Category Archives: Personal Growth

Christmas Present

Posted by dkrashb on
Tisen in his super-dog cape proving a dog can never have too many Lamp Chops
The sunrising over the neighborhood Christmas morning
Super Dog to the rescue when help was “needed” passing gifts
My nephew humoring me by wearing one of his silly stocking stuffers from me
My other nephew and his friend likewise indulging my sense of humor
Caught cat-napping on the dog bed (it was the only way to keep Tisen off the couch)

Regardless of which version of history you believe and what holiday(s) you do or do not celebrate, I think it’s worthwhile to have a “winding down” of the year during which we shift focus from frenzied work and socialization to calm time with family and friends–and with ourselves in quiet reflection.

For me, it goes kind of like this:  work extra hard for weeks getting ready to be (mostly) out of the office; run like mad for a couple of days to get ready to go visit family; spend a day traveling; relax, unwind, and enjoy being with people I love for a day and a half; discover when I relax that I am exhausted and require frequent naps; spend a day traveling back home; collapse and relax (relatively) quietly until New Year’s Eve, reflecting on the past year and working on some sort of self-discovery that I optimistically believe will lead to life-improvement.

The time with family and the week “off” between Christmas and New Year’s Eve are the times that matter most to me.  I’ve given up on massive consumerism in favor of minimizing the gifts and enjoying the visit.  For gifts, I go with silly stocking stuffers and money for my college-aged nephews.

Tisen is the only one I go overboard on.  I bought him a fleece that fits him like a dress, a bigger Lamb Chop, and some treats.  He’s easy to buy for and he thinks every gift is perfect.

Oddly, now that Christmas is so much easier (stocking stuffers for 4 and money for 2; I don’t even do cards anymore), it’s less enjoyable.  Having removed the majority of the consumerism from the holiday seems to have also removed much of the potential thrill.

After all, the best gift I ever got wasn’t a gift I received, it was the gift of having thought of the perfect gift for someone else.  It truly is the thought that counts–but I want the thought to be “I know you; I see you; I love you as you are.” Not “you really need this thing you’ve never heard of because I think you do.”  Or, “I have no idea what you would want, so thank you for making a list.”

Gone is the feeling of connectedness and belonging that comes along with knowing someone else so well or at least having paid close enough attention that you came up with that perfect gift for them.

On the flip side, after years of failing to think of the perfect gift for the people I love, I go in with realistic expectations and come out without disappointment.

Perhaps the secret is not tying the spiritual calming of year end reflection and time with loved ones to gift giving.  Perhaps we could give gifts when the perfect idea presents itself instead of based on a date on the calendar.  Then the only problem is if the perfect idea never comes.

Tail Wag

Posted by dkrashb on
Tisen cuddling with Lamb Chop because I’m too busy working to provide a lap
The moon on a windy night as clouds moved in; off-camera flash used to light the foreground plants
Venus about to be overtaken by cloud cover shortly after sunset; off camera flash used to light the foreground grasses
Cell tower, fog, and highway traffic
Parking lot lights in heavy fog

The other night,  I sat at my desk trying to wrap up a few last things.  My dog decided I had already been working too long.  He came over, tail wagging, playfully bouncing, and stuck his nose under my mouse hand, knocking it away from the mouse.  When I turned toward him, he jumped up to put his front paws in my lap and started licking my face and pushing at me with his head, clearly trying to motivate me to get out of my chair.

When I stood up, he started racing around in circles, tail going so fast I thought it might fall off. I couldn’t help but smile as we began our evening routine.

Even though I don’t leave for work physically, I leave mentally.  My dog has tuned into my work day and mostly just naps near by during the hours he’s come to expect me to be working.  But when he needs to go out or is just tired of being ignored, he won’t take no for an answer.  He’s become my alarm dog, telling me when it’s time to take a break if not put work away for the night.

I am reminded of something a friend said to me once about how people should greet each other the way dogs greet their people.  That if we would dance around with wagging tails when we were reunited with friends, we would probably all be happier.  It occurs to me that if we were all as willing to express our feelings and our needs so unambiguously, we’d probably all be a lot happier, too.

I rarely know what I need.  Even really basic stuff like needing to use the restroom.  I will be in the midst of my day hopping from one conference call to the next and have a vague notion that perhaps I should take care of one of life’s most basic and unavoidable needs and then forget until, hours later, comes a sudden moment of urgency that cannot be denied or postponed.

