It's been fun

I’ve been posting to the Observer since 2008. Before that I wrote columns for the Williamson Herald in Tennessee. To say I’ve enjoyed the process of putting ideas and thoughts on Word documents and then sending them through cyberspace to all of you, would be an enormous understatement. 

It hasn’t always been easy to find a suitable topic. When you try to put a humorous spin on a subject there is always the risk of going too far or in some cases, not far enough. I have my wife Nancy to thank for guiding me. She kept me out of hot water I’m sure. No matter how much I liked a post, if she said, “Maybe you shouldn’t,” I went back to the laptop and started over.

Many writers are paid for what they write. It’s understandable why they keep writing. But writers who are not paid continue to write anyway. Everyone has their reasons. No doubt we all hope to write something that goes viral and opens up opportunities to find a larger audience and yes, get paid for what we have to say.

Most writers though, write for other reasons too. We have ideas, notions, theories just like well, everybody else. What makes us different I suppose is we have the need to write down our ideas and share them with others. Thanks to word processing and the Internet, people who want to write can find an audience without having to go through middlemen like agents, editors and publishers. (Having an editor would do wonders for most of us.)

I can’t say I knew I would be rewarded for writing the Observer. As it turned out I was. On average I received 25 replies to every post. The best responses were the ones that started with, “you reminded me of something that happened to me…” If I tapped into a happy memory for a reader, I felt I did my job that week. I also got replies that were much funnier than what I wrote. Many times those who wrote said something I dearly wished they could have told me before I published.

I covered a lot of topics over the years. I complained that paper receipts were too long. I wrote about watermelons, the holidays and the death clock. I wrote about baby boomers more than I intended to, defending and excoriating my generation. I poked fun at TV shows like American Idol and the Bachelorette. I wrote about fortune cookies too. For reasons I cannot begin to understand that post is by far my most popular. Every week there are at least a few views recorded. Google must have a dedicated server just for fortune cookie related searches.

By now you’ve probably guessed that I won’t be writing the Observer anymore. I want to focus on writing longer essays and some short fiction for now. In writing the Observer, I did my best not to tip my hand regarding my political leanings or my position on most topics. It wasn’t my purpose. Over the years I noticed that readers often see what they want to see. No harm done. Who knows? I may have revealed more than I intended at times. Now I want to write about topics with the freedom to speak my mind more freely. Yes, I could have done that when I was writing the Observer, but gradually I came to understand that that wasn’t the premise I offered when you invited me into your lives.

I plan to keep writing. The fever hasn’t broken yet. And I’ll submit my words, seeking publication through traditional sources. If I have any luck, I’ll be sure to let you know. I am happily aware that you have had much to do with my development as a writer. You read my stuff, encouraged me and corrected me when I needed it. Thank you.

And as always, thanks for reading. It’s been an honor to write for you.

The Fake ID

            I substitute teach at local high schools now and then. When I asked one of the girls in my class why it is so easy to purchase beer, she told me a lot of kids have fake IDs. This is not a new idea of course. Some of the guys I went to college with had them.

            I distinctly remember one of my fraternity brothers getting off with a warning by a patrolman after he parted company with his fake ID. In fact, the cop wasn’t as irritated with him for having containers of beer as he was when he asked the young man’s name. With a straight face, he said, “John Smith.” I think what saved him was the way he said it, which was more like, “John Smith?”

            The fake ID has always been the domain of the young who are in a hurry to experience the hangover in all its forms. They want to pretend to be older than they are. Once we are of legal drinking age, we simply don’t think about the fake ID anymore unless perhaps we find one in the hands of one of our children. Or so I thought.

            My cousin Connie is planning a cruise this winter which will include a Segway tour wherein, were she eligible, she could ride a Segway.  As you probably know, the Segway PT is a two-wheeled, self-balancing, electronic vehicle. The problem is she is over the maximum allowable age. She is ineligible to ride the Segway.

            Nevertheless, she has come up with an elegant solution. She plans to get a fake ID. Yes! Like the Seinfeld episode where Kramer and Newman decide to reverse the peepholes in their apartment doors, Connie has ingeniously hit upon the reverse fake ID. She wants to be younger than she is pretty much for the same reasons young people want to seem older. She wants to do something that is not allowed.

            Having a reverse fake ID could get us much more than Segway rides. Being younger could get us better prices at some venues like amusement parks, except maybe for Disney World. They only offer a price break for kids between 3 and 9 years old. Let’s face it, unless the ticket takers also work for Orlando Airport’s Homeland Security staff, nobody is going to believe you’re only 9 no matter how you dress.

On the other hand, a fake ID would also come in handy for single people of a certain age. Who wouldn’t jump at the chance to flummox an e-Harmony subscriber or two? Shaving ten years off your actual age and being able to prove it more or less, could instantly put otherwise lonely people in a whole new category. No more tiresome dates with old men who take 45 minutes just to get out of the car after a twelve minute ride. Trade up, or down as it were, for a livelier model.   

            It occurs to me that we should never have abandoned the fake ID in the first place. By the time we hit 50, a lot of us could be benefitting from the reverse fake ID to get the senior citizen’s discount at the local Carmike theatre and the supermarket. Why wait until you’re 65?

Restaurants from Applebee’s to White Castle are thrilled to give you a break. Retailers from Banana Republic to Walgreens want your business. The reverse fake ID is a thing of beauty. There’s not a patrolman on earth that’s going to ask to see your ID because she suspects you’re older than you look.

            Listen: Don’t tell anybody, but if you email me a glossy photo, your preferred date of birth, height and weight, I’ll see what I can do about getting you a fake Tennessee driver’s license.

All This for a Three Hour Holiday?

Aging grouch alert: You’ve been warned. Now…what’s with the trend to decorate the front of your house for Halloween with orange lights, huge pumpkins, enormous spider webs,  and ghosts? Can’t these people wait a few short weeks until they can follow the long standing, sensible tradition of decorating the house and yard with red, white and green lights? Not to mention the Macy’s parade-size inflatable Santa and faux snow. Isn’t it tiresome enough to wrap and then unwrap lights around trees, bushes and railings on a day that’s guaranteed to have freezing rain in the forecast?

Who in their right mind willingly shells out hard earned dollars to celebrate a so-called holiday that lasts about three hours?  Last time I checked, Christmas was a whole season. That must be why we cheerfully say, “Seasons Greetings” isn’t it? It’s not as long as a football season, but it is long enough to justify the trouble and expense of lighting up your front porch, lawn and roof.

