What I must do is all that concerns me, not what the people think. This rule, equally arduous in actual and in intellectual life, may serve for the whole distinction between greatness and meanness. It is the harder because you will always find those who think they know what is your duty better than you know it. It is easy in the world to live after the world’s opinion; it is easy in solitude to live after our own; but the great man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

I have struggled, lately, to follow Emerson’s advice. I guess I let the world around me — especially the social media world — derail my focus that keeps me centered in solitude while immersed in the big crowd. I had to leave that crowd for a week to regroup, gather some strength, and resurface.

I don’t see anything wrong with that. I think we need to take a walkabout every now and then to find that focus again. It’s easy to be so derailed in the mind-blowing speed of the world that now whips around us.

I am blessed to have a friend who never ceases to provide a balanced dose of wisdom when I need it the most. Last week, as we were doing a ten-mile bike ride on the NCR Trail in northern Baltimore County, I was explaining to Trina why I deactivated my Facebook account.

“I needed to find that balance, Trina. I needed to get back to that core, that center and refocus.”

She didn’t respond immediately, but when she finally spoke, her words nearly made me steer completely off the trail and into the muddy trenches.

“Finding balance is not always a 50-50 thing. You just have to find the right percentages of the different things in your life that create that balance within you.”

Such simple advice, yet so very profound.

I don’t need to remove parts of my life that are causing me stress or concern; I need to evaluate how much I have allowed those things to permeate my every move. Social media is a perfect example. I realized, just in one week, how important my friends are to me online, and how essential those connections are for the work I am doing with Lines of Love, the fight against bullying, and the promotion of peace and living life fully.

Despite my efforts — even in one week — to do that without social media seemed like the worst exercise in futility I could ever attempt.

And so I am back, with my tail tucked a little between my legs, for being so dramatic with my parting. But at that time, I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t find that anchor to pull me out of that frustration, so I gave up and gave in.

This message to me is much bigger than social media, too. I am overwhelmed by the travesties and tragedies on our planet, taking place every single day. Yet, I choose to stay in the game, fighting back with love and faith. I must do the same thing online — have the same understanding that, in the not-so-little world of online social networking, the same travesties and tragedies are happening.

By giving in, by giving up, I am giving them the satisfaction (indirectly so) that they got to me. They pushed me away. And in that, they gained some strength.

I won’t give them that satisfaction. And I hope you won’t either. We cannot run from the hardest challenges we face; we must greet them and defeat them with the same loving kindness that nurtured us when we were newborns.

We must keep with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude as we live in this world, real or virtual (are they even that different anymore?).

And to do that, we need to be together, we need to unite, we need to run into — and not away from — the challenges we face.

All this, and with a happy heart to embrace life fully and with peace toward ourselves as well as toward others.

Just a few days ago, the ten-year anniversary of a good friend’s passing, Donnon (We bid you goodnight, good friend), kicked off the season for me, with upcoming anniversaries of the deaths of my own parents, as well as my wife’s and the “second sets” of parents whom I spent so much time, in April, May, and June. Eight deaths in a 3-month span.

That’s why this is so hard for me. Outside, there is faith in the flowers, the blossoming of a new season, and the promise of rebounding life and love once again. Inside my heart, though, I feel deeply in touch with those whom I have had to say goodbye in these same spring-like days.

So now, on this very very specific day of Spring’s arrival, it is also the birthday of a wonderful individual I never knew: Jennifer Cakert. Jennifer, like Donnon, died at a very young age. She passed away nearly six years ago (another passing in June), and yet, her spirit and energy still remain deeply within me, just like Donnon’s.

It is inexplicable. And yet, I do not question it. There is chi here that, for whatever reason, drives me to do many of the things I do.

On the one-year anniversary of Jennifer’s death, I wrote a memorial to her on my blog that, for reasons I cannot even begin to comprehend, is so very serendipitous of the events that are coming up in the next few months. After rereading this blog, she shares a birthday with another individual whom I have never met, yet who may play a key role in helping donate some of my photos for the upcoming Jan-Ai Scholarship Event in October.

