In my first few years of organized baseball the game’s joys and benefits became clear. The game was not just fun it was a factory that took raw materials and fashioned friendships. One of my earliest friends was Tommy Wilson. Tommy was a unicorn, a kid so uncoordinated that it was a miracle that he showed uo for games in his uniform. The whole team assumed that he must of had help dressing. Tommy was a perennial right fielder – in the rare event that he got off the bench – he displayed a capacity for errors that knew no bounds. He once settled under a pop up and waited for the ball to hit the ground so he could pick it up and lob it to the infield. Tommy was an athletic disaster. In our second season, Tommy was at bat and took a pitch to his front teeth and earned the nickname Smoothbore. Smoothbore Wilson and I played for three seasons on the same team and we also participated in many grab ass pick up games in our local park. He was almost always picked last.

Smoothbore had a signature phrase that he repeated endlessly. It was a three word intro to many sentences. Even now I can hear “I bet ya” as if I was there. When we were behind, he would say, “bet ya we win” and when someone was hurt he’d respond with, “I bet ya he’ll be back tomorrow.” What Smoothbore lacked in athletic ability was offset by an unfailing optimism. In our third season, even after creative dental work had restored his smile, Tommy was still just Smoothbore.

But a change was in the air.

One sunny afternoon Tommy was picked FIRST in one of our pickup games. The guy who picked him simply called out Smoothie…not Smoothbore or Tommy. Our boy had made it and he made it because of his attitude and his constitutional inability to be negative. We wanted to hear, “I bet ya we’ll win” more than we needed his hits and runs. Smoothie never really saw home while playing baseball but he was always at home in the world and with himself.

Smoothie’s life was not just a life like many others, it was a parable- a series of little stories that could delight and teach. There is no doubt that he taught me the value of attitude. I learned what an amazing contribution positive energy can be. He also showed me – made manifest – just how the meek can inherit the earth.

A recent trip took me back to my hometown and while reading the local newspaper, I saw Smoothie’s picture in the Celebration of Life section. I hadn’t seen or spoken to Smoothie for forty years, so the details of his life were welcome. He became a mathematics professor at a small college in Pennsylvania where he met and married Ms.Margaret Wilton. They had two boys. The eldest followed in his father’s footsteps and became a philosophy professor; the younger boy chose a military career. Smoothie wrote papers on cryptanalysis and probability theory as well as a host of papers in a host of professional journals. Smoothie was a heavy hitter in his professional career and with his family.

The gangly, stumblebum kid did all right for himself and I am sure he often said to himself, “I bet ya I can do this.”

When I read the obit, I was grateful for what Smoothie taught me. He taught me that you will become exactly what you think you will become.

Someday I hope to be a Smoothie.

“Bid me run and I will strive with things impossible.” -Shakespeare

I sat in my workroom enjoying the coos, caws and whistling sibilants offered up by a particularly busy choir of birds. Directly across from the mess that cluttered my desk was a display of more than 100 medals that were awarded to my wife for her success in completing marathons, half-marathons mimi-tris and other races. The sustained effort of years of training and miles of race running made me think about the different things that sustain us in life…the actions that – when repeated – make our lives better. The mixture of motivation, goal setting, hard work and seemingly impossible distances creates the powerful cocktail that brings “quality” to my wife’s life. What seems like madness and obsession to the casual observer, actually sustains her and gives her joy.

I have been sustained by other things.

My runs have been on different roads, runs toward and away from myself in search of meaning. Most of these trips are internal and no course maps are available for reference. I can’t plan for the hills and valleys or eat enough carbs to see me through. I have to start and face life’s changes as they come. Soon, I discovered that the running itself is the important thing, more important than any destination. Because of my wife, I use a lot of running terminology to actually explain my race. I certainly see my spiritual enquiries as training and the occasional insight as a kind of runner’s high. I share my wife’s appreciation for what she sees as her goal. It isn’t medals or even fitness but “to finish standing up and smiling.” When frustration sets in and insight seems impossible, remembering that goal allows me to press on.

In my religion days, a line from the Rule of Saint Benedict drove me: “run while you have the light of life…what can be sweeter?” For those who face their own rough roads I can say that the act of moving toward the light is where the joy is. Maybe you are going to your church, or your fellowship meeting or maybe you are working to feed your kids but the point remains the same. Keep running.