Listen: Christmas is all about joy to the world, peace on earth, good will toward men. There’s stockings filled with Prell and Gillette Fusion ProGlide Razors, delicious stuffed turkey and pumpkin pie. Halloween is about silly costumes. It’s about candy which leads to cavities and unpleasant visits to the dentist. As my friend Jill put it, “Deck the haunted halls doesn’t have a ring to it.” 

I’m very concerned about what’s trending now with Halloween decorating. Back in the middle of the last century, we just carved a pumpkin. Then we set it out on the front porch so the older kids could kick it off the steps or smash it on the roof of the grouchy old neighbor’s car. Wait……..oh yeah; I keep my car in the garage.

As I was saying, All Hallows Eve is so named because it refers to the night before All Saints Day. That hardly seems to warrant massive decorating, especially the kind that conjures the grave which is a destination not that far off for some of us. (Not me you understand. Regular Observer readers will recall that the Death Clock is giving me until 2043.)     

The Jack-O-Lantern, perhaps the universal symbol of Halloween, was originally used to ward off evil spirits. Looking at some of the Halloween decorations festooning front porches in my neighborhood, one might suspect its role is actually to invite such creatures. I mean what’s with the skeletons and headstones, not to mention the ghastly figures?

When I was a kid the entire point of Halloween was getting neighbors to hand out candy in exchange for saying Trick or Treat. In my neighborhood in Newark, New Jersey, we never actually said those words. Instead we said something like, “I’m here for the candy.”  We didn’t need costumes either. We were already dressed like future cast members of the Sopranos.  

It seems to me that if people want to decorate for Halloween they should be placing large posters depicting Snickers and Kit-Kat bars on their lawns to let kids know what to expect. I could get behind such a movement, especially if adults of all ages were as welcome as kids to stop by and grab a package of say, red licorice.

Then, instead of spending all that money on Orange and black decorations, companies like Mars and Hershey and even Brach’s would be competing for space on your property. Imagine a lighted Happy Halloween sign (blinking optional) over your garage door sponsored by Tootsie Roll Industries. Yes, you could grant naming rights for your very own house the same way stadiums do.   

One of the things I find troubling about all this is where will it stop? How long will it be before we have to decorate our homes for St. Patrick’s Day? I don’t know about you, but my attic is already crammed with Christmas stuff. Where am I going to fit a giant Shamrock?    

Cherry Bomb

            I was listening to the radio the other day and happened upon John Mellencamp’s Cherry Bomb . It’s a pretty tune. I hadn’t heard it for a while. I downloaded it and then listened closely to the lyrics. There’s a line in the song that goes, “we were young and we were improving.” I love that line.

Mellencamp is a boomer, just a few years younger than I am. His song took me back to our so-called green years when everything was in front of us. You know, “when dancin’ meant everything.” Looking back on those years, one thing I clearly remember is we were determined to make a better world. Not only were we going to keep improving, we were going to take the whole world with us. Anything seemed possible. Obstacles were made to be removed.  

In many respects we did change the world. If you consider advances in technology, communication, medicine and civil rights for example, we done good. In terms of how we live now, or more to the point, the world we present to our children and grandchildren, I’m not so sure we improved a thing. Yes, I know old men are inclined to say, “The good old days were better.” And I try to allow for that. But I can’t help wondering whether kids growing up today will be able to look back on their adolescence and say with confidence the way John Mellencamp did, that "we were improving,” not to mention feel inspired to write a song about it.

Take the way government is run or more accurately, not run today. When I see our representatives on what passes for television news these days, they look, well…smug to me. What I see on too many faces is, “Look at me! I know how the game is played. Watch me spin!” This is while they are saying things that American people with common sense and no need for the spotlight, recognize as ludicrous.

Listen: It doesn’t matter whether you’re a Democrat or a Republican, a Tea-Party member or a Liberal. The sad truth is too many of the people we’ve elected may not be there to serve our needs. They are serving themselves. In the process they are not setting the example that Mellencamp’s Cherry Bomb references when he says, “One night, me with my big mouth a couple of guys had to put me in my place.” Who puts self serving members of the government in their place?

Adults have always had the responsibility of giving their children a secure environment where they could simply keep on improving. There was never a time in the history of the United States of America when sacrifice wasn’t a requirement. Negotiation, accommodation, consideration are all essential ingredients to getting things done and keeping the country moving ahead and, improving. Having options is one of the benefits of living in a free society. It’s also an obligation. Are we making good choices, the kind that considers the needs of our children? At this time in our history it’s hard to see how our leaders and authority figures are doing much other than improving their place in line in the Capitol’s pecking order.        

The good news, I believe is that it’s never too late to improve. We still have options and we can make better choices than we’ve made in the past. Improving is not strictly the province of the young. Yes, we’ve made plenty of mistakes but to those running our great nation I say, with a bit of contrition, there is still hope. With apologies to John Mellencamp for updating his lyrics a bit, 

Seventeen has turned sixty-five
It’s not too late, we’re still livin’
If we’ve done wrong
I hope that we’re forgiven

            Our kids deserve a better world than the one we’re giving them. Listen to Cherry Bomb, a simple song with a sweet message. While we’re at it, let’s send the song to Senator Reid and Congressman Boehner. Once upon a time dancin’ was everything to them too.             

 

The Inane Sayings Edition

            On the day I got married for the first time, the priest ended the ceremony, saying, “Today is the first day of the rest of your life.” It was a popular saying at the time, one that sounds rather profound the first time you hear it. I suppose it means that you can start fresh, erasing, if you will, the mistakes you made on all the other first days of your life.

It turned out that getting married that day was a mistake for both of us. But that’s another story. When it dawns on you that every day happens to be the first day of the rest of your life, you realize just how inane the saying is.

Do you have a “favorite” inane saying? If not, you may not be trying hard enough. I happen to loath, “everything happens for a reason.” This is a short sentence that someone is bound to trot out when you tell them you lost your job, your car died and your significant other dumped you.

            The words are always spoken in a tone suggesting that suddenly, the person saying them is clairvoyant. They have miraculously developed the power to see into the future. The bad things that have just been visited upon you are actually a promise of better times to come. Order your Cadillac Escalade now.  I might accept this pearl of wisdom if the bearer of good news had just returned from say, Lourdes or Fatima the day before. That, of course, is never the case. More likely they just returned from Wal-Mart and not even with a Ouija board.

            When people say, “everything happens for a reason,” does it occur to them that they might be implying that you deserve bad luck? I mean who ever says that useless phrase when you tell them you just got a promotion and won a trip to Kansas City?   