I am absolutely convinced that the Universe provides opportunities for healing, for love, for guidance and for faith. These passings, these anniversaries, these birthdays, they have all fallen at a time of year of rebirth, of renewal, of life and hope and love springing eternal.

I have faith in a seed. I have faith in the blossoming buds on the dogwoods, the cherry blossoms, and the magnolias.

But most of all, I have faith in the love in my heart from the passing of loved ones, the kindness and energy of those I have never met, and the belief that something greater exists beyond these very thoughts and emotions.

I have faith. I believe. I love. You.

Today is my 47th birthday.  I have been blessed with 17,166 days — opportunities — to experience and share life and love in this world. When I reflect on the lives lost in those 47 years — friends, family, students, mentors, I cannot be too grateful to be here today, to use this moment and this opportunity to cherish all that is before me.

17,166. That’s a lot of opportunities to embrace life.

So, on this 17,166th day, I share some of the things I’ve learned along the way (10, to be exact; it seemed more reasonable than sharing 17,166 things–or even 47–that I have learned…). Some are deep, and some defy gravity. Please join me in celebrating this day by adding to the list. What have you learned along your journey so far?

1. This moment is the only sure thing. Joan Didion, in The Year of Magical Thinking, shared her journey following the sudden death of her husband in their kitchen in the middle of chopping vegetables for dinner. In her book, she writes, “Life changes in the instant. The ordinary instant.” I do not need to look to tomorrow or back at yesterday to find my peace. It is right here, right in this very moment.
2. Nature provides infinite energy. There’s chi — energy — in nature that we rarely take the time to tap into. And yet, what it offers us is unlimited strength balanced with graceful humility. We need to spend more time outside and less time in our heads.
3. Finding our muse means discovering unlimited energy. I have learned that our muse contains a limitless supply of energy and spirit. Every time we write, sketch, paint, sing… we tap into something greater than our little minds. We bypass thought and enter a higher realm of spiritual possibility. Why is it unlimited? Because we will never be able to capture something that is so much greater than we will ever be able to comprehend…
4. It is our choice what we cherish in our relationships, present and past. Forty-seven years is a long time to have friendships and relationships with many individuals. Not all of them are going to necessarily turn out the way you once envisioned or planned. But what we take from them is our choice. I have learned to treasure those moments that have defined the very essence of those relationships; anything less diminishes our efforts to live authentically and fully.
5. Smiles really are contagious. Whether I am offering a smile, or I am the lucky recipient of one, it centers me. The simple effort to smile for others can change everything for that person — as well as you — in that single act.
6. There is movement in our stillness. The social media revolution in the last five or six years has replaced so much of our time simply being still. Our eyes are barely open before we are checking our phones for text messages, Facebook updates, and breaking news over our RSS feeds. We run for 18-20 hours with our phones glued to the palm of our hand, and we “unplug” just minutes before we go to sleep. We need to bring back the moments of stillness in our lives so that we might move toward a more healthy, balanced life. Scheduling “unplugged” time for ourselves is necessary and essential.
7. Darkness exists in deceptive, evil ways. I’ve seen it. Felt it. Witnessed it. As is true with the Yin/Yang symbol, there is as much evil as there is good out there. Being aware of it diminishes its hold on us.
8. We are never alone. Those dark days find us. Sometimes, they even consume us in such a way that makes us feel as if we are in an inescapable abyss. But even in these moments, I have learned that we are never alone. Whether it is the fact that these dark moments are felt by so many others (and most never show it) or that there are people who care for us and love us, there is always someone just on the other side of that darkness who is there unconditionally.
9. Walking is as beneficial to the soul as writing. Henry David Thoreau wrote in his essay, “Walking,” “I think that I cannot preserve my health and spirits, unless I spend four hours a day at least — and it is commonly more than that — sauntering through the woods and over the hills and fields, absolutely free from all worldly engagements.” To walk four or more hours a day! I am happy to walk an hour in the woods. Taking the time to connect with nature and clear your thoughts is better than any man-made remedy I can ever imagine.
10. Love is always the answer. Whether it is love for ourselves, love for others, or love for the natural world, there is no better remedy for whatever ails. When The Beatles sang “All You Need Is Love” way back in June of 1967, they did not take this sentiment lightly. And, many years later, Ringo commented on the fact that this is not something that we can just talk about. We have to live it. Believe in it. Even work hard at it.