When I did half-marathons my coach told me that any race consists of 10% physical ability and 90% mental toughness. He said, “your body will do almost anything you ask it to do. The important thing is to control your attitude. You must never allow yourself to talk yourself into quitting.”

So, this one is for the seekers and the long distance runners of the soul. Continue your training and extend your run with joy.

What could be sweeter?

After a week in one of California’s more famous desert locations, insights regarding desert life began to coalesce around the image of a magical layer cake. The desert is composed of layers -of types of people- that find the desert home. There is also the icing and the fancy decor common to a well structured cake. I also thought of western writer Louis Lamour who counseled, ” you can’t fight the desert. You have to ride with it.” So I took the ride and started to unpack the idea of the desert cake.

The base layer of the confection seems to be the level of the “desert rat,” the person who was born and bred to desert life. These people are at home in the environment. They carry knives at their belt (“for critters”) and they never make reference to the heat or the loneliness…they simply ride with it through a landscape that is their natural home.

Layer two is the land of the eremite- the hermit- the folks who are seekers that have come from elsewhere and are seeking everything from peace to a new start. These people are perfectly described by writer Edward Abbey: ” what draws them into the desert is the search for something intimate in the remote.” They have left their old life with intention; they are the desert’s Essenes, living in metaphorical caves seeking enlightenment. They often have a desert stare that looks to the horizon.

Layer three is made of artists and artistes that come for creative inspiration and a quiet place to pursue their art. Musicians, painters, sculptors, photographers, actors and writers are all about and contacts with them are always interesting. They name their children Magpie, Mars, Cave or Harley as they spurn the conventional and look for something powerful and creative. The intimacy they seek is largely an internal one …a relationship with their creative energy that flourishes in the desert.

The next layer is composed of visitors and tourists who come for simple reasons like a break from the city, moments of silence, or the basic simplicity that can only be found outside their everyday contexts.

These are the basic ingredients of the cake assembled in the desert. It is now time to add the icing and decoration.

The icing is clearly the stunning natural beauty that is all around. We are reminded by every travelogue, book or film that the, “desert is full of life” and that is certainly true. The desert is rich with snakes, bobcats, road runners, a million insects, scorpions , birds and fabulous people. The place is teeming with animal energy. It is the cake served on a special occasion…an experience to remember. Beautiful vistas are everywhere.

So, the cake is assembled and iced.

The final decorations -the sprinkles and flowers-come from the fact that we went to the desert to be present for the birth of our fifth grandchild, a little girl that is our newest angel. We enjoyed the cake but we really loved the rose that decorated it.

You can’t beat the desert if you want a treat.

America’s diseased relationship with firearms prompts us to reconsider many things, including our ideas of obscenity and fetishism and to seek a redefinition of mental illness and cultural delusion. Defining the “problem with guns” get us from a place of confusion and doubt. We need a working diagnosis and a rigorous treatment plan if we hope to recover. The dogma, denial and delusion we are subjected to sufficiently clouds our thinking to the point of despair. It is nearly impossible to understand the pathology in all of its subtlety. The patient-our civil society- is in critical condition.

Nonsense phrases and chop logic does not help. We are subjected to stupidities like “good guys with guns”, “hardened targets” and ” mental illness ” as we scramble to understand. What we are loathe to confront is the complexity and malevolence of America’s gun disease. Guns have become a fetish and GUNLOVE has become so normalized that we fail to understand its crippling insanity. The idea of the fetish is not the common one with sexual overtones only but also, it is the belief that a gun is, “an object believed to possess magical powers to protect.” We fail to appreciate the destructive power of firearms. Many gun owners have justified their ownership of their arsenals to the point that assault rifles are objects of ornamentation, accessories to be worn as an indication of their personal power and control. Guns are a part of one’s outfit and they appear on our streets and in family photographs.

The myth that guns will protect you is a powerful one. Many own guns because of the same thinking that motivates one to stockpile toilet paper or food staples…because of the sense that these items will be needed and that they will provide protection against horrible outcomes. No one wants a dirty bum or the pangs of hunger so stockpiling is justified. Defense against a takeover by government, the attacks of criminal elements or constraints on individual freedom are just a few justifications for arming oneself to the teeth.

