More Mindful, Less Social

"Now you swear and kick and beg us that you're not a gamblin' man,
Then you find you're back in Vegas with a handle in your hand..."

–Steely Dan, Do It Again

It really is like being compelled to pull the handle again and again on a slot machine, this new world order of tech smart devices and social media.

Because I can be a winner this time. Every time, in fact. No gambler's fallacy here. I'll jump from writing this to the Facebook tab in my browser, to LinkedIn, and then to Twitter. When I'm on my phone or my iPad, Instagram is the other handle I'll pull.

Because I want to see what my friends and connections are posting, what my latest post likes and comments are, what's going on anywhere and everywhere at any given time.

And there I go again -- checking the social media channels.

This is highly disruptive and in 2020 I have to make a behavioral correction stat. Sure, I've been drinking the social media Kool-Aid since 2007ish, and I can still pull off writing in longer stretches without getting completely consumed by all the pops, buzzes and whirs. Although at times it is a struggle, I can pull off the deeper focused thinking that needs to happen with running a research business (called Talent Board and the Candidate Experience Awards), managing staff, all the project and planning work, and of course all the professional and personal writing I do. However, research has shown that every time we're interrupted from trying to focus on a deep-thinking task, self-inflicted or not, it can take up to 25 minutes to focus again --

Ha! Almost jumped to the social medias again -- but I didn't this time! Take that, you wicked slot machines!

Because there's also the focal time needed for my family. I'm a husband and father to two young daughters, and it's critical that I put the computer away, the phone down and close the iPad. Especially when my daughters remind me that I'm on these devices all -- the -- time. Which I'm not. I swear.

Thankfully we have lots of quality family time with non-tech activities (for a family that does spend their own ample time on their devices) and we continue to have our weekly family meetings, sharing with each other compliments, gratitude, appreciation and "noticing" -- something nice we notice about each other and/or ourselves that we share as a family, among other family-related agenda items (safety skills, managing emotions, what's on tap for the next week's calendar, etc.)

And then -- You go back, Jack, do it again, wheels turinin' 'round and 'round! Damn those social slot machines!

My wife and I mindfully meditate at least once a day, even if it's only for a minute or three. With so much daily disruption of 24/7 news, constant change everywhere and related repetitive stresses, it's surprising that we just don't go completely bonkers sometimes. Empowering ourselves with daily quiet, calm and thoughtful (and even thoughtless) stillness, somehow wrinkled into the non-stop go-go-go, is so vital for our minds, bodies, hearts and souls. We're very grateful that we can make mindful presence a priority.

The good news (I think) is that my device screen time is on average only 1-1.5 hours per day (it was down 15% last week -- thank you Christmas!). The average American screen time is 3+ hours per day. You should read this article by Kevin Roose, a columnist for Business and a writer-at-large for The New York Times Magazine. He was spending over 5 hours on his phone per day!

While there are positive outcomes of connecting with others down the street and around the world via your devices and social media, the addictive qualities of "always on" and the increased anxiety and depression for fear of not getting enough likes (and not being liked), as well as being bullied online no matter what you post, especially among our children and teens, really needs greater scrutiny by us as parents and the supposed adults in the room. Not to mention our compromised privacy, our personal information being sold to advertisers by the minute, and the now infamous continuous glut of fake news clogging our social arteries.

Ugh, I really do need to push away from my devices and social media slot machines much more often starting now -- and turn off all the constant notifications on all devices. It truly has rewired my brain more than I realized and pulling the slot machine handle again and again and again is affecting everything I do. I'm not going to call it a New Year's resolution, because only the act of doing and changing my behavior daily will make a difference to my psyche, my family, my team and my work in the long run. I do still need to use the socials everyday for work and my personal writing, but I will increase the frequency of other activities sans the tech.

So, let's go on a hike. Check. Did that with my wife this weekend. Let's play a game with the kids like Clue and Monopoly. Check. Did that with the kids over the holidays. Let's put a puzzle together. Check. Doing that with my wife since we got her new puzzles for Christmas (the one at the bottom of this piece is called "The Quest For Knowledge" -- so there you go). Let's close all the social tabs on my browser and turn my phone off so I can get my next research projects done. Check. Will do that starting tomorrow! More mindful, less social. I can dig that.

Wait a minute [checking the socials]. Damn you Facebook! Triple 7's! You go back, Jack, do it again...

