On Lance

On Lance

Against my better judgment, I found myself watching Lance’s interview with Oprah. I didn’t want to watch for many reasons, but I almost couldn’t help myself. I wanted to hear it from him; I wanted to hear him say it and hear his explanations, if he had any.

In my fifteen years as an adjuster, I have interviewed thousands people. The key to any good interviewer is the ability to listen. People will tell you a lot, if you let them, and after so many years of interviewing people, you learn when people are being honest, and when they’re not. There are cues people do that let you know something is amiss. Their tone becomes monotone or suddenly becomes animated; they don’t answer the question or their answer doesn’t make sense.

So, almost immediately upon tuning in, I knew Mr. Armstrong was not being truthful. His tone was even with no inflections; he moved constantly, leaning back and forth, rocking side to side and crossing his legs and arms, almost hiding his face with his hands at some points; he was not connected to the words he was speaking until he was asked how he doped. He didn’t answer, but then said it was “smart”. His eyes lit up and he smiled. It was the first true statement he had said.

The whole thing to me was upsetting. Lance’s story has been a great one and an important one in my life. Jon was a huge Lance fan. They had raced against each other in youth triathlon years ago and Jon had always followed his career. As a special education teacher, Jon had posters of Lance up in his room. Not of him on his bike or winning, but when he was sick with cancer; bald and skinny. The greatness of his story…overcoming cancer by sheer will it seemed, then going on to win, win, win, captured the world’s admiration. Jon used the story to motivate his kids, and himself. I know thoughts of Lance got Jon through Kona.

One of the first trips Jon and I ever took was to go see Lance speak at a convention. Augie Nieto the founder of Life Fitness had been diagnosed with ALS about the same time as Jon. It had been a little under a year for both of them and, at that point, the effects were slight. Mr. Nieto turned Life Fitness’s annual convention into the start of “Augie’s Quest”, which was his quest to raise money and awareness for ALS, much like Jon would do with the Blazeman Foundation and the War on ALS. The keynote speaker was Lance. After Ironman, Jon and Augie had been in contact with each other and Augie invited Jon to the convention. Since it was in Vegas, we took a flight over and met up with some of Jon’s friends who had driven over from CA.

The convention was top notch, with amazing food, amazing energy, and amazing events. While at the sushi table, I reached for the tongs at the same time someone on the other side of the table did. Our hands touched and we both pulled our hand back…I looked up into the face of a very handsome guy. He was short and had on a sweet leather jacket. “After you,” he said with more charm than anyone should be allowed to have. I smiled, and when he smiled back, I realized it was Lance. Man, those eyes are blue! I giggled, got my sushi, handed him the tongs, smiled, he smiled again, I continued giggling, and moved on down the food table. When I got back to my seat, I told Jon, who HATED sushi and hadn’t wanted to come with me to the table, who I had just encountered. His face read several things; “Damn, why don’t I like sushi?!” then, “Lance!!!”  He bolted up out of his seat and took off to find Lance. He never found him and from that day forward, rued the day he decided he didn’t like sushi.

When Lance got up to speak, the crowd of several thousand became so quiet you could hear a pin drop. He spoke eloquently; forcefully; with purpose and encouragement for those in the crowd who had ALS. His speech really was to them alone, and I could see the effect on Jon. He seemed to swell and gain courage from the words. I think, really, that is when the War on ALS was born.

So, in watching Lance’s interview, I could only think of Jon and how crushed he would be. Well, not crushed, this is Jon I’m talking about. He would have been super, flipping, MAD.  Irate. And rightly so. For me, as I watched Lance continue to lie, I was struck by how caught up he was in his own little world of lies and deception. How he had the self-awareness and emotional intelligence of a teaspoon. That the only person he was lying to was himself. We all know, Lance. We all can see it. Yes, you bullied the guys on your team to dope. Yes, you called honest people liars and sued the pants off of them. Yes, you had people close to you try to pay off USADA. No, you’re not sorry for what you did. Yes, you are very, very sorry you got caught.

And I could only think, “What a waste!”

Your whole life is built on a lie, dude. You are morally corrupt. And it’s just such a waste.

In reading all the articles, blogs, and commentaries about Lance, everyone has put their own spin on it, and everyone has come up with a lesson to be learned. Or given him a pass to go on to triathlons or marathons, which I personally hope does not happen. They wonder if he will realize what he has done. Does he understand the impact his lies will forever have on his kids? Oprah said she hopes he becomes a better man.

For me, I’m just sad. And, I already knew these lessons. I already knew that pride comes before a fall. I already knew that a life of lies cannot be sustained. I already knew that sometimes God gives us over to our folly in hopes that His grace in the situation will lead us to right our wrongs. And, I already knew that when we don’t, God will step aside and let the chips fall where they may.

This is not the end to his story. He will continue fighting his war on himself and the world. If I could talk to him I would tell him this…Fix your stuff, dude. You’re angry at your father…go find him and have some conversations. Take that freakin chip off your shoulder and realize, even if you never race again, you are so blessed. Listen to your ex-wife…she is wise and if you listen to her you will come to understand that honesty is everything. Start by being honest with yourself. Eighty six the people you have around you that thought all this was a good idea. Go ride your bike, for the sheer joy of it, not to prove you are somebody to the world. Find God. That emptiness you feel will only be satisfied with Him.

And so, as his life work is scratched from the record books and from our thoughts, I think I will remember him in that space and time when he was someone to someone I loved. Because when I need motivation, I think of Jon.