If I have learned anything, it is that Love is always the answer. For you, for me, for we, for always.

As the sun began to rise this morning, and I sat along the banks of the Loch Raven Reservoir taking random photos of the water and the wildlife, I was struck with a thought that I had forgotten long ago.

With the exception of a few runners passing by who were training for an upcoming race, I felt as if every image, every sound was my own. My immersion in the natural world seemed seamless. I let the bright, early rays of the sun find their way in and through me, as well as the sounds of the splish-splash waters, where drops remained suspended in mid-air, caught by the strong winds as several Canadian geese took flight. Then– to feel those very drops of water as that same steady breeze, cool and brisk, blew my way and mixed with the warmth of the sun’s intensity on my skin.

Alive, was all I could think. Alive.

It was in that moment that I remembered that I am not separate from all of this. It is easy for us to think there are two worlds out there: the natural and the man-made. Although it may be true that a clear distinction exists between the two, there is one element of each that is constant: the human being.

Unlike our man-made creations, we as individuals are not separate from the natural world. We are as much a part of it as the rising sun, the startled deer, the daffodils that have all awakened a bit early in these deceptively warm February days. We made the mistake long ago to separate ourselves from the beauty and the spirit of the natural world. On mornings like this, I feel reconnected to the energy we are all provided.

It’s always here, everywhere, for us to access. All we need to do is realize that we have the power and the opportunity to open the door, step outside, and realize that, in this morning, this moment, anything is possible.

I was struck this morning by the satellite image of the three storms brewing in the Atlantic Ocean. The National Hurricane Center is predicting an above-average likelihood for storms to hit the east coast this year, making the stretch between North Carolina and Massachusetts as likely to get hit as Florida or the other Gulf Coast states.

Seeing this image reminded me immediately of Van Gogh’s Starry Night. It doesn’t take a trained eye to see the similarities.

Some things are timeless, aren’t they? Take away the cell phones and iPads and Facebook and Skype, and you are left with a certain kindred spirit shared with Nature. It’s in us, all the time, waiting to be tapped, accessed, embraced.

Now, I’m fairly sure that Vincent didn’t have some kind of psychical experience with the Hurricane Center, tapping into some yet-to-fly satellites capturing the swirling beauty of the giants in our oceans. No. He probably wasn’t event thinking about hurricanes at all.

But the patterns are apparent in all of nature — the whirls and swirls of the winds, the rains, the energy and spirit running like a meandering current around rocks and banks and all things between.

It’s a universal image, when we stop long enough to see it. Maybe even feel it, too.

School starts up for me on Monday. I resume teaching English 12 Honors after a five-year hiatus, and at times I have let the needs overwhelm me. It is at these times that I feel like it’s me against some other force — time, perhaps. Maybe that won’t-go-away pressure to be perfect all the time.

What will they think if they walk into my room and things don’t look polished and positively sterile?

They’ll probably think that things are as they have always been, for sure.

That’s why I am grateful that I am keeping at least a small channel open in my mind to see the beauty in things like a weather map so that it may serve as a reminder to me, in some way, that I can’t fight or resist; I can only recognize the natural patterns surrounding me, then make a decision about whether to Flow or Go.

That’s all any of us can do. Everything else breeds resistance and resentment, and none of us has the time to waste on such nonsense.

Stop, feel the whirls and swirls around you, and act: Flow or Go?

Suddenly, your life will never be the same. . . .

