Watch Where You’re Going!

Posted on by Mike Nuckolls

I watched as an adult quickly dodged a three-year-old boy running full steam through the indoor play facility where I had brought my son one Sunday afternoon. The contortions of the adult and the apparent cluelessness of the child drew a wide smile to my face. His mother was standing nearby, but no matter, her plea to “Watch where you’re going!” could be heard from quite some distance. The immediate thought that popped into my head was, “He’s watching exactly where he’s going.”

 

The age-old phrase parents use to teach their children collision avoidance awareness is ironic. That three-year-old on a tear to the twisted, purple slide is hyper-focused on where he is going. Watching where he is going is not the problem; it’s obstacles on his path that is. The child’s hyper-focus ignores anything along the way in deference to the destination, the mission, at hand.

 

There is something to be learned from that three-year-old. If you have a mission in mind, make a beeline for it, everything else be damned. The path is flexible: Movable obstacles or distractions are pushed aside by default. Immovable obstacles are navigable: A quick decision to shift right or left, leap over, or a duck under keeps you on the path.

 

A three-year-old has something to teach about those immovable objects that are not easily navigable as well, like say, the sharp edge of the TV stand that meets the forehead. I saw this repeatedly in my son crashing his bike on the asphalt while learning to make turns. He would cry it out a few moments in my arms, pick the bike up, and get back on to go again learning what to do to avoid the immovable object the next time. The pain of being stopped is released, the problem dealt with, and the path continued.

 

Watching where you are going with the focus of a slide-bound child can transform ideas and desires into a mission, strategy, task, and motivation. The desire to invent, create, or change while having the end product always in your sight-line keeps you on the path to getting you there. Success is often in just staying the course.

 

Several years ago, I caught an interview on the radio of an actor whom I cannot recall. The interviewer asked what the actor’s backup plan was in case acting didn’t work out given the difficulty of breaking into the field. Very matter of fact, the actor said he intentionally never had a backup plan because he knew if he did, he would be more likely to go to plan B when obstacles arose.

 

My guess is there weren’t many opportunities to go down a slide that actor missed as a child.

Words of Life

Posted on by Mike Nuckolls

The primary draw of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame for me is the handwritten lyrics posted within exhibits. Words, corrections, strike-throughs, and occasional doodles are scrawled on bits of paper, napkins, hotel notepads, beer boxes, or whatever else was within reach when inspiration hit. You can visually experience how artists fleshed out their ideas into iconic songs.

Looking through the cases chronicling the life and career of Janis Joplin, an invitation with the words “Drinks are on Pearl” jumped out at me. Quite literally because it was on an acrylic hanger sticking out six inches from the display board but also because of curiosity around the simplicity of the message. If you don’t know, Pearl was Joplin’s nickname and the title to her final album.

My first thought seeing this invitation was, How cool is that. That must have been quite a party. When I read the corresponding museum label, my excitement turned to awe. “Drinks are on Pearl” was an invitation to her funeral.

Joplin, along with Brian Jones, Jim Morrison, and Jimi Hendrix, belong to a group of rock and roll musicians who all died between 1969 and 1971 of drug overdoses at 27 years of age. Their deaths formed what is now known as the “27 Club” of artists who have all died tragically at the same age.

Looking back at the words “Drinks are on Pearl” after reading the label, I felt a warm smile and “wow” instinctively escaped by lips. It wasn’t triggered by her death or her funeral or her well documented substance use issues. It was a response to the stirring gesture of life that was communicated in those three words.

Deaths of those we care about are sad, awful, depressing, and heartbreaking. We should absolutely take time to mourn, grieve, and share our sadness and despair at the end of life.

But even more so, we need to take time too to celebrate. We need to appreciate the time people spend in our lives. We need to share the stories that made them human beings. We need to bring the importance of their lives back into focus. We need to raise a glass in honor and remembrance. We need to be with each other in a collective smile and “wow” for what they brought to us and the world around them.

