fall to winter

Ten Things I Learned This Year

It is pos­si­ble to employ empa­thy and com­pas­sion in the bet­ter build­ing of a busi­ness. Another way to know this is to know that fear dri­ves ruth­less­ness and know­ing one’s self makes it impos­si­ble to be almost any­thing but com­pas­sion­ate. Those who can’t find com­pas­sion for them­selves, once they know them­selves, have a hard time stay­ing here. I run a lit­tle busi­ness that is poten­tially under threat by much big­ger enti­ties, but by stay­ing focused inside – on my staff, my per­for­mance, my goals, I allow those out­side threats to try to keep up with my bet­ter place to work.

Falling is a nec­es­sary part of walk­ing. My son will hap­pily fall 50 times if he believes he is still on a rea­son­able path to somewhere…anywhere. When did I last fail 50 times and con­tinue on? When did I for­get that the path to suc­cess runs (or stum­bles) through the land of failure.

If I hear “All done!” and I fail to remove the plate from the high chair, I can rea­son­ably expect what­ever is on the tray to hit the fridge or the floor. In other, words, believe it when I hear some­one say some­thing, even it it doesn’t fit with what I think should be. Recently a col­league at work said some­thing out­ra­geous about being unwill­ing to care for a sick patient. I was lit­er­ally incred­u­lous, but there it was. It was true, and the plate hit the floor.

The love of my lit­tle fam­ily has made me softer, bet­ter, less of a jerk some­times and more will­ing to see the world through the eyes of all the peo­ple who care for their kids, sac­ri­fice their free time to raise them, work their asses off to be with them, and go to bed tired and won­der­ing if it is enough.

It is enough. (I haven’t learned this, but I am hop­ing to.)

I still need time for me. Funny part of that is that if I know I have asked for time and I have it, I need less than if I feel like I am hav­ing to swin­dle it away. No one in my life is keep­ing me from it. I make up lit­tle games that I don’t have enough so that I can plan these capers to get more. My plans, how­ever, don’t make sense, because almost always I can get what I need. It is like show­ing up to rob a bank and find­ing the money ready for me in a lit­tle red wagon. I spend year after year learn­ing this lesson.

The brain of a tod­dler is infi­nitely capa­ble and it is humbling.

The brain of a tod­dler is infi­nitely insa­tiable and it is annoying.

The heart of a tod­dler is infinite.

I have lived some­thing that I believed: if I am con­nected to my heart and I have the help of even one per­son, I can go through very deep water. Thank you, Rose.

That’s 10. But like any good rock star, here is an encore.
Com­po­si­tion and curios­ity are my best pho­to­graphic skills. I knew I had some skill with pho­tog­ra­phy, but I can now say what I like about my pho­tos. I think that I am will­ing to take pic­tures of things that don’t mat­ter and com­pose the pic­ture so that it brings beauty to me, maybe to you too. This pump­kin, a twig, a blank ocean, a wall – all just this week. I like the moments in the gaps. Even for still life’s there are moments between. For every moment there is a moment between.

Happy New Year, Bend­light read­ers. Feel free to give www​.bend​light​.me as a gift. Can’t beat the price!