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“Son, where’s your buddy?” He likes to go to sleep with the same buddy every night: a cuddly white stuffed animal he’s been sleeping with since he was an infant. We tracked down an exact duplicate in an attempt to mitigate the risk of losing his buddy and his never being quite the same. We tried to integrate the new buddy one night by swapping old and new. We woke up to buddy entrails strewn about his crib and bedroom floor. He was 2 years old at most at the time.

“I don’t know. I haven’t tried looking yet,” he replied, busy with his wooden train set. I was laying down on my back on his bed looking up at the ceiling.

“Maybe,” he offered, “it’s up your butt and around the corner.”

He kept on playing, not so much as pausing to glance back at me. I stared at the back of his head. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t snicker.

I just about lost it…with laughter. I think I felt tears streaming down my cheeks. I can’t be sure as I started to lose consciousness from holding my breath. I am sure I was beet-red from trying to suppress my laughter.

When you aren’t paying attention, kids begin to turn into you. Provided you’re a primary caregiver, that is. I haven’t measured what my kids have picked up from their grandparents, for example, but I can tell you that my observation is that my boys are chock-full-o mannerisms and such that come from both their mom (ex: up your butt and around the corner) and their dad (ex: yeah…not so much). Most of them, you tend to overlook or not even notice, but some…some are just worth writing about.

There was nothing up my butt tonight. His buddy was sitting on the couch. She looked relieved.

What is a bird, anyway? I mean, what precisely makes a bird a “bird?” How do they earn that label? Is it a set of anatomical characteristics that define the creature? How about the chemical composition? How about some other obscure set of genetic information? My littlest knows nothing of these things, yet he knows a bird when he sees one. He says so. “Bird!” Simple cognitive test.

Cognitive. I think that’s the right word. Or, better yet, “cognitive construct” is the right phrase. Yes, that is what a bird is: a cognitive construct. It is culturally influenced. The word that is used is based on the language of the speaker. There may be more than one word to choose from, and they are most often chosen based on context. The audience or listener can influence word choice. There are a myriad different variables that affect which word is applied to the sensory input we label as “bird.” And the input can be visual, auditory, tactile, or olfactory. For those inclined, it’s also gustatory. You put all those fancy cognitive thing-a-ma-bobs together, and you come up with “bird.”

And we do it in a fraction of a second, without thinking.

Instantly. Mindlessly.

That doesn’t sound like a way to live life, now does it? When most people put pencil to paper and draw a face, their brains instantly begin to call pre-determined shapes. It’s as if our mind’s eye already knows precisely how to put a face together based on shapes and arrangements from the past. So, often, something like a self-portrait comes out looking nothing like the artist. Why? Because we draw with our memories, not with our eyes. We draw what we think a face should be and not the face we are looking at in the moment. Daniel Pink explored this phenomenon at length in his book “A Whole New Brain.” Our inclination and almost uncontrollable need to label everything around us works in precisely the same way. Once we hear/see/smell/touch/taste something, we know precisely the cause of the stimulus.

Or so we think. How often are we wrong?

When I was recently walking in the woods, I heard a beautiful bird song. It was high-pitched and melodic. It was the type of song you could imagine coming from the throat of a gorgeous Blue Jay or a regal Cardinal. We heard the call often as we walked. Towards the end of the hike, I noticed the sound coming from somewhere close to the path and very low down. It was so close, I could zero in one the approximate location of the bird. I looked and looked and strained my eyes, looking for the blue and red colors of the birds I suspected were singing the song. So, of course, I totally missed the chipmunk that was less than three feet away from me.

A chipmunk…a chipmunk was making that sound.

So, what exactly is a bird if nothing more than the label I apply to a stimulus my brain has processed. If I can instantly and mindlessly attribute a chipmunk’s sound to a bird based solely on experience and NOT direct observation, then how many other times do I do that each day and miss out on something special or magical? How many times do I judge without assessing truth in the moment? These cognitive processes serve us, for sure, but there is something to be said for not becoming blind to the times in our lives when a bird is not a bird.

I’ve learned that another one of my friends from high school is in the Middle East. He’s not a tourist. He’s not there because he’s a venture capitalist. He’s there because his government told him to go. And he serves.

I originally intended to sit here and type some leadership stuff, but I don’t know if I’m feeling that vibe any more. I’m sensing more like “philosophical shit” is brewing inside me. It reminds me of a conversation I had with a Buddhist today.

