Bearing witness to Sarah’s learning process is my job as her father.  One time it was riding a bike, another was spelling words, then it was leadership.  One difficult day I listened to her tearfully tell me the lesson she learned, that some men are violent assholes.  Holding space for Sarah’s learning process, as difficult as it can be, has given me many gifts over the years.  At first I thought my job was to sit patiently in the passenger seat while alternating between sage instruction sprinkled with driving stories and praise.  Later I discovered that once again, there are two students.  I’m teaching Sarah about navigating the world as an adult, this time in a car, and she’s teaching me about trust.  Until now the trust has been decidedly one sided.  ”You trust me with your very existence and I’ll trust you to do your level best.”

In the passenger seat of the Matrix (which is named Shahniquah but that’s another story) I realized that the tables have been turned.  My life was literally in Sarah’s hands.  I trusted that my daughter, with 1 hour of driving experience would safely convey us to our destination.  I assure you that it was no simple task to remain calm while Sarah navigated rush hour traffic filled with more cars and curbs than I remember.  I’m happy to report that we arrived safely home with both car and psyche’s intact.  I’m looking forward to the next lesson from Sarah, the patient teacher.

WHAT IF PSYCHIATRISTS came up with different language to describe the suffering of people who troop into their consulting rooms every day? Instead of diagnosing a young woman with “borderline-personality disorder,” how about “lost in the realm of the fluttering leaves”? Instead of “depression,” how about “buried by avalanche, still breathing”? And, just as the Inuit have different words for snow on the ground and snow in the air and snow that drifts, maybe we could have different words for tears: tears we’ll forget by tomorrow, tears we never cried but should have, tears that fall from our children’s eyes, tears that fall too quickly to wipe away.

And yes, it’s from Sy Safransky’s Notebook

A DECADE INTO the twenty-first century, some pundits suggest that we’re living through the most divisive period in U.S. history; apparently they’ve forgotten the Vietnam era, the civil-rights movement, the campaign for women’s suffrage, or, for that matter, the bloody and prolonged War between the States, in which nearly as many Americans died as in all our other wars combined, from the War for Independence to the struggle for the minds and hearts and oil of the people of Iraq.
A decade into the twenty-first century, the United States still has military bases in more than one hundred countries. U.S. dominance in the world continues to decline as India and China become the new economic superpowers. (Then again, global domination isn’t what the Founding Fathers had in mind.)
A decade into the twenty-first century, Americans, apparently the thirstiest people on the planet, still carry bottled water wherever they go. The average cloud still weighs the same as one hundred elephants, give or take an elephant. String theory still suggests that there are a vast number of parallel realities; in one such reality, presumably, John McCain is president and Sarah Palin is vice-president. The female black-widow spider still occasionally kills and eats the male after they mate.
A decade into the twenty-first century, ordinary men and women still perform unheralded acts of courage. An ant is still able to lift ten times its own weight. Food cooked with love still makes young bones grow stronger. It’s still impossible to commit suicide by holding your breath.

I’m also shooting short interviews with my Flip camera.  I’m enjoying using the Flip camera for some basic storytelling.  Last fall I started a series of interviews about the New Warrior Training Adventure.  I attended the NWTA in October of 2004 and it was a life-changing experience for me.  I decided to ask other graduates what they learned at the training and how it impacted them and their families.  I’ve used some downtime to edit Pat Sullivan’s interview.  Look for more interviews in the near future.

“Good storytelling is the balancing of constraints at multiple scales of presentation… film editors design shot patterns with care, generating a visual momentum in the viewer, who tracks the narrative.”

If you’re an editor, love movies, or just a geek, it’s worth a read.

1.  Encourage others with abandon.

It’s the practice to support the school’s other choirs by making ‘the tunnel’ and cheering them as they leave the changing room for warm up and performance.  This is a wonderful show of encouragement that everyone is expected to take part of.  What struck me though, was the encouragement that was shown to other choirs, even the competition, as they walked by.  Everyone in the Pike area stopped what they were doing and applauded them and said good luck as they passed.

It takes so little effort for me to encourage the people around I’m around.  Friends, family and even strangers can benefit from a little encouragement.  All I need to do is pull my head out of my own little world and look around at the people I’m sharing my space with.  What are they doing?  How can I offer encouragement?  As I move around in this world, I want to look for opportunities to bless, affirm and encourage the people around me.

2.  Support means showing up.

During a competition, it’s the expectation that everyone shows up at every performance.  Every solo performance, every show choir performance, every concert choir performance.  The lesson here is that I can’t properly support someone if I’m not there.  Support means showing up.

It’s so very easy to say the words ‘I support you and your efforts,’ and as I’ve learned recently, those words are incredibly important for others to hear.  Even more important is the language of action.  Showing up and being present is a way for me to show my support, to show that I care about you, and that your interests are important to me.

3.  Success takes focus.

Before each performance, the choirs enter a period of focus time.  This is an intentional transitional period where the performers focus on their routine.  It’s a time to quiet down and receive final instructions for the performance.

I often forget that transitional time is important.  It allows me to focus on a task by intentionally transitioning into that space.  How many times have I rushed headlong into work or family time and been blindsided because I didn’t take the time to properly transition into the space?  Focus time is a preparation ritual that can be utilized by all of us.  Take the time to intentionally transition into the important areas of your life.  It can be as simple as a deep  breath before exiting your car of house and can make all the difference in the world.

4.  Everything worthwhile is difficult.

A show choir competition is an ordeal.  For the Lawrence Central show we arrived at the school at 5:50 and the busses returned to school at 12:30am.  And that’s just show day.  They practice 5 days a week during school and one weekly after school practice.  There’s also choreography to learn, physical conditioning, and an intense focus on constant improvement of the show.  I am totally impressed at the difficult work these young adults perform.

How many times have I gotten discouraged and given up because something was too hard?  How many times have I NOT EVEN STARTED something because it seemed too difficult?  Too many to count.  The members of the Pike choral department throw themselves into show choir season oblivious to the incredible difficulty of the task before them.  The lesson here is that everything worthwhile is difficult, and to not let that stop me from getting what I want.

As a side note, their producer staff is centered around the excellence of three producers named Sarah. This is is the second time in my career that I’ve encountered same-named staff members. The first… three Jasons in the new media department of the now defunct Pathway Productions.

YES, WE’RE IN A RECESSION. But sooner or later each of us will lose something more important than our savings or our job. Will we have the resilience to deal with sudden illness or injury? With the death of a loved one? With any of the innumerable misfortunes life may have in store? I remind myself that every experience can be a teaching if I’m willing to see it that way; that suffering, too, can be a teaching. In fact, suffering usually gets the teacher-of-the-year award because I always sit up and pay attention when I’m in physical pain or when my heart has been broken or when I witness the anguish of someone I love. To honor the teaching doesn’t mean welcoming suffering with open arms, or looking for the silver lining of a tragedy with the kind of relentless optimism that denies painful feelings. I remind myself that blessings in disguise remain disguised until they’re good and ready to reveal themselves — and even then, the blessing might simply be that a particular setback has taught me to live more fully in the present, or deepened my compassion for others going through a similar difficulty, or underscored the paradox that we’re ultimately alone and inextricably bound to one another.