Guns do not often protect us. A co-worker of mine once told me that she bought a 9mm automatic pistol for “personal protection.” when I asked her where she kept it she informed me that it was in the trunk of her car in a locked case – rapid response -effective protection – was impossible. She agreed, but said, “I feel better knowing that it’s there.” What gun owner will stand up to a bad government (as referenced in the second amendment) that is armed with switchblade drones and heavy armor? None. How often have gun owners inadvertently armed their attackers?

The patient – The United States – is critically ill from an overdose of GUNLOVE. We need a full range of treatment for survival. All treatment modalities need to be explored from gun buybacks, assault weapons bans, background checks to a new constitutional amendment have to be real possibilities or we will lose the patient. As Eliot Spitzer said succinctly, “Yes, people pull the trigger -but guns are the instrument of death. Gun control is necessary, and delay means more death and horror.”

We have placed these issues largely in the hands of the nation’s senior leadership and they must act. STAT. If we don’t upgrade our healthy interventions we will drown in a sea of blood.

The next time a I hear a series of loud pops I hope it is not the sound signature of an automatic weapon but the sound that results form our leaders collectively pulling their heads out of their asses. We must put an end to the obscenity of GUNLOVE.

The patient may yet survive.

Recent assaults on the truth and the alarming descent into violence that we are experiencing make it clear that we will go to any length and contort ourselves in an alarming way to avoid discomfort. One of our least favorite-and must painful -states is feeling shame. Shame is that painful feeling of humiliation, distress and disappointment that comes when expectations are not met, when we are socially awkward , or downright foolish. It is the consciousness that we are not what we appear, or hope to be.

It is important to focus on the idea of consciousness when we think of shame and to realize that shame can be a necessary to step toward improvement . Rather than a grisly form of self-punishment, shame can be seen as a catalyst for positive change.

We are in trouble when we try to deny that this emotion is present or that is an unfair reaction to our behavior. There is much to be ashamed about.

I see so many people dealing with shame by denying its existence ..and its usefulness. Indeed, “they feel no shame” is a statement that places a person on the fringe and suggests a person has no integrity, or honor. In fact scores of people get very angry when they should be ashamed and we are burdened with their rage, their idiotic conflations and their need to stigmatize. We see the suggestion that stupidity is as valuable as education , that whole groups of people are pedophiles and that social norms of any kind have no meaning. When a person refuses to own and adapt to their own shame , they are unable to take advantage of the call to action that shame so clearly implies.

A nation without shame is a nation without honor and self respect. To avoid discomfort about our own-or our nation’s- checkered past we will go to great lengths such as banning books, sneering at critical race theory, demeaning minority populations and objectifying women. In committing these acts we get to escape our own shame and return to our unaware state of comfort. In Germany, every student is taught about the Holocaust…not because they are targeted for guilt but for the purpose of ensuring that their generation does better that those that preceded it. We are now banning books in the interest of somnambulate comfort. Oscar Wilde tells us why:” the books that the world calls immoral are books that show the world its own shame.”

Shame, like pains of all sorts should be a call to action , an instructive agent that leads us to a better state . Shame is the pain in your chest that motivates you to see a cardiologist. The medicine for change is the truth.

We will be uncomfortable for a while but shame needs to be a first step on the road to recovery.

We will need courage to own our shame and even more to learn from it.

We have good reason to be ashamed and even more compelling reasons to do better.

I listened for more than an hour to a friend who rolled out a huge carpet of anxiety, grievance and fear . This was not a mere jeremiad but a sharing of multiple anxieties that were so powerful that his health – his survival-seemed to be at stake. Made me think that there is no state more universal among humans as anxiety. Plato once observed that, “nothing in the affairs of men is worthy of great anxiety.” Sounds good, but anxiety is a constant companion of most of us.

When you try to understand the etiology of anxiety you are confronted with the fact that its causality is both multiple and nuanced. Trauma, relationship difficulties, economic downturns, health conditions, and genetics are all contributors. It seems impossible to escape anxiety and even harder to “cure” it when it occurs. The good news is that there are adaptations that make anxiety bearable.

