At six foot four, broad-shouldered and bearded, Joseph Vasterling looks every bit like the guy who earned a scholarship to play football at a now Division 1 school. At a practice before his freshman year even began, his hip flexor, the ghost of an old injury, screamed. His football career on the line, his coach asked, “Are you hurt or are you injured?” The implication was clear; if you’re hurt, rub some dirt on it and get back out there, but if you’re injured . . . goodbye scholarship. He walked back out onto the practice field under the blazing South Dakota sun only to watch the running back collapse. Joe decided then that football, a game he excelled at with minimal effort, wasn’t for him. He called his parents and boarded a bus for home. On that day and many since, he proved he has more in common with a reclusive 19th century poet than he does with a stereotypical jock. Continue reading “Doing the Little Things Right”
We told you for months that I was leaving for college, but it wasn’t until you were looking through my bottles of shampoo, laundry detergent, silverware, and soap that you finally understood. You turned around and crawled on my bed next to me. “I don’t want you to go to college.” Your six-year-old voice cracks with tears. Then, I had to hug you and let you cry. You didn’t know this but I was crying along with you. Technically, I was tearing up. But I wouldn’t be crying if I hadn’t tried so hard not to. Continue reading “Saying Goodbye (For Now)”
Getting from here to there could be a harrowing journey; drivers honked, tires squealed, and traffic lights were mere suggestions. Angela did’t like traveling in her city. But that wasn’t the only problem. In the 1990s, members of a drug cartel moved into her quiet, middle class neighborhood in Santiago de Cali, Colombia. Someone was assassinated across the lane from her house.
Weeks after the birth of her first child in 1946, Dolores Meurer Reed climbed into the cockpit of the Navy surplus airplane she and husband Bob bought with the last of their newlywed nest-egg. Not long after her wheels left earth, the instruments failed–every single one of them. “I landed it on fear alone.” She promised herself she wouldn’t fly again. At least, not until her babies had all grown up. Flying, her capricious and complicated first-love, kept trying to kill her. Continue reading “What Doesn’t Kill You”
We bumped along a rutted dirt road in a rented SUV, parking a quarter mile from the trailhead that would lead us to the summit of Mount Democrat. We hoisted backpacks stuffed with water, food, dry socks, and extra clothes onto our backs. The thin, 38 degree air nipped at our hands and faces left exposed by our light down coats. We looked ready to conquer a mountain or two.
While I’ve run a few 10K’s, Paul, my significant other, and our friends, Dan and Jayme are veterans of marathons, triathlons, and obstacle courses, (and in Jayme’s case, an Ironman). But, winded by the walk from the car to the trailhead, even they worried that our less than 24 hours at altitude had not been enough time for our sea-level dwelling bodies to adjust. I began to sweat. Continue reading “Living on the Edge of Fun and Scary”
“Our love of being right is best understood as our fear of being wrong”― Kathryn Schulz
My seventh grade home economics class taught me an important lesson, but it wasn’t how to sew.
Assigned the task of creating a garment, I picked a pattern for what I thought would be a cute pair of shorts. I bought the fabric, pinned on the tissue paper shapes, and cut. Using a sewing machine, I punched a line of thread through the hem. The line, supposed to be neat and straight, looked as if I had traced rolling hills instead. Fearing a bad grade, I told the teacher I intended the design. I even wore the terrible, turquoise, wavy-hemmed shorts the next day to class. My teacher, Mrs Hart, gave me an “A”. I gained no skill in sewing. But I learned how to sell and reap the benefits of a convincing lie. Continue reading “5 Ways to Change Your Mindset”
A little more than four years ago, a leader of his church pulled Doug Timothy aside for a pleasant but purposeful conversation. Doug wondered if he would be asked to serve the church community in some way, perhaps as a teacher or a youth advisor. But the leader had a different, far scarier, role for young Doug in mind. Continue reading “Leadership Should Feel Like This”
Confucius said, “Everything has beauty, but not everyone sees it.” This sign, posted in an alley in my neighborhood, made my day. The sign maker took the time to not only witness the turtles experiencing the first journey of their lives, but commemorated it for others, like me, to see. Confucius would be proud.
Simple things, like seeing beauty in baby snapping turtles and telling others about it, can change the world, one story at a time.
In 2012, when a new job, divorce, putting my dog to sleep, and selling my house had turned my life upside down, I had a choice: become an ostrich, head in the sand, or embrace the disruption as opportunity.
Fear of stagnation and regret overcame fear of newness and change; my “Say Yes” phase had begun. But I needed help. A near lifelong practitioner of saying yes, Julia wordlessly offered me mentorship in the art of openness.
Is this wise, little creature a chicken or an owl? I’m going with owl. Either way, this doodle is awesome. It both makes me smile and reminds me that creating happiness isn’t like making a chocolate fudge cake. My happiness doesn’t depend on a mix of specific ingredients, baked at just the right temperature, then only enjoyed at birthdays and special occasions (or when the grocery store has free samples, in my case). Continue reading “Happiness is Not a Chocolate Fudge Cake”