Your provide a little space in your life, some breathing room, some opportunity for clarity, and the reason why we’re here presents itself….clearly.

I’ve spent most of the weekend NOT running here or there, grading this or that, but rather reading, writing, biking, spending time with old friends, family, and some new friends that I’m looking forward to seeing again soon. As James Taylor offers in his song, “That Lonesome Road,” I’ve taken the time to close my mouth and open my eyes, to cool my head and warm my heart.

The difference between the song and me is that I’m doing it now, before it’s too late.

I was lucky to get through these last few years relatively unscathed. I put my body through unrelenting challenges, and I know that I have suffered for it. I am grateful for the chance to do all that I’ve done, but really–there’s no need to put myself or my body through that kind of punishment ever again.

So I write to you tonight, on a late Sunday evening, with the air conditioner blowing coolly on me to wick away the beads of sweat that had formed on my face. I write to you with a prayer, a wish, a hope that you, too, will slow down. open your eyes, warm your heart, and live genuinely and peacefully. It’s not too late.

I have a lot of work to do in rebooting my health, but I know that it’s possible. Thank God for these moments of clarity.

Now…To stay close to the center and hold on to it–

I’m ready.

Good Sunday, everyone.

A few days ago, I arrived home and was greeted by my screaming son, who wanted to know if I saw the praying mantis outside. I told him that I did not, and just as quickly as he told me all about the green-brown bug standing sentry by the front door. he vanished and resumed playing with his sister.

It wasn’t until we were ready to head out for dinner when he remembered about the bug by the door. He eagerly awaited the chance to run outside and check to see if he was still there. To my surprise, he was.

The praying mantis is such a good subject to photograph because they are amazingly still (much like the great blue heron I shot in yesterday’s post). I did not enlarge this photo at all. He was positioned and poised beautifully, and I felt like I had all the time in the world to get this shot (and a few others, which I will post at another time).

But that’s it, right? Positioned and poised beautifully. Stillness. Taking the time to savor even a few of the many moments in our hectic lives.

On this Sunday, may we all make the time to position ourselves with beautiful poise. The rest of the day may very well be filled with moments enriched with greater love.

I’ve always been fascinated with Chinese characters, and the symbol for Tranquility is one that means a great deal to me.

Quite literally, the symbol depicts male dominance in the Chinese tradition, where the smaller symbol of a man’s “roof” hovers over the symbol for “woman.”

I like the explanation provided in The Spirit of the Chinese Character, by Barbara Aria. She writes, “…[the symbol] has a richer meaning, reflecting the parallel between microcosm and macrocosm. Just as a harmonious relationship between man and woman brings tranquility to the heart, peace comes when universal energies are in harmony—the forceful, creative energy of heaven above, and the gentle, receptive energy of the earth below.”

Growing up in the Chesapeake Bay region, I have lived my life surrounded by the more natural forces of tranquility, as land and water constantly battle for domination among the brackish tributaries of Chesapeake. I know. That sounds so contradictory, doesn’t it? Talking about forces and battles and domination when it comes to tranquility just seems so…unnatural.

Tranquility, though, is rooted in discipline and respect; it is the reward for the efforts put forth to achieve such a balance.

The hard part, of course, is reminding ourselves that the battle to find that balance is well worth the tranquility that follows.

My wife is gifted in the kitchen; she has the patience and natural talent to take somebody’s culinary creation and make it her own. It doesn’t come without a great deal of labor, though. She might spend hours contemplating the right spices—and their exact amounts—to compliment the main ingredient and make the meal just exactly perfect.

After all the hard work is over and we finally sit down at the table to enjoy the meal, we savor the labor and the sweat used to reach such perfection. Tranquility achieved.

Tranquility does not come without that hard work. We all yearn to find that peaceful view atop that faraway mountain or shore when the sun descends into the horizon, leaving us breathless; we forget the labor it took to take the long walk to get there in the first place.