On Looking Back

On Looking Back           

At the end of every year, the media starts churning out end of the year lists along with the top stories; top celebrity scandals; top pop culture trends; and whatever else is deemed worthy for us to remember. I think it is good to look back, good to remember where we’ve been, and this year, I think, has been particularly difficult. Not for me personally, but for our nation. We went through a horrible political season with mudslinging, and let’s face it, out and out hatred for one another. We no longer value one another. We no longer can tolerate anyone who has an opinion that is different from ours…and the election showed that in spades.

We also took killing one another to new heights. If we don’t value each other, I guess it is inevitable, but the lengths that these evil people have gone to show their hatred makes me shudder. And it is evil. They are evil people…gun control or mental illness or what have you…but they planned meticulously, they knew what they were doing, and that is evil. Should we talk about gun control and mental illness? Absolutely. But, let’s also talk about hatred and evil. If I value you, I’m not going to stock pile ammo and spend weeks planning how to kill you. We need to talk about how we can’t seem to cope with life’s ups and downs. Or our anger.

Adultery scandals continued to roll across our television screens and newspapers, this year taking down the head of the CIA, among others. We can’t even seem to value our spouses.

And our financial world is dangling on that darn cliff they keep talking about. They’ve reached an agreement for now, but I wonder how far will we, the people, fall if our elected officials can’t get it together? Pretty darn far, I’m afraid. It seems the only thing they can agree on is to give themselves a raise. Sweet.

Locally, we didn’t fare much better…little Isa is still missing; shootings and killings are a daily event; people are dying on our roads weekly; there is an arsonist on the loose, and Jack’s BBQ closed.

So, I wonder what lies ahead for us in 2013? It seems the momentum has been carrying us along now in the wrong direction and it is supremely difficult to turn things around once they start heading anywhere. So, how bad is it going to get before we do something about it?

Or, am I just focusing on the wrong things here? Have I succumbed to the media feast of negativity? As I always do when the world gets too big, I look inward. What did I accomplish in 2012? Did I value those around me? Did I live up to my expectations for myself?  I’ve never been a goal setter, but I do have ideas that I try and put in to place at the beginning of every year. They are basic ideas like “trust God more” or “be more social”. These seem more tangible to me and can be lived out through the year in many ways…much better than say, “run every day” or “read the Bible for 10 minutes each day”. Both good things, but could become a chore rather than the life changing or life growing ideas they should be. Or worse, something I stop doing January 25th because I've missed a few days.

So how did I do? Did I trust God more in 2012? Oh yeah. You can’t quit your job without another one and not trust God. And, here’s the thing about that…when you say to God, I want to trust you more, He’ll give you situations so you, well, have to trust Him more. It’s one of those things that Christians joke about…don’t ever pray for patience, cause He’ll  put you in the most patience inducing situations ever. Same, same. But with that trust, comes the peace that passes all understanding. When Jeremy was here in October, we were discussing my financial situation and although it is distressing, he commented that I don’t seem that concerned. And basically the answer is, I have to trust God. Matthew tells us that not a sparrow falls from the sky that God doesn’t know about…and to me that means, He’s got my back. In leaving my church, that also meant I had to trust God. Although I loved the church, I hadn’t really been able to get involved. The music and teaching was great at first, but I was never really a part of their community. Once the teachings started to slip, I felt God’s nudging me to find a place where I could be involved and be part of a community. I have found a new church, but it is always difficult to fit in at first. I’m not a young married with children, which seems to be what every church is about these days, but I have joined a missional community group and am starting to get to know people. And, I have to trust that God has me there for a reason.

Which leads me to the “be more social” idea…how did I do with that this year? Pretty good. My idea was to not make more friends or to join more groups, but to be more social with the people who were already in my life. Instead of succumbing to the busyness of life, I tried to be intentional about inviting people for coffee, lunches, movies, or hikes. And it’s always a little daunting at first, right? I mean, it shouldn’t be, but it is. What if they say no? What if they don’t return my call? What if we do meet for coffee and the fun friendship we have in a big group doesn’t translate? What if I ask people over for dinner and no one comes? But, what I found is that people do want to do things and once you are on their radar, they will in turn invite you to things. And people do say no, but it’s usually because they truly can’t, not for all the horrible reasons we think up in our head. And sometimes it is awkward, and sometimes an invite goes unanswered, but it is worth it to find those people that you click with and whose company you enjoy.

So, I find that looking back on our nation and on life is really about growing. Our nation seems to not value itself anymore. Our nation seems to be about greed for the ones in power. Our nation seems to not be able to cope with disappointments or anger. But with those struggles, our nation is looking for ways to grow beyond that; and I am happy that the debates have begun. Go democracy! And the question becomes, what can I do about this stuff? Yelling my viewpoint from the top of the Empire State Building isn’t going to change a thing. But, as I always say, the change starts with me. I can value myself and others; I can be generous; I can learn to cope with disappointments and anger. And the start of a new year is great for that, right? Looking back shows us where we faltered and where we succeeded and we can look to the future and say how we want to grow and how we want to do better. I mean, no one ever says they want to watch more TV or gain 10lbs in the New Year. No, we see the New Year as new opportunities to better ourselves and the world around us. And, looking back, my world did get better last year. I grew as a person, I grew in my relationship with God, I deepened friendships.

And as I shift from looking back to looking forward, I am excited about finding a few new ideas to carry me through the year…what is flitting through my head is “finish things” and “love more”.

