Thursday, January 17, 2013
Friday, March 30, 2012
PRESENT.
Jeremy Bentham of London, England died in 1832 and left his estate to University College London. But he also stipulated that his body be embalmed, dressed up and brought in to preside over the annual meeting of university administrators. His preserved body is still there today, displayed in a glass cabinet. And it is apparently still wheeled into the annual meetings. For years, the secretary of the board added to the minutes of each session, "Jeremy Bentham, present but not voting."
I've KNOWN people like that -- present but not voting. Too often, I am one of them. These people are alive, but they are not really living. As Benjamin Franklin may have put it, they died around 25 but won't be buried until they are 75. They live without passion. They seem to have forgotten what thrill and wonder life can hold. They get through each day, but seldom experience anything like deep joy. They're alive, but barely.
Jeremy Bentham, who every year is present but not voting, reminds me of a story from Jewish humor. A widow spoke to friends about her departed husband. "Sidney thought of everything," she said. "Just before he died, he called me to his bedside. He handed me three envelopes. 'I have put all my last wishes in these three envelopes,' he said. 'After I am dead, please open them and do exactly as I have instructed. Then I can rest in peace.'"
She explained the contents of the envelopes. "The first envelope contained $5,000 with a note: 'Use this money to buy a nice casket.' So I bought a beautiful mahogany casket with a soft lining. The second envelope contained $10,000 and a note: 'Use this for a nice funeral.' So I used it for flowers, food and music. I know it would have made him happy.' The third envelope contained $25,000 with a note: 'Use this to buy a nice stone.'"At that point, the widow held up her hand and pointed to her finger, adorned with a lovely diamond ring. "So, do you like my stone? It WAS a nice stone. She knew that life was for the living.
Diamonds are not exactly my idea of living fully, but the story makes a good point. I want to do my best to enjoy life while I have it.
I think actor Maurice Chevalier had the right idea. He once said, "I never eat when I can dine." Do you know the difference? Eating is doing the necessary. Getting it done. I eat because I am hungry, then I can get on with what I was doing. Or I eat WHILE I'm doing something else - like writing or driving or watching television. If there is any pleasure to be found in the meal, I likely don't notice it. My attention is on something else.But dining is different. Dining is the ENJOYMENT of eating. When I dine, I pay attention to what I am doing. I taste the foods - I savor them. I notice the differences between flavors and I eat more slowly. I also pay more attention to the people who are sharing my meal. I interact with them. I am fully present during the meal and I may even reflect back on it later in the day. I admit, I eat often but I don't dine nearly enough.
I want to dine more and eat less. I don't want to just show up for life; I want to be part of it. I want to worry less about such things as where I live, and more about living where I am. And at the end of my life, I want to say that I always tried to be fully present.
By kind permission of Steve Goodier www.LifeSupportSystem.com
I've KNOWN people like that -- present but not voting. Too often, I am one of them. These people are alive, but they are not really living. As Benjamin Franklin may have put it, they died around 25 but won't be buried until they are 75. They live without passion. They seem to have forgotten what thrill and wonder life can hold. They get through each day, but seldom experience anything like deep joy. They're alive, but barely.
Jeremy Bentham, who every year is present but not voting, reminds me of a story from Jewish humor. A widow spoke to friends about her departed husband. "Sidney thought of everything," she said. "Just before he died, he called me to his bedside. He handed me three envelopes. 'I have put all my last wishes in these three envelopes,' he said. 'After I am dead, please open them and do exactly as I have instructed. Then I can rest in peace.'"
She explained the contents of the envelopes. "The first envelope contained $5,000 with a note: 'Use this money to buy a nice casket.' So I bought a beautiful mahogany casket with a soft lining. The second envelope contained $10,000 and a note: 'Use this for a nice funeral.' So I used it for flowers, food and music. I know it would have made him happy.' The third envelope contained $25,000 with a note: 'Use this to buy a nice stone.'"At that point, the widow held up her hand and pointed to her finger, adorned with a lovely diamond ring. "So, do you like my stone? It WAS a nice stone. She knew that life was for the living.
Diamonds are not exactly my idea of living fully, but the story makes a good point. I want to do my best to enjoy life while I have it.
I think actor Maurice Chevalier had the right idea. He once said, "I never eat when I can dine." Do you know the difference? Eating is doing the necessary. Getting it done. I eat because I am hungry, then I can get on with what I was doing. Or I eat WHILE I'm doing something else - like writing or driving or watching television. If there is any pleasure to be found in the meal, I likely don't notice it. My attention is on something else.But dining is different. Dining is the ENJOYMENT of eating. When I dine, I pay attention to what I am doing. I taste the foods - I savor them. I notice the differences between flavors and I eat more slowly. I also pay more attention to the people who are sharing my meal. I interact with them. I am fully present during the meal and I may even reflect back on it later in the day. I admit, I eat often but I don't dine nearly enough.
I want to dine more and eat less. I don't want to just show up for life; I want to be part of it. I want to worry less about such things as where I live, and more about living where I am. And at the end of my life, I want to say that I always tried to be fully present.
By kind permission of Steve Goodier www.LifeSupportSystem.com
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
DO-OVERS.
By kind permission of www.LifeSupportSystem.com.