            Here’s one you probably haven’t heard for a long time. Back in the 1970s when a lot of baby boomers were treating divorce like a rite of passage, some who had children were fond of saying, “It’s not the quantity of time you spend with your kids, it’s the quality of time you spend with them.”  In fairness, it wasn’t only the divorced invoking this line. Many households found it necessary for both parents to work.

While there is still some debate over which is more important, many leading authorities on the subject believe that quantity matters a great deal. One of the reasons I mention this particular saying is that it became popular before there was sufficient research to support it.  How many people took the time to access the literature on the topic that may have been available at the time? Don’t forget this was pre World Wide Web. I’m betting not many.

Mostly, I think people took comfort in the saying, perhaps worrying about whether they had done the right thing by their kids.  Sayings that go viral simply because they have a nice ring to them can indeed be harmful.

It’s been a long time since I heard someone argue quality over quantity when discussing childcare, but some sayings withstand the test of time, offering wisdom to all generations. Sayings like, “less is more” continue to resonate because in many situations, the arts in particular, less certainly is apt to be more. The saying dates back to 1855, in Andrea del Sarto, a poem by Robert Browning.

The “early bird catches the worm” may seem tired to some, but its essential truth is undeniable. And, perhaps there’s even more to the saying than meets the eye. President Franklin Delano Roosevelt said, “I think we consider too much the good luck of the early bird, and not enough the bad luck of the early worm.”

             Note to the worm: Don’t worry. Everything happens for a reason.

Keep Breathing, An Interview with the Author

Thank you for taking the time to discuss your new novel, Keep Breathing. I suppose we should start with the obvious. Why are you interviewing yourself?

Well Len, Oprah hasn’t called, nor has C-SPAN’s Book TV, and not a peep out of the Nolensville Dispatch. 

You’re surprised? Never mind, what’s this book about?

Two men embark on a road trip, heading south along the I-95 corridor. It’s a last gasp for Miracle Morgan. In his highly compromised physical condition, it is a dangerous, even foolhardy journey. But a letter from a lover he hasn’t heard from in 40 years energizes Miracle. She’s kept a secret from him all these years and now, out of options, she is pleading for Miracle’s help.

Miracle convinces his best friend Ray, an itinerant tennis pro, to help him make the trip. Accompanied by Tara, a beautiful and much younger woman, Ray is more than willing to help…for a price. With each mile and with every harrowing roadblock the trio encounters, Ray’s plan to get his aching bones off the tennis court for good seemingly unravels.   

As they make their way down the east coast, the complexity of Miracle’s and Ray’s lifelong friendship is revealed. Miracle also uncovers Tara’s secrets. She is about to rock the world of two men.

Why did you write this story?

I was inspired by the loss of a very close friend who had pulmonary fibrosis. 

Is your main character based on your friend’s life?

No, but I learned a lot from what I saw and we talked almost every day. He fought courageously until the very end to live his life to the fullest.

 

Is that why you’re donating 20% of the book’s net proceeds to the Pulmonary Fibrosis Foundation?

I’m donating to the Foundation because the vast majority of donations they receive are used to find a cure. It’s considered a rare disease but the prevalence appears to be growing, in some cases due to pollution. A lot of first responders at the World Trade Center on 9/11 have been diagnosed with pulmonary fibrosis. I believe it is a very worthy cause. If you’re interested, go to www.pulmonaryfibrosis.org

Does your story contain a message for people with pulmonary fibrosis?

As a writer, my job is to tell a good story. If someone with pulmonary fibrosis reads the book and finds inspiration to continue the battle, so much the better.

There is also a strong tennis component in your story. Why tennis?

I love the game. And I think Ray, Miracle’s best friend and itinerant tennis pro, gave me a chance to say a little something about the game, although I’m not sure I knew that when I was writing. He is a rogue but not on the tennis court. He was all business on the court. Maybe the game is a metaphor for who Ray wishes he was.    

You worked in the durable medical equipment, homecare industry for a long time. Do you think you were rough on them?

Not at all. One character made a serious mistake and the other was, to put it mildly, a jerk. As I have written previously in a homecare journal, every industry has its scoundrels. They don’t define the industry. On the whole, the thing that I hope comes across, because it’s the truth, is that when it comes to patient care, there is no room for compromise. The vast majority of homecare providers and manufacturers are patient advocates at heart.     

What are your hopes for Keep Breathing?

My hopes are completely separated from reality. That said, I hope it’s a best seller and then a major motion picture. Of course, I was hoping to win the last big Powerball lottery too.

 

Are you working on another project?

Yes, I am.

Care to tell us about it?

It’s too soon but I’ll give you a hint. It will improve your tennis game dramatically.

Last question: How can someone buy Keep Breathing?

It’s available at on line book stores like Amazon.com and barnesandnoble.com. Or, if you prefer, via Kindle. 

Here until Christmas Day 2043!

I was reading a New York Times publication called Booming, a newsletter all about baby boomers. One of the articles referenced a Web site called Deathclock.com

Yes, it’s true. Baby boomers are obsessed with every aspect of our precious lives including the need to know the exact moment when (or should I say if?) we will actually die. Your birth date, outlook on life and body mass index is all the DeathClock needs to tell you the day you will die and how many seconds of your life remain before you meet your maker. 

            I’m a bit confused about my own demise though. I made the mistake of checking the “DeathClock” twice in ten minutes. It wasn’t that I was unhappy with my first prognosis which said I would die on New Year’s Eve in the year 2042, one month shy of my 95^th birthday. Sure, given a choice I would prefer to die early on New Year’s Day after watching New Year’s Rockin’ Eve hosted by a hologram of Dick Clark, a flute of Piper-Heidsieck Rare 2002, at the ready.

            But, in doing a quick fact check for this post, I was surprised and a bit chagrined to discover that the Death Clock may not be completely accurate. My second turn at bat revealed that my departure from earth would be Christmas Day, 2043. Either way it seems I’m destined to go out on a major holiday. Right, I get another whole year, which is wonderful, but what if I go before I have a chance to open my presents?

Note to family: Be sure to save your Christmas gift receipts for any gifts you plan to give me in 2043. Whether I get to open my presents or not, you’ll need them. On the other hand, given what you now know, perhaps a pearl gray suit and a new pair of shoes would be an ideal choice. Make sure you get me pointy black ones.

And don’t plan any big New Year’s Eve celebration for yourself that year. Considering how old I’ll be when I pass, there won’t be any money left for you celebrate. Given my entitled baby boomer status in this world, I expect an elaborate funeral service mourning my passing. I want Paul McCartney and Stevie Wonder singing my favorites, live and in person.     