Not knowing what I need makes it nearly impossible to ask for it.  I am surprised and delighted every time my husband magically appears to deposit lunch in front of me.  Realizing I forget to notice when I’m hungry, my husband makes sure I have something to eat without me having to stick my nose under his mouse hand.  I think it’s the most romantic gesture there is, except maybe when he does laundry.

But since he often shows up with lunch in the middle of my work day while I’m in the middle of doing work, I don’t jump up and run around in circles wagging my tail.  He’s lucky if I make eye contact with him and smile before he returns to his own busy day.  Perhaps I will give that a try on Monday.  Note to self: jump up, wag tail, run around in circles excitedly when Pat brings me lunch.

Somatic/Somnus Exercise

Posted by dkrashb on
Tisen practices somnus using Twiggy’s rump as a bolster
Tisen tucks his head between Lamp Chop and Twiggy’s haunch and falls promptly to sleep
Another day, another “Tisen using Twiggy’s rump as a pillow” picture
Twiggy is not the least bit thwarted by the obstacle Tisen presents when she wants attention
Twiggy goes all-in when she wants to cuddle
Our guest dog, Twiggy, decided early on that Tisen was welcome to sleep at my side as long as she could have my lap

I have a bad habit.  Well, I have many.  But, the one I’m willing to write about publicly at this particular moment is that I read in bed.  I have been advised by 2 sleep specialists not to do this, but it seems to switch my racing brain off so I can fall asleep.

Friday night, I started a book on how our cultural expectation of work has shifted over the last 100 years and how we now have the lowest job satisfaction rate of all time.  It’s a book about finding fulfillment in your job.  However, I had only downloaded the free sample and had trouble getting the rest of the book to download, so I switched to a book I had started long ago, but never finished called “Finding Your Own North Star” by the irrepressible Martha Beck.  I would enjoy this book just because of Martha’s sense of humor, but it’s a practical approach to looking at what we do because we think we’re supposed to vs what we really want to do.

Interestingly, as much as I feel like Martha has an exciting (and entertaining) approach, I tend to fall asleep very quickly when I read this book.  Many years ago, I discovered that at times of the greatest stress–which for me meant painful feelings–I would start to nod off.  I have the sneaking suspicion that the same self-preservation mechanism kicks in when I read Martha’s book–perhaps I don’t really want to know what my true feelings are?

But, first thing Saturday morning, I checked Facebook and a friend had coincidentally posted an article about a book by someone else on the same topic.  I took this as a sign that I really needed to push forward.  I decided to try an exercise from Martha’s book.  The exercise is designed to reconnect you with physical responses that can clue you in to your true feelings about things.

I started to do this exercise at 9AM.  But, then I thought I should take the dog out first.  And then feed him.  And then play a game of Sudoku.  And then shower.  And then eat something.  And then help my husband hang a light fixture.  And then vacuum.  Finally, I sat down to give it a try at 2PM, which happens to be about my lowest energy time of the day.

The exercise starts with deep breathing and then you start mentally working your way from your left big toe through each part of your body, checking in and making sure you can actually sense it and focusing on areas where you have no sensation.  This is supposed to help determine if you are ignoring/repressing physical and/or emotional responses that are lurking in your body, waiting for you to pay attention.

I made it through my toes before I fell asleep.  Martha says falling asleep means my next step is to get more rest.  I think this is where I started?

A Missing Dog (or, Gratitude, Part II)

Posted by dkrashb on
The Christmas Season officially kicked off with the Lighted Boat Parade
I had a lot of fun with long exposures
I may have gotten carried away with light trails
Lots of panning practice during the parade–unfortunately, the bouncing on the water cannot be addressed with panning
My personal favorite boat in front of the Ross’s Landing Christmas Tree
My second most favorite boat–but probably the crowd’s favorite
At the end of the parade, I moved to a higher view in preparation for the fireworks
An artistic slant on the river (or did I just bump the tripod?)
As is true of many events in Chattanooga, fireworks lit up the sky

I feel bad that I only made it through 3 things I am grateful for in last week’s post.  Last Monday night, I found myself thinking about this while I was sitting in a running mini-van with the brights on, pointed down railroad tracks.

I watched my husband disappear from sight with my window cracked in spite of the cold, listening in case he was attacked.  He headed beyond the reach of the headlights to an abandoned homeless camp in search of an abandoned dog.

A homeless couple we often see in the park had recently disappeared.  Supposedly, the man was arrested and the woman found a job and is living in a motel.  Rumor has it they left their dog behind.