Till the Dream Ignites: A Decade of GOTG

"Hold your fire
Keep it burning bright
Hold the flame
'Til the dream ignites
A spirit with a vision
Is a dream with a mission..."

–Rush, Mission

I can't believe I've been writing this blog for over a decade now. I actually started it in 2007, over a year before our oldest daughter Beatrice was born.

Since then I've been trying to figure out the world around me as an active participant, a husband and a father of two daughters, and how I react to the world day after day, year after year. Sometimes in a positive way, and other times, not so much.

Life is a work in progress and every day I strive to keep my fire burning bright. It's not always easy, but the more you let go of what holds you back, and the more you embrace your now again and again, the brighter your mission flames burn.

When I look back on my most popular posts in 2019, as well as throughout the past decade, that work in progress is quite evident, my fire stoked evermore.

Bless you all and thank you for stopping by sometimes. Happy 2020.

The top 10 GOTG posts of 2019:

1. In Susie's Shoes
2. Men of a Women's Age
3. My Birthday Wish
4. Like It's Your Last Day Ever
5. The Love and the Levity
6. The #MeToo Guys
7. The Act with the Artist
8. Why These Fires Start
9. Sink and Roll
10. What Will Remain and Become

The top 10 GOTG posts of the decade:

1. 2010 - I'll be damned. I am Dad. 
2. 2011 - Poop, Play-Doh and Cranky Pills
3. 2012 - The Lightness of Pop
4. 2013 - The Smile Game
5. 2014 - The Why's of Differences and Tolerance
6. 2015 - My Heart Ached For Her, For Me, For Us
7. 2016 - When the Choice Is Theirs
8. 2017 - To Have All the Time I Need
9. 2018 - I Believe
10. 2019 - In Susie's Shoes

Be a Rainbow Lullaby

"Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high
There's a land that I heard of once in a lullaby..."

–The Wizard of Oz

She overheard them tell the butcher they didn't get paid until after Christmas, so no, he couldn't help them. They were just checking out the assortment of seafood in the case. That's when she bought $20 worth of crab meat for Christmas dinner.

She, being my wife, Amy. She told me this when she got home, not because she/we felt bad about buying the crab meat, but because the two men who were at counter weren't able to buy anything. She didn't know their story, whether they had families or not, only what she overheard them say briefly in that moment.

The poverty rate grew in 30% of counties between 2016 and 2018, according to a Stateline analysis of U.S. Census Bureau county estimates released this month. The poverty rate is the percentage of people in households earning less than the poverty threshold, currently $25,750 for a family of four.

Close to 13 million children residing in the United States live in families with incomes below the federal poverty line, a threshold shown to underestimate the financial needs of American households. In the United States, although child poverty has dropped by half over the past 50 years, the current level remains a serious problem.

And a staggering 2.5 million children are now homeless each year in America. This historic high represents one in every 30 children in the United States.

Amy and I both grew up poor, probably falling below and just above the poverty line at certain points throughout some of our childhoods, and I grew up with domestic violence and sexual abuse. Years later, before I met Amy, I was married without children, but severely in debt, eventually leading to bankruptcy and divorce. And then years after Amy and I were married, when Beatrice was only two and Bryce had just been born, things were really tight financially and we nearly lost our house, this during the tail end of the great recession.

We're grateful for every opportunity we've had -- for family, friends and peers who have supported along the way -- and we were able to put two dollar bills together to make ends meet like George Bailey in It's a Wonderful Life, one our favorite holiday movies. We're grateful for all the things we've afforded since, the places we've traveled to, the roof over our heads, the food on our table (including sometimes $20 worth of crab meat), and the community we live in (which had a poverty rate of just over 24% in 2017).

This holiday season (and throughout the year), if you can afford more than just getting by, then pay it forward somehow, some way. A little, a lot, somewhere in between -- whatever that amount is. It doesn't have to be money either; it could be time or donated goods. The past few years we've adopted a family experiencing domestic violence and buying them Christmas presents. This year Bryce's class also adopted a family in need and we bought a present for them.

A little, a lot or somewhere in between. Don't feel bad about what you have, but just know that little acts of giving gratitude and kindness can go a long way to help others experience the hopeful rainbow of dignity, stability, safety and a little happiness. However brief that may be for far too many today. Communities can only thrive when their members live inclusively together, helping and supporting each other -- not exclusively apart, regardless of the differences and misunderstandings that all too often drive us apart. We don't have to always like each other, because we don't, but we do have to see each other, to feel empathy for those who are less fortunate and to be grateful for when you are more so, because again, we are the others to each other, and many of us have been there.