Naturally, I’m thrilled to know that I am going to be here another 30 years. I suspect a lot of baby boomers will be around to celebrate turning 90 and even 100. Of course the generations following us will have a substantial burden. For one thing they will be stuck in whatever middle management jobs still exist because we boomers will be holding on to our senior staff roles as long as possible…and collecting Social Security to boot.

It’s tempting I’m sure to blame us for refusing to step off center stage. Once you’ve been in the limelight though, even if it’s limited to being one in a group of millions, it’s very hard to let go.

Listen: younger people are just as prone to this disease as we are. That’s why so many reality show contestants continue to grasp at anything they can to extend their time in the spotlight. The bachelor’s Sean comes to mind. He headed for Dancing with the Stars as soon as he proffered the final rose. Then he agreed to marry his true love on the tube. That is until he may have decided to postpone the wedding. Would you be shocked if he gained 150 pounds so he could get on the Biggest Loser?

Not that I envy Sean. But I do wish I could arrange to have a camera follow me around for my 840 million remaining seconds.

Feeling Unforgiving? Try Some Berry Punch

This just in from the Harvard Business Review’s (HBR) Daily Stat: People “who were given 2 teaspoons of a bitter herbal supplement made harsher judgments of such actions as shoplifting and library-book theft, rating these behaviors an average of 78 on a 0-100 scale of "morally wrong," whereas people who had sipped only water rated the scenarios at just 62, says a team led by Kendall J. Eskine of the City University of New York. People who had sipped berry punch were even less harsh in their judgments.”

The report goes on to suggest, “the research underscores that what we think of as purely "moral" reasoning can be strongly influenced by intuition and physical feelings.” I have no quarrel with the study’s findings. What gets me is the low percentages of “harsh judgments” for doing something that is clearly wrong.

Call me naïve, but how can it be that 38% of people in a good mood and 22% of those having a bad day call shoplifting something less than morally wrong? One can only hope that the scenario described for the participants was one where the shoplifter was homeless and picking up a few things to avoid starvation. For the record, according to Business Insurance Quotes, two of the top three most shoplifted items in America are foods. In other words are we talking about absolutes or relativism?

Stealing a library book by the way, is a form of shoplifting but its worse than most shoplifting in at least one way. Its one thing to steal meat, the USA’s number one shoplifted item. There are usually plenty of ground beef packages on the shelf. When you steal a library book you are reducing, if not eliminating, the opportunity for others to learn something new or be entertained.

I realize there is also a potential upside to the far-reaching discovery that being in a good  mood has a tendency to make people more forgiving.  With any luck, entire industries that seem to specialize in hiring surly people (airlines come to mind) might now provide sweet drinks to their employees. Airlines can start with gate agents.

I wonder if defense attorneys will now use this knowledge to get better deals for their clients. “Your honor, if it pleases the court, may I offer members of the jury a spot of tea spiced with Tupelo honey while they deliberate?” Come to think of it, what were the jurors sampling during deliberations for the Casey Anthony and George Zimmerman trials? 

I am frankly troubled by research of this nature. There is a downside. In fact, the potential for mischief is infinite. In no time, news like this will filter down to children of all ages. How long will it take little Kendrick to figure out that it’s a good idea to offer mom a cookie before confessing that he broke the family heirloom vase? When newly licensed driver, Francine, wants the keys to the car, you know she is going to give daddy a sweet, delicious, Cella's Chocolate-Covered Cherry to help her seal the deal. It’s worrisome I tell you.   

It turns out that HBR’s Daily Stat is chock full of interesting studies. A recent experiment performed by Michael J.A. Wohl of Carleton University in Canada suggests that people were more than twice as likely to gamble $10 on slot machines if they first read an article warning of an unstable economic climate, poor job prospects, and higher costs. Periods of hardship can lead people to make risky and detrimental financial decisions, the researchers say.

In effect, these people are treating themselves, or at least their own self-interest, harshly. Would the results have been the same if they sipped berry punch while they read the bad news?

Progress, a Step Backward?

            My friend Paul gave me his copy of Fortune, a leading business magazine. The first thing I read was a column by Stanley Bing, a noted writer. Mr. Bing questioned whether what some call progress is really a step backwards. His leading example was restroom sinks with automatic water dispensers. Sometimes they don’t work. And there’s no alternative.

            Permit me to join Mr. Bing in pointing out a few more examples of improvements that are not progress. Shall we start with computerized cash registers? The old fashioned cash register has been replaced with computerized applications that have turned checking out from a 30 second exercise to something akin to donating blood. It takes about the same amount of time. In fact, the American Red Cross should set up in busy checkout lanes. That would be the end of blood shortages. This is true, by the way, even if you pay cash. I recently visited an appliance store to buy a replacement water filter. I explained I was in a hurry but that didn’t matter.

I had cash in hand but the guy behind the counter had to sign himself in first. Then he asked me for my phone number. He punched a few keys, scanned my purchase and then he waited for the computer to react. The receipt was next, an 8 and ½ by 11 inch piece of paper by the way. I had to sign that before he took my money. Finally the register door opened and he gave me my change. If you happen to be the third or fourth customer in line you can give blood and apply for a mortgage. There’s plenty of time.

Does anybody remember when it was common to argue over whose turn it was to get up and change the channel? That was before the TV remote was introduced. And the remote was a definite improvement over the TV knob, which had a habit of breaking off eventually, mostly because kids took turns seeing who could get from channel 2 to 13 the fastest.

Early remotes were pretty simple. They turned your set on and off. You could change the channel and adjust the volume. Some even had the ever useful mute button.  Check out your TV remote now. Mine has 53 buttons to choose from. And here’s the best part: If you hit the wrong button, now you can argue with your significant other over whose turn it is to call your cable provider.

Let’s face it. There is no way you are going to press the right buttons in the right sequence to turn that static into a picture. After you’ve spent three days waiting for the cable guy, getting up to change the channel sounds suspiciously like progress.      

How about the family car? Some of us can remember a time when anyone who was reasonably handy could change the oil, do a break job or even give the car a tune-up. With the highly advanced, technology driven cars of today, should you break down on the side of the road you don’t open the hood and have a look. No, the first thing you do is reach for your cell phone for roadside assistance. Even fixing a flat tire can be a nightmare. Quick! Tell me where your tire iron and jack are stored. You have no idea right? Maybe that’s why AAA adds 6.5 million new members a year. 

