CARRY ON

Being from Detroit, I was (and proudly, still am) a Motown junkie. Even though Motown Records had moved to LA by the time I really began to appreciate the music, it did not matter. Diana Ross, The Supremes, Marvin Gaye, The Temptations, Stevie Wonder---MAGIC.

I remember my first Diana Ross concert. It was at The Ford Auditorium in downtown Detroit. It was in the late 70s. I went with my mom, my grandmother, my best friend. I think I was in junior high. The concert was awesome, but what I remember most was my grandmother getting up out of her seat with her program, going a few rows in front of us and getting autographs from Diana's brother, mother, and and Aretha Franklin. I still have that program. Classic.

Carry on.

E.K.

In the late 1980s, I needed to take a break from my life. So I went on a month-long Sabbatical and began volunteering for an organization in the East Village founded by Marianne Williamson called The Manhattan Center for Living.

I found myself surrounded by an amazingly eclectic, loving and extremely dedicated group of individuals who were committed to fighting the-then death sentence of HIV/AIDS. Straight and Gay/All Colors and Religions--and I was with them. They welcomed me. This was what I needed to get away from the highly critical voice in my head that was telling me over and over again that I was not living the life that I was intended to.

And, by the way, I was not making a ton of money, I did not have anything saved. I just used up every hour of comp time, vacation time and sick time--I was determined to clear my head. One way or another.

THE MYSTERIOUS LAND OF ALMOST

I find myself in this place.

I have almost completely quit drinking.

I have almost lost my stomach.

I almost want to take some more acting classes again.

I almost want to buy a guitar and take lessons.

I have almost regained my urge to begin writing my book again.

I have almost created the practice I want.

Almost.

Almost.

The mysterious, magical land of almost. There was a time, when I could not even think of almost. There was a time when the world was colored in such a way that the task(s) at hand was either possible or impossible. I was either competent or not. The world was inviting or hostile. There was no middle ground. And when we (or I) see that there is no middle ground, then it is difficult to imagine the possibility. And the possibility is that we (I) can achieve what we desire.

GOOSE BUMPS

My note from The Universe (www.TUT.com) said this today:

"Look at it like this, Jeff, the more challenging your life story has been so far, the bigger the goose bumps for future generations who retell it to their kids. Who will no doubt add, "And if Jeff Robinson was able to do all that, so can you!"

We've barely just begun - "

Good to hear.

So, imagine you are laying on a blanket under an old oak in the park listening to 2 strangers talk about your life--what would you be hearing? The accomplishments you achieved? The people you touched? The money you made? The possessions you acquired? The relationships you cultivated? The chances you took? Or the risks you avoided?

Would you be proud? Touched? Inspired? Sad? Frustrated?

If you're like me, it's probably a mixed bag.

And if you're like me, your eyes may be focused to that last question: "Or the risks you avoided?"

What message, then, do we send ourselves when we avoid taking a risk? Yes, we get busy, we get tired, money is tight, there is a recession, my 401K is dwindling, the locusts are coming.......

But what is the more subtle message? Could it be that we have been somehow conditioned to avoid rather than face life head-on (to live life ALMOST in the moment). Could it be that we have been conditioned to learn that any sort of conflict is a danger to us? That if we dare become near to it, then we risk something close to a cataclysm?

And...if we do peak around the corner of that risk and dare to dream for a mili-moment, are we then faced with the prospect of failure, and the eventual (and this is dramatic) destruction of ourself? So we do what is comfortable, and crawl back into our safe zone.

No risk=No threat to myself. Simple. And known.

THE 2-STEP

There are many parts of me that I consider pretty fearless. I am pretty confident in my business skills and feel confident in what I have created and what has yet to be created. I am confident in my ability to size people up and to determine whether or not they are "good" for me. I am pretty confident with speaking up for myself and getting my needs met.

Where I have discovered my fear is alive and well is in my physical realm. There will be a later and lengthier blog on this, but during a recent session with my trainer at the gym, one of the routines was to hold 10 pound weights in each hand and take the steps up 2 at a time for 5 reps. Normally--let me correct myself--back in 2005--I would have done that with ease.

But pre- and post-hip surgery, I became very unsure of myself--"Can I do this?" "What will I look like to others in the gym--will I be wobbly?" "I am going to look unsure of myself."

The message my brain was sending to my leg, my soul, my psyche, the Universe, was:

"IF YOU CANNOT DO THIS PERFECTLY, THEN DO NOT DO IT AT ALL."