With temperatures dropping into the low 20’s and arctic winds making it feel like the teens, my husband was determined to rescue this dog.  It was his second of 3 trips down the railroad tracks–so far, no sign of the dog.

How can I not feel gratitude for having the kind of man in my life who is both brave enough and compassionate enough to wander into potential danger to save the life of a dog?

I should mention that this couple has always seemed both lucid and happy.  We are under the impression they have chosen a homeless life for their own reasons and that they are capable of choosing a different course.  The dog, however, has no choice.

And so, I sat in the van on that cold night poignantly aware that I have much to be thankful for:  a reliable vehicle kicking out hot air; my own cuddly dog, healthy and happy beside me; a husband both strong and gentle; a hot meal to return home to; a comfortable bed to sleep in; hot running water; the list goes on and on.

But in the end, it’s the people who have been part of my life and/or who are part of my life now that I am the most grateful for (and yes, I include animals when I say “people”).  While mountains, clouds, and oceans provide much needed respite from time to time, it’s the people that keep me going day in and day out.

From passing acquaintances that make me laugh in the middle of a tense moment to friends who know me well enough to ask the most pertinent questions that allow me to see a situation in a new way, I don’t know what life would be without all of them.  Even the strangers who fail to acknowledge my “hello” remind me that I have been there, making me feel connected to them in an odd sort of way.

The people who ultimately made all of this gratitude possible are, of course, my parents.  I am grateful they were flawed human beings who made remarkable parents.  Of course, I didn’t think they were remarkable when I was growing up.  I’m also grateful that perspective changes.  🙂

Gratitude

Posted by dkrashb on

“. . . in this huge mound of data there was also story after story of men and women who were living these amazing and inspiring lives.  I heard stories about the power of embracing imperfection and vulnerability.  I learned about the inextricable connection between joy and gratitude. . .”

“Without exception, every person I interviewed who described living a joyful life or who described themselves as joyful, actively practiced gratitude and attributed their joyfulness to their gratitude practice.”

-Brene Brown, The Gifts of Imperfection

And so, in honor of what may be the most important holiday of all, allow me to practice:

I am grateful for the mountains.  I have stood on top of Mauna Kea and watched the sunset from above the clouds.  I have hiked the ridges of the Canadian rockies amongst the Big Horn sheep.  I have climbed Half Dome and slept on Cloud’s Rest in Yosemite.  I have crossed the Continental Divide, and skied more mountains than I can remember.  I have hiked 14,000 feet up Mt. Albert, called in a mule deer with the scent of blueberry pancakes in the San Juans, watched hoarfrost form on the Blue Ridge, and watched mist rising off the Smokies.

The mountains bring me home.  They remind me my feet are on the ground–and that they can take me to amazing places.  The mountains teach me I am small and my problems smaller.  They fill me with calm and inspire me with wonder.  I am grateful for the mountains.

I am grateful for the trees.  I have gulped their oxygen in moments of panic as well as intense exertion.  I have sat silently and listened to their songs.  I have climbed within their swaying arms, held high and safe above the ground.  I have showered under them, swung from them, curled up in their shade for an afternoon nap, and frolicked in their brilliant leaves.  I have witnessed their generosity–Pileated Woodpeckers tucked into a cavity, baby trees suckling on the corpse of a former giant, Bloodroot springing from the rich nutrients of rotting leaves.  Trees connect me to the air and root me to the earth.  They remind me that great strength sometimes comes from flexibility and patience.  I am grateful for the trees.

I am grateful for the oceans.  I have bobbed along the surface in a quiet cove, peering at the underwater marvels through a snorkel mask.  I have floated for miles with the tide on a flimsy blow-up raft, I have kayaked with green sea turtles and swum with wild dolphins just by chance.  I have watched the sun sink into its nightly bath and watched it rise from the sea, fresh and new again.  I have eaten from the bounty of life the sea provides.  The ocean buoys me up, pushing me to the surface, reminding me I can float.  It soothes me with its endless rhythm and delights me with its underwater surprises.  I am grateful for the oceans.

 

What Do You Teach?

Posted by dkrashb on
Tisen sharing a laugh with Daddy
Tisen coming back on the trail to make sure I’m keeping up
Tisen is willing to overcome all obstacles when it comes to tucking in beside me on the sofa
Tisen making heroic efforts to climb into Pat’s lap

“What Do You Teach?” was the title of a presentation I gave many years ago as a corporate “diversity” session I volunteered to do.  It has remained my all-time favorite presentation both      preparing it and giving it.