He brought up the topic of race in America. Heavy duty. He observed some one-on-one violence this weekend while in downtown Chicago with his family. A young white man and a young black man were fighting. I guess my friend and his family stumbled upon the crowd dispersing after the first round of violence. The young white man was picking up his backpack and walking away from the altercation. As he walked away, he yelled back over his shoulder, “Have a nice day, n****r!” He took a few more steps and hollered, “N****R!” Again, “HAVE A NICE DAY, N****R!” I guess he did this a few more times. Eventually, the young black man, clearly enraged, ran off after him. My friend grabbed his young son’s arm and his wife’s hand, and he led them down the street in the opposite direction.

In America, we can only talk about race and racism in very controlled circumstance. It is almost taboo to do so in public. We can only do it occasionally. We can only do it superficially. We can only do it when it’s a news story that gives everyone the opportunity to say, “Look at how bad racism is. Good thing I’M not that way.”

If none of us are “that way,” then how come so many of us are that way? It’s not just about “The Big Two,” either…White and Black. My Buddhist friend is from Asia. He’s had his fair share of pointless, hateful, racism sludge slung his way. All because…well, there’s no hiding that he’s Asian.

But there’s hiding for me. That is an odd feeling…to know that I can effectively skirt the race issue, if I wanted to. I was at a university in Florida the year some police officers beat a young Cuban boy to death. They kicked him in the face to hard and so many times there were shoe prints in his skin. I was at another University the day the verdicts in the Rodney King police trials came in and stirred up riots across the country in 1992. There were so many students protesting in the streets that the police took two steps back and just prayed. All the white kids stayed in the dorms, in their apartments, and in their frat and sorority houses.

Me? I went out into the street.

I got a lot of looks that night. See, I wasn’t of the appropriate ethnicity. At the time, I remember feeling disgust and outrage. I remembered how that beating in Florida made the Hispanic community there feel. I remembered how some local kids thought I’d make a good target since I wore a small leather flag around my neck that advertised my parent’s country of origin. So, in my brain, I felt that a part of me understood the anger they were feeling.

That night, I learned that empathy and brotherhood are two very different things.

I was with two friends. Eventually, standing out like sore thumbs got us noticed by the wrong group of guys. They walked up to us and said, “Hey! MOTHERF****RS! What do you think about THAT shit?” My friends froze. Speechless. Me…I just opened my mouth and hoped that what I felt would strike a chord. I talked about growing up Gringo in Mexico; about all the applications for which I never received callbacks when I looked for jobs; about the beating in Florida…I said some other stuff, but I was pretty scared myself. Whatever I said…well, they just looked at me. One of them said, “RIGHT ON!” And they kept going. My friends and I slipped off the main drag and all but ran back home. We didn’t say much else that night. We probably had a few beers and retired to our rooms. Something like that.

Racial tension is always just below the surface in America. Personal experience and simply paying attention to the world tells me that it’s not just here. It’s all over. And it just doesn’t make sense to me. If, one-on-one, everyone just wants to live their lives in peace, then why do we do the things we do? We either lie when we are facing each other or we lose our minds when we are in groups. Either way, I just don’t understand why. Pretty soon, I’ll have to explain it to two little boys. I guess I need to work with my wife and formulate a response. That’s a lot of responsibility. It’s one message we need to get right.

That’s a lot to ask from a philosopher in the basement.

I can’t help myself. The keyboard calls…

Last night, I spent the night in a hospital. It’s the first time I’d been in one of those because I was the one who required that kind of medical attention. Mercifully, even when admitted, I was the kind of patient who may or may not have REALLY needed to be there. But, if you had something spreading in your body that looked like what I had spreading in mine, you might have made the same decision I made. In the end, I am certain that I did the right thing. I use as evidence the fact that I am sitting at a computer in my own hope typing these words.

I can’t sit here long because my arm starts to feel warm and “not right” pretty quickly. I don’t think hacking away at the keys was what the doctor had in mind when he told me to keep my arm elevated and rested. Still, I felt compelled to sit down and write. A lot of things go through your mind when you’re sitting in a hospital bed alone. I’ll have to jot down some ideas so that I don’t forget some of the things about which I thought I should write. Maybe later…

More than anything, I just want to express my gratitude to the Universe and its many agents. You know who you are, and I love you all for doing your part. Without you, I am quite certain that I would have spent another night in that bed. I felt you with me last night, literally. I was enveloped in the warmth of your comfort and love. And your very, very hard work. I owe you.

I am grateful that I am home. I am grateful that I got to pick up my kids after school. I am grateful that we had dinner together tonight, preserving our Friday “Family Night” tradition. I am grateful that we all cuddled closely on the couch and watched “Ace of Cakes.” I am grateful that I put both of my boys to bed tonight. I am grateful that my wife is waiting patiently for me, allowing me to satisfy my desire to write. I better not push it. Before I know it, she’ll come barging in here, insisting I get straight to bed like the doctor ordered.

