Category Archives: communication

“When I Go”

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From _Loss_ by Donna Ashworth

After Friend and I talked about her BEAST lawyer last week, somehow we got to thinking about being at peace with death. I told her I’m okay with it–if it were my time tomorrow, I could accept it. She confirmed that my declaration did not feel delusional or arrogant. I have no intention of dying, and I would not want it or like it, but I would have few regrets, I think. Let me be clear: I would certainly regret any pain and suffering that my death might cause my loved ones. But maybe knowing that I’m at peace with my own mortality would help mitigate their pain? In Being Mortal, Atul Gawande tells us that if the person whose life is ending is at peace (it’s redundant, but there isn’t really another expression for it, is there?) with their own end, then their loved ones are far less likely to experience depression and prolonged grief after their death. This is what I wish for my people. I can go first, literally and figuratively.

A few years ago, another dear friend announced his retirement after nearly 30 years with his company, many of them in leadership roles. His LinkedIn page filled with gushing expressions of gratitude and admiration. I thought about him all day, and wrote him spontaneously in the evening:

…And what will the organization and its people be/feel like without you? 

When my kids were little I used to be afraid to die.  I was afraid they would forget me, and that I would not have a chance to pass down my core values, to have a hand in helping them become excellent people.  But then I realized that as long as I am here, I am the one responsible for that, so nobody else thinks to do it for me.  But if I died, and if I lived well, then people would take what they loved best about me and sustain it for my kids in my place.  If I were successful in building the village around them, then they would not be dependent on me alone to get what I most wanted them to get.  

So now I don’t worry so much about it–partly because they are older and I have had time to instill some things, both by example and by teaching.  But also because I trust that my own circle will enclose them and nurture them if/when they are needed.  That reminds me, maybe I should remind and thank my circle for doing that. 😄

Today I have even more confidence. The kids are three years older, their complex adolescent personality formation accelerating. I see my imprints deepen, for better or worse, and we have reflected together how they see my influence in their attitudes and expressions. We agree to help one another identify and manage our respective deficits. The tribe is still strong and willing, and I have hopefully been more explicit about my gratitude and aspirations. But really I just trust Son and Daughter to keep me with them, alive or dead, near or far, like Ashworth’s poem says.

I wrote my 30 ethical earworms for posterity last year, saved now among 504 total posts on this blog so far. If they read one a week starting if I died today, that’s almost 10 more years of me in their mind’s ear. They will continue to become who they are, and find the places where I fit, to carry me most comfortably and usefully.

On the path of life, we leave pieces of ourselves all along the way, accumulated and spread among our relationships. What do we do when our loved ones die? We honor them by nurturing, strenthening, and cultivating those parts of them that live within us, more intentionally and meaningfully than when we had them physically with us.

So it’s a Peace & Mortality Mindset of living, I suppose. Try to not take any day, any moment, with any person, for granted. Take advantage of any and all opportunities to connect in meaning and love. Act with reckless abandon on any and all impulses of empathy, kindness, generosity, and compassion. None of us knows when the end will meet us or those we love. What can we do today to make any of it just a little less painful?

Let’s get on it, ya?

Whose BEAST Are You?

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I feel protective. My friend has embarked on a necessary lawsuit to address wrongs done to her by someone she trusted. Generally I shun litigation as a means of conflict resolution, and I understand that in some cases it is the best path to justice. My friend shares this ethos, and has so chosen a like-minded lawyer. Her opponent has a very different mindset, one of fierce aggression and, sadly, meanness. In talking with Friend, we both feel her vulnerability, the risk of getting steamrolled in her efforts to be fair and equanimatous, even in the face of intense acrimony. She wonders if her lawyer (and she herself, maybe?) can withstand the vitriol flung their way without 1) returning in kind and/or 2) acquiescing simply to get through.

Over breakfast, I tried to articulate what she needed in her lawyer, and wrote it to her later in an email, so she would have it to mull over and expound on. What follows below is a lightly edited version of my message to her, and some reflections of my own after writing it. I love how talking and writing bring me so quickly and effectively to new insights and syntheses of ideas, core values, and resolutions. Onward, my friends!