I created the presentation around the concepts of self-fulfilling prophecy and tacit learning.  I put to use some of the research I had done in my master’s program when I was getting certified to teach.  These two concepts seemed key to me in understanding how we learn.  Having left the teaching profession and re-joined corporate America, I had the realization that each of us teaches every day of our lives whether we realize we are teaching or not.  We are teaching each other what is “normal,” acceptable behavior.   What is tolerable and intolerable.  What is right and wrong.

Somewhat ironically, it wasn’t the master’s program that brought home to me the nature of how we unconsciously teach one another, it was the need to retrain a dog who had dog aggression issues.  In that experience so many years ago, I learned all the things I was doing that were telling my dog to behave in ways I didn’t want her to behave.  In coming to understand how dogs interpret our behaviors, I gained insight into how fellow humans interpret them as well.  This was one of the big “ah-ha” moments in my life and I need to revisit it because I seem to have strayed from the path of thinking about what I am teaching on a daily basis–in particular, what I am teaching myself.

Each time I skip a meal, eat junk, skip a workout, or engage in other unhealthy choices, I teach myself I am not deserving of care and maintenance.  The underlying message is “these other things you do are more important than your own basic needs.”  I would never ask anyone to skip meals because of something I wanted them to do, why do I expect it of myself?

Every time I allow myself to worry on something I cannot change, I am teaching myself that my energy is better wasted than on being used productively.  I would never ask anyone to think about something over and done beyond considering the lesson from the experience and deciding how that applies to the present and future.  Why do I ask myself to replay the same scene over and over again ad nauseum?

Each time I call myself “you idiot,” I teach myself that I do not deserve the opportunity to make mistakes and learn from them.  I cannot claim that I would never call someone else an idiot (inside my head or while driving, anyway) but in general, I am far more tolerant of someone else’s mistakes than I am of my own.

In thinking about treating myself the way I would treat a cherished loved one, I realized I have done no cherishing of me at all.  Time to create a new lesson plan.

Volunteering

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Right now, a group of us at the Chattanooga Audubon Society are planning a Halloween haunt called “Acres of Darkness.”  For 4 nights, a ¼ mile trail will be haunted with all kinds of terrors to raise money for the organization.

Last year I did some shooting at the event, but I wasn’t involved in planning it.  This year, the planning committee asked me if I would help after we completed the Birdathon event in April.  How could I resist?

I love Halloween.  You can try out an alter-ego, eat endless amounts of candy, and experience whatever level of terror you’re comfortable with.  It’s just fun.

Saturday morning, I went out to setup one of the stations on the haunted trail.  I realized several things about myself.  First, although I have worked on things from setting up campsites to roofing to changing the oil in my car to repairing garbage disposals, I have never done them alone.

When we decided to each take a station and be responsible for setting it up, I experienced sudden panic.  I realized these are the kinds of jobs where, if pointed in the right direction, I can be helpful, but I’m not adept at deciding what needs to be done.

It was a strange sensation.  Most things I do, I am perfectly able and willing to decide how to go about doing them.  I am not shy about telling other people what to do, either.  Yet, when faced with the simple problem of how to hang some tarps and other props, I found myself at a loss.

Fortunately for me, a far more experienced person was there when I arrived who was willing to help me.  I walked out to the site ahead of him, having been told that everything we needed was already at the site.  There was one, long, yellow nylon rope, two large tarps, and a length of misting hose.

This is when I (re)discovered a second thing about myself:  I really only know how to tie one knot.  That’s the knot I use to tie my shoes.  I learned it from a book of knots my nephew got when he was about 10.  It prevents your shoelaces from untying, but you can still pull out the knot with one pull.  It’s a great knot for shoes; not so great for tarp hanging.

In spite of my years in the Camp Fire Girls, even a basic square knot comes out a tangled mess.  This made me feel especially grateful for the Eagle Scout and long-time Scout Master who was helping me.  I would still be there trying to tie up that tarp if he hadn’t been there.

While I was there, I did a little shooting of a River Rescue volunteer crew picking up trash in the creek that runs through Audubon Acres.  I got to wade through the creek, see a Belted Kingfisher, and hear a Red-shouldered Hawk.  Great start to a Saturday morning!

