Celebrate Good Times

There are times that call for celebration, whether we are ready, willing, and able to acknowledge the occasion or not.  Graduations come to mind this time of year, but you may be celebrating an anniversary, so many years sober, Memorial Day, or a milestone birthday.

Since I just celebrated one of those milestone birthdays, I have thought a lot about the importance of different birthdays and how to acknowledge them.

Big birthdays like turning 16, 18, or 21 promise more freedom, more choices, more responsibility,  and more clout and general coolness in the eyes of our friends and family.  Suddenly we can drive, we can drink, (preferably not at the same time), we can vote, we can move out on our own, or join the Armed Forces and be all that we can be.  Life opens up.

But then the birthday pendulum starts to swing from jubilation to denial.  Turning 30, 40, or, God forbid, 50 is usually about as welcome as a root canal.  At 60 we get sassy and around age 75 the pendulum swings back  and we’re willing to admit our age again and take the whole family on a cruise to prove it.  By age 90 we're so excited we have not been voted off the planet,  we want the whole world to acknowledge us as a true survivor.

I doubt any of us feel as old as our birth certificates claim we are - except perhaps on those Mondays after we take the Weekend Warrior approach to physical fitness to the extreme or we have to endure excessive amounts of hormone induced drama.  

If age is only a state of mind and we are as young as we feel, why do so many accept the unflattering beliefs about aging and begin to act accordingly? Clearly, the time for the Midlife MacGyver Movement has come!

Maybe it’s the boomer in me, but I refuse to bow out quietly.  This doesn’t mean I try to act so hip and happening that my younger nieces and nephew disown me.  It simply means I mobilize my resources and contribute to my community, my tribe, my family and friends in a meaningful way.  It also means I stop being so concerned about perfection, rejection, and acknowledgement that I don’t complete what I set out to do.

My Midlife Manifesto is a perfect example.  At this point in my life birthdays aren't about what I can get but what I can give.  The way I really wanted to celebrate this particular birthday was to have a very low key celebration with friends but create a big virtual giveaway along the lines of Oprah.  Okay, in my world that translates to giving away some words.  Maybe not quite as thrilling for the recipients as cars or houses, but something I have to give.

My goal was to have a video and ebook ready to roll out on the big day.  I would collect fifty sayings that have guided me through life thus far and presumably can guide me through the next fifty or so.   

I had no problem coming up with the sayings or the short essays to explain them.  Editing, as always, was the real challenge.  The next challenge was figuring out how to create a youtube video, legally add music, and design and upload an easily downloadable ebook on the web.

I underestimated the time it would take to figure all this out while holding down a full time job and possessing a penchant for procrastination.  When I realized it wasn't going to happen in time for this birthday, I contemplated throwing the baby out with the baby water. 

Abandoning projects - especially ones that keep me up all hours of the night out of sheer excitement - only leaves me feeling devastated.  In order to give it up I have to convince myself it doesn't matter and that no one really cares.  It always matters.  People do care. 

I have been a creative creature long enough to know anything worth doing is going to require a learning curve, trial and error, time, and faith. Several years ago when I lived in Santa Fe I woke up with what I consider Divine Inspiration directing me to create an audiotape called Stressed for Success. I'd never in my life made an audiotape (okay mixed tapes, but those don't count).  However, I wrote a script, booked some time in a studio (where I was told voice lessons might be in order), and made a demo tape. 

I spent $500 I didn't have to create something I had no idea what to do with.   Two months later my business partner and I sold 2500 tapes to one of our clients.  The biggest check I'd ever received arrived strategically at a time my parents happened to be visiting.

With this in mind, I started back in on the video and am providing you with a sneak peek below.

The goal this time  is less mysterious.  If I can connect with you and possibly inspire others in a way that's fun, helps me learn some new skills, and allows us all to contribute to and learn from each other's success, I'm all for it.  While it might be an ego boost to be a smarty pants in some areas, it’s way more fun to collaborate in cyberspace and create something with someone else that I couldn’t create on my own.

If any of you have expertise in areas that might kick this up a notch or two, please share your feedback with me.  Specifically if you’ve made videos and added photos or images, written and uploaded an ebook, or simply have an opinion about what you like or don’t like, I’d love to hear from you.  It's only about 3 minutes and doesn't include all the sayings (that made it 5 minutes too long), so if you'd like to view a work in progress, by all means click on the video below.

Then go celebrate your own special thing!