 

Yowza.

 

Happy New Year!

On The Road Less Travelled

As I have mentioned here before, I quit my job in March. It came after much soul searching, praying, and just really hating my life. My job was beyond stressful; my manager was beyond mean and horrible; and my body was showing me signs that the situation was just not good. Stress had dominated my life to the point where my mind was never quiet. I would be sitting with a friend “listening” to them, but my mind would be racing with thoughts of things not done, of things that needed my immediate attention, and of things that I would never get to. My workload was such that I was unable to do a good job on every file and that bothered me more than anything else. Trying my best wasn’t enough and that weighed on me heavily. I was exhausted mentally, physically and spiritually.

I wasn’t fulfilled at work and I was too exhausted to have a personal life. Seeing friends was often too much for me…I so wanted to go and spend time with them but the energy it took to make plans or follow through on plans sapped me. I found myself making excuses why I couldn’t meet up for dinners or movies. I would be wiped out from my super stressful day at work and the couch beckoned. Many, many days were spent going from work to my couch where I would sit and watch TV until it was time to go to bed. Vague thoughts would filter through my mind that maybe I should be doing…something…but the thought would filter out just as quickly. I needed the mindless drone of the TV or stereo to let me not think about my ever present job.

When I heard God nudging me to quit I, of course, waited for Him to nudge a job my way. But as time went by, I realized that was not His plan. I have worked since I was 15 years old, sometimes working two or three jobs at a time. Not working is not in my MO. Even after I had Michael I tutored kids at the base library. When he went to half day kindergarten, I worked part time at a real estate company. Working is what I do…and let’s just say, as someone without a husband; it’s all up to me. There is no one else to lean on, no one else to let carry the weight, no one else to pay the bills while I figure out my life.

After some major planning and money saving, quit I did and I must say that I love not working more than I ever, ever thought I would. Maybe it is the fact that the better part of my life was spent working and that the last fifteen years has been spent working at a very tough job. But oh, Sunday nights are no longer tinged with that creeping feeling of dread and that pit of anxiety that would begin to grow in my belly. Mondays dawned glorious and hopeful. But, de-stressing is serious business and I was so unbelievably tired that I went through many a day when, again, the couch seemed to be my best friend. I mean, my whole point was to get off the couch and on with life, but, I’ve been told, sometimes, sitting on the couch is okay. Sometimes it’s okay to not be strong, to not be able to handle everything life has thrown at me, and sometimes it’s okay to take care of myself from the inside out.

I have spent days in my pajamas reading or tinkering around the house. I have spent time writing. I have spent time on the phone with friends. I have watched movies I never had time for before. I cooked. I listened to music. I have gotten dressed up for a simple lunch. I reconnected with friends and family. I grieved my Dad and Jon. I thought about my life and how I want to live it. I’ve rested my weary body and my weary soul. I took walks. I sat in coffee shops. And slowly, I started to feel like me again. I found that I could be present with people and really care about them and what they were telling me. I could also remember conversations and situations…I really think the first thing that goes when you are stressed is your memory. I could handle things again; I could get things done without having to figure out how I was going to get what I was 86-ing done in its place. Or without needing a nap.

So, here I am six months later, raring to go, and I am still wondering about God’s plan. I am right smack in the middle of this road less travelled and I have no idea where I am going. I have bought into a business and although I love it immensely, it will not provide a full time income for a year or two and my bank account is dwindling. I have applied for many jobs, but none has come through. I have beseeched God to show me what He’s got in store, to no avail. And then I thought, maybe this is the plan. Maybe the resting and the not being busy is the actual plan. Maybe I am right where I am supposed to be. I can’t say I like that idea much, I would rather have the solution reveal itself at the end of the half hour, but this is not an episode; this is my life.

So, the road less traveled is wonderful, but it is also scary…because I have no idea what is going to happen. When you are working, you know pretty much that you’ll continue working and getting paid and you’ll go on vacation and cherish your days off, you may get a promotion or switch to another division, but you have the security of knowing. I know nothing. Nothing except that whatever His plan is, He is in control. And for me, that’s enough. I know to get what I want I have to do something different, and quitting your job with nothing to replace it is, um, different. I’ve gotten everything from “are you crazy?” to “you’re my hero!” And maybe a little of each is true; I do feel somewhat crazy for doing this and at times I feel like Superman, or whatever the female equivalent of a superhero would be…Wonder Woman? Storm? Somewhere Michael is rolling his eyes…but I digress.

I know that I am as happy as I can remember being. I know that quitting was the right decision. I know that whatever happens, I will be okay. And I also know, I’ve always been at home on the road less travelled. There is something about this road that captures me. I think that is why I always take pictures of empty roads that go off into the distance; the possibilities beyond that curve excite me. What is around that corner? What lies beyond the bend? I’m excited to find out.

Memories of my Dad

Today is the second anniversary of my Dad’s death. Looking back at my life with him, I see how he has shaped me and how the things he taught me are ingrained in who I am as a person. His influence, married with my Mom’s, has made me a “tomboy girl”. That is a phrase I coined at lunch one day with a group of my AmFam co-workers. It means I am both a tomboy and a girlie girl. It means I like football and ballet. It means I am my parent’s child.

My Dad was a Marine, enlisting at 17, dropping out of high school to take his GED to be able to get in. He told me a few years ago that his score was so high that he was called in to retake the test; a little Stand and Deliver happening right there in my Dad’s life. He, of course, scored high again and off he went to become a Marine.  He was a drill instructor, in intelligence, did two tours in Vietnam, and retired 20 years later as a Captain.