However you celebrate this holiday season, be a rainbow lullaby for someone who needs it. Bless you all.

The Sharp N

"F-you, I'm America's son
This is where I come from..."

–Gary Clark Jr., This Land


She said she knew what the N-word was. We recoiled a bit, not quite visibility, but we definitely sat up straight inside ourselves. I don't remember there being any precursor context, or it ever coming up before, just the fact that one day our oldest Beatrice said she heard it and knew what it was.

As the girls have gotten older, obviously the realities of the world, and the power of words, both good and bad, have made their way into their consciousness. And, as each year of their lives progress, my wife Amy and I talk with them about what they're seen and heard around them.

Except that, in this case, it wasn't the same N-word we were thinking of.

"Where did you hear it?" we asked.

"Some kids at school said it," Bea said.

We hesitated, and then asked. "What did they say?"

"The N-word."

"What is that?"

She hesitated. "N-ucker."

Nucker? What? Oh wait, right. Rhymes with...

"Beatrice, thank you for telling us. But that's not what the N-word is. You're thinking of the F-word, which is also a really bad and demeaning word."

That's when, for the first time, we started talking about the current state of racism, what the real N-word is and means, and what it was and why it was. We have be teaching them about slavery and how black and brown people alike have been treated poorly throughout American history since they were little. Both girls listened and ask legitimate questions like "why would people do that" over and over, questions that aren't hard for us to discuss, but hard for us to answer being a white family who have not experienced systemic discrimination like non-whites have in this country and elsewhere.

We have read I am Abraham Lincoln, I am Harriet Tubman and I am Rosa Parks, all children's books tackling the subjects of slavery, racism and civil rights. We also read a book about Martin Luther King Jr.'s life. We also have a children's book about the American Presidents through President Obama, and his story is one of their favorites.

Then the girls got interested in a Netflix show called Family Reunions this year, a family comedy about a black family living in Atlanta. There was one show in particular that dealt with systemic racism and again prompted a dialogue with our girls.

Then it was recommended I read So You Want to Talk About Race by Ijeoma Oluo. It opened my eyes more than ever before about what it's like being black in a white supremacist patriarchal society. So many big and little biases that we perpetuate over and over again that leave their marks like repetitive cuts that never heal. I highly recommend you all read it.

Then we went to Washington DC and Amy took them to the Smithsonian National Museum of African American History & Culture to continue their education. After that, we went to Mount Vernon and learned more about the beginning of this country and the slaves that worked for George Washington and his family. What affected me the most emotionally was the unmarked graveyard where the dead slaves were buried. No mark of humanity. Nothing. Just like visiting the Holocaust Museum with our girls, it was all very moving and made us think of who we've been and who we still are.

Hundreds of years of slavery, oppression and death. According to the Tuskegee Institute, 4,743 people were lynched between 1882 and 1968 in the United States, including 3,446 African Americans and 1,297 whites. More than 73 percent of lynchings in the post-Civil War period occurred in the Southern states.

And our children ask why. Why would people do this to each other? Why would they hate so much? Why would people this they are any different or better than any other person. Not to mention the history of Latinos in this country, Asian people, Middle Eastern people, Indian people, and of course the indigenous people of North America.

I can appreciate so much better now when a friend of mine, a black father of two who shares posts activities with his kids, just like I do. Like his latest of them bringing home a Christmas tree, and saying and none of us got arrested today, that it was a good day. He's not joking either. That's not something I ever say.

And then just this morning I shared with Beatrice that our city had its first African American mayor. She thought that was great, especially in a city where less than 2% of the population is black, which she doesn't realize, and I'd bet most community members don't realize. And he had been one of the two first black city councilmembers elected to city council.

That's where the story goes south. Because the other black city councilmember was one of the two councilmembers (the other is white) this year in my city (Santa Cruz) who had substantiated claims of disrespectful workplace conduct, harassment and bullying by five female city staffers including the outgoing city mayor. Claims that the black councilmember said were false and their fault, because they were white and he was black, and it was their racist beliefs that drove their claims. This was something I was smack dab in the middle of being the chair of the City Commission for the Prevention Against Women (CPVAW) earlier this year and our pushing for a public reprimand of the two men, which never happened.

