Gary – Page 7 – Be Grateful

Meditation on snow

With the second storm in three days upon us, we decided to forgo church this morning.

As the snow fell outside, our family gathered in the living room, lit a chalice, and shared contemplative readings. Despite our frenzied holiday schedules, complicated by the weather of the past two weeks, we captured a few moments of quiet togetherness.

One of two readings I shared was part of the poem Valentine, written by Elizabeth Tarbox, from the collected meditations What We Share. Her reflection is so appropriate for today’s storm and this first day of winter.

“Creation gives us snow.

“Lest we imagine beauty was only for summer, or trees for leafing; just in case we thought cold was for winter or, at best, firesides or pots of pea soup, creation gives us snow.

“Creation outlines each slender twig with snow, a flake at a time. With divine patience, winter writes a character, a syllable, a word, until nature’s grace is there on every tenacious surface.”

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Modern conveniences, nay necessities

As I write, I’m watching snow flakes drift gently from the sky, adding to the quintessential snow scene outside. My vantage point inside is warm, with plenty of electricity to turn the furnace fan, run this computer, and light the Christmas tree.

A week ago, an unexpected ice storm caused massive power outages in New Hampshire and Massachusetts, as falling tree limbs, branches, even entire trees brought down the power grid. Our power company said 322,000 customers in New Hampshire lost power at the peak of the disaster.

Our home went dark shortly after 11 pm on Thursday; power wasn’t restored until around 5 pm on Tuesday, roughly 4 days 18 hours later. I know a couple of people who didn’t get power back until yesterday (Friday), more than a week after losing it. My wife, kids, and I spent two nights in a hotel and three nights with gracious friends who had electricity and spare bedrooms.

Reflecting on the experience, I have a few observations.

Modern society is completely dependent upon the electric and telecommunications infrastructure. The reliability of these services is so high, we take them for granted and, in many cases, have little or no recourse when they fail. Without heat or light, my family had to seek shelter elsewhere.

We live in an age of instant gratification. Having to live without power for days and not knowing when it would be restored was contrary to our experience and expectations. My anxiety and frustration increased in proportion to the number of days we were forced to do without. I was not alone. One online posting quipped “If we put a man on the moon, why can’t they restore power in less than a week?”

The men and women who tirelessly worked around the clock to repair the damage, organize the effort and crews, and communicate to the public deserve our deep appreciation. When they finally have a chance to catch up on their sleep, I hope they will find deep satisfaction from their technical skills and, more importantly, their connection to the fabric of our humanity.

With no power, our cordless phones didn’t work; the phone line via fiber connection failed when the back-up battery drained. However, our cell phones did not fail, as long as we found a way to keep them charged. More impressive, though, is that the cellular base station network that relays our calls, texts, and Internet access remained powered and working throughout the ordeal.

For those who could access the web, at least from time to time, an online community formed around the ice storm. We tracked restoration efforts, followed one another’s experiences, provided encouragement, shared gallows humor, and celebrated when the lights finally came on. I feel a connection with people I have not met in person — a reflection of the Internet’s ability to form community.

Forced to choose my priorities, I prefer heat to light.

With deep gratitude, I think I will go take my morning shower. As hot as I can bear it.

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Grateful for community

This morning at church, I was reminded of the embracing and uplifting power of community.

A friend I hadn’t seen in weeks, to the point that I was concerned about his well being, was there. Seeing him, ebullient as ever, cheered me.

A couple who had also been absent for several weeks was back. Their 18-month-old daughter had adopted a mid-morning nap time that, as any parent will testify, was more sacred than coming to church.

During the sharing of joys and concerns, a woman spoke of the civil union which enabled her partner to adopt their children. The children now have two legal parents, although they probably don’t notice any change at home and won’t realize the significance for years.

Another member told of a sudden seizure, the cause of which is still being diagnosed. Her fear at the unknown was palpable, yet assuaged somewhat by sharing her experience with the congregation.

Our lives are most fulfilled when they are intertwined in community, a community that celebrates our joys and shares our troubles, a community that encourages us to be our best and accepts our weaknesses.

In the words of Starhawk, American author and a voice for earth-based spirituality,

We are all longing to go home to some place we have never been — a place half-remembered and half-envisioned we can only catch glimpses of from time to time.

Community.

Somewhere, there are people to whom we can speak with passion without having the words catch in our throats. Somewhere a circle of hands will open to receive us, eyes will light up as we enter, voices will celebrate with us whenever we come into our own power.

Community means strength that joins our strength to do the work that needs to be done. Arms to hold us when we falter. A circle of healing. A circle of friends. Someplace where we can be free.

Quotation courtesy of Wisdom Quotes

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Mountain view

Traveling on business isn’t as glamorous and fun as often imagined. Crowded airports and planes, up early and late, hurry and wait, delays, jet lag, traffic, getting lost, missed or hurried meals, and boring meetings are the routine.

Now that I’ve convinced you of the negatives, I’ll hasten to add that there are a few moments in most every trip when I resonate with the awe of traveling: the miracle of flight, an occasional spectacular view from the plane, seeing a place where I’ve never been, meeting people and learning a bit about their lives and the universality of life.

This week I had a meeting in Boulder, Colorado. The night before, I arrived well after dark in a rental car from the Denver airport. The next morning I awoke fairly early, still on eastern time, and had the opportunity to watch the day develop. While making my ritual trip to Starbucks, I was able to capture this photo of the Flatirons, the mountains that define the geographic persona of Boulder.

Who knows when — even if — I will return to Boulder. So having a few hours to be in the presence of these mountains was a real gift.