I can only hope that the jumble of words, corrections, strike-throughs, and doodles that make up my life come together in how I am remembered. Maybe it can all be pieced together in some lyrical way. And maybe on that day someone will be kind enough to send invitations announcing “Drinks are on Mike.”

Motivation is an Action

Posted on by Mike Nuckolls

As a counselor, I frequently have clients who want me to help them “find” motivation. There is a sense that motivation is some defining characteristic of a person that can be conjured up when needed. I am sure more than one person has been taken aback by my response that there is nothing I can do to teach, instill, or encourage motivation.

I go on to explain that in my view, motivation is an intentional process: you force yourself to do something over and over, you experience progress or success or pleasure or reward, and you do more of it. Motivation is an action. It is getting started and continuing to do something.

In the recently released Top Gun: Maverick movie, lead character and pilot instructor Maverick is confronted with an uncertain young pilot Rooster who struggles with performing at the level required for their mission. Rooster gets frozen with his thoughts of failing in his cockpit to the point he does not take action. Maverick’s advice? “Don’t think; just do.”

A lot of times I believe our thinking far exceeds the effort to act. Overthinking leads to under-acting. In other words, we think our way out of action. We are unmotivated. At the very minimum, our level of thinking and acting need to be balanced if not skewed toward acting as Maverick suggests.

To some degree, I believe that motivation comes naturally when we really want to do something, we find meaning in what we are doing, or there is some reward or pleasure to be had out of doing it. More and more I have come to the conclusion that even within these realms there is a certain amount of forced behavior that accompanies these factors.

Nike’s Just Do It. slogan was coined in 1988 and remains the defining characterization of the brand. Why has it survived so long, become synonymous with Nike and sports, and been ingrained in our collective psyche to the point that saying either the brand or the phrase invokes mental images of athletes committing their all? Because it rings true. To excel at or even do well at something, the absolute bottom line is you have to take action.

What I like about this idea of just doing something is that doing something is entirely possible for all of us. It takes shear force sometimes to take a first step or continue doing something, but it is absolutely within our control to take action. And doing something gives us results so that we can decide to keep doing what is working, stop doing what isn’t, or alter what we are doing to see if something else will work better.

My guess is I have thought about writing this article at least three times a day for the past few weeks. Quite honestly, it has been in my head a lot longer than that. Today, I opened Word and forced myself to write the first sentence. I found the thoughts and ideas fleshed out on the page and I kept writing. I finished it because I started it. That is what I believe motivation is all about.

Now, what sentence will I start with tomorrow?

A More Genuine Me

Posted on by Mike Nuckolls

Not that I am some great sage or anything, but a little over a year ago I started telling people that I thought getting back into society after our COVID separation period would be more difficult than the withdrawal. Given both what I feel within and see around me, I can say that I believe that is absolutely the case.

I based this prophecy on previous personal experience I have had withdrawing from the society with which I am accustomed. The first time I went on a volunteer trip to a small Ukrainian village in 1997, I was removed from my usual world of 8 to 5, on a good day; clear communication in a language I understood; people with whom I was supposed to relate well; societal expectations for behavior, interactions, and values; and conveniences like running water and indoor toilets, but that’s another story. It took a day or so, but integrating was easy because expectations were low both from within and from those around me.

Two weeks later and I am driving to work in an existential stupor. The rush out the door, the 20-minute commute, the necessities of professionalism, my mind running through all there was to do that week, and the mound of work likely waiting for me was overwhelming. I was back in my world of a myriad of expectations for me, both real and imagined, self-imposed and dictated.

I realized today why I had that epiphany about a post-COVID shutdown of personal crisis. In the shutdown, much like in Ukraine, I had spent weeks as a deconstructed, more genuine me. Expectations of me from others were few. Any expectations there were from others that I did not meet were quickly forgiven out of a common understanding that we were all doing the best we could.

