Your daily slice of irony (quote of the week)

“Write a wise saying and your name will live forever.”

-Anonymous

Pause for a second and enjoy the irony. 

Aside from appreciating the irony involved, I think the quote (and missing author) is especially precious because it encapsulates an important aspect of the human experience. 

Most of us are motivated by recognition.  We not only want to make a difference, we also crave recognition for our good work.  While joy comes directly from deeds, being recognized for them makes for a much, much, better experience.  Sadly, there is often a disconnect between the two.  I know I don’t express my gratitude/enjoyment/etc. as often as I could.  This quote is a reminder to spread the joy.  And not just out of duty or obligation. Providing recognition not only gives the person you are recognizing warm and fuzzy feelings, it also allows you to bask in their happiness (assuming you don’t suffer from excessive envy and schadenfreude).  Sheesh.  I might have to add this on to the list of new year’s resolutions as well.    Wish me luck.

Now that’s a good laugh!

I’ve been laughing a lot lately. The full-body, belly-shaking kind.

The kind of laughter that causes your soul to shine out from behind your eyes.

Thinking about laughter reminded me that it isn’t just a source of momentary pleasure. It also contributes to one’s health. I remember hearing about various studies that “proved” laughter is good for you, and decided to refresh my memory. It turns out that laughter:

• improves immune function (it increases a number of antibodies and activates T cells)
• protects your heart (if you laugh a lot, you’re less likely to have a heart attack)
• oxygenates your body
• increases lymph fluid circulation
• works your muscles
• decreases stress hormones
• reduces pain
• lowers blood pressure

So, I’m adding laughing more into my list of New Year’s Resolutions. Feel free to help me out with this one. It’ll probably be good for both of us. (I mean really – it’s free, good for you, and feels great. Other than sex, I can’t think of anything I’d rather do. And I can laugh with anyone and anywhere, so it’s got that going for it.)

However, do keep it under control, because I also discovered that like so many other good things, laughter has a down side. It’s contagious. Seriously contagious!

In 1962, in the small village of Kashasha, Tanganyika (modern Tanzania), a group of students at a boarding school began to snicker following some remark or event which is now lost to history. For reasons unknown, the laughter was abnormally infectious, and soon the greater part of the student body was incapacitated with the contagious convulsions. In an effort to quell the inexplicable outbreak, administrators closed the school and sent the giggling students home, but this allowed the epidemic to spread. Parents, siblings, and neighbors were reduced to wriggling, vocalizing masses, and the Tanganyika Laughter Epidemic rapidly propagated to thousands of people including other schools, workplaces, and a neighboring village. The sporadic, uncontrollable episodes quickly became unpleasant for the sufferers, leading to abdominal pain, fainting, respiratory problems, rashes, and uncontrollable weeping; but it continued nonetheless. Reports vary regarding the duration of the epidemic– spanning anywhere from six to eighteen months– but over time it naturally faded. The underlying cause of the outbreak is still uncertain, but most historians and scientists attribute the bizarre incident to mass hysteria. The nation had won its independence from Great Britain only months prior, and the resulting increase in expectations among the citizenry was said to have produced unusually high levels of stress.

The excerpt above is from a blog posting, and you can find several reputable sources confirming the epidemic. It’s not Hamlet’s father’s ghost, but reading about it makes me echo Horatio: “O day and night, but this is wondrous strange!”

Gratitude and Concerts (Pela and Michael Bublé)

I recently saw my first truly great show at a small venue (huzzah for Schuba’s!). This isn’t meant to denigrate Okkerville River, Blue Merle, Phospherescent, LP, Pernice Brothers, Magnolia Electric Co., Destroyer, Sunset Rubdown, or any of the other bands I’ve seen over the past few years, but they just could not compare to Pela. Many thanks to the Johnson brothers for finding them, and to last.fm for keeping track of how many times Dane & Ryan listened to Pela. Pela is a lot of what is great about rock and roll. They remind me a bit of The National, but with a little more “pop” polish a la Bloc Party or U2. I think this must be one of the first tours they are headlining. They have all of the talent of a major band, and are still struggling to make it. This makes them hungry. And, because they are relatively obscure, it seems that they don’t often have good crowds to perform for. Not so in Chicago. Schuba’s was alive. After Pela’s first song, the energy was unbelievable. And, how could it not be? Billy McCarthy pours himself into his songs. You can feel it on the CD. You can see it in the sweat dripping off of him. After hearing that they are small town kids trying to make it big, you can’t help rooting for the band and enjoying the show even more. An introspective slow slong gives a pause, allowing us (and the band) to recharge before the next explosion of passion – leaping on speakers, breaking guitar strings, sweat spraying the stage. All this is going on four feet away. A somewhat intoxicated first cousin who can’t help beaming with pride shakes my hand. Pela’s energy infuses the crowd, the crowd energizes the band, and nobody wants it to stop. They don’t take our adulation lightly. They play every song on their lone full length album, plus nearly dozen more. After his guitar string breaks, Billy unplugs the guitar, and for whatever reason, hands it to me to hold as he goes to get another one. I hold on to it throughout the finale, impressed that the strap is drenched. I’m officially a fan for life.