Cow-ncil of Elders

A few weeks ago I helped some friends move their cows from one pasture to another a couple of miles down the road. I figured if Hemmingway could run with the bulls, I could certainly walk with the cows and come away with an equally riveting read.

A few years ago I used to take my dogs, my brother’s dogs, basically any dog who wanted to follow and we’d traipse across the field to the most magical of places - the place where dairy cows dwelled.

I especially adored the little spotted calves. As soon as they’d spot us, they’d jockey for position against the fence so they could check out my canine companions. They each had a number tagged to their ear and I made sure to compliment them on it, just as I would any great bling.

I had a deep respect for these creatures. I called them my “cow”ncil of elders although none of them would ever be older than I. I’d sit down in the lotus positon, my dogs would circle around, and I’d just start talking to them, telling them of my troubles, hopes, and dreams. Their unanticipated antics would immediately let me know if they were for or against any idea I’d brought to the table, or in this case, the fence. I’d always leave the “cow”ncil with some nugget of wisdom that had eluded me prior to our meeting.

So it came as no surprise that the 27 cows and 33 calves I would be escorting to their summer pasture on this particular Sunday would have something to teach me. These cows had walked the path twice a year for a number of years. I, on the other hand, was making the journey for the first time, walking most of the way backwards and uphill.  Despite my lack of experience, I was convinced I could lead them to the Promised Land.

Number 44 emerged as an early leader.  Number 54 was second in command.  They had earned the respect of the group long before I arrived on the scene. Where they led, the rest would follow. My job was to earn their trust.

This is not as easy as one might suspect. A true cow whisperer respects the fact that despite a calm exterior, a wild animal lives within. (This applies to the whisperer as well.) When the cows felt the need to pick up the pace (usually on the downhill side of the rolling hills) and the group took on the energy of Pamplona, I was immediately reminded of the importance of daily treadmill training. You just never know when you might face a bovine fitness challenge.

Of course the calves were delighted with the chaos until they realized that an uphill climb usually followed the downhill free for all.  After a couple of hills I swear the precise translation of the bellowing was, “Are we there yet, Mom?”

Now I know I possess an infinitely quirky imagination, but when I did turn around to see where we might be heading, I had this image of me, 27 cows, and 33 calves walking down the road with our shades on, wind blowing through our mane, smoking hot shoes, leather pants (naturally), and whatever else is typically associated with the epitome of coolness as characters emerge in slow motion with their best badass image on display.

We were definitely a force to be reckoned with. Mainly because we took up the whole road.

In any case, it was with great reluctance that I let the cows continue their journey into their new territory without me. I had the privilege of walking with them a few miles and then the gig was up.

I had recently read a book by Martha Beck called Finding Your Way in a Wild New World. In the book she describes her many visits to the Londolozi game reserve where she learned how to track animals in order to learn from them. It is my goal to get to Africa to track lions and tigers and rhinos, but for now, my best and most practical option is to start in Iowa with cows.

My chance to practice the first two technologies of magic Martha promotes in her book - Wordless and Oneness – were present on the day I walked with the cows. When one can’t communicate with words there is no choice but to drop into Wordlessness, which makes the choice to drop into Oneness a little easier. Of course, anyone who has tried to meditate for more than 10 seconds will tell you “a little easier” is still difficult.

We live in a very chatty world. People tend to talk if silence stretches on for too long. Our minds rush to find something to say, no matter how ridiculous or irrelevant, as long as it stops the silence from stretching into something the least bit uncomfortable.

Since September I’ve been involved in a leadership training program that has provided me with a view into my profession that others rarely get to see. The last session ended on Friday so I had to say goodbye to people I’ve come to care deeply about and experiences I looked forward to having each month. While I’m sure the benefits of participating in the program will continue for years to come, the challenge now is for me to incorporate the training into my daily life.

The truth is leadership opportunities abound. “Cow”nils of elders are everywhere, if we only open to them. While we may strategically plot, plan, and pretend to pick our presidents and politicians, this does not necessarily make them leaders. Leaders often emerge effortlessly in a classroom, a herd of cows, among preschoolers on a playground, or kernels of corn in an air popper. They do not need to be told what to do. They just sense what the situation requires and offer it up.

Leaders need not be loud and in your face in order to lead effectively.  If you are the subtle sort, you might enjoy reading Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking.  In her book, Susan Cain writes about the influence introverts have on society. Quiet contributions can start a revolution.