Obviously, technology has played an important role in moving our society along. The sad truth is that many of the old ways of doing things must be updated to accommodate environmental and demographic changes. Still, I wish marketers would stop telling us that all these improvements will make our lives easier. They don’t. Well, it’s time to light my barbecue grill. Now where did I put the instructions?   

Is Childhood a Permanent State Now?

            Some of us are old enough to remember when adults never wore sneakers. They didn’t play with toys either. Years ago, kids had their idols; Willie Mays, Elvis Presley and Grace Kelly, to name a few. Adults back then knew better than to idolize stars, be they athletes, actors or recording artists. Weren’t they too busy making something of their own lives to take more than a passing glance at celebrities? 

            But times have changed. Sometimes I think the difference between children and adults is mostly a matter of height, wrinkles and bald spots. I saw a man in his mid-thirties in a medical setting the other day wearing a Superman pajama top. Now I ask you, could you picture President Dwight D. Eisenhower, the man who as a five star general led the D-Day invasion on the beaches of Normandy, in such a getup?

            I also saw a woman, well into her fifties with green hair and a lip ring that looked suspiciously like a piece of jewelry that would have looked great adorning a woman’s ear. Just for a moment imagine if you will, former Secretary of State Hillary Clinton walking around with green, or even purple hair.  

            There was a time when kids were expected to wear baseball caps and sneakers. Kids played with toys which were often designed to emulate real life. In the 1950’s for example, reflective of the times, girls had dolls and baby carriages. Boys had fire engines and model trains. As they became adults, ball caps were traded for fedoras. Wingtips replaced sneakers. Life became serious and young adults gave up toys for jobs, marriage and family. We don’t so much give up toys as we do replace them now. Don’t even think of suggesting that cell phones and i-Pads aren’t to some degree toys for adults. Listen, would Lee Iacocca have had time for Farmville when he was running Chrysler?

            Perhaps the most obvious piece of evidence that childhood may well be permanent is the way we dress. Adults and kids today dress pretty much alike. What started as business casual is now indistinguishable from kid casual as far as I can tell. Tattoos have replaced ties. I wonder if the transition from adulthood to a more or less permanent state of childhood is in some way accountable for our growing lack of civility. As kids we threw tantrums. It was allowed, sort of. We were kids after all. Adults these days seem to feel entitled to tantrums. And there is no one to pack them off in their Superman pajamas for misbehaving. I mean when did we start heckling First Ladies? 

One of the key differences between childhood and adulthood is the requirement that we accept responsibility for our actions. It seems to me that whether you’re talking about a Jodi Arias trying to beat a murder rap by blaming the victim, or a politician trying to pass the buck, accepting responsibility is not fashionable. A lot of people old enough to know better, simply want a do over, as if life itself was nothing more than a game of stickball.  

Whether we are actually extending childhood well beyond the traditional boundaries, advertisers certainly treat us like children. I just saw a commercial for Meow Mix. Two cats are singing, “meow, meow,” and so on. Just below the singing cats you can follow the bouncing ball with the translation running across the screen. Now unless the people at Meow Mix think kids are making household cat food buying decisions, it seems clear they don’t have much respect for adults.   

How about birthday parties? We loved them as kids. If you Google “adult birthday parties” you get more than 20 million options to choose from. Think about your grandparents for a moment. Do you recall extravagant birthday celebrations being routine for them?  Would a real adult be pleased if someone threw a Superman party for him? Well, maybe the guy I mentioned earlier would like it. I like to think at least some of us would detest the idea.

Is permanent childhood a bad thing? Perhaps not entirely. Childhood is indeed short, especially now when TV programming robs tots of their innocence in one evening. And we do live a lot longer than previous generations did. Maybe an extended childhood is inevitable. Still, I think most of us feel better when there are some real adults in our midst. Don’t look at me though. All I want for my birthday is a baseball board game with dice, please.  

Mars Anyone?

Have you signed up yet for the one way trip to Mars? 78,000 people from all over the world have applied to the Netherlands based Mars One to make the one way trip. Young and old alike have decided that life on earth is not a big deal. Knowing they can never come back isn’t a deterrent to these adventurous people. They want out and can hardly wait until 2023 when the first 4 lucky winners will depart for the Red Planet. There is no maximum age for applicants, no required technical background, nationality or language. Well, astronaut candidates will have a few years to learn English if they don't speak it already. This requirement should excite members of the English only movement here in the USA. 

Of course some people question the sanity of anyone who would agree to make a one way trip to Mars. It seems a lot more people would be willing to make the trip if it was more like going to Disney World. You know, fly to Orlando, go on the rides, stay in the hotel and then head back home to Little Rock.

Had these round trippers been alive in say, the seventeenth century, it’s probably safe to say they would not have been aboard any wooden ships bound for America. They’re probably here now only because an ancestor got kicked out of London and was sent to the colonies. These naysayers obviously don’t share a bit of DNA with the Puritans who came to America. Did those brave voyagers realize they would never see their homeland again? That this was a one way trip? Certainly! And I guarantee you not one of them was thinking, “In America I can get me a wide screen TV and watch NASCAR and All Star Celebrity Apprentice on Sundays.”

And you can be just as sure that today’s scaredy cats live within a square mile of where those naughty ancestors landed. You just know when the pioneers set out to settle the west their great-great grandfathers thought the people getting on the wagon trains were fools. “Why would you go to parts unknown Clem? I hear tell there’s wild Indians and grizzly bears nine feet tall. Why, you can’t never come back here.”  

A spirit of adventure and a desire for a better life for their children was what drove the Mayflower passengers and later, the pioneers, to say goodbye forever to what they knew and head for the great unknown.        

Now some might say, “That is the difference. How could anyone have a better life on Mars than they could here on earth?  For starters, earth has oxygen, not to mention Starbucks.” Maybe it’s what Mars won’t have that makes it so appealing. No unemployment for example. Listen, it’s been rumored that the entire city of Detroit has applied for jobs on Mars. And since a day on Mars is 40 minutes longer than here on earth, there won’t be any excuse for not sweating to the oldies every day. And you just know there’s at least one applicant that applied in hopes of being selected so their partner will get the message. It’s over. For good this time.

For the astronauts who do decide to go, I wonder how quickly they will lose interest in everything happening on earth. For their sake, I hope it’s quick. I mean imagine you’re from Chicago. You get to Mars in early October, just in time to find out that the Cubs are going to the World Series. Your brother-in-law Carl could easily have scored a couple of top notch tickets for you. Forget it. You decided to take a one way cruise to Mars.

