A friend’s role as storyteller

One of my blog followers and someone I consider a great friend is going through a tough time at work. His relationship with his manager has soured over the last few months and he now finds himself in an unsettling quandary. As a friend, my initial reaction was to help solve the problem. But I know how I am when I’m down or in a funk—I don’t want anyone around me, let alone trying to cheer me up or analyze the situation—and I certainly didn’t want to make a situation worse by providing unsolicited advice. The fact of the matter is that all we can hope to do as parents, colleagues, mentors, coaches, and yes, friends; is to provide anecdotes, stories, and other recollections that we hope will shed some light on the issue. Read more of this post

Winners know how to (and that they must) push boulders!

Keep pushing life's "boulders" and it'll pay off!

Bill Parcells, the soon-to-be Hall of Fame football coach had a saying for almost every occasion and circumstance.  He was as knowledgeable about life as football and never missed an opportunity to share his wisdom and charisma.  One of his favorite expressions was used to explain the emotional fragility of young players.  “Confidence is born from demonstrated ability,” he’d say.  Of course, the thought is not original.  You may, in fact, have heard other variations of it.  “Once you’ve done it once, you can do it again.”  Or “You don’t know you can do it until you do it.”  However stated, no matter who says it or in what context, it’s as true and real as the world is round.

Confidence comes from evidence.  That’s obvious.  Or is it?  Doesn’t it take some confidence to produce the evidence in the first place?  Sure it does.  So what is it?  Does evidence lead to confidence or is it the other way around?  Indeed, like the chicken and egg quandary, the relationship between confidence and evidence is a confusing one. Read more of this post

It takes no skill to hustle

My wife is always telling me that I’m smart. It makes me feel kind of, well, weird. I’m not sure why. I’ve accomplished too much academically to dismiss it altogether, but it’s hard to completely accept such praise. To tell you the truth, I don’t know what the heck it even means. To be smart, that is. I mean we all say it, referring to those around us as smart or bright. And I know there are tests that are supposed to effectively measure intelligence. But how many of us have actually taken one? And if we have, what exactly has it done to help us? Schools, of course, are notorious for using standardized testing to rank its pupils. But we’ve all heard about the biases inherent in some of these assessments. Furthermore, with more and more ways to prepare and study for these and similar tests, what does a good score on them really mean? That you are able to take a test and do well? That you have the means to afford private classes and tutors? Or that your parents forced you to spend your summer afternoons systematically going through math, grammar, and reading exercises from volumes and volumes of instructional books instead of playing football or riding bikes with your buddies? Whatever it means, I’m not convinced it means you are smart. You may in fact be smart–again, whatever that means–but getting a good score on a test, or getting accepted to an Ivy League School (yeah, I said it) doesn’t mean you are smart. I’d venture to say, even, that the two –being smart and academic achievement— are not nearly as correlated as we’d like to believe, again if we could even define what being smart means.

Well, when she tells me that, my answer to my wife is usually the same. It, of course, has its foundation in sports. And not only does it humbly dispute any inkling that I’m somehow this innately smart person–trust me; I know enough really smart people to think that– but it is also a firm rebuttal to every person (I love ya, but you know who you are) who has referred to my physique— the result of twenty years of hard, dedicated work— as “mostly genetic.” Like my strength and fitness, whatever I have that makes me appear to be smart, is not something with which I was necessarily born. Read more of this post

Life Preparedness Kit

My kids started math camp this week.  I know what you’re thinking, “what kind of person sends their kids to math camp?”  But hear me out.  Aside from the fact that my kids love it so far, it’s a great learning and growth opportunity for their mother and me, as well.  You see, they normally attend a small, private school, the kind where everybody knows everybody and you always feel like your kids are safe.  Well, this Math Enrichment Program (sounds a lot better than ‘math camp’, huh?) is not at their normal school.  And to our surprise–and as it turns out fear– there are 800 students in this darn program.  So, dropping our kids off at such a large school, with so many kids is a little nerve-racking.  To say the least!

But let’s put aside my issues– I mean emotions– for a minute.  The purpose of this post is to point out something that struck me as I was driving away after the first day of the program.  I’d just left my kids and felt a bit uneasy.  For them.  Never had they been thrust into such a situation.  What I might call a social overdose–meeting and having to fit in with a whole new group of kids–they seemed a bit overwhelmed.  As I was driving, I could still see my daughter’s face when I hugged and kissed her goodbye.  My hand was also still hurting, a result of my son not wanting to let go of the security blanket he sometimes calls “daddy”. Read more of this post

Ode to Dino: Happy Father’s Day to All You Nerdy Dads!

My dad is 79-years-old and currently traveling through his ancestral home town—Castelvetere— in Northern Italy. My mom, who struggles with arthritis pain and heart issues, decided to take a pass on Dad’s latest inspiration to find his parents’ childhood homes. He found the ancient housing structures still standing on Google Maps and the wheels started spinning. Mom decided to take advantage of a week free from her groovy retired life with Dad and travel with her sister to world-renown Rancho La Puerta Spa in Tecate, Mexico to work on her mind/body/spirit connection and give vegetarian living a whirl. Having my two (dare I say it?) “elderly” parents on different continents is…unsettling. Because of iPhones and time zones my sisters and I have been in touch with Auntie and Mom, but until today, day five, Dad has been incommunicado.

Armed with his brand new iPad, I anticipated at least a quick message on Dad’s first day or two. Turns out the iPad is rendered useless in the mountainous province of Benevento (which translated means “good wind,” significance to come later in this piece) and he’s had to resort to archaic methods to communicate, including dial-up. That’s what my dad gets for jetting off to remote Italian towns in search of Antonellis, Morettis, DiPieros and LaMarcas (yes, I am 100% Italian!). Thinking of my dad farther away than a tap on my Favorites list got me thinking about…me and Dad, back in the day, back at MY ancestral home in Saratoga,CA. Read more of this post