As writers, we face that battle all the time, struggling through drafts and revisions to reach that moment of order where our writing might be considered even marginally close to providing a sense of tranquility for our readers. There’s nothing more comforting than finishing a good story and appreciating that order, that balance. We forget about the struggles the writer went through to achieve such balance.

As individuals, though, we don’t get the opportunity to display our “final drafts” of who we are on a daily basis. We live our lives in draft mode, battling that balance in full view to find those rare moments of tranquility as a result of our hard work to find that balance. Understanding that we are all in “draft mode” striving for that balance, that tranquility, might make us all a little more aware that our friends and loved ones (and even those we struggle with) are not too different from who we are.

We’re all just trying to get it right. We’re all looking for that moment that takes our breath away.

Let’s help each other breathe, so that we may enjoy the tranquility of being breathless.

Thank God for stop lights.

If you are like me, it’s not hard to get caught up in the whirlwind of life, sweeping you off your feet as you try desperately to keep up with family, work, and various social networks—real and virtual—that matter a great deal to you. In fact, we often get swept off our feet without even realizing it—sometimes for months or even years at a time. Our lives seem out of control, a pinball being smacked from bumper to bumper, rolling at unimaginable speeds toward the next event. Sadly, we don’t even know that we need to slow down.

But stop lights. They remind us the importance of seizing 30 seconds of silence to reclaim a fraction of what is most important in our lives. And, perhaps even more important, to take an inventory of the signals we’re sending out to others.

That is, if we choose to slow down.

Yesterday, with a car filled with family, I pulled up to a red light and felt myself wondering autonomously how to use that half-minute. Instinctively, I checked my Blackberry for incoming messages (with my Twitter feeds, there’s always something to read), took a sip of Coke Zero, skipped over a few songs on my iPod playlist, and half-heartedly nodded to something my wife was saying.

Really—I had no idea what she was talking about. I was too busy pushing buttons and making the most of my red-light pit-stop.

Or was I?

My daughter was saying something in the back seat, too. I glanced up into the mirror to give her a reassuring glance and nod, and started to return to my stare at the red light and begin the countdown: five…four….three…

But as I turned to look ahead, I caught a glimpse of my eyes in the rearview mirror. They were insanely intense, creased with crow’s feet with a heavy brow jutting forward in some Neanderthal-like manner.

I didn’t even recognize myself. Worse, I was shocked that I was sharing this face with those whom I loved the most.

Maybe we were all going through the motions a little—they, hopeful that someone would care; me, participating in the physical aspects of conversation; all of us, moving at the speed of light in our own little worlds, ignorant of the other life-pulses around us, just inches away.

I barely had a second to exhale and relax the muscles in my face before the light turned green, and I had to go forward once again. But that time between lights, I thought about the signals I’m sharing with the world when I let the whirlwind sweep me up.

I know this might sound crazy, but the only thing that I regret about the way I behaved during my mother’s funeral two years ago was the signal I was sending out to others at the service as I walked to and from the altar to deliver the eulogy. My face was tense; I remember thinking to myself that the message I was telling others was one of pain, sorrow, intensity.

I wanted to tell them peace, patience, gratitude, love.

At the next stop light, I put my hands in my lap and looked into my wife’s eyes while she talked about paint colors for our bedroom as well as for our daughters’—tea green for ours, a lighter, melon green for theirs. Suddenly, but without her realizing it, I think, her face relaxed a little, and she shared more about painting this weekend despite a hectic schedule.

The tweets could wait, the song was just fine, and my face relaxed.

And this time, when the light turned green, we were all going forward together, despite the whirlwind that nagged and tugged all around us. We can live our busy lives, align with the latest technology, and communicate instantaneously with the virtual masses that wait on the other side of our Blackberries and laptops. But we must also live our lives sharing peace, patience, gratitude, and love every chance we get.

Take the 30-second life check as often as you can, and offer the world the love so desperately sought. You may very well be the red light someone needs to make a change in his or her own wonderful world—a change that will last long after that light turns green.