In stark contrast to my $10 Pela show is Mr. Michael Bublé. Talk a bout a classy operation. He puts on a slick show. He’s the modern incarnation of Frank Sinatra. Seeing old footage of the “rat pack”, I never understood the screaming girls. I lumped it into the naiveté of a “simpler” time. I put it in the same category as getting married to your high school sweetheart, single income families, and belief that the government has your best interests at heart, and other rosy ideas that went out of fashion sometime during my grandparent’s youth. Well, ladies and gentleman, Michael Buble makes me understand – or rather, I’ve seen something similar in the 21^st century. He’s every bit as passionate as Pela’s McCarthy, but comes a much more sophisticated package. Black suit and tie, slick dance moves, a 15 piece jazz band, pure, pure, pure singing voice, keen sense of humor, unbelievable charm, and boyish good looks. All in all, your typical Canadian dream boat. I’m sure by now, you’re wondering what in God’s name I was doing at the show. I mean, it’s not like a have a girlfriend to impress these days. So, why would a straight, indie-rock loving male attend? Honestly, he’s good enough that seeing the performance would be reason enough. But in this case it was another reason. Gratitude, and the desire to bring joy to loved ones. A few years ago, I stumbled upon the following quotation by Cicero: “Gratitude is not only the greatest of virtues, but the parent of all others.” As with so many other things that I have learned from, I initially disagreed with the statement. I had never considered gratitude a “capital v” Virtue. But the more I thought about it, the more it seemed true. While there are sure to be some virtues that are possible without gratitude (courage, perhaps), gratitude, to me, implies self-awareness, appreciating the good things in life, and a generally positive attitude. Life without gratitude seems bitter indeed, and it is hard to imagine virtue and arrogance/bitterness cohabitating with each other. I try to keep gratitude in my heart.

For many years, throughout my childhood, my grandparents served as an auxiliary set of parents. I spent a month living with them most summers. They would invariably schedule a vacation during that time and drag me all across the country with them. Many of my fondest childhood memories revolve around time spent with my grandparents. Playing cards, watching the cubs, playing miniature golf, swimming in lake Michigan, all surrounded by love. I am sure I would not be the person I am today without their steadying, loving, compassionate influence.

So, when an event comes up that allows me to share my gratitude, to share a perfect experience with the people that have given me so much, and that I treasure and adore, I do my best to take advantage of it. And what better to share with my grandparent’s a concert given by a man who reminds me of the seemingly romantic ideas of my grandparent’s youth? That night was one of those all too rare moments in life. It was brilliant music heightened by the sweet satisfaction arising from expressing gratitude and love. In short, it was perfect.

Book review – Three Cups of Tea by Greg Mortenson and David Oliver Relin

Howdy all – sorry it has been forever since I last posted. I’ll be attempting to make up for it over the next week or so. Without further ado, I give you a book review:

Oddly enough – the title of the this book could very well be the same as the next one to be reviewed: The Power of One. However, this is a true story, not a novel. I have never read an account that touched me as deeply as this story. It immediately gained a place amongst my favorite books.

We have the story of Greg Mortenson – a man who had amounted to very little through his mid thirties. Sure, he was an excellent mountain climber. Worked the night shift at hospitals as a nurse to pay the few bills he incurred (gym membership, food, gas – his car was his home). But that was essentially his story. No family, no wife, no material possessions to speak of.

And yet, through a somewhat random series of events, he ends up in a remote village in Pakistan. He learns that the village could not afford to hire a teacher full time. They shared one with a neighboring village – and as a result the children were left to practice lessons alone half of the time.

