Category: Uncategorized

Ahhh, priorities.

Too much to do, and too little time to do it.

I’m finishing two books and starting two more, with additional projects in the works. Good? Yes. Unfortunately, I’ve realized that I’m spending too much time on Twitter and Facebook and the internet in general and, yes, even on this blog.

And since this blog seems to be the root of most of it (because once I’ve written the post then I have to share it on Facebook and Twitter which inevitably means I have to say hi to various friends and comment on other peoples stuff and then I have to check the football scores and oh yes I should check my fantasy league team and then there’s Bryan Allain’s blog and I should really check my wife’s blog and see if anyone else has signed up for her cooking class and wow she has over 100 people liking Mai Time in the Kitchen and holy cow did you see what brett favre allegedly did and I wonder how my dad’s Ameritrade account is going and should I keep SRZ or is that whole company just going to hell in a handbasket I should really tweet about my blog again and then it’s all back-and-forth all day with ken mueller on twitter because he can do about seven things at once and then i realize it’s time for lunch).

Phew. That was tiring.

So I’m cutting back on the blog. Not sure exactly what that means. But I wanted to warn the three of you who read it every day that it probably won’t show up every. single. day (and if it does you need to find out my password and change it and hold the new one for ransom and only let me post every second or third day).

Thanks to all of you for following along for the last nine months. No I’m not pregnant.

Thanks for thinking I have meaningful stuff to say, or at least taking the time to disagree with me (Gwyn and Jason). Hopefully I will still have meaningful stuff to say, every once in a while. Just not everyday.

Hopefully.

Do you have the courage to write what you’re actually thinking? Not just the stuff to which everyone will say, “That’s insightful. I completely agree with you. Great point,” but also the things which will elicit replies like:

“Where did you get that idea?”

“Who give you the right to say that?”

“You’re looking at it all wrong.”

* * * * *

Usually the people we love and respect the most are the ones who mold who we are, who we become and in some ways how we think. But this is a two-edged sword, because it also makes them the most difficult to inform of our deviant opinions or thoughts or ideas.

Are the voices in your head (of your friends and family) shouting at you not to tell the true story? Do these voices disapprove when you begin opening doors to a past that no one wants disturbed? Do their voices argue with you in your mind as soon as you consider sharing an opinion with which they would strongly disagree?

* * * * *

Nearly every repressive government on earth will, soon after their acquisition of power, move to take over any existing form of communication: newspaper and radio. They will try to eliminate or control literary works. Why? Because whoever has a voice, has power. A government insistent on maintaining absolute control will strive to be the only voice.

* * * * *

Own your voice. Embrace your story. Do not let the voices in your head (your parents? your religious leader? your controlling friend or spouse?) tell you that you aren’t allowed to use those words, or talk about that subject, or have that opinion.

The most powerful writing is always authentic. And difficult to write.

* * * * *

Nearly every thought on writing that resides in my brain has sprouted from a seed planted by Anne Lamott. I can take credit for none of it.

There’s seems to be something inherent in us that wants to give things up. We decide to quit smoking, or stop eating sweets, or eschew television for a time. We try to diet or exercise regularly or read more or spend less time on the internet, and in some fashion it often equates to denying some part of ourselves.

* * * * *

When Maile and I decided to not watch television for a year (at which we’ve mostly succeeded, save a few World Cup, NFL and MLB playoff slip ups on my part), we were trying to regain control of our evenings, which seemed to have gone totally astray. The little box had more to say about how we spent those hours from 9 – 11 than we did, so we kicked him out. But even after purging our house of cable, other things quickly converged, trying to wrest control of our time.

Sometimes when we give things up, we exchange them for other things we want to give up. It turns into this rotating spit of dropped habits.

* * * * *

What is it about our internal make up that puts such an emphasis on giving things up? Is it that we actually crave living a more disciplined life? Is it that we desire freedom from these habits? Is it that some part of us enjoys this self-denial?

* * * * *

Many different religions talk about a deliberate giving up – they call it fasting. While fasting is usually about giving up food and/or water for a set period, it can involve any denial of self, any deliberate choice to abstain from something for a given time.

Sometimes I wonder if all of us give up things because, deep down, we believe we will get things in return. Perhaps all of us, and not just the religious among us, have a sense of karma when it comes to giving things up, or fasting. Is there something in all of us that believes if we give up a particular activity, the universe will somehow reward us for that? Is that what’s at the bottom of all this self-denial?

* * * * *

There’s this intriguing passage in the Bible that talks about fasting. The people of Israel want to know why, even though they fast, God doesn’t seem to be on their side.

“We have fasted before you!’ they say. ‘Why aren’t you impressed? We have done much penance, and you don’t even notice it!”

God’s response through the prophet Isaiah got my attention:

“I will tell you why! It’s because you are living for yourselves even while you are fasting. You keep right on oppressing your workers. What good is fasting when you keep on fighting and quarreling? This kind of fasting will never get you anywhere with me. You humble yourselves by going through the motions of penance, bowing your heads like a blade of grass in the wind. You dress in sackcloth and cover yourselves with ashes. Is this what you call fasting? Do you really think this will please the LORD? No, the kind of fasting I want calls you to free those who are wrongly imprisoned and to stop oppressing those who work for you. Treat them fairly and give them what they earn. I want you to share your food with the hungry and to welcome poor wanderers into your homes. Give clothes to those who need them, and do not hide from relatives who need your help.”