The way I see it, if you have an intense interest, are willing to expend some concerted effort, can assemble a “cow”ncil or community of elders*, and possess a never say never kind of conviction, you can lead your own revolution. Kind of like the one that started Midlife MacGyver. One follower can lead to 8 who can lead to 263 and then the skies the limit! (Optimism trumps experience.)

What about you? Who are your elders and what might they give you the courage to create, contribute, or instigate a revolution around?

Do tell!!

*"Elders" refers to anyone of any age who possesses timeless wisdom and grace.

Taxing Times

I do so hate to be a negative Nelly but every now and then too many things conspire to send me over the edge. Once I start to slide down the slippery slope of sarcasm into the abyss of apathy, I lose all authority over my little slice of nice.

I spend a great deal of my waking hours in the nice business.  People can make ridiculous demands, ask ludicrous questions, and insult me on every level and yet my job is to make them feel welcome, wise, and worthy.

So surely I expect the same courtesy from others when I have the occasional lapse into unconsciousness and behave like a buffoon or the uninformed citizen I sometimes am.  Imagine my outrage when I am treated with the disrespect and hostility I am never allowed to show in my line of work!

By this stage of the game, I know life is not fair.  Like Eleonor Roosevelt, I know “no one can make me feel inferior without my consent.”  It just surprises me that others can be so obtuse and not realize when they are violating a code of conduct that dictates basic human decency.

I’ve spent my whole life preparing for my current job.  Years of spiritual training wandering in the desert and soaking in the silence and solitude of sacred spaces has prepped me for handling the daily onslaught of demands, conundrums, and outright perplexities that present themselves in the form of other people.

But nothing ever quite prepares me for tax time.  Call it a numbers block.  Tell me what we resist, persists.  Encourage me to just do it.  Suggest to me that creative types can’t be expected to balance a budget.

I don’t know what it is about facing the spreadsheet that makes me so crazy.  Every year I ultimately do it.  I account for all my income and expenses and then write a check to the US Treasury, the State of Illinois, and the State of Iowa. I'm an equal opportunity tax payer.

It isn’t that I resent paying taxes.   (Unless I think of  former Illinois Governor Blagojevich, who violated taxpayers' trust.) All I have to do is recall the many freedoms I enjoy or one person I know who is serving our country and imagine my money contributing to his or her salary and I’m okay to pay.  The problem for me lies in the preparation.

Like counting calories consumed, counting money spent is not nearly as pleasurable after the fact.  I tend to underestimate on both accounts. Even more humbling is sharing this information with someone who has no interest in the reasons, only the results. 

Just as a person trainer might suggest I eat less pasta and do more Pilates, tax preparers tend to suggest I spend less on shoes and earn more in royalties.  Admittedly, $33.84 per year is not a substantial second income.

But here is where I will circle back to my original rant about being treated with respect. When I expose my financial faux pas or coup d’états to a tax professional, I do not care to be bludgeoned by them.  As long as I can remember I’ve promised one preparer or another that I will make more and spend less, or on the odd year, make less and spend more, or do any number of things to improve my financial fitness according to the accountant.

I’m sure tax people can sum up a person by their financials as easily as I might sum up a student’s success rate by looking at their ACT or Compass scores.  It’s easier to process large numbers of people and paperwork by labeling or categorizing them.  But one thing I’ve learned from working with students is these scores only tell part of their story.  The only chance I have to hear the rest of it is to treat them respectfully enough to allow it to emerge.

What happened in the tax preparer’s office this week was not pretty.  I wanted to find someone local in hopes of forging an ongoing relationship with a trusted advisor.  What I didn’t expect was to be badgered, belittled, and bullied by this person. 

At a certain point I sensed the conversation – okay the lecture - was not going in the direction I had imagined.   I knew I had the option of asking for my paperwork back and finding someone else to prepare my taxes.  It was then that my good girl training kicked in and assured me that while it may have assuaged the insult to my ego, it wouldn't get me any closer to filing my taxes.  Time was of the essence and I didn't want my behavior to have any residual fallout on the friend who referred me.  

My best option seemed to be to bite the bullet and make a different choice next year. 

So I did what I always do when I need perspective.  I surrounded myself with my canine companions and asked them what might really be contributing to my tax time meltdown.  They suggested the following:

#1)  It’s not just the taxes.  It’s the trivial pursuit of dealing with every taxing thing on a daily basis.