Perhaps the crudest attempts to damp down the generalized, low grade fears that haunt us have to do with medications. Anti-depressants and anti -psychotics are readily available as are the cruder options of narcotics and booze. This is not a likely solution that will give relief for many years. Gentler techniques are available. When my ballplayers were frozen in fear by the randomness of a game’s outcomes and the pressure to perform, our coaches taught techniques that help with achieving a calm focus. Many of the applications seem so basic that they seem infantile. Strangely, they all worked for a variety of people in a variety of circumstances.

Here are some of the things we shared:

1) the 3/3/3 RULE – This was simple …look around the stadium and consciously name 3 things…identify three odors in the environment (hot dogs, sweat, cut grass ) …move three body parts (fingers, toes, arm). Remarkably, the effect was calming.

2) COMBAT BREATHING – The suggestion was to take three breaths with a 9 second inhale and a 9 second exhale… this will lower the heart rate every time.

3) POINT FIXING (not the betting kind) We suggested finding a point in the stadium and fixing attention upon it for 15 seconds. Having found your point of focus, return to it when things get dicey.

4) MEDITATION – l loved it when an opposing coach looked into our bullpen and saw the day’s pitchers sitting quietly with eyes closed occasionally changing grips on a ball they held in their hands.

5) VISUALIZATION – Most are familiar with the technique of visualizing performance need and desired outcomes.

6) RITUAL – Simply repeating certain movements time after time can moderate fear.

We can not live in an anxiety free world without randomness, bad outcomes and many other terrors that loom, but there are tools to adapt to the uncertainty. Like all adaptations some are healthy and some are not but freezing in place is not the only option.

Finally, my friend was done with his talk and asked me for advice. I shared a quote from the poet Longfellow…”The best thing to do when it is raining, is to let it rain.”

The storm will pass.

I was asked recently about the years I spent coaching baseball and my “coaching philosophy.” I felt that the question was… what are you doing out there? I see the role of a coach in so many ways that picking just one is difficult, so I went to the earliest days of my coaching years and remembered one of my favorite understandings.

It is easy-even facile- to see the talent in others as diamonds in the rough. There are many subtleties in this simile/metaphor that become available when you are entrusted with the task of taking a milky , darkish stone and bringing forth the brilliant sparkle that lies within.

The first steps in refining the gem of talent is a process that diamond professionals call bruting. In this process, the rough stone is worked against a diamond edged drill to re-cut the natural stone to a workable shape. It is no surprise that the never-ending repetitive exercises we do in practice are called drills. The goal of bruting is to take a stone to a point where it is ready for polishing.

The polish comes from working with teammates and coaches to forge a common purpose. In this phase coaches evaluate talent and place that talent where it is most likely to succeed. Players run situational scenarios to the point of exhaustion. Confucius is a good source for the polisher: ” the gem cannot be polished without friction nor man perfected without trials.” We learn to hit cutoffs. make quick catch -to -throw transfers, run the bases, to play as a team.

Next we call in the lapidary that prepares each individual stone for a cutting that will reveal individual brilliance. This stage is the fine work of throw angles. release points, secondary leads , foot placements and eye disciplines. In this effort, character is revealed. and clarity is achieved. In diamond production these are called color and clarity because new facets are revealed in the process and new discoveries often occur. These discoveries occur because very small talents are being measured , often for the first time. Players are often surprised by their own speed and range.

Last comes the job of every coach …brillianting. After all the basic work is done, the brillianteer will cut the final facets and add a final polish that makes a beautiful gem. This phase often includes life lessons, focus techniques and team philosophies. It is pretty amazing that almost anyone can see a finished product instantly. A player with no rough spots , substantial weight, clarity and color is very hard to hide.

When I started coaching many years ago I relied on certain authors to help me refine my own skills. There were the classics from Delmonico, Polk, House and others but one of my favorites was The Four C’s Of Life by Terilyn Goins. Cut, color , clarity, carats (weight) were good concepts to apply to coaching.

Because all of my players were gems.

Typically, many things are happening all at once. Baseball is fairly underway and I am launched into my seventh decade. Most of us have a few spiritual texts that give us consolation and direction at this time of our lives. I have used the works of Thich Nhat Hanh , Rumi, Meister Eckhart , the Bible, the Dalai Lama, Victor Frankl and others to find a working path and plan. Recently I’ve added The Baseball Dictionary compiled by Paul Dickson. Dickson’s work is full of life-explaining information and working metaphors.