Because my Mother was carrying me higher than she did my sister, my parents thought I was going to be a boy. “Michael Anthony” was chosen as my name and when I arrived, a premie, and a girl, it was my Dad who named me Susan. He was the disciplinarian in our home, but never someone who yelled. He didn’t need to. He said your name a certain way and it would freeze your blood. Or he would lecture you until you thought you would fall out of your chair from boredom. I was, um, a rowdy child. I was full of energy and pushed limits and most of the lectures my sister and I got, were because of something I did. My sister would give me the death stare thinking it unfair that she had to sit through my punishment. She was probably right. But those lectures lasted well into our high school years when an extra 20 minutes would be tacked on for an eye roll. For which I was Queen. Eye rolling, and as my sister has reminded me, door slamming.

On the occasions when we were spanked, we got a lecture before the spanking. The one that sticks out in my mind is when both my sister and I called a neighborhood kid a ni@@er. Now, we had no idea what we were saying. A bunch of the neighbor kids were all playing in our front yard and kids we didn’t know were calling us names. We were yelling names back when Kim Kelly, who had 3 older brothers, told us to call them ni@@ers. So we did. Loudly. My Dad appeared at our front door so fast and ordered my sister and I inside. The neighbor kids scattered like bowling pins and my sister and I knew something bad, very bad was about to happen. My sister went first while I waited in our bedroom. I heard the belt and her instant cry, then she came into our room. “Cry quick, it’ll be over faster,” she said. Now this confused me as my sister NEVER gave me advice. Was it a trick? My Dad said my name in that blood freezing way and I walked down the hall to where he was sitting. He looked upset, but not mad upset, sad upset. More confusion.

He took my hands and asked me the stock question. Did I know why I was there? I gave the stock answer. “I made you mad.” It covered all sorts of things when you didn’t know specifically why you were there. He sighed deeply with a furrowed brow. Another first. I furrowed my brow, too, wondering what the heck was going on.  My Dad then broke protocol and told me why I was there. I had said a very horrible word. He told me what that word meant and as he carefully explained it, tears welled up in my eyes. I was mortified, and horrified, and embarrassed, and tried, through my tears, to tell him I didn’t know what it meant. He squeezed my hands and said he knew I didn’t mean it but that because it was so serious, I would need to be spanked. I agreed and instantly bent over  his knees. Nothing happened. He kept talking about how this was going to be harder on him than it was me and his voice sounded funny while he said it. I patted his ankle as my tears dripped off my nose. He continued to speak and finally asked if I was ready. I snuffed out an “uh, huh” and felt the belt lightly strike my butt, I mean, it barely tapped me.  He paused. When I didn’t cry out he brought the belt down again, a little bit harder, but not enough to hurt, and as my confusion mounted, I continued to snuffle as before. As his hand went up again I heard him mutter, “Cry, dammit!” This time, I cried out and was instantly on my feet in my Dad’s arms crying on his shoulder. When I got back to my room, my sister looked at me in disgust. “I told you to cry faster.” For my Dad, he went to my parent’s bedroom and didn’t come out for a long, long time.

My love of sports comes from my Dad and some of my best memories are of watching football. We had a TV set; which means it was encased in wood and sat on the floor. It was a big, huge thing with speakers built on the side and, I believe, those glass grapes sitting on a doily on top. Since it was low to the ground, I would find my Dad lying on the floor, his head propped up on a couch pillow, watching football. When I tired of playing dolls with my always a girlie girl sister, I would find my way to the living room and lay down next to my Dad and put myself in the same position he was in. Usually with our left arms behind our heads and our right foot propped on our left knee. And he would teach me about football. Not just the game, but the players, my favorite being Bart Starr. When I was five, I asked for a football for Christmas, and remember shrieking for joy seeing that oddly wrapped ball under the tree. We have pictures of me in the backyard in my sweater set attempting to catch the football with my arms extended straight out, hands flexed upward in a clear blocking stance. My Dad was humorously proud and my Mom, well, was just relieved.

My Dad also loved to tease us. We would go to the Red Onion, our favorite Mexican restaurant in Anaheim, just a stones throw from our childhood Mecca, Disneyland, and he would say things like, “If you eat that hot chili I will take you to Disneyland!” I was always game, but my Mom, would put a stop to all those shenanigans. One Easter he took us into the backyard and growled at us to pick up the trash lying in the clover. As we stooped to pick it up, we found chocolate Easter eggs and my Dad smiling happily at his ruse.

My Dad had a weird/wacky sense of humor, which thankfully was given to my sister and not me. When America’s Funniest Home Videos first came out, oh my gosh, I’ve never seen my Dad laugh so hard or for so long. The clip of the Great Dane on a leash and he takes off running and the lady holding the leash goes horizontal? He laughed for days. Days.  My sister would send him birthday cards and the two of them would laugh and laugh while my Mom and I would just shake our heads at them. Stuff like that just cracked him up.