#2)  You expect people to be as nice to you when they do their jobs as you are to them when you do yours.

#3)  #2 is an unrealistic expectation.  People, unlike dogs, do not love unconditionally or act rationally.

#4)  The pen is mightier than the sword.  Blog about it.  Maybe other people feel the same way,  have similar issues, or can offer helpful suggestions?

#5)  Tell your story and then, by all means, let it go and take us for a walk.  Don't forget the treats.

So, there you have it.  From the jaws of canines, the truth emerges. 

Actually my biggest take away from this taxing experience was a reminder of why I strive to offer excellent customer service, especially when it is difficult and I'm being a negative Nelly.  I never want a student to walk out of my office feeling the way I felt when I walked out of the accountant’s office. 

I can’t change the way he does business, but I can remember how I do business.

What about you?  What do you practice even when it's absurdly difficult because it's incredibly important?

What's Your Excuse?

We all have one.  Or several.  Most of us have two or three undeniably difficult life situations that  severely slow us down, trip us up, discourage even the most positive among us, or make reaching the goal appear next to impossible. 

It’s these excuses that we hang on to for dear life.  Because if we didn’t have something or someone to blame for holding us back, we’d just have all those dashed dreams, broken hearts, and unrealized goals staring us in the face. And that can be unbearable.

But what, pray tell, would happen if we willingly let go of even one of these excuses? 

Sometimes we have no choice.  The elderly parent we’ve devoted our life to taking care of suddenly passes away.  The relationship we’ve strung together on alternate weekends and bank holidays unravels to the point of no return.  The child we've loved and supported for two decades joins the Army and is deployed to an undisclosed location.  The job we've tolerated in order to provide our family with health insurance has laid us off.

At midlife more than any other time we are faced with what Judith Viorst calls "necessary losses".  In her book by the same name, she describes the loves, illusions, dependencies, and impossible expectations we all have to give up in order to grow.   

In theory we know the drill.  None of us get out this gig alive.  But it never really seems to apply to us.  Until it does.  Somewhere around the middle of our lives we may find that we’re spending more time at wakes then we're spending awake.

That’s when it hits us.  What must we do now that we really understand our clocks (and I’m not talking the biological kind) are ticking?  What are we capable of in spite of our limitations?  If mothers can lift automobiles off infants, what can we do if we are focused, fearless, and unapologetically fabulous?

The phrase I’ve found myself using more these days than, say, a decade ago is, “I don’t have that kind of time.”  What I really mean is that I no longer choose to spend it the way other people might or the way I used to.

If I want extraordinary results in my life, I have to put in extraordinary effort. I'm not implying this has to be extraordinarily difficult.  If it were, few would have the fortitude for it.  More than anything, it seems to be a matter of deep practice or putting in the time... 10,000 hours to be exact.

We have all achieved extraordinary results doing things we love for people we love.   This is why we continue to do them.  We may not experience these results daily, but often enough to keep putting in the time.

The time and effort I put into writing may only seem extraordinary to those who find writing difficult.  Because these people might never spend a Friday night blogging  about midlife’s mysteries, they probably assume I find this task equally daunting.

On the contrary, the best part of my day is when I can finally sit down and capture the relentless flow of words and ideas that demand my attention from moment I am conscious.  Because of this, every night before I go to sleep, I make sure I’ve written at least one good sentence, preferably a paragraph.

It wasn’t always like this.  I would squander time, talent, and opportunity through indecision, inaction, blank page paralysis, and other (absolutely legitimate) excuses (see first paragraph).

I get better at writing by writing.  I get better at writing by reading great writing.  I get better at writing because I love to write. 

You do the same with parenting, running a business, taking photographs, event planning, playing the cello, designing websites, preparing taxes, or planning a trip to Timbuktu.  You, too, have a deep practice that you easily devote 10,000 hours to that make you exceptional, whether the world, your family, or your colleagues recognize you for this or not.

While I may never fully realize the impact my words have on others, I do realize the impact a good accountant has on my business, a good travel agent has on my opinion of west Africa, an excellent party planner has on my niece’s 6^th birthday, a good photographer or designer has on my book jacket cover, or a great cook has on my waistline.

Because the world needs your contributions, I encourage you to unabashedly give one of your  excuses the boot.  Maybe not your favorite one, but the one that seems a little lame even to you.