Our ancestors didn’t have that problem. There were no cell phones or iPads back then. Benjamin Franklin hadn’t even discovered electricity yet. No worries and no regrets about who won the British Open for residents of the Plymouth Colony, that’s for sure.    

If you’re interested in making the trip though, be advised that there will be a minor fee associated with submitting your application. The amount varies by the gross national income of the applicant's home country. For US citizens the fee is $38. It’s a better deal than the Pilgrims had. They agreed to be indentured servants for seven years.  

An Unexpected Request for Help

I had not heard from Philip for several years so I was quite surprised to get his email yesterday informing me that he was stuck in Italy. It seems he was robbed at gunpoint, all of his valuables taken from him. I was shocked that in a country where there are fewer than 12 firearms owned per 100 people, that such a thing might happen. We’re not talking about the USA after all.

            But I digress. Philip’s situation was worrisome indeed. The manager of the hotel where he was staying wouldn’t let him leave until his bill was paid. He didn’t say so, but he was probably subsisting on chestnuts and imported Livingston Cellars Chianti. Philip was indeed in dire straits and he was asking for my help. I was perplexed that Philip would write to me rather than say, people he had actually been in touch with on a regular basis.

            It’s not that I didn’t want to help my somewhat distant friend. I just felt he was behaving rather presumptuously by assuming I was in a position to send him a few dollars. I mean I haven’t heard from him in years. The subject of money had never even come up with the possible exception of a brief discussion about Toastmasters club dues. And if I did lend him money, would he pay me back? Suppose it was a scam he was running on people he didn’t feel he needed anymore? I hate being played for a fool.

            I’m not heartless. I did respond to his email. I figured, since he was in Italy; why not ask him to pick up a few things that are hard to get here in Nashville? Let’s face it, Nashville is a great city but Little Italy here consists entirely of Buca di Beppo and the Macaroni Grill. So I sent him a list and promised him I would repay him if and when he arrived home safely with the goods. I did express a good deal of sympathy for the robbery thing of course. 

            When I didn’t get an immediate response to my request, I wondered if my suspicions that Philip was scamming me might be true. That’s when I decided to look up my old contact information for Philip. I would call him at his office. If he picked up, I would know my baked goods and Italian leather shoes were just a pipe dream.

            As will happen, the number I called was no longer in service. Maybe he changed jobs? Was he living in Italy now? I tried his home number. A woman answered. She sounded like Philip’s wife. Not knowing what to do, I hung up. What if Philip really was trapped in a hotel in Italy? Maybe she didn’t know. Who wants to deliver that kind of news? Or, since he found it necessary to get in touch with me, maybe she did know and had already refused to lift a finger for him.  

            I had a sleepless night wondering whether I should have wired him enough to at least cover the cost of the items I requested. Well, I’m happy to report that it was a false alarm. I finally heard from Philip this morning. It seems that his computer was hacked by hackers on foreign shores. In hindsight, I should have recognized the real scam right away.

For one thing, Philip is a very bright fellow. I probably should have questioned the misspellings in his original message and the odd sentence structure. I guess I assumed he was writing under a lot of pressure being broke and no doubt having to borrow someone’s laptop.

Live and learn. Philip apologized for the inconvenience which I certainly appreciated. But I really wanted those handmade shoes.              

if i die

I recall a Mad Magazine cartoon where an old man on his death bed says to his friend of many years, “Come closer” He’s obviously about to utter his last words. The friend leans in. “Closer,” says the old man. Then, touching his friend’s arm with his forefinger, he says, “Last tap.” He dies with a satisfied smile on his face.

It is the ultimate squelch isn’t it? The problem is there is no way we can possibly be sure we can get life’s last tap. That is, until now.

            Thanks to the Web and its great gift to mankind, social media, we can now have life after life. Yes, services like Deadsoci.al, Liveson.org and Facebook’s “if i die,” make it possible for us to leave messages for friends, loved ones and even enemies.

            Consider the possibilities! Had the Internet been ubiquitous just 30 years ago, we could still be receiving messages from Richard Nixon. The idea of sending messages post mortem isn’t new, of course. Wills and letters to loved ones, drafted in the waning days of life, probably go back to pre-historic times when cavemen painted images on rocks. Even video messages go way back, all the way back to the 1980s when everyone grappled with their VCRs.

Still, how many people can you reach on mere paper documents? Really, how many letters can you write? The cost of postage alone is murder. Well, my friends we are no longer chained to any such limitations. Like the all you can eat buffet at the Golden Corral, you can offer a full plate of wisdom long after you’ve entered the next world. Those of us still earthbound can enjoy every morsel.

When three cyberspace executors of your choosing have verified your passing, your thoughts can be posted, just like before your demise. The difference is you don’t have to deal with smart aleck responses. You can even set up a delivery schedule for your tweets, texts and posts. It’s a new kind of immortality. Imagine sending your spouse, your adult children or maybe your old boss emails for months or even years after you die!

            “Honey, you’re always late filing our income taxes. April 15^th is right around the corner. Don’t wait to the last minute again. Get off your rear end and take care of it.” Your loved one will appreciate the reminder.

            Have you been busting with a secret? After you’ve been laid to rest, you can finally tell all. People love being let in on secrets, even dead people’s secrets. Imagine if you will a deathbed YouTube video to be sent to your siblings after you’re laid to rest.

“Hi Joe. Hi Mary.” (Long coughing spell)

“Remember when Mom died and we cleaned her house? Well, I want you to know I found twenty thousand dollars stashed in one of her suitcases.

“You guys were so busy arguing over those stupid Disney World souvenir spoons, I had no trouble sticking the suitcase in the trunk of my Mercedes. That vacation Melody and I took to the South Pacific? Mom’s little stash paid for that trip. We must have toasted you two from the promenade deck a thousand times. Wow! Feels good to get it off my chest! By the way Mary, I’m leaving you my share of those Disney spoons.”

These afterlife services aren’t the least bit shy or reserved about suggesting the possible uses of their cyberspace services. One site even goads you into settling old scores, using a graphic of the middle finger to emphasize the point. A capital idea, no? Shouldn’t we all strive for revenge as a final legacy without the opportunity to make amends? Last tap indeed.

Most of us believe in the afterlife. According to one poll, 82% of Americans believe in life after death. But most of us don’t really believe in death, at least not our own. The people at Facebook understand this. They could have called their service “when I die.” Instead they chose “if I die.”  We treat our own demise as a conditional thing, something that might happen; as if the laws of nature don’t apply to us.
Still, all the evidence suggests that everyone eventually will exit planet earth. Question is, where are those messages Deadsoci.al will send for us really going to come from? My advice? Play it safe. Be nice…even after you’re gone.    