While my Dad liked being a Dad, he relished being a Grandfather.  Once Michael came along things with my Dad changed. First, he quit smoking, something he had done all my life. I have vivid memories of walking into our family room into a cloud of cigarette smoke. Yuck. But once he had a grandson, emphasis on son, the cigarettes were gone and he started planning my infant son’s future. To say that Michael and my Dad were close is an understatement. My Dad lavished things on Michael, things we would have never, ever seen. For his 7^th birthday my Dad got him a limo and had it come to Michael’s soccer game. The whole team piled in and off they went to McDonald’s. My Dad rode with the driver and gave him a big tip as that poor dude probably spent a good two hours cleaning it out and getting it presentable again. As Michael grew I couldn’t help but giggle once the lectures started. I would ask which one he got…how important good communication is or the one where he talks about being true to your word? Michael would roll his eyes (who knew that was hereditary?) and complain about how bored he was hearing them.  “You’re preaching to the choir, Son.” I’d say with a grin.

And Michael got stories we never did. I think my Dad just needed a boy to talk about war and some of his experiences in the military. Being in intelligence, there was a lot he couldn’t say, and I know he kept a lot bottled up, but Michael was an eager listener and I am glad they were able to share that together. In the last years of his life, my Dad did open up more and did share some stories and Michael would nod his head indicating he had heard the story before. As much as I miss my Dad, I grieve for Michael for the loss. To him, it is unspeakable, and not something I think he will get over. They had a relationship apart from the rest of us and it saddens me it is gone for him. My Dad was the one male role model who never let him down.

But I know this; my Dad is a part of each of us. With all his lectures and explanations about things, he was teaching us. All those stupid lectures did sink in because I try my best to have good communication and to be true to my word and I smile at the silly things that my Dad thought were so funny.  And as I remember him today, I am so thankful that he was my Dad. I am proud to be his daughter and I miss the way he stood up for me. We were never super close, but I always knew he loved me and I always knew that he knew who I was as a person. He knew my character, the thing those lectures were really about and truly, I wanted to have his character. His lessons live on and in those lessons his legacy. Not fame, not fortune, just to be known by your good character. For him, it was enough, and for me, the best way to thank him is to continue that same legacy.

So, on this day, I will drive myself to Pat’s, and toast my Dad with a chili dog and remember the story he always told about when he first ate Pat’s. 

Which was when he was a little boy over in what is now a vacant lot downtown when the dogs were served out of a cart. 

And wish he was here in person to tell it to me one more time.

On Heroes

It seems daily we are faced with the moral failures of our species. Turn on any radio or TV, open any newspaper or magazine and you will be faced with countless stories of people doing unspeakable things. And I’m not talking about the criminal element, I’m talking about everyday people doing things that only a few years ago would make our jaws drop, but today they seem all but commonplace. Our elected officials verbally bully each other in the name of running for office, lie consistently to whatever group they happen to be in front of, and then in a perfect example of “the pot calling the kettle black” point at their opponent. The current Presidential campaign makes me sad for our country. "How low can you go” has taken on a whole new meaning. It is win at all costs and the costs are high, very high.

Then there is our sporting world. I just read an article and watched the accompanied video of a Utah high school girl viciously kneeing her downed opponent in the face after a dead ball. She walked away like she had every right to do so, not even breaking stride. She was not given a yellow or red card, in fact, the whistle was never blown. No one said anything. Only after the video was presented to both schools was something done. She was verbally reprimanded and said she was “sorry”. I’m assuming she was “sorry” that someone caught it on video, not for her actions.

There are countless examples of parents’ harassing coaches, referees, and other parents in everything from t-ball to college sports. The creepiest incident is where one parent started stalking a twelve year old rival of his son. Stalking a twelve year old hoping to intimidate him enough that he would lose his edge and then his own son would succeed. Ick.

Then there is Lance. Sigh. He is the latest in a long line of sports “heroes” who have fallen from grace due to doping. Today he announced that he is stepping down from his Livestrong foundation. As more evidence by his teammates comes to light, it is all but certain the whole world will acknowledge that he doped, and I wonder, will he finally confess? I just heard there is video evidence, but for years now he has proclaimed his innocence. Not only proclaimed it, but built a business on it.

There’s a word, huh? Innocence.

And it’s that saying again, “win at all costs”. I wonder how people can feel good about “winning” when they know they had to cheat to get there. How is that winning? I’m here to state the obvious: it’s not winning, it’s cheating.  If you had to physically harm someone or stalk them or take drugs, you didn’t win, no matter what the score says. And you’ve diminished the very thing we love about sports; the idea of who is best. Who can run fastest, or hit the ball with the most finesse, or ride their bike the longest. Who, by hard work and God given talent, can go out there and thrill us with their feats. And here is where innocence comes in; it’s the innocence of sports that has always drawn me in. The child-like joy and wonder when hard work and circumstance collide. Olga’s bar routine. Any race Pre ever ran. Ali and Fraser. Jon log rolling across the finish line in Kona. In those moments you are filled with wonder and inspiration and someone becomes your hero.

Heroes, or the notion of them, are in every culture. The movies or stories we love most come with a clear hero and villain. Harry is a hero; Voldemort is not. Luke, Leia, and Han? Heroes. Darth and the Emperor? Not. I think these books and movies are so successful because we all need a good hero; someone to root for, someone to remind us that we need to fight for what is good, someone to emulate.

Which brings me to Felix Baumgartner and his free fall from space. On Sunday morning I had gotten ready for church and had some time to spare so I jumped on Facebook. My friend Dan had posted the live feed for a guy jumping from the stratosphere and although I had heard something about the jump earlier in the week, I had no idea what it was all about. I clicked on the link and was instantly spellbound. What I saw was a man in a tiny capsule ascending into the air by a specially made balloon. The man was in a space suit and as I listened, I learned he would be ascending to approximately 120,000’, would then step out of the capsule, and free fall back to earth. Is this guy insane? I was scared out of my mind, but I couldn’t stop watching.

