Author: Ricardo

You know your childhood is really fading away when one of its architects has passed away. Good-bye, Mr. McQuarrie. Thank you for visualizing that galaxy far, far away…

http://www.theverge.com/2012/3/3/2843126/star-wars-conceptual-artist-ralph-mc…

March at 40 begins. February as a 40-year-old man is already over. 11 more months to go, and then it is all over. An old friend described 40 as magical. I think she is right. I am starting to understand what she means.

40 isn’t so bad. Logically, it’s just a number, a marker of the passage of time since birth. Culturally, there are ideas attached to turning 40, most of which detract from and don’t celebrate the entry point to this next decade of life. Ultimately, age is a label as much as it is an albatross. That ancient mariner carried that dead weight, seemingly without choosing it. But the lesson I always took from his rhyme was the realization that the burden around his next, the albatross, was choice itself. Choosing to carry the burden or cut it lose was irrelevant. The act of choosing is the hard part.

I choose. I embrace the choice. I live with the result.

That’s what’s on my mind this first Friday in March.

The race is on to meet another self-imposed deadline. External factors certainly influenced the establishment of this deadline, but it’s still largely something we are doing to ourselves. Again.

Why do we do this to ourselves? Why create stress where there need not be any? Why do we arbitrarily draw lines in the sand and call them “deadlines”? Why do we carry on as if meeting them allowed the very Universe to function?

Closing is significant in some many ways, on so many levels. Literally and figuratively.

Closing allows for new openings.

We have too much time
(and too little)
time left on Earth to believe
that conformance as a cog
is where it will all end.

It is far from over.
Just don’t stop moving because
here comes Death.

I’m not literally slipping on anything, but slipping is a good analogy.

The bottom line is that I made a commitment to write, and I’ve got to spotlight the fact that I’m not quite living into it.

Fear of not having anything brilliant to say is one obstacle. Well, I absolve myself of the curse of always having to be brilliant. I’ll strive for just intelligent. I can do that.

Another is the desire to have something funny to say. I absolve myself of the burden of always having to be uproariously hilarious. I’ll strive for appropriately witty. I can do that.

And then there’s the need to say something relevant, the need to uncover meaning in life and share it with others. That’s the really big one. That’s the one that keeps me from writing most often. So, I’ll strive to just be honest and creative and authentic and observant. I can do that. The rest? Well, maybe the rest falls into place. Maybe not. Either way, the commitment is to write. I need to keep that in perspective!

Jobs that expose your weaknesses are bad. In fact, they are very bad. You should avoid them. Don’t get roped into them. Don’t get conned into the idea that they are good for your development. Don’t let yourself get caught in the misguided practice of focusing on your weaknesses to make you a better…whatever your profession might be.

Instead, marginalized your weaknesses and pump up those strengths. Focus on finding a way out of that cul-de-sac in your career. Identifying and understanding your weaknesses are fundamental to super powering your performance, but jobs that seem to rely on your weaknesses are sure to drive bring you down in so many ways. Not seeking to find your way out of that energy-draining assignment is foolhardy.

There is no shame in admitting that an assignment isn’t the right one for you. You shouldn’t have to sell your employer on the idea that your contributions will be most exceptional in a role that capitalizes on your strengths.

Jobs that expose your weaknesses suck.

I have been thinking quite a bit about what it means to have lost one’s way in life. I think of losing my way and what that might feel like, what it might look like. This is one of the great fears at 40. Probably at 45, too. And 50.

Losing your way looks like this: feet stomping about in the wilderness, no path underfoot. It’s hard working getting from here to there. There’s no easy way. Everything is unknown. Nothing is guaranteed. There is no evidence that anyone has come before, clearing that path you’re so sure will bring you comfort.

Or maybe it’s the complete opposite. Maybe losing your way looks like this: feet dragging slowly along a well-paved, worn-out road. It’s easy getting from here to there. There are few unknowns. There are many guarantees. There is ample evidence that this is the path that dozens of others have followed. It feels comfortable.

Maybe losing your way doesn’t look entirely like either scenario. Maybe losing your way is believing that your life has been reduced to just one. I think losing your way means losing your ability to see that life is more than just the moments upon which we choose to focus.

I do not believe that we can ever lose our way in life. No matter where you tread, there is always a path underfoot. It is your path.

There are times when you just put off ironing and stay up way too late to watch Star Wars. You do it not because Revenge of the Sith is that good but because your son has been waiting for weeks to watch it with you. And when he begs for just a few more minutes, you give him a few more minutes because of the smile on his face and the twinkle in his eyes. You know you’ll feel it tomorrow at work, but you also know tonight will be filed under “God, I love my dad!”

Put off ironing. It’s worth it.

The chances that I am going to master Parkour at 40 are slim. I don’t mean to say that there are not folks who can and will asset themselves as Parkour masters, but me…yeah, not so much.

So, I come to terms with the fact that, as much as I would love to, I am not going to be a Parkour legend.

It doesn’t bother me. I accept my limitations, and I acknowledge that I am not a 40-year-old man, not a 20-year-old.

I may not have Parkour in my future, but there are other things that, at 40, are not quite out of my reach yet.