I enjoyed more freedom with my authentic behaviors, interactions, and idiosyncrasies. I could speak openly within the confines of my home and express a full range of emotion. (Apologies to my wife.) I could live by the rules, values, and expectations with which I am most comfortable. No lie, it hit me on the playground with my son one day that I had on Vans shoes, hole-ridden and paint splotched jeans, a faded Harley-Davidson t-shirt, and my alma mater UNC hat. I was unwittingly revealing who I am for all to see.

During the time living outside of society’s expectations, I was more genuinely me. Back in society, I must admit, I am not as much me. There are expectations to meet, like it or not, willing or not. Rightly so, my personal comforts and desires are tempered by the world around me. I must meet expectations in order to live with those with which I interact on a daily basis in the wider world. I must put some of me aside. And I miss that.

Having come to this realization, I must figure out how to be the more authentic me while meeting realistic expectations. Who I am with others must include who I am within me. Otherwise, that time of COVID shutdown authenticity will be for naught.

Get ready for a more genuine me.

Humanity in the Rubble

Posted on by Mike Nuckolls

We were diligently cleaning thin layers of gray dust from every corner and crevice of an apartment in lower Manhattan when we were called to the window by the owner. As we looked down at the still hulking pile of metal, concrete, paper, and dust that used to be the World Trade Center, we saw a line of firemen, police officers, construction workers, and others forming from the left side, toward the middle of the site. It was mid-November 2001.

The apartment owner walked us through what we were witnessing. Remains of someone had been found somewhere in the rubble. When that happened, all work stopped and those working the site formed two columns from the location where remains were found to a waiting rescue vehicle on the street. Hats were removed, hands placed on hearts or heads bowed, and the remains were slowly processed out of the destruction.

In facing unimaginable grief, pain, anger, and sorrow working that pile day in and day out, this was a display of humanity for this group of people whose job it was to scour through the inhumane. With each person’s remains, they showed respect and compassion. Every person suffering that horrific event was treated with the utmost dignity.

We were told this event could happen many times during a given day. Each time, work stopped, the lines formed, and remains were transitioned from the horrific tomb of the wreckage down a pathway toward final rest. The search was their task, honoring the people was their mission.

It is hard to imagine bringing light and hope into such a dark and hopeless place. Yet those working the World Trade Center site knew its necessity. Even in the midst of the most dreadful of human pain and suffering, there is opportunity, indeed an obligation, to bring the best of humanity.

No Right Decisions

Posted on by Mike Nuckolls

My wife and I faced a very difficult decision over the past few weeks. Without getting into detail, the implications of the choices were immense. All of the choices had definite benefits and could turn out well. All of the choices would lead to long-term consequences, positive and/or negative. The problem we faced, though, was that any of the choices would cause a disruption in life as we know it with the real possibility of being detrimental.

We talked around the issues for a couple of weeks. We gathered information and talked to people with experience surrounding the one decision with which we had the least knowledge. We finally had to impose a deadline on our decision lest we contemplate it until it was removed from our control.

In our final conversation, we once again weighed all the choices and talked each one into the ground. I have a tendency to play devil’s advocate, which masks my personal leanings and frustrates the life out of my wife. Kudos to her for hanging in there.

Finally, my wife said, “I just want to make the right decision.”

Not sure where it came from, but my reply was, “There is no right decision here. We cannot know how any of them will turn out. What we have to do is turn whatever decision we choose into the best decision it can be.”

Within a few seconds, we had a decision.

I don’t have to convince anyone that many of life’s major decisions have choices where the “right” one is difficult or impossible to discern. Sometimes there is absolutely no right decision.

Our role, then is to make whatever decision we commit to the best decision it can be. That takes knowledge, effort, humility, guts, creativity, and risk-taking. And more than a little blood, sweat, and tears.

Even though my wife and I have made our decision, I cannot help but constantly reflect on why we decided what we decided. I am still trying to convince myself we can do this. I guess that is a necessary part of staying steadfast, committing our all to making it work, and increasing the probability that the results will be positive.