Suffice it to say, I missed church.

As I watched, they spoke of how dangerous the jump was going to be. No one had ever ascended that high in a balloon before, no one had done a free fall from space, and the list of potential problems was long. They showed graphics of the position he would need to reach; head first, surprisingly enough, and said that tumbling head over heels would be okay and expected, but a flat spin would be very bad. As the balloon ascended past 120,000' and kept climbing, I was on the edge of my seat.

When the balloon leveled out, ground control took Felix through a detailed check list. My anxiety grew as he seemed to not respond to their commands and when he did he seemed lethargic and punchy. Finally, they made it through the check list and he opened the capsule door. After a few more checks, like taking off his restraining harness, which he didn’t readily do, causing me to fall into prayer for him, his poor Mom they kept flashing to, his equipment, and for myself, as my heart was in my throat, he stepped out onto the skateboard size landing.

The words he spoke were these “I wish the world could see what I can see ... Sometimes you have to go up really high to see how small you are.” And then he jumped.

Watching him fall through space was horrible and I found myself shouting prayers. When he started to tumble I was beside myself. The tumbling seemed to last forever, and then, just as if he had planned it all along, he got himself into the head down position and continued to rocket toward earth. The cheers from mission control were jubilant and after another minute or so of freefalling, his chute opened. I cheered like crazy, jumping up and down and crying. The screen then went from grayscale to full color and it showed him soaring towards earth. His touchdown was amazing…he lightly stepped out of the sky, his chute trailing behind him, then he fell to his knees and lifted his hands into the air.

And it got me thinking about heroes and cheats. And here’s the thing, Felix couldn’t cheat. There is no way to cheat jumping out of a tiny capsule from 128,100’. There is no drug you can take to be successful for a jump like that. You can’t beat up anyone or stalk someone to ensure success; you just have to work hard, really, really hard. You have to dream big, have unspeakable courage, and then you have to put the time in. You have to invent the needed equipment; you have to test the equipment by making test jumps, each higher than the last. You have to be mentally in shape, physically in shape, you have to know your craft. He had an incredible team around him, of course, and he said straight out he could not have gotten to where he did without them, but it came down to him and the stratosphere. At the press conference afterward a reporter asked him what he was thinking just before he jumped. He said, “I was thinking, ‘Please God don’t let me down.’ But if you are standing in His Son’s arms, there is nothing that can go wrong in that moment.”

He is the definition of a hero.

he•ro [heer-oh]     

noun, plural he•roes; 1. a man of distinguished courage or ability, admired for his brave deeds and noble qualities. 2. a person who, in the opinion of others, has heroic qualities or has performed a heroic act and is regarded as a model or ideal.

And I for one am thankful that in a week of continued political bickering, Lance’s further fall from grace, and the constant negativism that surrounds us, there was a guy with a dream, the courage, and the unbelievable skill to step out of the sky and fall with grace.

On Driving

My first car was named Howard. He was a rust colored Toyota Corona that I inherited from my parents when I was seventeen. Now, I love Toyotas, but Howard was a lemon. He had all sorts of problems that I just got used to; I swear there was a 16 point check list to just start him up. He was a mini station wagon (sigh) but, boy could I pack my friends into him. In high school, people would pile in and away we would go. Boonie party? No trouble. Driving over parking blocks because Kimmy was sick, no big deal. Howard got t-peed on more than one occasion, had rabbit pellets and a chocolate bunny dumped on him for Easter, and people would write me messages in the dust on his back windshield.  So, by college, he was even worse for the wear. The hood would fly up while you were driving and stay stuck open; it leaked oil; it wouldn’t start unless the seatbelts were fastened and even when they were it would say they weren’t. No AC. The headliner would hang down on everyone but me.

Howard got his name at college, too. I ran track at Pima and after one particularly difficult workout, we were running our two mile cool down and we were a little, um, giddy. One of my favorite movies is “What’s Up, Doc?” w/ Barbara Streisand and Ryan O’Neil. The late, great Madeline Kahn has a wonderful part and she drones all her lines in this perfectly nasally voice. So, I was mimicking the lines…”Howard? Howard Banister?” and we were laughing and cracking ourselves up. We finish our run, shower, change, and head to the parking lot for the long ride home and there is my Toyota Corona and we all scream together, “Howard!” And from that day forward, my car was Howard. As much as I hated that car, I cried the day I traded it in for a POS Geo Metro. The dealer gave me $750 as a trade in, which was about $749 too much. I now drive a 4runner and I think some times that it is really just a matured Howard. All this to say, we get attached to our vehicles; they are our homes away from home. We spend a lot of time in them and they do become important to us.

In our homes on wheels, we drive around in our own little cocoon w/ climate control, our own music, our own DVDs. Our seats are cushioned and comfortable. We have visors to block the sun, tint to give us some privacy, and gps to tell us where we are going. The vehicle we pick is an extension of ourselves, too. Trucks, sports cars, sedans, vans. What you drive, whether we like it or not, says something about you. I have an aversion to vans. I never, ever want one, and on the occasions I’ve had to drive one, I hang my head a little. I remember recoiling in horror the day my Dad called and proudly said he had purchased a van. What?! “Why, Dad?!” I wailed into the phone.  “Well, it has room for my planes and my golf clubs and when the whole family gets together, we can all go in one vehicle.” I shouldn’t have been surprised; his previous car was a station wagon, complete w/ the wood panels on the side, and of course, Howard was a station wagon. What did this say about my Dad? That he didn’t give a flip what anyone thought. Marines are like that. He had been in intelligence and jumped out of planes. He didn’t need to prove his manhood w/ a vehicle. Van? Good enough for him.