Dickson has led me to the idea of the Morning Glory…the guy who shines only in the first half of the season and then fades after the All Star Break. I don’t want to be that guy.

I don’t want to be a bag puncher that was a success playing stoop ball in the early days and then quits when the challenge of aging comes along. I know a lot of high school heroes that peaked at eighteen and are now just hanging around, riding life’s pine. My fond hope is to stay in the game even if we go to extra innings.

I don’t want to be a citizen of Squeedunk, the place you enter when you find yourself at the bottom of the division-out of contention. So I scramble to find energy and remain relevant. The good news is that many of my contemporaries are doing the same thing. Loneliness -at least- is not a problem.

So…a big shout out to all of my Geezer teammates who are trying new things, hitting the gym, volunteering, starting a hobby and stealing bases. Cheers to those who still play the running game in the late innings.

Don’t be a Morning Glory. Strive for perennial status.

We are just now sitting down to the feast of fun that is a baseball season. I began to gather some of the names and phrases that remind us how the game nourishes us. On the menu, you will find crackerjacks, cashews, Brownies, apple knockers, eggs and bat doughnuts. Players sporting names like Lemon, Strawberry, Salmon and Wheat will give us fans something from all the major food groups. Pitchers will throw cheese or meatballs depending on the quality of their pitches on a given day.

Mr. Mustard – the teams’ hot dog – will strut around the base until he gets the turkey. Yes, home plate was nicknamed the turkey in the early days of the game, presumable because home is where you had your annual turkey feast. For dessert, we can nosh on the memory of the M&M boys in the Bronx or watch a relief pitcher serve a cantaloupe with two on and nobody out.

Other nutrients can be found. Bob Brenly, a catcher for the San Francisco Giants, was once asked abut his propensity for committing errors and he said, ” I’m making vitamins…you know, one a day.”

When a Tissue-paper Tom comes to bat, he probably will not baste anything. More likely the banana stalk in his hands will shatter when the cheese hits it. We just hope he shows a little tabasco when he’s in the game.

Yep, I am more than ready for the many flavors of the game. It doesn’t matter if some Wilson (glove) Pickett (good play) takes a hit from my favorite player; it will not be a shame if the home team looses. The great news is that the table is set and we all get to dig in.

Bon Appetite and Play Ball!

I try to write these posts with some frequency and a splash of insight but lately I am often stymied by a lack of inspiration. I convince myself that I have nothing to say that might delight or instruct, that it is better to say nothing at all. I convince myself that my passivity comes from age or cognitive limitations or any other reason that helps me to disengage. Recent feelings of disconnection and ennui have forced me to explore the nature of creativity in general and of inspiration in particular.

The rather numinous energy that we call inspiration comes from different sources for different creators. Clearly the word itself prompts thoughts of breath, an intake of energy that motivates doing. Inspiration has often been seen as, “the divine breath” or “the breath of life.” The Hebrews and Greeks of the early ages have single words that describe this inhale of divine energy. The Hebrew word is “Rauch” meaning spirit, breath or wind. This word appears in Genesis to describe the divine energy that inspires. The Greeks use “pneuma” in a similar way and they even coined a better term, “Theopneust” which means, given by inspiration of the spirit of God. Inspiration is seen as divinely sourced.

For others, inspiration is seen as a cosmic energy that travels from the universe to the individual with precise targeting. Some see the energy of inspiration as stunningly random, a kind of force field that a person might luckily wander into. It is seen as magic and ephemeral. There are others that suggest that inspiration is simply the result of lifestyle…of excellent REM sleep and a healthy diet.

All of these interpretations seem lacking so I persisted in seeking other sources. After readings, googling and discussions I finally stumbled on something that made sense to me. It came from Pablo Picasso who said, “inspiration exists but it has to find you working. “

Picasso’s insight suggest that inspiration is the result of some level of effort. The energy of inspiration can be tapped by those who pursue their craft with their own energy and purpose. So cheers to those artists and others that are in their “studios” seeking the next best thing.

People who serve with a pure love of striving are inspirational indeed.