Now, when I had a conversation about this with someone recently I know well, another woman, a white woman, a women who herself has experience traumatic workplace bullying and sexual harassment, her immediate reaction was: "There it is, someone playing the race card again. I'm so sick of that."

I was quite conflicted about this, because my point was in context to what I knew had transpired above -- these men, one black and one white, had multiple complaints against by five women. To me, it had nothing to do with black or white. It had to do with patriarchy and abuse of power in the workplace.

"Well," I said to her, "systemic racism is still pretty prevalent today. This was a specific context of him turning his behavior back around on the women as a defense mechanism."

"Well, maybe," she said.

No epiphanies from this conversation other than the latent prejudices we all carry with us. Social change is hard, and as equality incrementally increases for those who had it suppressed for so long, those in power for so long begin to feel oppressed, and claim reverse discrimination, which is absurd.

Even I got caught up in it, though, because although I stand by everything we did, the backlash of the councilmember supporters and the polarization and politicization of it all overwhelmed me, and I felt compelled to resign from the commission. And then after all that, the same black councilmember came after me online with untrue derogatory comments.

So what does all this mean? Someday I'll want to tell my girls the story and reconcile my past for their future as women, and what could happen in the workplace by the hands of other men, regardless of race or ethnicity. But there is still the complexity of systemic sexism and racism that intertwines in this ongoing narrative known as America, as well as the rest of the world. The more we understand our own shortcomings and biases, the more we can be a positive agents of change.

Like the hard C (the C-word) of sexism and violence against women I wrote about over two years ago, the N-word is the sharp N, and it's cut is as deep and mortal as it's been throughout our history. And history wields a multi-edged sword, where only the larger awareness of race, class and gender intersectionality can help us better understand and acknowledge our differences, and maybe, just maybe, stop the bleeding.

The Others to Each Other

"Music is a world within itself
With a language we all understand
With an equal opportunity
For all to sing, dance and clap their hands..."

–Stevie Wonder, Sir Duke

The middle of the road still holds. Or at least, it felt that way. This was more than evident than ever during our city's latest holiday parade. People smiling, clapping and waving on either side of Pacific Avenue, closed for the parade, individuals and families from all walks of life and all parts of the socioeconomic and political spectrums.

Considering how divisive the state of the political, social and culture wars still are, locally and globally, it's refreshing to have moments of peaceful community assembly and transitional healing. Especially for all our children watching the parade and participating in the parade. Children who become collateral damage of unsettling change. Children who become catalysts of transformative change.

Bryce, our youngest, just wanted to watch the parade with her mom. Amy, my wife, said she'd take Bryce down towards to the end of the parade route. She really wanted to see the flag girls in the various school bands that would traverse the parade route. Later, when Beatrice and I met up with them, Bea wanted me to march with her band, it was fascinating to watch Bryce transfixed by the flag girls (and boys -- yes, there were boys flagging too).

"Bryce," I called out to her.

She turned. Her and her older sister were standing on the street a few feet in front of us.

"You want to do that someday?" I asked.

"Yes!" she said with a big enthusiastic nod, and then went back to watching the parade.

I looked at Amy and we both smiled big. From flag girl to astronaut, dream big my daughter. Be whatever you want to be, I thought. 

Earlier, Amy and Bryce dropped Beatrice and I off at the start of the parade. Bea's been playing the flute this year, after changing from the trombone the year before, and is now in intermediate band. She loves it and has been mentoring beginning flute players as well. Her school's band combined with another to march together in the holiday parade and they all practiced so hard for weeks. One time when I picked up Bea from band practice after school, I got to watch them practice marching and playing their instruments. For those who have never done it, it isn't easy. I struggle talking and walking at the same time. Their awesome band teacher teaches both schools and truly inspires the kids.

In between talking with some of the other parents while we waited for the parade to begin, I watched Beatrice interact with her bandmates and her teacher. I was so proud. She was so much more comfortable in her own skin than I was at her age. Plus, her and the rest of the band sounded great, and watching them practice with the middle school band and the award-winning high school band before the parade started increased the parental pride even further.

"Bea, you should totally stay in band through middle school and high school. The high school has won a lot of awards this year," I said. "The more you play the better you get."

"I think I want to," she said.

"You like playing the flute, right?"

"Yes, I do."

"There you go."

Then we were off marching along the parade route, Bea's combined-school band alternating between Dr. Rock and Jingle Bells, each rotation seemingly sounding better than the last. Or, maybe I just wanted it to sound better, with the community around us cheering the kids on.

