Tag Archives: thinking

It All Fits… Big Words or Small

Someone recently asked me to explain “karma.” My tongue was slightly in my cheek when I replied, “It’s a way of explaining things we can’t explain.”

Sometimes it’s a simple matter of creating and connecting the dots.

So let’s go with “karma” to explain a handful of things that have happened over the last few days that are unrelated but seem to fit together.

in conversation with a friend who admitted to being very discouraged adding, “I always feel better after getting your view on things.” I explained that contrary to appearances, I am not an eternal optimist. I am, however, a huge believer in our potential as human beings.

Shortly after that conversation, I read a post by Seth Godin. He noted some random things that probably happened today–huge and tiny–and observed, “On this date, someone took a chance, connected, opened a door or showed up with generosity.”

Next came my weekly newsletter from Child Mind Institute, an organization dedicated to “transforming children’s mental health.” Here’s where the big words come in. The article explained, “Behavioral Activation,” a method used to combat depression. A less clinical explanation of “B.A.” might describe helping kids figure out what they value, then stimulating them to action–doing something related to what they value.

I can over-simplify despite my tendency to be an overthinker. Those are not in opposition–a topic for future consideration.

When we feel discouraged, it might be time to think about what’s truly important to us. Our values should drive our mission–not a particularly big word, but one about which there is much confusion. Since we’re simplifying, we can substitute what’s on our bucket list or any other way of describing our essential values.

Not too long ago, I spoke with a recent high school graduate who shared that she was working to save up enough money for a huge eighteenth birthday-celebration. Some would argue that’s not a mission; it’s a goal. But it focuses on what she values, and that’s what matters. Arguing about the label misses the point. (I managed not to ask about her college plans. That might come after the party. Whether we call it a “mission” or a “goal, it’s hers and she owns it.)

She was quite confident she could achieve her celebration. She seems to have a grasp on her potential. She’s discovering how to connect the dots. I didn’t point out that researching where to have her celebration qualifies as “behavioral activation.”

Of course, it takes more than confidence to achieve a result. Maybe. There’s a wonderful story about a child, crayons in hand, drawing quite intensely. The teacher asks what he’s drawing, and he replies, “A picture of God.” She says, “But no one knows what God looks like…” Without hesitation, he declares, “They will when I get finished.”

He was on a mission.

Missions provide meaning. If you feel discouraged, you may have lost the meaning. It’s the first dot. What you can and are willing to do might be the next one. Get started creating and connecting the dots. It might be just that simple.

Where You Fly Makes a Difference

One of my more fun presentations is a series of stories beginning with one young fellow who spots a dead rainbow. Rainbows are, of course about hope and so are most of the stories. Some of the stories are sad, and some are funny, but each leads to the inescapable conclusion that where we stand makes a difference. Sometimes it’s a difference to ourselves. Sometimes it’s a difference to someone else.

Two of the stories are about bullying. One is about a little guy named Rudolph who is a victim of some typical bullying. The story shows that when it comes to bullying, where you stand (or in this case fly) can make all the difference.

The story is told in a simple song published by Montgomery Ward in 1939. While it may not have been originally intended as such, it really is a song about overcoming bullying. We didn’t call it bullying back then, but today we probably would. Fortunately, I don’t sing the song, I merely recite it as poetry with some editorial comment.

“You know Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and Vixen,
You know Comet and Cupid and Donner and Blitzen,
But do you recall
The most famous reindeer of all?

Here’s a little experiment for you. Close your eyes and, without singing the song or reciting the line from “Twas the Night Before Christmas” try to list Santa’s Reindeer. You’ll probably find the song irresistible, but I’m betting the eight regular sleigh-pullers aren’t all that memorable. You don’t readily recall them, but you do recall the most famous reindeer of all. That’s significant. You recall him because…

Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer
Had a very shiny nose
And if you ever saw it
You would even say it glows.

Rudolph stood out in a crowd because he didn’t exactly fit in with the crowd. He wasn’t like the other reindeer. While we don’t know how old he was, he’s often pictured with very small horns suggesting he’s an adolescent. We know that “fitting in” is very important during adolescence, so there’s little doubt Rudolph was not a very happy reindeer. He probably hated his nose. And it didn’t help that the other reindeer were bullies who made fun of him.