We Didn't Start the Fire but we did add fuel

           Yelp Pandora, Spotify, someone help me clarify.

           Pinterest, Foursquare, please end this nightmare.

            If you’re over a certain age say 60, there is an excellent chance you’ve never heard of the Internet applications I just referenced. If you have, by some chance, heard of them you are probably only vaguely aware of their purposes. I heard a speech Saturday about the circle of life and how the time comes when you are no longer standing center stage in your personal world. The spotlight is moving (as it should) to your children, younger co-workers, even grandchildren.

            In generations past it was harder perhaps, to detect the signs that the universe’s stage manager was trying, gently at first, to help that generation’s elders to exit stage left gracefully. The signs weren’t as obvious then as they are now. Change happened at a relative snail’s pace. And St Peter’s admonition “likewise ye younger submit yourselves to the elder,” was still taken seriously.   

            Today, thanks in large part to the Internet and mobile applications, change happens so quickly that we are in a constant race to keep up, keep abreast and for some, stay ahead of the curve. When we are young the race is exhilarating. We are bursting with energy, we are eager to learn, have ideas to churn, we’re ready to earn. Mistakes? No fear. We have time to burn.

            But time and the relentless torrent of alternating fortune and reversal wear on us. Don’t misunderstand; it isn’t that our knees squawk every time we stand up. That our eyes struggle to see the not so fine print, that the volume knob on our car radio is shocked by the setting we now demand. No, these are not the signs that whisper, “The spotlight now belongs to the younger ones.” We have more energy than you might imagine. There is plenty of curiosity too, cat be damned.

            What’s different then? I believe it’s the chilling realization that hits us at a certain age; the sense that time really is very precious. I have noticed this with good friends. I hear a lot of wistful comments, tinged with a mixture of regret and a grudging sign of acceptance. It’s a well worn path, gingerly trod by the aging who took the journey before us.

Young people have voracious appetites for the new and different.  Older people wake up one day and realize they must choose.

Do we stay tuned to the endless loop of the latest and the greatest; the Bachelor’s pick, the next American Idol, the latest must have app for our iPhone 5? What’s happening in North Korea, Iran, and Pakistan? Are you keeping up with global warming, the economy and the fiscal cliff? We aren’t weary in the physical sense, not yet. But now, the time seems right to narrow down our interests to subjects –and tasks useful to us and those around us.  

Communication technology is changing the world in fundamental ways in the same manner that industrialization changed the world. The changes are happening much faster this time.

When Billy Joel sang “We didn’t start the fire” listing 100 headlines between 1949 and 1989, it was perhaps, a prescient message. Yet, I wonder how many people born in 1989, could identify the people or events Mr. Joel referenced in his song. For that matter have they ever even heard the song? How many know who Billy Joel is? The good news is of course, anyone who wants to grasp the references can simply Google them.

Funny thing is Billy could write an updated version beginning in 1989. His song could easily run twice as long. In case he’s interested, I‘ve given him a head start.

Yelp Pandora, Spotify, someone help me clarify.

            Pinterest, Foursquare please end this nightmare.

 

The fire is just starting. 

It's Valentine's Day; Go for it!

Valentine’s Day is a perfect “holiday” for the middle of February. We can barely remember the Christmas Holidays and it’s too soon for winter to be really over. Romance is simply a great way to stay warm. Although you can choose to bury your feelings at any time, happily, you’re never too old to be romantic.

If you’re fortunate enough to be involved in a relationship, whether it’s budding like the spring roses we’re dreaming about or, mature like the fully flowering, tall magnolia trees we have in the South, celebrate Valentine’s Day with your partner. Yes, we’ve had to compromise, cajole, and capitulate from time to time. As have our partners. Today is a day to put all that aside.  

Valentine’s Day is the perfect moment to rewind the tape. Do you remember the moment you knew this person was different from all the others, so special you could barely catch your breath? “You fly down a street on the chance that you meet, and you meet -- not really by chance.”

Recall the moment when you realized your feelings were mutual. No words, no song, no kaleidoscope filled with glorious colors can match that feeling. Yes, and there was the excitement and the worry about meeting your partner’s friends. What if they said you weren’t good enough? Then you met your partner’s family with bone chilling fear, praying they wouldn’t vote you off the island, to use today’s idiom.  

Think back to the day you asked for her hand in marriage. Or, you waited by the window, hoping to see him coming up the walk with a tiny box in his hand that simply had to be the ring, the thing that would seal the deal. You looked deeply into each other's eyes that day, nervously searching for signs of doubt, yet confident that your heart, filled with love, would overcome all. This is the one. There will never be someone better.  

Ah, the wedding, the sacred ceremony, the promises…to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, until death do us part. And the celebration afterwards; Oh what a night! Champagne toasts, an embroidered lace wedding cake, and rice for good luck and abundance. Now, when was the last time you looked at the photos you so patiently posed for, gowned and tuxedoed? Never mind you aren’t so young anymore. Never mind you misplaced them; never mind you feel silly. It’s Valentine’s Day. Do it.

In the early years, celebrating Valentine’s Day was fun. You enjoyed each other’s company, you were building something together; starting a family (how many families got started on February 14^th, I wonder?) Dinner dates, boxes of candy, flowers, a snazzy necktie and always, an extravagant card to remind you of the magic you felt whenever your partner came into view.

Time passes and the years fly by. Kids grow up; you cherish victories together and yes, bear defeats, unimaginable when you were young. You worry about your health, money, careers that end before they’re over. Sadly, some of us turn inward rather than facing the oncoming storms together. Worse, you forget there are joys yet to unfold.

What kept you together all these years? Look closely and it isn’t hard to see the roots, deep, strong, entwined and seemingly unbreakable. Valentine’s Day may not cure what ails us. But, if you woke up this morning with someone who rocked your world once upon a time, maybe it’s time to wake up and make the most of every moment you have together. Maybe you haven’t exchanged a Valentine’s Day card for years, having convinced yourself, and each other, that it isn’t worth the time or expense. That it’s nothing more than a marketers hustle. Did you think that way on your first Valentine’s Day together?

Whether you’re in May or the September of your years, realize that time has a way of slipping by. As the song says, when the autumn weather turns the leaves to flame, you haven’t got time for the waiting game. It’s Valentine’s Day. Celebrate the day together. Say I love you to the one who matters most. And if per chance you’re alone this year, revel in a sweet memory. While you’re at it though, do keep your eyes open for the chance that you meet…a new valentine of your own.

