Tag: Writing

One Strong Belief

I often get into trouble with my family, friends and coworkers because I often challenge them to accept the idea that they are responsible for all the choices they make.  I believe that ultimately I always have a choice.  I may not like the choices before me and I may not be able to see what choices lay before me but I do have choices.  It gets me into trouble with my wife when she comes to me upset that she "had to" do something she didn't want to do.  My response is usually the same.

"If you didn't want to do it then why did you", I ask.
"Well ... I had to.  Who else would do it?", she says.
"I don't know.  Did you ask someone for help?"
"Who would I ask?" she would reply, rhetorically.  "I had no choice".
"You could have just not done it.  You could have asked me?"
"You're busy and I had to get done".
"Why?"
"Because ..."
"Because, why?"
"Because, someone had to do it!"

And so we go around and around in circles.  The more I press, the more each of us gets agitated.  I'm learning when to quit pushing.  Sometimes, I start suggesting possibilities and sometimes she uses them and other times she doesn't like any of the my solutions. At some point I may say:

"You're right.  If you don't like doing nothing or choosing any of the other options, then ... you have only the choice you made.  But still ... that's a choice"

I sometimes do this to myself.  I get stuck and frustrated because I feel like I have no choice but the one before me. It takes a bit of effort to realize that I have many choices, all of which have wanted and unwanted consequences.  I may choose the most desirable outcome and least negative consequence and feel like I have no choice.  Or I can accept the risk of a negative result, choose, and take the opportunity for a chance of the most desirable outcome I am seeking.  Either way, I have made a choice.

NOTE: I’m writing this as part of The Domino Project’s #Trust30 30-day writing challenge from ralphwaldoemerson.me.

15 Minutes to Live

We are afraid of truth, afraid of fortune, afraid of death, and afraid of each other. Our age yields no great and perfect persons. – Ralph Waldo Emersonvia Gwen Bell – 15 Minutes to Live - Ralph Waldo Emerson.

In 2006 I was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes. I had lost 30 pounds, was drinking almost as many gallons of water and feeling extremely tired. I was diagnosed by my family physician who sent me straight to the emergency room, My blood glucose (BG) was over 500. Normal is between 70 and 90. Apparently my blood was like a toxic soup and my doctor was concerned that I would go into a diabetic coma.

Was I afraid? No. Maybe I should have been but I wasn't. But the experience of being in a hospital bed for two night did change me. I realized that it could have been different. I could have gone into that coma and suffered brain damage. I could have been in a form of brain "death". For a person who makes his living "thinking" — I'm an information security manager, a knowledge worker — it would be devastating.

My brain is the muscle that allows me to act in doing the things I want to do. It's what helps me create the things I want to create. It's what helps me appreciate the things I hold dear. The things I cherish. For me, without it, I am nothing. I cease to exists. Ok. Now, I'm scared.

So what would I do if I was told I had 15 minutes to live?

I would call everyone I love and tell them I love them. Or maybe just sit at home and watch Tom and Jerry with my wife and kids.

NOTE: I'm writing this as part of The Domino Project's #Trust30 30-day writing challenge from ralphwaldoemerson.me.

I read stuff.

Beth writes about everything and anything. Her blog is worth reading.

Keeping a blog is like having my own editorial column for life. I greatly enjoy the experience.  The fact that there are numbers of people who choose to read what I write increases that joy. via WHO READS THIS STUFF? - wannabeme's posterous.

If the writing is good, people will read it and come back again and again. I love blogging. That's a meaningful statement coming from someone who disliked writing (but loved reading) and who struggled with it all my academic life.