All of the other reindeer
Used to laugh and call him names
They never let poor Rudolph
Join in any reindeer games.

Reindeer can be mean, can’t they!? And so can kids. It’s a complicated social dynamic, but a kid who is different—maybe wears a different style of clothing or has a different physical characteristic (a red nose?)—gets ostracized and maybe worse. Simply being ignored by others can be painful. Being the last one standing when teams are selected is terrible enough. But when they start to laugh and call names, the hurt and pain can seem unbearable.

I think it’s interesting that Santa apparently doesn’t take action. He could have started an anti-bullying program. Maybe created a stop-bullying policy and hung up some kindness posters in the barn. In fairness to Santa, we’re not sure if he knew what the other reindeer were doing to Rudolph. He was probably busy keeping an eye on the elves and all the kids. How else could he know if they’ve been bad or good? He clearly had plenty on his plate besides the milk and cookies kids often leave him. So we can perhaps forgive him for not knowing that his reindeer were being mean to Rudolph.

We might also wonder why the SPCA didn’t respond and try to protect Rudolph, although it’s not clear whether cruelty among or between animals is covered by their mission statements. They seem a bit more focused on human cruelty and neglect of animals.  Rudolph simply did not have much of a support system.

Let’s look at what did happen.

Then one foggy Christmas Eve,
Santa came to say,
“Rudolph, with your nose so bright,
Won’t you guide my sleigh tonight?”

The song doesn’t record Rudolph’s answer. I suppose he could have said, “The heck with you—why should I help after what I’ve been put through by those other reindeer!?” We only know that Rudolph was finally recognized as having something to contribute. Ironically, the very thing that had separated him from the herd became the very thing that gave him status. Instead of cowering in the corner of the barn, Rudolph became the leader of the herd. And the results of that change were significant.

 Then how the reindeer loved him,
As they shouted out with glee,
“Rudolph the red-nose Reindeer
You’ll go down in history!”

Consider what didn’t change. Rudolph didn’t get nose surgery and his nose didn’t dim. The eight other reindeer didn’t attend some anti-bullying intervention and suddenly become more loving and accepting.

Circumstances changed. It became foggy. (We could rightfully wonder how all of Santa’s previous trips were on clear nights, but that would spoil the song and story.)

What ultimately happened is, I think, most important. Santa does play an important role in the outcome of the story. He’s obviously more troubled over the foggy night than he had been regarding Rudolph’s status with the herd. That reality might put a little smudge on Santa’s image, but let’s be honest. He needed a solution to the foggy night problem.

And there was Rudolph with his nose all aglow—a solution to a problem. Santa saw him differently for the first time—not as a misfit reindeer with a defective nose. So, perhaps grudgingly, Rudolph steps to the front.  He had to raise his head so the glow would light the way. And in that moment—as is often the case with children’s stories—all is well! Everybody’s happy! Santa can make his deliveries. The eight bully reindeer no longer worry about running into things in the fog. They are shouting with glee!  In all of the picture books I’ve seen, Rudolph is smiling, and his head is held high, not just to light the way but because he feels valued.

The song doesn’t record whether or not the “other” reindeer change permanently. Sure, they were shouting out with glee, but that was because they were able to complete their rounds without hazard. The question that remains unanswered is whether or not they became any kinder and more accepting as a result of the experience. If another reindeer came to the barn with, say, a deformed antler, would they laugh and call him names? Would they let poor Bent Antler join in any reindeer games?

I don’t know.

One thing I am fairly certain of, though. I think Rudolph began to think differently of himself. While I am sorry for his pain, I’m also glad that no one stepped in and deprived him of the opportunity to do just that—to learn and discover who he was—uniquely and individually.

What we think of ourselves goes much further in defining who we are than what others think. A change of circumstances may trigger it, but the real change lies within ourselves. Our self-value beats a red nose or bent antler any day. Where we stand (or fly) makes a difference

Peek-a-boo!

It’s so much more than a game…

We need to listen to what Molly has to say. She packs a lot of truth into seven minutes–ironically, she was seven years old when she recorded this last year. She might be the youngest TED speaker ever. She’s definitely one of the best!

Don’t miss her quick demonstration on brain size. I was more correct than I knew when I titled “Small People — Big Brains.”

Is It Really an Illusion?

Something to think about!