Doctor’s orders.

Fortunately, doc, nobody will be coming in to take my blood pressure in the middle of the night. Nope; not tonight. It might be my little guy exercising his right to make a midnight visit, but…you know what?…nothing would make me happier. I’ll gladly live with that “burden.”

My primary care physician is a pretty alternative sort of guy. He and the other doctors in his practice are pretty slow to prescribe antibiotics. That’s just how they roll. In many respects, I am sure the average American would find their practice quite controversial. I like them. That’s just how we roll in my house.

Today, I am feeling quite fragile. Not frail, mind you, but fragile. I have an infection that has humbled me. It has reminded me that, no matter how often I may wax philosophical or ponder my spirituality, my body is flesh and blood apparatus with quirks and weaknesses that can prove fatal. We are all built this way.

I feel crappy, of course, because my body is fighting this infection. It came out of nowhere, but it means business. My elbow is in excruciating pain. It is inflamed. It is red. It is hot to the touch. I can barely flex it. Moving it in either direction hurts. My youngest has bumped it twice, and both times I screamed. I don’t scream. I yell. I moan. I curse like a sailor. I don’t scream…scratch that. Apparently, I do. I scream under certain circumstances.

It took my doctor all of about three minutes (seriously) to tell me that I’d need an antibiotic. He prescribed some other stuff, too, but the antibiotic is what got me. He told me I had to get a double-dose into my body as quickly as possible. He told me I had to stay in bed. When he said he wanted to see me again in two days, I told him I had stuff scheduled at work that might not let me see him until Monday. He very frankly told me that I would just have to skip out on work for a bit then. It helps to know this guy…being that blunt and pushy isn’t his style. I freakin’ got the point. I’ll be at his office first thing on Friday.

I am not quite sure how or why this happened. I am still grappling with an intensely spiritual moment that I had, so being smacked upside the head this way has just served to provide me with a little more perspective. I am flesh and blood. My body is an exquisitely intricate and complex machine, but it is still 75+% water. It is still completely susceptible to organisms that are infinitesimally smaller than I yet far more powerful in the right numbers. I can break. If I break, there is no guarantee that I can be repaired. If repaired, there are no guarantees that the repairs will last. This is my body, and, regardless of the flights of sci-fi fantasy that we may see or read, there are no replacements. There are no surrogates. There are no alien-human hybrids into which my consciousness can be beamed. I have one body. And it is fragile.

My littlest celebrated a birthday today. His father was fully present even if he had to hold back. The reality check has me focused on what matters most to me. My wife is starting to fall asleep in our bed. She took incredibly good care of me…simply because she loves me. My oldest bravely and privately cried when his brother got his birthday presents from us: two special “solo” dates…one with his mother, the other with his father. My oldest cried because he wants to be alone with me, too. Another reality check. Some things and some people just need to be more of a priority.

My wife and my sons love me. Deeply. We will not be here forever. Some day, our bodies will all ceases to have functioned. This is reality. It is not morbid. Embracing this reality and this fragile body of ours simply means that, perhaps, we can learn to focus a bit more on the present moment. It will not last forever.

“What is your intention for your life?”

My wife asks me that all the time. It drives me crazy. She is always challenging me, asking me to take long hard looks at myself. The nerve of her.

She keeps asking me this darn “intention” question. She wants me to think about what it is that I might want to accomplish tomorrow. It’s crazy, I know. She just rolls that way.

I have a mentor, this guy Jeff, and he pretty much asks me the same thing all the time. He asked me to write down three sentences that encompass what it is that I hope to accomplish as a leader for those I lead. Can you believe that? Another person asking me to think about how I might actually try to get things done in this world rather than just sail along.

I used to think it was enough to just wake up in the morning and survive until falling asleep in bed at night. I mean, I suppose it IS enough to do that…but…what if…there could be more?

Well, obviously there is more. There’s lots more. We all have moments when we just go after something. We pursue it like a pack of hungry kids chasing after the ice cream truck on a hot summer afternoon. We make the choices required to achieve a goal. We act with intention.

Intention.

What is your intention for your life? What is your intention for those you lead? What is your intention?

I know my answers. What are yours?

It’s amazing how two college-educated people who got their MBAs at the same time can share the same conversation yet walk away with two totally interpretations of the desired outcome.

It would be easy to chalk it up to the differences between men and women.  And you’d be right if you did.

Partially.

It would also be easy to chalk it up to cultural differences between the two parties.  We filter what we hear through our cultures of origin.  And you’d be right if you did.

Partially.

It would be a little harder to admit that sometimes people use the same words but mean different things.  You could chalk it up to the many ways most of us have used the same word for different purposes throughout our lives.  And you’d be right if you did.