 

  

 

65 Special

When I worked for Independence Blue Cross in Philadelphia we offered a supplemental insurance program for people covered by Medicare called “65 Special.” If that sounds like marketing right out of the 1980s playbook, you are correct except for the fact that they still offer something called Personal Choice 65 Pro.  Some things really don’t change.

            I was 32 when I went to work for Independence Blue Cross. I’m certain I never gave a thought to being 65 or whether being 65 deserved to be called special. However, as will happen to those of us who keep breathing, I will turn 65 this month.

Since I live in Tennessee now, I’m not eligible for “65 Special” supplemental coverage, but don’t feel sorry for me. Apparently, I’m more than special, I’m a member of  an exclusive club! My Blue Cross medi-gap coverage is called…Blue-Elite. Apparently the marketing staff at the Chattanooga based Blue Cross plan is more hip than the marketing team at my alma mater plan.

When I was 25 years old and had a full 40 years to go before I reached this milestone, I recall seeing a personnel file (that’s what they called them then) with my name that said, retirement date January 2013. It seemed so far off that I couldn’t even imagine such a thing happening. Remember this was 1973. The 20^th century was still in the third Quarter so to speak. It still had another 27 years to go. 

We designate certain birthdays as special. Most of them end in zero, a strange custom, no? Those of us who’ve appreciated six decades of living, have endured the over the hill cards at 40, the black balloons when we turned 50 and a Tee shirt or ball cap that says “Older than dirt” or worse, when we hit 60.

The exceptions to the zero birthday tyranny: the year we are eligible for a driver’s license and the magical 21, when we can legally order a drink and be served. For the record, on my 21^st birthday my father took me to a local restaurant where we ate dinner at the bar. My first legal drink? A grasshopper. Don’t ask, still haven’t lived that one down.

Should turning 65 also be a special birthday? One way it’s special: You’re eligible for Medicare. Obviously that won’t generate the kind of excitement that being eligible to drive brings. Still, of the 3,637,000 baby boomers born in the USA in 1948, about two million of us are still here to celebrate. Think of your Medicare card as a special birthday greeting from Uncle Sam. I’ll bet some of you 1948ers remember the last greeting you got from him; your draft notice.

Another good thing about being 65 is the forgiveness factor. It goes up by a factor of ten. When you forget to pick up milk at the store, can’t find the word you’re searching vainly for or can’t recall the name of the actor who played Jake Gittes in the film, Chinatown, you say to no one in particular, “I’m getting old.” You’ve been saying that for at least five years. The difference is people don’t jump to disagree with you anymore. They just smile. Permit me to make a suggestion. Never utter those words again! No good can come from telling yourself that. Listen: The Mayan calendar thing was bogus but the power of suggestion is very real.

If you’re turning 65 this year by all means revel in the specialness of the moment. While a few may argue that 65 is the starting point of old age, they are wrong. A Pew Research Center survey conducted a few years ago found that most people now believe old age starts at 68.  If Congress ever gets around to modifying Social Security and Medicare, maybe 68 will become a special birthday. Would BlueCross BlueShield come out with a 68 Special?

             

Critical Thinking

The election is over. Members of Congress have been sworn in. We will inaugurate our President next week. Let the games begin anew. But what I want more than anything from the 113^th Congress is some critical thinking. There’s been precious little of it for the last several years. It’s all about hard and fast positions and win-lose strategies. Enough! But we too, as good citizens, must do more critical thinking.

Dictionary.com defines critical thinking as disciplined thinking that is clear, rational, open-minded, and informed by evidence. One of the great paradoxes of our time seems to be that in an era where we have access to more information than ever before, it may be harder than ever to think critically.

For starters, being disciplined today is no easy task. We have way too many distractions literally at our fingertips. And we’re surrounded by media in more places than ever. Who can think, even in a doctor’s office waiting room with the TV on? I tell you when it comes to a choice between meaningful contemplation and a Seinfeld rerun, well you know Kramer wins every time.

Disciplined thinking requires quiet time to allow us to organize our thoughts, test them and reflect on matters important to us. These days your best shot at achieving a moment of quiet reflection occurs when you put your head down on the pillow. Of course, that’s only because technology doesn’t exist yet to run ads on the inside of your eyelids. Nevertheless, if we want to change our lives for the better we have no choice. We have to make time for thinking.

Having an open mind is essential. Critical thinking demands that we entertain alternatives to our own point of view no matter how uncomfortable it might make us. Gun control is a hot topic right now. And it’s an emotional topic, understandably driven by the horrific tragedy in Newtown, Connecticut.  Today I participated in a more or less friendly email debate with good friends on the topic. One of the guys asked us to read a letter we could then sign electronically supporting gun owner rights. The poor guy never had a chance. The letter’s point was that there are enough gun laws. Law enforcement agencies should simply enforce the laws on the books. No need to change a thing, obviously a tough sell in the current environment. His position was summarily dismissed.

People who chose to respond to his request were firmly in favor of a ban on assault weapons and gun registration. No doubt many of you have had similar conversations. I’m sure some of you have firm beliefs about what if anything should be done about guns and the violence associated with them. If you’ve listened to representatives of the NRA talk about the problem they seem to think more guns are the solution. Then there are those who will not be satisfied until assault weapons and handguns are illegal.

There are valid points on both sides of the issue. Other countries like Great Britain don’t have so many guns and not as many gun deaths. Mental illness is certainly a factor in the mass shootings we’ve endured over the years. Whichever side of this or any debate you’re on, unless you’re prepared to listen actively to the other guy’s point of view without pre-judging; you can’t think critically about the problem or formulate a reasonable solution.

Evidence is the other linchpin of critical thinking. In a media rich environment though, evidence, unbiased, fact based knowledge, is harder to find than diamonds in a coal bin. Finding a report or study that supports your opinion, your financial interest or your political cause is shamefully easy. Spin is the coin of the realm. That’s not to say that good, solid information isn’t available. However, determining what is a fair assessment of an issue and what isn’t, requires time and effort and well, critical thinking.   

Although it’s not listed in the definition provided, it’s hard to think critically without self awareness; the ability to perceive aspects of our personality, behavior, emotions, motivations, and thought process. Think about the last time you admitted you were wrong about something that mattered to you. It takes courage, it’s painful but it’s worth it.

            Critical thinking usually leads to better decisions. We wait patiently for members of Congress and the Executive branch to make good decisions. What about us? It’s a new year. Maybe if we make better decisions at work, at home and in the voting booth, the people we elect will make better decisions too.