I must have looked down at my right leg for a good 2 minutes and up at those stairs for another 2. I had visions of my hip popping out of its socket, EMS being called, having to go back to The Hospital for Joint Diseases and trying to explain to my surgeon what happened. And then, I would be bed-ridden for another month. James Caan, MISERY, redux.

"Fuck it." I grabbed the 2 weights, hiked my stronger left leg up to the 2nd step first and followed with the more challenged right one. And then the right leg took the risk and swung up the 2 steps--shakily--but it made it. And I did that all the way to the top. And 4 more times. And later in the workout, 4 more times after that.

If there was a moment for me--that was mine. It wasn't perfect. I won no awards that day. No one, albeit Josh, congratulated me on my accomplishment. That was appreciated, of course, but I KNEW that I did something huge that day and THAT gave me goose bumps.

Go get some goose bumps today! You deserve it.

I HATE YOU

God, when I was a kid, I can’t even begin to imagine how many times these words spilled from my lips.

And where did they land? In the ears of my mom, my dad, my beloved grandma, my brother, friends, love interests...

And the memories of those words rose again the other afternoon when I heard of the shooting at the Holocaust Museum in Washington, DC.

Why do we do this?

Why do we hang people from trees because of their skin color?

Why do we beat them and leave them on an old fence to slowly die because of their sexual preference?

Why do we fly planes into buildings killing innocent people because we don’t like their governments and the ideals of democracy and freedom?

Why do we drag men from behind pick-up trucks because of their skin color?

Why do we drive cars with babies strapped in carseats into a lake and leave them there to drown?

Why do we chase, attack and kill people who do not look like us, or believe in what we may believe in?

Why do we maim, rape and slaughter thousands and thousands of refugees who are trying to flee a dangerous land in order to build a better life for themselves and their children?

Why do we rejoice when abortion doctors are slaughtered in churches and in their places of work?

Why do we celebrate when gay soldiers are killed in action?

Why are we happy when people die of AIDS?

Why do we kill civic leaders who are trying to create a better place for vast segments of society?

Why do we shoot up campuses, hotels, cafes--places that were once safe havens for study, for sleep, for solace?

Why do we deny tragedies such as the Holocaust?

Why do we pit Muslims against Christians against Jews against...?

Why do we decide who should marry, who should bear children, who should abort children, who should live where, who can join the country club, who can adopt?

Why do we do this?

Well, the obvious reason is because we are afraid. The more complicated answer is because when I was a kid, I said, “I hate you.”

THE GRAND MARQUIS

The Grand Marquis Station Wagon with Wood on the Side, Marianne Williamson’s Miracle Thoughts, The Red Audi, The Middle Finger, and Me

.I work Saturdays. I like working Saturdays. There is no traffic at The Holland Tunnel. I am able to zip in and out of the city. It almost feels like a non-work day. Everything just seems a bit more relaxed and at peace.

A few weeks ago, I was driving my usual route from my home to the Garden State Parkway and this Grand Marquis Station Wagon with wood on the side pulled out in front of me. No biggie. I was relaxed. I had my sunroof open, my windows down and was listening to Marianne Williamsonʼs Miracle Thoughts for my daily lift and spiritual awakening. I was in a good space.

The speed limit on the road that I take to the Parkway varies between 25 and 45. Evidently the guy in the GMSW did not take note. He was averaging 20-25. I was still pretty cool. Marianne was doing her job.

Cars were beginning to pile up behind me. I could not pass the guy--double yellow lines. And, frankly, I was in no hurry.

Huh, he seems to be slowing down, I observed.

To my dismay, I began to draw a mental and physical picture of this guy. I knew he was a smoker--I could see the the cancer clouds billowing from his driverʼs side window. Was he off to work this morning? Was he pissed that he has to work on a Saturday and was his controlling the flow of traffic his way of feeling that he has some control over his world or was it just a “fuck you” to people like me who drive foreign cars? “Jeff--stop doing this--listen to Miracle Thoughts!”

Our journey continues. We pass the soccer fields, and as we approach the train tracks The Grand Marquis realizes a train is coming and that he is not going to make it before the crossing gate comes down. He is pissed. He begins pounding his fists and forearms on his steering wheel and dashboard. It is a sight to behold. I smile. Lifeʼs not that bad, buddy, I try to convey to him.

The train eventually passes, the crossing gates rise, and The Grand Marquis, once again begins his 20-mile an hour saunter with a caravan of at least a dozen cars in his wake. What is he hoping to gain here? I can see that he is looking at me in his rear view mirror. What is he thinking?