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Tears of hope

My eyes have welled with tears many times during the past two days:

Voting yesterday morning and sensing the spirit of democracy among the crowd;

Feeling a growing connection as the day progressed and I followed the accounts of citizens exercising their sacred right to vote;

Reading how others were seeing this historic day;

Watching the returns come in last night;

Awakening to find that the nation had elected our first black president;

Recalling the quote from Jonathan Alter that the first 16 U.S. Presidents could have owned Barack Obama as property;

Remembering what I was doing when I heard that Martin Luther King, Junior was shot;

Listening to the gracious concession speech by John McCain;

Hearing Barack Obama speak before 100,000 gathered in Grant Park;

Transported back to the Lincoln Memorial, while hearing NPR’s story of Washingtonians stopping there to reflect upon the historic significance of this election;

Seeing my children blind to the color of Barack Obama’s skin;

Grateful that America responded to its hopes and not its fears;

Really proud — for the first time in recent years — for my country.

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Fall colors

New England is ablaze in the colors of fall,
The warmth of summer replaced with cooler nights and days, seeing the breath in the morning, frost on the grass.
Dawn comes later, dark earlier, as the sun falls faster into the horizon.
Apples, pumpkins, and leaf peeping spur family outings – the children’s laughter the same delight as the “oohs” and “aahs” of the adults.
Life has a renewed sense of urgency:
Winter is coming.

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Anyone out there?

Yesterday I had a moment of unexpected connection, one which triggered a wide smile accompanied by a sense of amazement.

Before I elaborate, let me digress to muse on why I write this blog (infrequent as my postings are). I enjoy writing and how the process helps me to collect, shape, and refine my thinking. Thinking and its result — well-developed, rational thought — is important to me. That probably explains my “secret” desire to be a pundit, whose opinion is valued and respected, even if not agreed with.

Given my predilection, this blog serves a dual purpose. It motivates my writing and provides a vehicle to share my thinking. While I would write if only for the personal pleasure of doing so, my ego wonders whether anyone on the world wide web is listening.

Back to the story of the unexpected connection.

Scanning my e-mail before dinner last night, I saw a message alerting me to a comment posted on this blog. Sharanya had read a reflection I wrote almost a year ago. To Coming in last, she responded with this comment:

Thank you, Gary. This really lifted my spirit. I am training for long-distance races, and I have come in last for many of my training workouts. It feels lousy at times. But you’re right, there’s more to running a race than the motivation of winning. Thank you for giving me this perspective.

The smile on my face reflected the delight and amazement that words written a year ago — my words — could both be found and positively influence someone’s outlook.

You might say this is all very blasé. After all, isn’t the web supposed to foster community, and hasn’t it demonstrated the ability to do so countless times?

Yes and yes. But when it personally happens, transcending the theory and newsprint to make a human connection, it feels wonderous. And for that I’m grateful.

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Sunrise at 30,000 feet

My dream was interrupted by a soft British accent, a BBC announcer in London where it was already mid morning. It took a moment to shift from my dream to realize it was already time to rise if I were to make my 6:10 flight. While early morning flights are fine in theory — I can make it to the west coast before noon – I usually question my choice when the alarm goes off.

This morning, the flight from Manchester left the gate early, took off to the north, and banked eastward. Sitting in 3A, I had a near-perfect view as we turned south at the ocean, Portsmouth below, and traced the coast to Boston, the distinctive crooked outline of Cape Cod clearly visible and seeming smaller than it should be. Still pre-dawn, the eastern horizon was outlined in the glow of hot embers, yellowing at the point where the sun would soon rise.

Witnessing the dawn from 30,000 feet more than justifies a 4 am wake-up.

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Presidential race

Following two weeks of political conventions, I’m struck by this eventful, historic, and entertaining moment in American politics:

Barack Obama becomes the first black candidate for U.S. President. John McCain selects Alaska governor Sarah Palin as his running mate and the first woman candidate for Vice President nominated by the Republicans. As many have pointed out, whoever wins will make history.

The next two months of campaigning should be interesting – and I hope just as serious. May the political debate focus on the candidates’ visions and solutions to the serious issues facing the country and not degenerate into baseless attack ads preying upon America’s innermost fears.

Considering even our worst election moments, we should be grateful for the process that has governed this country since its formation. The recent horror of the Zimbabwe presidential election and corrupted runoff are unfortunate reminders of how bad it could be.

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Anniversaries

Last week marked my in-laws’ 55th wedding anniversary. They were married the year I was born, which is truly remarkable. Their relationship is a great example of a partnership of mutual respect and long-term commitment.

They quietly celebrated this year, as my father-in-law just finished a series of radiation and chemo treatments for tongue cancer. No night out or fancy dinners, as he’s relearning how to swallow. Nonetheless, I suspect the anniversary was quite special, given all they have been through this summer.

Yesterday was the second anniversary of my mother’s death. I remember the day too well, the culmination of a summer of preparation and waiting. On that Sunday morning, having lived fully to 86, she died quietly and at peace, in her home with her dog. That was just the way she wanted it to end.

While the grief has subsided, I miss her and always will. We were close and constantly chatting via e-mail or Skype. She was a good adviser: her life experience combined with a mother’s advocacy. Through my experience, she fed her interest in business, vicariously seeing a career that her age and the context of her time wouldn’t allow her to experience herself.

55 years and 86 years; both signify longevity. The paradox of such is that we come to believe it will never end. But it does, usually catching us by surprise and ill-prepared. Looking back, we may wish that we had savored and cherished the moments and experiences more.

One of the secrets of living a fulfilling life, I think, is to live in the moment. No day but today, to quote the song from Rent.

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