For example, I often convince myself I can’t possibly write a book when I work 60 hours a week.  The truth is I need the structure - and income - of a day job to support my creative efforts.  And I can cut back to 40 hours without robbing my employer of my services.

So, no excuses!  Go do that thing that you love.  You know, the one that you're probably doing this weekend anyway, yes?

And, please, don't be shy about telling me what it is.

Unleash Your Creativity

Try as I might to ignore it, this year I'm having one of those big birthdays that others refuse to let pass quietly. 

On the eve of my thirtieth birthday, I was on a plane that had to make an emergency landing.  I decided then and there that turning thirty was better than dying in a plane crash. 

When I turned forty I was so disgruntled I had to remind myself about that earlier ephipany as I reluctantly drug myself to a friend's house for what I expected to be a private pity party.  Once I arrived at her place students, friends, and family surprised me with a party so touching that pity had no place at any party since. 

What I didn't know then that never ceases to amaze me now is that my forties have been my favorite decade.  If someone had told me life would become so juicy at midlife, I would have never believed them. Partly because our culture tries to convince us that adventures in love, life, and living large only happen to the young and reckless and partly because I didn't think I had it in me.

If the past few years are any indication, I have to believe things are only going to get more interesting. This is not because my life is easier. On the contrary, new challenges I could never have imagined earlier pop up daily. 

It's just that one day I decided it was time to grow up and do what needed to be done.  I also discovered I could do this without compromising what mattered most to me. Now I have the resources - confidence, experience, health insurance, and a steady income - to deal with the daily drudgery as well as the delights.

This doesn't happen by default.  For things to get more interesting, I have to get more interesting.  I can't do this simply by planning for retirement. I have to practice the power of full engagement each day. To be an excellent educator, I have to be a life long learner.  To be a success, I also have to be willing to be a life long loser since success for me has never been an immediate outcome of trying something new.

With this in mind, I've decided the most meaningful way to celebrate my life so far is to share what I do best with the people I love most.  I've decided to write a Midlife Manifesto called Words to Live By and create a video and ebook that I can deliver straight to your computer just for the asking.  This does two things.

1)  It catapults me out of my comfort zone and lights my creative fire by forcing me to learn something new, necessary, and, after the initial frustration, fun.   2)  It gives you something that is personal, something you can share if you want to, and hopefully something that will be meaningful to you as well.

Since the big day is just a few months away, I have some essays to write.  Fifty of them to be exact. 

The next few months you may see a frenzy of activity on this blog site as I feverishly post the essays in progress.  Or you may see the occasional ramblings of a distracted writer who has suddenly decided cleaning out the refrigerator or alphabetizing the can goods is top priority. 

This happens to creative people.  It could be happening to you, in fact. Like preparing for an intense workout, we sometimes need a warm up activity before committing to the inevitable.

I used to facilitate a weekly creativity group.  Coaching people into coaxing out their creative side remains one of my all time favorite things to do.  But the biggest thing I learned from that experience is in order for me to help others unleash their creativity, I must unleash mine.

So here's to a couple of months of unprecedented creative outpouring.  When it's time to roll out the finished project, I hope your spirit will catch fire and you, too, will unleash your creativity in all kinds of unexpectedly brilliant ways .

9½ Notions Regarding the Art of Love

V

alentine’s Day is like Christmas.  You know you’re supposed to find it appealing.  You know this is the day to shower the people you love with love.  But more often than not, it feels like a marketing ploy designed to convince you that money can buy you love.  Still, you know there is an art to love that takes considerable time to master. 

               

                In order to alleviate all the pressure surrounding February 14^th, I advocate practicing the art of love year round.  Here are some suggestions to get you started.

1. Love yourself first.  If you can’t love yourself, no one else can either.   The wonderful thing about falling in love is that you get to fall for yourself in the process.  Wooing another with your wit and wickedly wild ways requires you to conjure up a certain amount of charm you may have forgotten you possessed.    Sure, your new love may have you “walking on air.”  But if you didn’t have your own wings, you’d still be on the ground.

2. Be the love you seek to find.  So, you want a fiery red-head who meets you at the door dressed in nothing but cellophane?  Perhaps you prefer a hunk of burning love with the soul of a poet?   If you are slouching on the couch, drinking beer, and eating bonbons, how appealing do you think you are going to be to your particular vision of loveliness?  If you want excitement, be exciting!   If you want your partner to perform a tantalizing tango, make sure you know more than the two-step. 