But, something happens when we get behind the wheel. Since we are in our own cocoon, we think we can do whatever we want and that no one else matters. I have seen perfectly respectable people turn into Tasmanian Devils when they get behind the wheel.  They tailgate; they speed; they weave in and out of traffic; they yell at other drivers. And it’s always a little shocking, right?

What also is shocking is what happens to me. Something happens to me when I get behind the wheel. I find myself getting angry at people. I find myself yelling at them; “What the heck are you doing?!” “Hang up your freakin phone and drive!” “Are you freakin kidding me?!” They can’t hear me of course, unless I am driving w/ my window open and I yell, “He-llo!” w/ all the irritation I can muster when someone doesn’t turn right when the light turns green. And it turns out to be someone who lives a few houses up from me. And she wasn’t turning because there was someone in the crosswalk. Ouch. My face turned red and it started me wondering what it is about driving that turns me into someone I don’t like very much? I mean, I can go from singing along to a praise song on Air1 to screeching at someone is 0.5 seconds, and then resume my singing without batting an eye.

Now, there are numerous things that make me crazy about Tucson drivers, but first and foremost are the people who drive below the speed limit. I don’t get it. Why? Why are you driving slower than the speed limit on a crowded street? And always in the left lane? You are not on a country back road somewhere; you are in a thriving metropolis. If this happens I will spell out the speed limit for you while shouting, “45! The speed limit is 45!” and no, this has never made anyone speed up, but it makes me feel better somehow. When I used to have to drive around for claims, this would all but send me over the edge. And, of course, now a days, the reason someone is driving too slow is because they are texting. Don’t get me started.

So, here we are driving around in our homes away from home and we are so absorbed in our little comfy bubble, that it is hard for us to think about anyone else. Are there other people on the road? But, I’m on the road! It never fails to crack me up when I see people come roaring up to a stop sign on a side street and they are truly irritated when there is traffic on a main road. They throw their hands up in the air and roll their head around because they actually have to stop. Really? At 7:50 am you don’t think others are also going to be driving to work, too? Apparently not. Or have you ever turned right? I mean, turned right not from a right turn lane? 99% of the time, if you look in your rear view mirror, you will see Cruella de Ville back there giving you the death stare because they had to slow down. Except when you are the 99%, right? Come on, admit it! You have been Cruella giving somebody the evil eye for causing you to slow up a bit. I know I have.

And I guess, I just wonder why? Why do I get so angry? Why does everyone get so angry? What do I care if they are texting, or driving too slow? Or tailgating me to the point I can see the color of their shirt? Because I could get hurt? Yes, that is part of it. Goodness knows 15 years of adjusting auto claims has shown me what can happen to you by all these infractions. Or is it that we are angered by the lack of caring doing these things shows we have for one another?  If I choose to speed and text at the same time, in a sense, I am saying, I have no regard for you. My need to send or read a text is more important than you are. I am more important that you are. And, that is what makes us mad.

Because we are a rude society, right? The rudeness we see on a daily basis is so much the norm that when someone actually does something nice, it stands out. We have the “pay it forward” concept of doing something nice to someone else, but really, it just means it’s because we don’t normally do that sort of thing. And I mean “we” as a society. We are an oblivious society…oblivious to one another. And when we drive, in our own little world, we don’t see past the hood of our car. So, if I want to speed, or cut you off, or text and drive slow, or turn right on red while you are making a U-turn, that’s my prerogative. And, there is nothing you can do about it but get mad and stew. Or make hand gestures out your window.

So, as the angry driver, what am I to do? I don’t want to be angry every time I get behind the wheel. I like driving for the most part and I don’t want to continue screeching at people from the driver’s seat. As with everything, the change must come from me. I’m not going to change that people are rude and oblivious, but I can change how I react to people being rude and oblivious. It’s my choice to let things get to me while driving. It’s my choice to not be graceful to people. Jesus teaches us to forgive others who have wronged us and to treat others as we want to be treated. I’m pretty sure that extends to being in a car. I don’t stop believing His teachings just because I’m behind the wheel, although at times it feels like that. Love your neighbor is also something Jesus said, and, darn it, a neighbor isn’t just someone who lives next door. They are the person in the car who is driving slow or speeding or texting or cutting me off. But, one of the good things about Jesus is…He is there to help. Because goodness knows He is the only one who can turn me from Cruella back into me when I’m driving these ridiculous Tucson streets.

So, happy driving, and for the love of all that is good, at least go the speed limit!

On Snark

The definition of “snark” from Urban Dictionary is as follows:

noun Combination of "snide" and "remark". Sarcastic comment(s). Also snarky (adj.) and snarkily (adv.)

 The definition doesn’t make it a verb, but I will for the purpose of this blog. Snarking is now our National pastime. I believe snark has surpassed all major events to become what we, as Americans love to do; to watch; to listen to and to participate in. It is almost expected, that we, as Americans, must make fun, in the snidest way possible, of whatever is around us, no matter what it is. The Olympics? Snark about them! Our political system? Well, there are whole shows dedicated to snarking about the upcoming election and those involved.  Someone’s outfit? Yup, snark away. Oh, wait, I guess there is a whole show dedicated to snarking about people’s outfits, too.