All us parents who traveled along with the band took multiple pictures and videos. The continuous rain we'd been experienced since Thanksgiving thankfully took a break. The community clapped and waved, we clapped and waved, some danced in the street like Bryce and even the chief of police, and for a couple of hours the local social spectrum shone like a rainy day rainbow. All the colors lighting up the kids faces, including our own, with the hope of diverse cohesion without denying the necessary friction of potential positive change our differences can make. In other words, civility doesn't have to be a weapon used to keep others down. It should celebrate the awareness of all the others, because we are the others to each other.

As Santa brought the holiday parade to an end, I cheered for the catalysts of transformative change.

Like Pinches of Empathic Cinnamon

She touched Angel Cakes and cried out. She had tried not to touch her by pulling her sleeve down over her hand, but her hand slipped out as she grabbed the elf named Angel Cakes from a shelf to move her to a chair.

"Oh no!"

Beatrice froze after she said it.

"What's wrong?" asked Bryce.

"I touched Angel Cakes!"

"Are you sure you did?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Dad, I need cinnamon!"

"Why?" I said.

Now, at this point I was in the middle of something semi-important on my computer and not really paying attention.

"Because I touched Angel Cakes. She'll lose her magical powers if I don't sprinkle cinnamon around her!"

Again Bryce tried to make her feel better. "Are you sure you touched her? Maybe you didn't."

"I did, Bryce! I did!"

"Beatrice, look up where the other spices are for the cinnamon," I said.

She looked. "Dad, I don't see it. We have to hurry!"

"Bea, the elf will be okay, just keep looking."

Of course, Mom had to be the one to come downstairs and find the cinnamon, which was actually in a place neither of us would've looked, which I realized afterwards was where we always kept it and I should've known. But again, I was doing something semi-important on my computer (making a new Christmas music playlist actually -- hey, that's important).

We had just gotten back from Thanksgiving at my sister's house and the shelf elves had appeared again in our house, coming out of elven hibernation at the North Pole since last Christmas. According to shelf-elf lore, or our daughters' version of the lore, you can't touch the red shelf elves with your hands or they'll lose their magical power. The others you can touch with bare hands, just not the red ones. Which is why you have to sprinkle cinnamon around the red elves, so they can get their magical powers back. The cinnamon is like a super-vitamin. After a little research, though, I didn't tell the girls that they must also write an apology letter to Santa Claus if they touch one of the elves. It's stressful and creepy enough that the elves move around every night with all our shelf-elfing shenanigans. No need to stress out the girls about being in hot water with Santa.

Even after that semi-traumatic shelf elf event, what I'm the most happy about are two things. The first is the fact that my family loves the holidays and we're all in with decorating and the festive and loving sentiments of the seasons. Even Bryce who fights it a little here and there when she'd rather be playing Minecraft, Roblox or watching silly YouTube videos. And I even broke our decorating tradition this year by hanging lights outside before Thanksgiving. Mercy me. That nearly caused a rift in the space-time continuum, but then we sealed the deal, or unsealed the universe, by listening to Christmas music before Thanksgiving in addition to decorating early. Also, Beatrice just calls out to Alexa, "Alexa, play classic Christmas music!" Right on, Bea. In my defense, however, we're having a string of winter storms now, which we need, and I wouldn't have been able to decorate outside right after Thanksgiving like we usually do. They both also helped pick out gifts for a family experiencing domestic violence that we're again adopting this year.

The second thing I'm most happy about is the fact that our girls long to be with extended family and friends, to share continuous friendship, love and gratitude without selfish agenda or emotional baggage. Well, sometimes there's a selfish agenda when gift-getting is involved, but hey, they are still kids. However, they don't have the purposeful and painful distancing that comes with time and experience, when relationships can and do go awry and forgiveness is conditional. And although we are those adults with those experiences, we continue to foster positive growth and compassion for all, to be aware of our own feelings and their fluid context, as well as those of others, and encourage our girls to do the same. Our daughters remind us to look at extended family and friends and see wonderful human beings, people doing their personal best or trying to (including us), even if we don't always see eye to eye (and we sure as hell don't always see eye to eye), and every day our hearts and souls are a little fuller with them in our lives.

Even if it's only in little dashes year after year, like pinches of empathic cinnamon to keep our magical powers intact.