Or maybe we should start with a different question. Is it a coincidence that just last night–the day before Thanksgiving–I read an article on the topic of the Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon?

Before your eyes glaze over, more common terms for it are “frequency illusion” or “cognitive bias.” We can bring it down to an even more manageable level by calling it the “Red Car Syndrome.” If you buy a new red car, you suddenly notice red cars everywhere.

The author of the article points that frequency illusion easily affects our memory, potentially creating a bias. When we’re talking about red cars, it’s not much of an issue. Well, until we discuss the popularity of colors with a friend who just bought a blue car.

This can also harm relationships when we start noticing behaviors in a person. “She’s so bossy…” might be an illusion because we’ve only noticed her domineering behavior.

Our view of the world dramatically impacts our attitude towards it and our feelings about it. Frequency bias will reinforce the way we feel. It can work against us, but it also can work for us.

What are we going to notice today? If we notice things we have to be thankful for, the Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon suggests that we’ll see even more of them. It’s akin to seeing the roses instead of the thorns. Or it might even mean we are thankful for the thorns since they protect the roses.

The original article was published by “The Blackboard Bulletin,” a monthly newsletter written by and for Amish School Teachers. The author’s name is Sylvia. That’s all I know, really. Being a humble people, credits and copyrights aren’t much of an issue for them. I am thankful she wrote it!

It’s Not a Problem…

When I assigned myself the task of writing a tribute to Arthur Gary, I underestimated the difficulty. One immediate problem is coming up with a descriptive label. As I sorted through some choices (icon, educator, born teacher, colleague), the best I came up with (which feels woefully inadequate but accurate) is “friend.”

For those who may not know, I had the distinct honor and privilege of working with Arthur for some years (2004-2017) as an instructor with the then Arthur Gary School of Real Estate. I choose the word “with” deliberately. He always displayed an uncanny balance between self-confidence and humility. He never looked down on people–or up at them. He always looked them straight in the eye.

A second challenge was identifying some meaningful memories to share–there are so many. A personal favorite happened because he left me “alone” to teach with “academic freedom.” He would suggest there were some things I might do that he’d prefer I not tell him. As a result of that independence and mutual respect, not all students in the Bangor area had an opportunity to meet and know him until later in their career. So it is not a surprise that one day in a prelicensing class, a female student raised her hand, indicating she had a question.

“Is there really a person named Arthur Gary?” she asked. I pondered briefly the idea that he might have a certain mythical quality about him. He was a “giant” in the real estate industry. When I assured her he did exist, she continued, “Then I have a follow-up question. Is he hot?”

The rest of the class enjoyed a laugh both at her question and my obvious difficulty deciding how to answer.

Of course, I couldn’t resist telling him the story, suggesting that perhaps he should consider making a cameo appearance at some of my pre-licensing classes. I should have anticipated that wouldn’t suffice. After listening to my suggestion, He said, “I want to know how you answered the second question.”

Arthur and I had a lot of fun–especially with the fact that he was given to precision. I can be a perfectionist, but I am given to see more gray. I’d describe an “agent,” and he’d interrupt. “Did they have a client? Do you mean “licensee?” He kept me on my toes, and he always made me think. He wanted to “get it right,” and he expected others to have the same commitment.

I learned much from him, as did many others. But I most appreciated the sometimes subtle ways he made people think. It’s been said that “imitation is the finest form of flattery,” and to this day, I find myself quoting him. The title of this tribute is the beginning of one of his bits of wisdom.

In recent years, we had some frank discussions about his health. I sort of expected him to live forever. If I had said that to him, I think he’d have replied, “It’s not a problem until it’s a problem.” And now it is a problem for me. I’ve lost a friend who I cared for very much. I know I am not alone in my sadness. But I feel alone because the phone won’t ring again with his cheerful “Mr. B!” greeting. And I won’t be calling him with the greeting, “Mr. G!” so we can ruminate on a fine point of law and rule or complain about the sad state of education.

Another favorite bit of Arthur’s wisdom I use on those rare occasions when class ends early (never more than ten minutes). “Education is the only consumer product that people are happy with when they don’t get what they paid for…” Students would immediately start packing and we’d add, “You paid to be here until… my guess is you won’t complain if you get dismissed ten minutes early…”

Arthur, you left us too early.