We eventually arrive at the intersection at Central Avenue, which will take me to the Parkway. This is a major road. The Grand Marquis blows through the red light, tires screeching. I am intrigued. I follow--after making my appropriate stop and legal right on red, of course!! I catch up to him on his right. With all of his God-given might, he leans over to the passenger side of his Grand Marquis Station Wagon, and mightily thrusts his right arm out the window and gives me the finger with a loud and hoarse “FUCK YOU!”

“Forgiveness offers everything I want.” That is the Miracle Thought I was listening to that day.

I totally forgive that guy. I know that it wasnʼt me that pissed him off that beautiful Saturday morning. So many factors could have been affecting how he was feeling that day. And perhaps being trailed by some guy in an Audi, didnʼt help--who knows? That

is between him and ......

So, letʼs remember, when we find ourselves the recipients of some unexpected, and certainly unwanted hostility and/or criticism, maybe, just maybe we need to take a step back, not react in the moment and show a little empathy and mercy. That stuff goes a long way.

And, to be honest, I have not always done it, but Iʼm getting better at it. Because in the past, if I was attacked, I would come back at you with guns blazing or write you off as if you never existed. But now, I like to think I am learning to be a little more thoughtful, a little more caring and, most importantly, a little more forgiving.

There are Grand Marquis Station Wagons with wood on the side all around us. We can live happy lives with them as long as we do not react when they want us to. Even as they thrust us the finger. Very classy.

HOCUS POCUS DOMINO-CUS

I recently hired a personal trainer. Josh is probably the 6th or 7th Iʼve hired over the years. Some have been good, some have been okay. Josh is by far the best. (And, Josh, if you do read this, keep yourself in check, buddy!)

I had an interesting moment with Josh the other day. Actually, let me back up. We had our initial meeting in my office. I gave Josh my workout history and what I hoped to accomplish in our time together. I also told him that my primary goal was to be back running with the New York Roadrunners Club in the fall. But before I did that, I needed to get my legs much stronger.

So the other day at the gym, we were doing a new exercise for my quads. Now remember, with the hip surgery a few years ago, the right quad muscles were almost completely weakened. So with my goals in mind, Josh was showing me a step-up exercise where one foot is on an elevated surface while the other foot is flat on the floor with the toes up. The bottom foot is slowly raised to join the other on the elevated surface. It sounds simple and is a very effective workout to strengthen the quadriceps.

I tried and tried, but could not do it. My quadriceps were just not strong enough. Frustrated, deflated, and pissed, I finally said “Josh, this is not going to work for me right now. I canʼt do this.”

“Okay, Jeff, weʼll try something else.”

\He set up an alternative squat exercise and as I readied myself, I found that my thoughts were still on that last set. I could not shake my recent “failure”.

Josh sensed my distraction. “You seem discouraged. Whatʼs going on?”

The magic words.

In that instant, the gates opened. I had a flashback of a teenage kid on the golf course with his Dad and uncles, frustrated, because his ball was in a sand trap and he could not get it out. But no one asked me if they could help--no guidance was offered. I just remember Dad admonishing me, “Jeff, settle down.”

When Josh spoke those few simple words, I was okay. I knew I would get through this. I had someone with me who was going to help me attain my goals. I was not being put down, I was not being told that I was weak. I was being told that everything was going to be okay. Goals and plans are not fixed--adjustments can be made.

Most importantly: Even though I did not say a word about how I was feeling, Josh picked up on my concern--that is the critical piece here.

How often do we miss the opportunity to just check in with those around us if we perceive that they may be feeling a bit down or discouraged? Are we able to get

outside of our own heads? Of our own stuff? And just show a little a tenderness? A little understanding? A little mercy?

When clients come to my office, my inner dialogue often begins with:

I know that you are struggling--you have come to this place--my office; you are sitting in this chair, this couch. But I also know that you are resilient. You have endured and are enduring pain and conflict. You have been hurt by those you loved and those you thought loved you. You have felt misunderstood and not heard at critical moments. You have had dreams that have been squashed either by your own hands or the hands of others or the universe. You have expectations that have not been achieved and now you wonder, “Is it me? Do I need too much?” And the questions deepen, and linger, and persist and the noise in your mind continues. But sometimes, the simplest of remedies is just an outside voice asking, “You seem discouraged--whatʼs going on?”

Itʼs pretty simple stuff, really.