3. Dare to be romantic.   Aside from the main characters in romance novels or movies, most real people are sadly lacking in romance.  This is a shame since romance is so easy to evoke.  While flowers, sparkly objects, candle-lit dinners, and nights at the opera are thrilling, so is a steamy sonnet snuck in a lover’s lunch box or a single sunflower sitting next to the baby wipes.  Romance is not just for the rich and famous but for the daring and original.

4. Love is about expression not perfection.  We are bombarded with images of the ideal and hypnotized to believe we have to be perfect to be loved.  Yet what we inevitably fall for in another is his imperfections - those adorably small ears, the one-sided dimple, the slightly bowed legs.  It’s our vulnerability that opens us up to love and emboldens us to express that love in our own quirky way.   Of course you might want to refrain from singing “Muskrat Love” at a karaoke bar in front of people who can promote or demote you, but serenading your sweetheart in the moonlight might make her swoon.

5. Clean your slate daily.  Life is messy and love is tender.  If little slights or unintended hurts are not cleared up on a regular basis they accumulate like compound interest.  This is not something you can afford to have working against you.  Do not let perceived offenses go underground and fester.  If you do these grudges will undoubtedly erupt at Thanksgiving dinner in front of  family and friends or at a parent-teacher conference in front of your child’s principal.  Do what it takes to come clean daily. 

6. Make love, not war.   Opposites attract – in theory.  In reality, the moment you say “to–may–to” and I say “to-ma-to,” we’re ready to call the whole thing off.  Most of us choose a partner precisely because they are from Mars and we are from Venus.  They compliment us.  They know what wines go with what foods and we know how to calculate the tip.  When things gets ugly, try to recall that this is the man you defend in front of your mother or this is the woman you gave up Monday night football for.  While the behavior  may drive you crazy, you still love the person, yes?  Some things are worth fighting for; others are worth agreeing to disagree.   If you’re going to fight, fight fair.  And always make up. 

7. Say what you mean, mean what you say.  Don’t be lazy with language.  We have an exquisite vocabulary at our disposal and yet we insist on using the same words time after time.  Although you may be very comfortable with your “love you/love you, too” routine, you can do better.  Paint word pictures or set your sentences ablaze with sizzling suggestions.  Don’t say, “You look nice” when what you really mean is “You look ravishing, delicious, or sinful.”  Don’t say, “What’s different about you?” when what you’re really wondering is whether his eyes always dance with devilish delight when you mention mud wrestling.

8. Listen, learn, leap.  Just when you think you know someone inside out, he will surprise you.  Instead of being outraged, be amazed, amused, or intrigued by what may have rocked his world.  We are curiously creative creatures trying to find our way in the world.  It’s easier to do that when we know there are those who love and trust us even if they don’t understand us.   If you love someone, drop the conditions you place on her.  Then trust her enough to know she’ll do something spectacular with your unflinching support and adoration. 

9.   Ask for what you need.  Yes, it’s uncanny that the same person who can finish your sentences cannot fathom your ever-fluctuating need for space and intimacy, freedom and security, conversation and silence, carrots and carrot cake.  As nice as it would be for your loved ones to anticipate your every wish, they cannot.  There is no logic in the “If he really loved me he’d know I don’t like mayo on sandwiches made with packaged turkey slices but I love it on sandwiches made with fresh turkey.”  Or “If she really loved me she would know I already have a ¾ inch wrench but what I’m sorely lacking is a 5/8 inch wrench.”  Assume the one you love is so smitten with you that they get light headed in your presence and can’t remember anything but how much they love you.  Be gentle.  Help them help you.

9½ .  Laugh.  Often!  Need I even remind you of the importance of a sense of humor?

Square Pegs

When I moved to New Mexico I had no idea how the mountains and the high desert would shape my life.  If I felt angry, irritated, or anxious, I'd head to the trails and walk until the landscape worked its magic on my mood.  With my dog Malcolm by my side, I felt prepared for whatever crossed our path, from the mystical meeting with a javelina, to the respectful rerouting around a red racer or rattler, to the wagfest that followed our meeting of dog friends and their people on a similar path.

It may have been the combination of the air at that altitude, the constant contact with the ground beneath me, the absolute joy of a carefree canine sniffing and marking his territory, or just the presence of mountains that made my troubles feel like molehills.

The kind of stress I experienced in Santa Fe was more of an existential angst than the kind of stress I experience these days.  But I’ve yet to encounter any kind of stress that can’t be relieved by a long walk. 