How did something grade school kids do get to be en vogue? How did something grade school kids do get to be expected adult behavior? How did something grade school kids do become a form of entertainment? How did this get to be what we, as a Nation, think is funny?

I, for one, have had enough.

 The tipping point for me was the Olympics. Now, I LOVE the Olympics. I love everything about them. The history, the pageantry, the ceremony. The sports! And let me say right here, that I believe NBC has killed everything good about them, and not just this year, but as soon as ABC no longer had the rights to televise them and NBC got hold of them, well, it was all downhill from there. And, I’ll add, that I don’t think a network should be able to negotiate the rights to multiple Olympics. Since all Nations of the world are coming together in peace and harmony, why can’t the networks do the same and do a joint broadcast? And Bob Costas, et all, needs to watch everything Jim McKay ever did.  But, I digress.

 So, yes, NBC did a horrible job of broadcasting the Olympics, complete w/ the snarky look Bob Costas had on his face for the duration, but it was also every other media outlet as well. Yahoo was the worst offender, daily posting snark about slip ups, athletes, venues, and anything else it saw fit to throw snark at. Their final write up was a snark filled rant about the closing ceremony where there was no journalistic point expect to snark. About. Everything. They missed all the nuances, which, I guess was their point. They were not interested in anything but writing a snark filled commentary. But is it their fault, or are they feeding us what we want?

 FB and Twitter were also laced w/ snarky comments about everything from Gabby Douglas’ hair (really?), to saying how stupid the doves riding bikes in the Opening Ceremony was. Now, we were in NYC during the Opening Ceremony, but I had DVR’d it. Michael and Chelsea were reading posts and tweets real time, and the doves riding bikes and how stupid it was, kept coming up. So, when I actually watched the recording, I was dumbfounded. The doves on bikes were a beautiful representation of Britain’s history of cycling and the peace that the Olympics represent.  And, they weren't actually doves as I was expecting; they were people in gorgeous lit gossamer wings. We seemed to be so programmed to snark that we can’t even enjoy things anymore.

So, how did we get here? Is it a lack of tolerance? Is it our politically correct world run amok? Because it is also en vogue to be easily offended. Everyone can and should be offended by anything and everything. And since we don’t know how to let things go, if we are offended, we then must offer a snarky comment about the offense.  I am a Christian and that offends people. I don’t even have to do anything, or say anything, yet they are offended. They will ask me my views on same sex marriage, knowing my answer ahead of time, and then accuse me of being hateful or prejudice in the snarkiest way possible. Um, no, folks. If you’re only response to my views is to call me names and vilify me, isn’t that hatred?

 Hatred: n.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hatred

Hatred (or hate) is a deep and emotional extreme dislike, directed against a perceived evil.

And for the record, I believe in the Bible and it says marriage is to be between a man and a woman. My belief in that does not mean I hate homosexuals. I don’t like or dislike people based on their sexual preference; I like or dislike people based on their character. Period. There are some gay people I love dearly and some I don’t like so much, but, I’m sure you can say the same thing, right? It doesn't have anything to do with anything but their character, just like it is for you.

But, we have been taught that if someone disagrees with us, it is okay to hate them, to say snarky comments to or about them, and to get others to join in the snark along with us. They are the enemy. And even as Christians, we fall into it, right? I don’t think Jesus is a Republican and the snark some of my fellow Christians have toward Democrats and the snarky comments that are said are horrible. Jesus followed the political system of His day, the Romans, and told His disciples to do the same. We are blessed with the right to vote, and should, but I don’t think that He would want us to be lambasting those we disagree with politically (or on any other subject). I don’t think Jesus is going to buy the defense, “I was mean to them in Your name, Lord!” That’s not what He teaches and as we go into this political season, we would be better off remembering that.

Not that we can’t disagree with people. That’s not what I’m saying. What I’m saying is that snark and the hatred that seems to go with it are tearing us apart. Our nation seems to be “us” and “them”. We are placed in categories and judged accordingly. If you believe this, then you are that, and it is a sweeping judgment with no regards to the individual. If all we do is resort to snark when someone disagrees with us, how are we ever going to get along? The point of the Olympics is finding common ground between nations in sports, right? But if all we are doing is snarking and judging each other, we will never find common ground between us and our culture will suffer for it.

So, how can we stop the snark and the hate that tends to follow? Maybe turning off the TV shows that do nothing but that. No one is really buying the shows that pit two people from polar opposite views spitting venom at each other as actual commentary are they?  It's entertainment and a poor excuse for that, I say.  Maybe not judging someone according to what the media says, but by finding out why they believe what they believe. People will ask me my views on same sex marriage, but no one ever asks why or how I became a Christian.

I think my friend Daphne Duke has a great idea. Today, she posted on her FB page that we should only post nice comments about people and she started it out by saying some nice things about some of her friends. How cool is that? The change begins with us. My friend Bizzy Orr said that she went to a conference and the speaker said that if you imagine standing at the edge of a canyon and yell out something, it will bounce back to you. So, in theory, if we yell out snark, snark will come back to us. Is that what we want? What if we take Daphne’s idea and keep it going? Not just today, but every day. Our words can build up or tear down...and I wonder how our nation would change if we replaced the snark with words of kindness, encouragement, and thoughtfulness? 

Let's find out.