 

Cycle of Seasons

Posted by dkrashb on
Rock Creek Gorge
Pat disguised as Tisen
Tisen and Pat hanging out and looking camouflaged in the dappled light
Me and my shadow
Really dappled light
My proud boy crossing a wooden bridge
The trail looks more like a rock-climbing adventure
Sunlight forming a path through the trees
Pat and Tisen resting in speckled light
View over dead tree stumps
Gren moss thriving on a rock at an overlook
Still green in spite of the lateness of the season
Cliff Hanger
Prairie like space makes for great views

On Friday morning, the alarm woke me at 5:15AM, reminding me that on Friday, I start my day with yoga class at 6:30AM.  By 6:00AM, I was out in the park walking the dog, staring up, open-mouthed at a preternatural sky.  Surprisingly dark and yet brilliantly lit with a crescent moon hovering in the middle of a brilliant cluster of stars.

With the dawn coming noticeably later each morning, I find myself having a harder and harder time getting into first gear each morning.  I wonder if our ancestors noticed the difference.  Did they just get up with the sun and go to bed with the sun and not really notice if the days were longer or shorter?  One thing’s for sure–they didn’t wake up to the mamba as recreated by the iPhone.

As the days shorten, my desire to get out of bed shrinks proportionally.  Am I pulled by the forces of thousands of years before me when people didn’t set alarm clocks?  Or am I just over-worked and under-rested and more resentful of my alarm because the dark sky reminds me that I’ve spent far too few hours in bed?

As Tisen and I make our way around the star-lit park, leaves rustle above our heads and below our feet.  The young sycamores planted in the park have already given up on photosynthesis.  Their leaves have dried and shrunk into brown cocoons hanging precariously from branches or littering the sidewalk below.  The leaves on the sidewalk will be meticulously blown away by the park maintenance crew by the time we take our afternoon walk.  The effort of an entire growing season whisked away, leaving the trees nothing to show for their pain and preventing the nutrients locked in the web of leaves from returning to the soil.  A cycle broken.

Fall has always been my favorite season.  As cool winds become prevalent, humidity drops, and blindingly blue skies become common, I find it hard to resist crunching through leaves and looking for birds, many exposed for the first time since spring on bare branches offering little camouflage.

But on Friday morning, as I turned my face skyward and bathed in the feeble light from the stars, moon, and street lamps, melancholy swept over me.  It was a brief, passing moment.  The moment of realization that things are coming to an end, although I couldn’t name what those things were.

By Friday afternoon, when I stepped out with Tisen in overpowering sunshine with a crisp wind reminding me that 80 degrees doesn’t always feel warm, I felt hopeful again.  Heat and humidity are coming to an end.  The summer breeding season for the birds is coming to an end.  And this opens the door for new possibilities.  I felt myself welcoming the change in the weather.  The change in the birds.  The change in me.  A cycle working.

Chasing the Moon

Posted by dkrashb on
The blurry image that started my quest
Daytime moon
Moon over sunset
Crescent moon
Fatter crescent
Shot in August when I was in desperate need of a tripod
Moon rising behind trees
The first sign of a moonrise
Peeking moon
Ridge rise
Full moon behind clouds
Haze prevented the moon from being visible until higher
Moon reflected on the Tennessee River
Moon at sunset
Moon through bare trees
Moon Bloom
Moon appears through the trees
Moon glowing through blowing clouds
Moon at twilight
Moon, Venus, and Mars
Moon over sculpture
Moon basket
Moon, Venus, and Mars
Sliver of Moon
Trees whipped by wind
Full moon over bridge and water
A parking lot moon
Moon once again obscured by haze until too high
Moon over bridge at sunset
Supermoon rising behind clouds
Another cloudy moonrise
Cloudy and early
Soft focus on dark moon set
Harvest moonrise–just a minute too late
Blustery night with a bright moon
iPhone panoramic of moon at sunset

I find myself on a vengeful quest to conquer my own personal Moby Dick.  In my case, it is not a whale, but the moon.  While my motives are more innocent and less violent than Ahab’s, a desire to vindicate myself drives me to follow the moon with a modern version of intensity that involves many goggle searches.

I think back to the day, now more than two years ago, when this quest began.  I had the idea of getting a shot of the full moon rising behind the Walnut Street bridge.

I had purchased my 100-400mm lens a few months earlier–far enough ahead to have learned my inexpensive tripod wouldn’t support the weight of the lens.  I took my monopod with me, hoping it would offer enough stability to get a good shot.  As I stood on the bridge in the dark watching the moon rise perfectly behind the bridge with people walking by in front of it, I was buffeted about by the wind.  My monopod was useless–my images were completely blurred.