Partially.

It would require us to take a long, hard look at ourselves and admit that we often hear what we want to hear, say things that aren’t always entirely true, and just plain suck at telling other people exactly what it is we want and when we want it…how we want it…why we want it. 

I think this last one is the most complete and genuine response.  Sure, it could be for all those other reasons, but I’m pretty sure I run across that last one the most, in my professional life as much as in my personal life. 

I think my youngest child is about the best listener I know.  When he wants to be.

Sometimes, we are so limited in our thinking, in the years of experience that tell us what can and cannot be.

Did you know that there is no such thing as a Tricerasaurus Rex?  I have never read about such a beast, and I am a paleo-nerd.  There are bigger paleo-nerds out there, but I revel in my paleo-geekness.

So, when a friend’s child told me how great a Tricerasaurus Rex was, I very kindly (and gently and condescendingly) informed him that there was never such a beast.

“Yes, there is.  He has the head of a Triceratops and the body of a T-Rex.  He’s the most powerful dinosaur in the world.”

Poor child…  Some day, his dream will be crushed.  Poor child…

“He’s the most powerful one I’ve ever made!”

Online.

You’re an idiot, Ric.

You see, a Tricerasaurus Rex lives not just in the imagination of this child but, apparently, in some online game that lets you mash dinosaurs together.

So, you see, we never know as much as we think we do.  The very young don’t get caught up in this kind of restrictive thinking, so, in their world, the only impossible things are those which an adult kindly points out as being impossible.

At the sub-atomic level, there is no inherent, intrinsic quality to anything.  The only impossible things are those which the observer brings with themselves to the act of observation.

There was a moment there…just a few seconds ago…when I nearly walked on by.  There is so much to do.  And it’s late.

But…

There is also this commitment to myself that I have to honor.  That commitment is to take a moment or two for myself each day to simply be.  To be and to allow myself to open up to…possibilities.  So, I honor that commitment right now…

Done.  That was easy.  Easy and essential.  I am useless to everyone who depends on me if I am unable to function to my fullest potential.  I don’t always get there, mind you, but without a little focus on myself…then…I lose myself.  I have been lost before.  It’s not fun.

There is no dishonor, no shame, no guilt, in nurturing yourself.  The minutes of each day are limited, so there is no doubt that taking time for yourself means that you have taken time away from others.  Selfish?  Of course not.  If we don’t keep building ourselves up, repairing what breaks, then we run the risk of being rendered utterly useless to those who need us most.

My wife and my boys need me to be present, to be refreshed.  My direct reports at work need me to be a leader and a coach for them.  My peers need me to be someone with whom they can work and on whom they can depend.  My boss needs me to keep my corner of the organization up and running.  The people driving next to me on the highway need for me to be awake.  The babysitter needs me to remember to pay her.  My friends need me to be there for them, if and when they need me.  

I think taking a moment to honor a commitment to myself is a pretty selfless act.  In my humble opinion.

What about you?

Navigating through change requires a healthy dose of mourning.  I’ve recognized this for many years, but it wasn’t until I read William Bridges book “Managing Transitions: Making the Most of Change” that I found a whole model of managing through change that was based on this concept of mourning what once was.  It’s an essential part of change, good or bad.

When I graduated from high school, like many people, I mourned the end of my life as I knew it as much as I welcomed the college years to come.  For me, the transition was particularly hard.  Not only was I leaving my school and the town I lived in, I was leaving the country in which I had spent the last 10 + years of my life.  For good.  This wasn’t an easy thing to accept, and I mourned.  Unfortunately, I did not embrace the mourning period, so, as a result, the pain of that transition lingered for years.  It subsided as my new life unfolded, but a dull ache stayed with me for years.  Eventually, I came to realize that everyone mourns to one degree or another.  The key is to embrace it, acknowledge it, face it, and work through it.

This seems like a simple idea, but I meet so many people who still grapple with changes that were hard on them, changes from which they have not fully recovered.  To mourn, we must first acknowledge what it is about the old status quo that we liked.  Once we know that, we can think about what we want the new status quo to look like.  It’s seldom that simple, but the process really isn’t complicated.  At times, we may need the help and support of others, but there will be times when we will be able to navigate this part of the process on our own.  The key, again, is acknowledgment, not suppression, of emotion.  Emotions buried never die.  

Our emotions are powerful.  They can drain us of our energy or they can propel us to new heights.  Regardless of whether we view them as positive or negative, they are useful to us.  There are very few people who couldn’t benefit from learning how to become more attuned with their emotions in an effort to leverage everything they have to offer. 

Don’t be afraid to feel.