all-time favorite sport, and after a relatively long off-season I'm probably as excited as anyone to see that gate drop. Throw in a pizza and a couple of beers and heck, I couldn't be happier...if ya know what I mean. See ya next time. Till then, keeep it up.
Happy New Year! And I mean that. Then again what exactly does that mean? I mean "happy." What does happy really mean?
Now while the jury may still be out on the definitive interpretation of happiness, I'm guessin that you have a pretty good idea of what makes you happy. And so too apparently does University of Pennsylvania psychologist Martin Seligman. In his book, Authentic Happiness, he notes that in our ongoing quest for happiness most of us will no doubt find ourselves spending the better part of our lives pursuing pleasure. Yet he also points out that of the three "examined" components of happiness; pleasure, engagement, and meaning, it is pleasure that is the least consequential to a satisfying life, and that engagement and meaning are far more important.
Now as much as I enjoy the simpler pleasures I'm gonna have to agree with my man Marty on this one. Because when it gets down to a deeper level of happiness, the kind that tugs at the old heartstrings, those simple pleasures simply can't hold a candle to the sort of personal satisfaction that comes from being fully engaged in something truly meaningful, nor should we honestly ever expect em to.
When I started drummin again in '02 I wasn't unhappy, in fact, overall things were pretty good. Still I knew somethin was missin. At the time, I felt my life could largely be broken down (as well as summed up) into twenty-four hour time slots that aside from being chronologically connected were for the most part detached and independent of one another. Once I made the commitment to drummin, however, each day became intimately intertwined, there was a flow, a reassuring rhythm if you will. Suddenly, instead of frayed and fragmented, my life felt much more cohesive and coherent. Everyday was now more than just another day, it was another golden opportunity to build and improve on what I did the day before. Subsequently, I feel my life's become a steady and continuing work in progress, one with a newfound sense of meaning and purpose. And yea, this has all no doubt made me very happy, but better yet, it's made me hungry for more.
Speakin of that, tonight's opening night of the 2011 Supercross season and you can bet there's gonna be a horde of hungry riders out there ready to bang bars for that top spot on the podium. Motocross by the way is my all-time favorite sport, and after a relatively long off-season I'm probably as excited as anyone to see that gate drop. Throw in a pizza and a couple of beers and heck, I couldn't be happier...if ya know what I mean. See ya next time. Till then, keeep it up.
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