To all those who are in the midst of a big no-right-answer decision, you have my respect, well wishes, and encouragement to make the decision you choose into the best one it can be.

Moments of Humanity

Posted on by Mike Nuckolls

About halfway into our hike yesterday morning, my five-year-old son asked me how he knew there was a fire in the area where we had taken a short break. When I said I didn’t know, he proudly showed me his evidence: a small blackened log.

With the kind of fascination only a young child can exhibit, he broke off a small chunk to take as a reminder of his investigative skills. Despite already having collected several rocks and acorns, this piece of treasure came with a story to tell.

And tell it he did. Nearly every hiker we encountered for the next hour was treated to the story of him finding a burnt log, how it revealed to him there was a fire there, how he broke off the chunk he was showing them, and how he planned to keep it to remind him how he had discovered something intriguing on our journey.

What I observed in this was how graciously people (and by people, I mean the women; guys, we need to get better at stopping to smell the roses) would stop and attentively listen to the story. I was also aware of my own desire to keep moving and not bother the other hikers.

What I finally realized after about the tenth narration was how my son was giving those who stopped and listened a moment of the graces of humanity. I could see by the eye contact, the shakes of the head, the words of affirmation, and the wide smiles that he had infused a moment of happiness, joy, and wonder from his life into theirs. In those moments, he made their lives better.

I can’t help but think that they continued to carry that moment with them and maybe even told others of this wonder-filled connection they experienced.

I also hope that it stays in my mind long enough to convince me that I too can create these moments of humanity

Confronted by the Dichotomy of Life

Posted on by Mike Nuckolls

Two months after the attacks of September 11, 2001, I served with N.C. Baptists on Mission cleaning apartments contaminated with dust and debris from the collapse of the World Trade Center. We worked in apartments as close as overlooking the Trade Center site and some many blocks away. It was inconceivable that we were still removing dust on a third or fourth round of cleaning.

The morning of November 12 while we were cleaning in a building overlooking Ground Zero, we received word about the crash of American Airlines Flight 587 in Queens. The island of Manhattan had been completely shut down to the outside world; no one was being allowed to move on or off the island.

The immediate reaction was fear that there may be another attack afoot. When we walked out of the building for a lunch break, the streets of New York were silent. No cars, no blaring horns, no machinery, and barely any people. It was haunting.

We walked over to a hotel which had faced the World Trade Center, having been invited to go as credentialed volunteers helping with the cleanup. There was a huge red fabric tarp completely covering the side of the building that faced the towers. Every window on that side had been blown out.

We made our way up a few floors to a former meeting room that had been converted to provide respite to first responders and site workers. There were firefighters, police officers, EMS personnel, machinery operators, and others sitting in almost total silence watching news of the plane crash on television.

As a couple of us stood near a young police officer sitting in a recliner, he pointed to the screen, looked up at us, and said “I was supposed to fly that very same flight a couple of days ago.”

He had been planning a visit to his family in Dominican Republic when his plans got canceled at the last minute.

He went on to tell us that he was out of town when the planes hit the World Trade Center. He knew he would have been in those buildings with his colleagues otherwise.

“I dodged two bullets,” he said, turning his attention back to the screen.

We thanked him for all he was doing and made our way out of the room.

That young officer, with a mixture of guilt and relief from not being with his fellow officers in the Trade Center and feeling somber and reprieve over the plane crash, had been struck with a vital lesson in life: Life can change quickly and unexpectedly one way or the other.

I had personally experienced enough in life to that point that I knew it could turn on a dime. But the memory of that young man staring directly and simultaneously into both life and death changed me even still.

Life is wonderful, fun, and amazing. And life is troublesome, tragic, and frightening. Better seek the wonderful, the fun, and the amazing to every extent possible.

#NeverForget #September11 #WTC #lifewithpurpose

Unique Imperfections

Posted on by Mike Nuckolls

Some years ago, I took up small woodworking projects. Working a piece of wood with my hands gets my mind off everything else, gives me a job that I can touch and see, and allows me to relax a little. What I enjoy most about it, though, is that I always learn something from the wood in the process.