Winter in Iowa means if I am going to take that walk, it’s usually on my treadmill.  But the other day we had a break in the temps and I decided to head outdoors.  The early morning fog was hiding many things, the most dangerous of these was black ice.  But I was determined to let the liquid landscape of the Maquoketa River works its wonders just as the solidarity of the Sandias had.

Life sometimes rewards our valiant attempts at discipline and provides us with an unequivocal sign of encouragement.  Mine came as soon as I looked up from the frozen tundra and discovered two magnificent birds above me.  Could they be eagles?  Indeed!

One landed in a tree across the river.  The other landed in the tree right in front of me. I’d never had a close encounter with eagles before.  Like celebrities tolerating the paparazzi, they sat regally allowing me to “ooohhh” and “aaahhh” and wonder how I might capture this moment when my camera and phone were back at the house.  Would they wait for my return?

Most likely not.  They had jobs to do, places to go, nests to feather, food to provide for the family. But that didn’t stop me and my other dog Abbey from setting out every morning since then with my camera and the intent to find them again. 

We didn’t see the eagles immediately but we did encounter a chocolate lab one day which made Abbey, a yellow lab, very excited.  I suppose it’s the recognition that another looks, sounds, thinks, acts, or behaves like we do that somehow makes us feel like we belong.  I call it finding our tribe.

I remember having the feeling of finding my tribe when I first moved to Santa Fe.  Admittedly I’m an odd duck.  For most of my life, I’ve been the proverbial square peg in a round hole.  Although I understood the mainstream, I preferred the edge, the fringe, the outer limits.  This is what made The City Different so appealing.

Santa Fe seems to me to be a city of self-appointed exiles.  People who don't quite fit in with the population in their respective birth places find the unique blend of beauty, art, and eccentricity of Santa Fe the perfect place to discover their own. The convergence of three distinctly different cultures creates an atmosphere of acceptance that makes Santa Fe essentially Switzerland, a neutral zone where anything and anyone is welcome. 

So why am I here and not there?  I think Charles Dickens said it best in The Tale of Two Cities, “It was the best of times.  It was the worst of times.”   To paraphrase Mr. Dickens, having lived there “was a far, far better thing that I had ever done before.” 

But when I’d walk the arroyos day after day repeating the mantra, “Place me where the needs of the community and my skills come together,” I’d get the distinct impression that meant going back to where I came from.  After all, a city can only accommodate so many gurus. Not that I considered myself to be one, but the things I learned in the desert were destined to be shared with those who would otherwise never know its secrets.

So in this circuitous pattern that I’ve come to recognize as my unofficial life plan, I found myself back in the Midwest , working in another kind of educational system, once again feeling like a square peg in a round hole.  This time, however, I understand the purpose of the square peg. 

Square pegs, it turns out, are more plentiful than one might suspect.  They are just really good at hiding out if they happen to live in predominantly round peg places.  But as soon as one square peg dares to stand out, others start popping up.

For example, this year we had the good fortune to hire a fabulous faculty member who moved to Maquoketa because her spouse had taken a job at the high school.   She could teach the classes that were in high demand and had an unbridled passion for her subjects and students. 

Sadly that passion can get snuffed right out of a person in one semester if steps are not taken to protect it.  Because of this, I refuse to let her fire go out on my watch.  Together we're working to create weekly writing workshops for students.  It's nothing grand, but it's a start.

The price of being a square peg can take its toll personally before one's contributions have been recognized professionally.  But the beauty of midlife is knowing it’s not over until it’s over.  As Richard Bach said, “What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly."   The challenge is continuously reinvent, mentor, make meaning, and help others recognize and achieve their potential.

Square pegs, like eagles, can be inconspicuous until you know they are there.  Then you actively seek them out.  You look for the signs that they are among us. 

Friday morning I’d just gotten off the treadmill and let the dogs out the back patio.  Malcolm barked and I looked up.  And then I saw it.  The eagle had landed. 

For a week I’d been combing the riverfront looking for eagles.  Then when I least expected it, one appeared right outside my window.   It seemed to know the sight of it touched something within me and therefore granted me a brief audience.  So it is with rare birds.

If you consider yourself among these rare birds, square pegs, nerds, geeks, quirky creatives, whatever you prefer to call yourself, please come out, come out wherever you are!  Your tribe needs you.