I get (and validate!) that you sought a lawyer who is “not a fighter”… and you also need an effective advocate. Not adversarial for sure, but assertive and strong.

Like a quiet, confident alpha—tall and straight, with commanding posture–someone who knows they can own the opponent if they want to, but feels secure enough to not need to flaunt it.

So there is a degree of BADASSERY required here too:  You need someone SMART, and SHARP.

Looking for a metaphor here… Not sure why I gravitate toward vehicles—Bullet train? Mack truck? Snowplow? Maybe because the process is necessarily movement, transportation is required, and there is a destination, the path to which presents multiple and formidable barriers?

The BEAST: The US presidential Cadillac—that is your ideal ride to the other side of the lawsuit (over the bridge? Through the morass?)!

Big, black, heavy, SOLID.  GROUNDED and MOBILE at the same time.

Heavily armored–DEFENDED and SAFE, but not weaponized (I think).

Moves with purpose and agenda, no wasted fuel or frivolous trips.

People see it coming and move out of the way with respect.

And if attacked, the cargo–you and your interests–are protected.

Can plow through traffic if absolutely necessary, but only does so as a last resort:

Move or I will move you, make no mistake.

Try me.

Strong back, soft front. Steel spine. Claws and horns only when needed.

Strong and effective, non-adversarial, yet energized advocate. I’m thinking parent, friend, sibling, physician, adult child of aging parent, activist.

BEAST. I can be yours if needed, count on it.

Water, Gasoline, or Firewood?

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Ptarmigan Trail, Silverthorne, Colorado, October 2022, one year after fire triggered by hikers

If you don’t already follow Shane Parrish at Farnam Street, or listen to The Knowledge Project podcast, I highly recommend it. In this week’s newsletter, Parrish describes how he engages his kids when they exhibit ‘ineffective’ behavior (such as picking fights with each other). He coaches them to pause and think about their actions: Is what they’re doing going to make their lives easier or harder? Will it get them what they want? He asks them what things would look like if they poured gasoline, versus water, on their current ‘fire.’ “With water or gasoline, you can start a fire, make it bigger, or put it out. The choice is yours.”

What fires burn in our lives? Which ones warm us, give us light, and bring us together, and which scorch and destroy?

Obviously we don’t pour gasoline on a wildfire, unless we are arsonists or sociopaths. And we all rue the careless camper or hiker who accidentally sets our beloved forrests aflame with an errant cigarette butt or the like. What anaologies to our lives can we make of these events? Maybe the overwhelming emotional hijack of a post-traumatic trigger, a cutting word spoken or argument erupting in the heat of anger and resentment? In these moments, how can we slow down, recognize the gas can in our hands, loosen our grip, put it down and screw the cap on tight? Where did we put that water bottle? Better yet, can we just leave the cigarettes at home next time? ** deep breaths **

That scenario is less interesting to me, though, than the campfire or bonfire. I feel like I’ve written this analogy before on the blog, but I can’t find it. I don’t camp, but I love communing around an intentional, contained flame with good company and comfort food. This is the kind of fire that gathers us, warms us, strengthens our bonds. Right now it’s phone and FaceTime calls, hikes, and generally carving out time to spend together–these are the fires that feed me. The flame of a good, strong hearth requires tending, though. Someone needs to find and bring the wood; it has to be dry enough but not too much so, and made into the right size. Orientation of logs and branches matters for optimal airflow, so smoke billows skyward rather than swirling and suffocating the gathering. We must stoke and stimulate the flames to keep them going, and fuel them regularly to maintain light and warmth for us all to enjoy. It’s best if we take turns. Like maintaining strong fires, good relationships require us to participate actively, thoughtfully, and regularly.

As our collective care and attention perpetuate warmth and light, the best thing is when we attract others to join. When they hear the crackling flames and campfire songs, the laughter and joy emanating from intentional communion, they want to connect, and we widen our circle of friends. Cold and dark no longer feel so daunting; we feel safe and secure; we belong.

As we enter the coldest and darkest part of the year, I’m gathering my firewood and piling it high. Come to think of it, I must also tend to the forrest where the trees grow… An analogy for another time, perhaps.

Fireweed flourishing in its ideal habitat; nature healing itself