Each piece of wood seems to have its own personality. I say ‘personality’ because at one time that wood was alive. It took in nourishment, it breathed, it grew.

Working it in my hands, especially while hand sanding, I am connecting with a unique piece of life. Despite being quite allergic to wood dust I prefer to go maskless, taking in the fragrances as small bits of the wood assimilate with my respiratory system.

The personality comes out as I notice how easily or hard the wood accepts a pencil, cuts, and sands. The personality of each piece of wood can vary within itself just as it can vary with pieces cut from the same source.

I used to get frustrated by all the variance. I have a tendency toward perfection, which the wood resists. Sometimes I never know where some of the wood’s ‘imperfections’ will appear until after the last coats of stain and clear coat are applied. Each piece has its own imperfections and it seems to resist hiding them.

I have become much more appreciative of the ‘imperfections.’ They are just as much part of the personality of the wood as its more ‘perfect’ features. In fact, it is the imperfections by which I can clearly distinguish near-exact projects from another one. The wood is unique and won’t allow me to recreate it as indistinguishable.

The other thing about working with a piece of wood is its willingness to forgive my imperfections, if I am patient. Early on, if I messed up a cut or accidentally dented it or sanded a little too much off, I sometimes threw it out and started again. Now I know that if I am patient – cut a little closer or sand more carefully – the wood will allow me to reshape my mistakes.

As many times as the wood has surprised me by revealing imperfections, either its own or mine, I have learned that imperfection is just part of the experience of living things. It is the imperfections that make that wood and my life like none other. With acceptance and patience, and perhaps some “cutting and sanding,” I can allow those imperfections to reshape me into a unique living being.

#perfection #imperfection #lifewithpurpose #forgiveness #woodworking

In Search of Answers

Posted on by Mike Nuckolls

The first divinity school I attended was a fantastic place of questioning everything, and I mean everything. I went to divinity school later in life having already questioned a good deal and having come to some conclusions about my faith. What was fascinating in this exercise was not the questioning but what I perceived to be as little desire to find answers. That bothered me.

I believe that we should question thoughts, beliefs, emotions, statistics, opinions, and sometimes even facts. I also believe that some degree of denial, ignorance (in a “I’m ignoring this” sense), unreasonableness, and irrationality are a necessary part of our ability to deal with the wackiness of life. I believe that defiance has its place as well.

At this point in time, though, there are a lot of people cultivating a questioning culture from all sides of any given topic, issue, fact, belief, whatever. There are many for whom questioning seems to have become the answer in and of itself. There is no desire for actual answers. And that bothers me.

It sounds a bit counter-intuitive, but maybe there are a set of questions that can help process some of these questions to answers with which we can live.

  • What facts or additional information do I need or not need to come to a conclusion that I am comfortable with?
  • What explanations are reasonable, logical, and most likely?
  • What questions and answers appeal to my logic, intellect, knowledge, experience, values, and background?
  • What questions and answers are influenced by an intense emotional response – excitement, validation, righteousness, anger, offense, outrage, vengeance, hurt, rejection, fear, anxiety, stress?
  • What resources do I trust and why? (Note: The ‘why’s is particularly important to avoid blind trust.)
  • What resources don’t I trust and why? (Ditto on the note above applied to blind mistrust.)
  • What am I ignoring with my questions or answers?
  • How honest am I being with myself?
  • What answers make my life – job, relationships, beliefs, actions, thoughts, emotions – better?
  • What answers improve my life, outlook, belief system, knowledge, etc.?
  • What can I learn from answers I don’t agree with?
  • What questions can go unanswered that I will be OK with?

No matter the question or the answer I draw from it, exploring how I got there is what will help me live content with who I am and what I believe.

Sometimes my explanations will be logical, reasonable, and rational and sometimes they will simply not make a lick of sense. And I need to be OK with it and honest with myself about it either way.