* * * * *

What if this desire of self-denial that we all seem to have in common is more about appeasing subconscious guilt arising from the fact that we have and others don’t have? What if the real reason we fast, or give things up, is to help ourselves feel better about life?

If that’s really the case, then you can see why God would shout down, “Hey, you! Yeah, you, Shawn! Get your head unstuck from your own ass and go serve someone! Stop giving meaningless stuff up! I don’t care about that! I care about that guy on the corner who hasn’t eaten today and that lady who needs someone to drive her to find help and that cousin of yours who needs to talk!”

I don’t normally envision God as speaking with only exclamation points, or using entry-level profanity, but perhaps in this case it’s fitting.

When I was young and we lived in Laredo, Texas, my dad, just out of Bible School and taking on his first job as the pastor of a small church on the Mexican border, found us a trailer to live in. I was only four at the time, so I remember only a few things about it: it was blue (or green); it was very grimy; we shared the space with the local inhabitants (ie roaches and lizards).

I also remember sitting in one of those plastic blue kiddie pools on the cement slab outside the front door with my then-2-year-old sister. She pooped in the pool.

Surprisingly enough, when I first spotted the double-wide trailer that my family of 6 currently lives in, I didn’t have any flashbacks – this place is cozy, clean and in a beautiful location. Here’s 10 reasons we love living in our double-wide:

1) We went from a 4500 square foot townhouse to a 3000 square foot townhouse to a +/- 1500 square foot trailer, and with each move the cleaning became easier and everyone seemed happier.

2) No need for one of those fancy intercom systems – just shout, and the kids can hear you from anywhere in the house.

3) It’s cozy – I actually like having our four kids relatively close by. In our other places they slept way down the hall and it just felt kind of far off.

4) This particular double-wide is on two secluded, wooded acres bordered by a horse pasture and a small stream. If we start to feel suffocated, the outside space adds thousands of square feet.

5) It takes about 15 seconds to lock all the doors at night, or turn off the lights before we go somewhere.

6) Everything here is on one floor. In one of our townhouses we had close to 40 steps from basement to top level.

7) Did I mention it takes about 28 seconds to clean the entire house?

8) The kids share a bedroom. At their current ages (Cade, 7, shares a room with Sam, 1; Lucy 5, shares a room with Abra, 2) this has caused them to really bond and have to learn to share space. I don’t think this is a bad thing.

9) It feels kind of like being in a cabin, and I love the mountains.

10) I can tell people, in my best Chris Farley voice, that “I live in a trailer down by the river!” (even though a van still sounds better, and our river is more of a brook, or a small stream)

What do you love about where you live?

We moved to the farmhouse in Kinzers, Pennsylvania when I was five years old.The few memories I have of the years leading up to that are of the scorching heat in Texas: first in Laredo, where I saw a real, live road runner; then in Mesquite, where we shared a home with my uncle, aunt and two cousins.

We arrived in Pennsylvania in the winter, as I remember it. I had no idea that air could get that cold, or that farmhouses could smell so bad, or that a strange place could feel so much like home. For the first time, there were actual visits with grandma, and not just her voice on a recorded cassette tape sent through the postal service. My twenty-or-so cousins were like guaranteed friends. I watched my parents interact with people we knew in every store we visited, seemingly on every street.

The farmhouse we lived in had two separate living quarters, and with my family occupying one side. An Amish family lived in the other side. I didn’t know what to think of the Amish at first – I guess I watched my parents. But they were at ease with them, spoke Pennsylvania Dutch to them, so I relaxed.

One of the first days we lived in that farmhouse, the neighbors came over to say hello and retrieve some things from our side of the attic. The father’s name was Amos – he looked very serious, with a wiry frame and a black beard. His son came with him. We looked curiously at each other from opposite sides of our fathers’ legs.

They walked out with two pairs of ice skates. I had seen ice skating on “It’s Christmas, Charlie Brown,” but never thought it was something people actually did. Later in the day the little Amish boy came back and asked me if I wanted to go sledding. I looked quickly at my mom.

He and I, only six years old, struggled through the snow, across the fields to a small hill. The fact that we were allowed to wander the countryside at that age reminds me of what a different time it was, and how comfortable my parents must have felt to be returning to the place they knew.

The boy went first, his plastic sled swishing down the snowy hillside, his voice shouting and laughing all the way down. The cold ate at my nose, made my eyes sparkle, while, inside my warm clothes, I was wet with sweat. The sky glared off the white. This place was so different from Texas – I could have been on the moon.

I sat down on my sled, pushed  with my hands (lost in borrowed, oversized gloves), and off I went.

Do you practice self-promotion or others-promotion?

I now realize that I am pretty focused on promoting myself – I overshare my blog on Facebook and Twitter. I email all kinds of people if I have a book coming out. I try to generate an audience, all in the name of me, me and me.

But how much time do I make for promoting others?

Today I am going to direct you to someone who is focused on that very thing – Ken Mueller and Inkling Media. Once a week they have Others First Friday, a blog post designed to promote some of the non-profits or other inspiring people doing good things in our world.

Click on the link HERE and you can check out the organization being promoted – it’s an example of a very sad story turning into something that could potentially help a lot of people.

Of course, today I’m the one writing the guest post which means this is just another example of me promoting myself.

It’s a sickness.

Honest question – I don’t want to steal Ken’s idea, so how could I use my own blog to promote other folks or provide some kind of service?