Yet, I went home elated that this idea would work.  I sent my blurry photos to a photographer friend who said, prophetically, “You wasted some good moonlight.”  Naive in the nature of the moon, I thought, “well, there’s always next month.”

Over a period of weeks, I researched tripods and finally made an investment in one I expect to last the rest of my life.  Finally ready, I headed out the next full moon only to discover there was too much cloud cover for the moon to be visible.  The next month I learned that the moon was no longer rising behind the Walnut Street Bridge.  It would be another 8 months before I would have another opportunity.

In the meantime, I practiced shooting the moonrise.  In those months I learned just how fickle the moon can be.  The obstacles are many:  obscured visibility, daylight moonrises, my schedule, the speed of the moonrise, the unpredictability of the appearance of the moon, and focusing in the dark, to name a few.

At long last, the moon began rising behind the bridge again.  The first two months, haze prevented it from being visible until it was far above the people on the bridge.  On the one evening I had my chance, I arrived too late and missed the moment.  Next month, it will no longer be behind the bridge.

I will bide my time.  I will persist.  The moment will never return exactly as it was that night.  That is one thing I know with certainty–each moment is uniquely its own.  But chasing the moon has its own merit.  There is something to be said for tenacity.  While there is a time and place to let go and move on, having a goal that requires planning, making time, learning, and adjusting seems like an important lesson in life.

Will Should

Posted by dkrashb on
Mushrooms along the Benton Falls Trail
Mushrooms along the Benton Falls Trail
Mushrooms along the Benton Falls Trail
Mushrooms along the Benton Falls Trail
Mushrooms along the Benton Falls Trail
Benton Falls
Surface skimmers undisturbed by moving water
My boys at Benton Falls
Tisen kissing daddy
Tisen making daddy laugh
Family photo at Benton Falls
Family photo at Benton Falls
View from an overlook in the Chilhowee Recreation Area in Cherokee National Forest
View from an overlook in the Chilhowee Recreation Area in Cherokee National Forest
View from an overlook in the Chilhowee Recreation Area in Cherokee National Forest
View from an overlook in the Chilhowee Recreation Area in Cherokee National Forest
Look who’s in my seat
Tisen doesn’t want to give up shotgun
View from an overlook in the Chilhowee Recreation Area in Cherokee National Forest
Watching the sunset from the sledding hill

It’s amazing how quickly small things get in the way of achieving a relatively simple goal.  My goal has been to make time for the things that make me happy first thing in the morning.  Riding, rowing, yoga.  Seems simple enough.

But then there’s the rush of deadlines that keeps me up late or the early-morning or late-night conference calls with colleagues in far-off time zones.  Suddenly, what I need more than a ride is sleep.  The alarm gets set for 7AM instead of 5AM.

I remember reading once (or twice) that it takes a month to establish a new habit.  I think about the times I have succeeded in creating habits.

There is a mindset that snaps into place.  It’s a mindset that says, “you will do this, no matter what.”  It’s the mindset that drags my weary rear-end out of bed long before dawn even if I’ve only had a few hours of sleep.  Making myself get up forces me to go to bed earlier.  Making the priority to get out of bed is painful for a week or two until I find I can no longer keep my eyes open after 10PM.  But where is the switch that turns, “I should” into “I will”?

I learned a long time ago that the conditional tense is a misleading and manipulative beast that carries with it guilt and shame as poor motivators.  “Should?” my inner self retorts, “You can’t tell me what to do!”

Will changes everything.  The power of grammar is contained in this simple word.  To have the will.  To will.  Both a noun and a verb, will combusts into action.  To say “I will” creates promise and commitment.  To will is to embrace, to drive.  I do not take the word lightly.

Should, however, reeks of meek compliance.  Agreement to a statement that belongs to someone else.  “Yes, I should get up at 5AM.”  The word “should” implies “but I won’t” at the end of the sentence.  That single, irritating word contains the admission of not living up to someone’s standard.  Of agreeing that whatever the task at hand might be, it is worthwhile and good, but not within your reach.  It represents an admission that you are not making good on something you should be doing.

I listen for “shoulds” when I’m talking to others.  In my career, I have learned that “should” means, “yes, that’s a good idea, but I’m not doing it.”  In volunteer organizations, I learned to shudder at the words, “someone should,” although at least it is a more straightforward admission.

Sometimes when will has left me, I have to step back and reassess.  Is there a point in time coming up that will allow me to shift to will?  Is there a project that will be finished?  A commitment completed?  Some other break in time that can get me to will?  I still haven’t found the switch, but I will.