“After the last note of the anthem had faded, the children sat in a neat circle and began copying their multiplication tables. Most scratched in the dirt with sticks they’d brought for that purpose. The more fortunate, like Jahan, had slate boards they wrote on with sticks dipped in a mixture of mud and water. ‘Can you imagine a fourth-grade class in America, alone, without a teacher, sitting there quietly and working on their lessons?’ Mortenson asks. ‘I felt like my heart was being torn out. There was a fierceness in their desire to learn, despite how mightily everything was stacked against them, that reminded me of Christa [his sister]. I knew I had to do something’. “

And so, he decides to build a school for a Pakistani village separated from the rest of the world by a steep gorge. Not only does he fulfill his promise, but goes much further. He makes helping the villages of Pakistan and Afghanistan his life’s work. Today there are over 24,000 students who owe their education to the effort of one man. And what’s more, he’s bringing hope and goodwill towards America. At the dedication of a school on September 14th 2001, an Islamic religious leader gave the following speech (excerpts):

” ‘Today is a day that you children will remember forever and tell your children and grandchildren. Today, from the darkness of illiteracy, the light of education shines bright. We share in the sorrow as people weep and suffer in America today,’ he said, pushing his thick glasses firmly into place, ‘as we inaugurate this school. Those who have committed this evil act against the innocent, the women and children, to create thousands of widows and orphans, do not do so in the name of Islam. By the grace of Allah the Almighty, may justice be served upon them.’ …

‘These two Christian men have come halfway around the world to show our Muslim children the light of education,’ Abbas said. ‘Why have we not been able to bring education to our children on our own? Fathers and parents, I implore you to dedicate your full effort and commitment to see that all your children are educated. Otherwise, they will merely graze like sheep in the field, at the mercy of nature and the world changing so terrifyingly around us.’ …

‘I request America to look into our hearts,’ Abbas continued, his voice straining with emotion, ‘and see that the great majority of us are not terrorists, but good and simple people. Our land is stricken with poverty because we are without education. But today, another candle of knowledge has been lit. In the name of Allah the Almighty, may it light our way out of the darkness we find ourselves in.’ “

Mortenson’s work is particularly important in these days. As illustrated in the book – a Pakistani General had the following to say regarding terrorism:

“Osama is not a product of Pakistan or Afghanistan. He is a creation of America. Thanks to America Osama is in every home. As a military man, I know you can never fight and win against someone who can shoot at you once and then run off and hide while you have to remain eternally on guard. You have to attack the source of your enemy’s strength. In America’s case that’s not Osama or Saddam or anyone else. The enemy is ignorance. The only way to defeat it is to build relationships with these people, to draw them into the modern world with education and business. Otherwise the fight will go on forever.”

I think General Bashir makes a salient point. One well worth considering. At this point it is too late to go back in time, but we can all easily support initiatives that have a chance to reflect positively upon America. Organizations such as Mortenson’s Central Asia Institute.

I’ve gotten a bit off topic. The main point I wanted to share is this: if this book doesn’t touch your soul, awaken your compassion – your awareness of how much good one can accomplish – I don’t know what to say. One person can make an enormous impact upon the world.

A Poem by Rumi further illustrates this concept, and reminds me greatly of Mortenson’s story:

Masculinity has a core of clarity, which does not act
from anger or greed or

sensuality, and a husk, which does. The virile center
that listens within takes

pleasure in obeying that truth. Nobility of spirit,
the true spontaneous energy

of your life, comes as you abandon other motives and move
only when you feel the majesty

that commands and is the delight of the self. Remember
Ayaz crushing the king’s pearl!

Recently I have been frequently contemplating Rumi’s words.

Greed. Job satisfaction. Compassion. Self-interest. Bravery. Fear.

These elements, the yin and yang of life, pull me back and forth and cause my thoughts to swing like a pendulum. They may well be the invisible hands that Ryan discussed in a blog entry. They tug back and forth and cloud the core clarity that would lead to purposeful majesty.

At the very least, the poem and book gave me pause and encouraged self reflection. I hope they will inspire y’all as well. Because, as Plato so pithily said: “the unexamined life is not worth living.” So, start living.

Oh – and one last note, if you are thinking of buying this book, you can do so through a link at the bottom of this website and a portion of the price will be donated to Mortenson’s organization. Or, better yet, you could buy it used and donate the difference. Just a thought.