DO-OVERS
Even if you're not from Washington D.C. you may have heard of former
Mayor Anthony Williams. He has a remarkable story. Williams was born
to an unwed teen who gave him up. He was known as a "problem child"
in foster care. By age three, little Anthony had still never spoken
a word. It seemed that a pattern for his life was set, that is,
until two warm and caring people took a chance on him.
Anthony was taken in by an opera-singing postal clerk and her
equally generous-hearted husband. He soon began to speak and
eventually thrived in their home. He excelled academically and later
attended both Harvard and Yale Universities.
In 1998, he came from obscurity to win 66% of the vote to become
mayor in one of the world's major cities. In his inaugural address,
Williams said: "Forty-four years ago, my parents adopted me and gave
me a second chance. I feel this city has now adopted me and I will
give to it everything my parents taught me about love, service,
commitment."
It's no doubt that, had he never been adopted into his particular
family, his life would have been wholly different. He was saved by a
second chance. And haven't each of us been given second chances? He
got a do-over on his birth family. Haven't we been given do-overs on
relationships, jobs, blown opportunities and the like? Quite often
second chances are the result of the generosity of someone who cares
a great deal. And sometimes we are saved by those second chances.
Author Dr. Seuss says in his book THE LORAX, "Unless someone like
you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It's
not."
I recently came across a story of a young American woman who was
saved by a do-over. During the second World War, she lost her
husband. He died in India of a tropical disease and she became
despondent. In time, despair turned into depression and she lost all
interest in living. She just didn't care anymore.
She booked passage on a ship back to America. On the voyage, she
became acquainted with a seven-year-old boy who, like her, was all
alone. His parents had died in the fighting in Burma. He seemed to
want to be with the young woman, but her pain would not allow it.
She wanted nothing to do with him and avoided him whenever possible.
She felt so ravaged by loss, that she was unable to get outside of
herself and care about anyone else. And she certainly did not have
the energy to take on someone else's problems.
Then one night the ship was torpedoed. The young woman made her way
to the deck and prepared herself to go down with the doomed vessel.
Some part of her actually welcomed it as an escape from her pain.
The child, too, came on deck. He shivered with cold and fright. When
he spotted the woman, he came over and clung to her.
That was when a lump of ice melted somewhere deep inside her. She
put her arms around the child and led him to one of the lifeboats.
For several days, as they waited to be rescued, she held him and he
held her. Years later her friends would say that they didn't know
whether the woman saved the boy, or the boy saved the woman. They
each gave the other a second chance at life and a do-over on love.
"Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going
to get better. It's not."
But it's the people who give do-overs who truly change the world.
-- Steve Goodier
DO-OVERS
Even if you're not from Washington D.C. you may have heard of former
Mayor Anthony Williams. He has a remarkable story. Williams was born
to an unwed teen who gave him up. He was known as a "problem child"
in foster care. By age three, little Anthony had still never spoken
a word. It seemed that a pattern for his life was set, that is,
until two warm and caring people took a chance on him.
Anthony was taken in by an opera-singing postal clerk and her
equally generous-hearted husband. He soon began to speak and
eventually thrived in their home. He excelled academically and later
attended both Harvard and Yale Universities.
In 1998, he came from obscurity to win 66% of the vote to become
mayor in one of the world's major cities. In his inaugural address,
Williams said: "Forty-four years ago, my parents adopted me and gave
me a second chance. I feel this city has now adopted me and I will
give to it everything my parents taught me about love, service,
commitment."
It's no doubt that, had he never been adopted into his particular
family, his life would have been wholly different. He was saved by a
second chance. And haven't each of us been given second chances? He
got a do-over on his birth family. Haven't we been given do-overs on
relationships, jobs, blown opportunities and the like? Quite often
second chances are the result of the generosity of someone who cares
a great deal. And sometimes we are saved by those second chances.
Author Dr. Seuss says in his book THE LORAX, "Unless someone like
you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It's
not."
I recently came across a story of a young American woman who was
saved by a do-over. During the second World War, she lost her
husband. He died in India of a tropical disease and she became
despondent. In time, despair turned into depression and she lost all
interest in living. She just didn't care anymore.
She booked passage on a ship back to America. On the voyage, she
became acquainted with a seven-year-old boy who, like her, was all
alone. His parents had died in the fighting in Burma. He seemed to
want to be with the young woman, but her pain would not allow it.
She wanted nothing to do with him and avoided him whenever possible.
She felt so ravaged by loss, that she was unable to get outside of
herself and care about anyone else. And she certainly did not have
the energy to take on someone else's problems.
Then one night the ship was torpedoed. The young woman made her way
to the deck and prepared herself to go down with the doomed vessel.
Some part of her actually welcomed it as an escape from her pain.
The child, too, came on deck. He shivered with cold and fright. When
he spotted the woman, he came over and clung to her.
That was when a lump of ice melted somewhere deep inside her. She
put her arms around the child and led him to one of the lifeboats.
For several days, as they waited to be rescued, she held him and he
held her. Years later her friends would say that they didn't know
whether the woman saved the boy, or the boy saved the woman. They
each gave the other a second chance at life and a do-over on love.
"Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going
to get better. It's not."
But it's the people who give do-overs who truly change the world.
-- Steve Goodier
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