Category: Vision (ISSLC 1)

A school administrator is an educational leader who promotes the success of all students by facilitating the development, articulation, implementation, and stewardship of a vision of learning that is shared and supported by the school community.

Breath In The Good, Breath Out The Bad

It’s been a week of family, friends, memories and love. 

Hard to believe it’s been a week since our Aunt passed. Time moves really slow and really fast simultaneously. 

Aunt Florine has us thoughtful and reflective. My initial tribute can be read here: Love, Love, Love…Love You More!

In recalling one of the many lessons Aunt Florine has imparted on the world, the wisdom of our Great Aunt Chili was evoked.

By the way, I think it was Plato who wrote something about passing twice. Something like, we pass twice, once when we stop breathing one once the last time someone thinks about or speaks our name. Something like that. 

It fills me with joy to write the name Aunt Chili. Talk about an incredible person and amazing woman. Aunt Chili walked this earth for a hundred and four and a half years. Spicy and uniquely Aunt Chili with every step!

Anyway, the lesson Aunt Chili passed along to Aunt Florine, that Aunt Florine then passed along to the rest of us is about breathing. 

Aunt Chili (and then Aunt Florine) said we should breath in the good and breath out the bad. 

In even more detail she said something like, we should breath in all the crisp, fresh, clean air we can. 

She said we should breath it in along with all the goodness we can think of. She said we should breath it in for as long as we can, and that we should fill our lungs with it. 

She said we should hold it in and let it move throughout our bodies. She said we should let it filter through the outer walls of our organs and flow through out blood. Something like that. 

Then (she said), we should let that crisp, fresh air release the good into our bodies and absorb anything bad we have floating around inside of us. 

She said we should let each particle of air latch on to any negative emotion, negative thought, confusion, and frustration.  She said we should let the bad cling to the breath we’ve brought in like dust to static. She said we should let as much bad collect on it before we expel it from our bodies. 

She said we should smile and feel calm, joyful and complete as we watch the bad dissipate and disappear. 

What’s more, she said we should do that as frequently as we can, and that we can do it whenever we want. 

Anyway, she said something like that. 

And why not? I can’t think of a reason not to believe breathing in the good and breathing out the bad is a good idea. What harm could it do? When I try it, every time I try it…it works. 

Try it now if you’d like. Try it, and really see it happening as you do. 

That’s the key. Visualize the good and visualize the bad. See the particles of air carrying all that stuff. In with the good and out with the bad.

It can’t be the first time you’ve heard someone give this advice. Our breath is so incredibly powerful if we let it be. 

Time moves so slow and so fast, simultaneously. How do you want to spend the moments you have? How are you going to spend those moments?

You can’t go back. You can’t do anything differently than what you’ve done. What you can do is make sure every moment counts. The next one, and the the one after that. One at a time. 

As long as we’re breathing, we can use our breath to enhance our lives. At least that’s what I heard.

Live. Love. Listen. Learn. Lead. Thanks. 

The 20 Minute Response Strategy to Positive Pathways


Monday is Yom Kippur. 

For Jewish people, Yom Kippur wraps up 10 days of reflection and repentance that begin on Rosh Hashanah. 

The words “Rosh Hashanah” translate into head of the year (signifying the start of a new lunar year in Judaism), and Yom Kippur translates to day of atonement. 

There’s a story about a famous historical rabbi who was known for writing a list of mistakes he made each day before he went to bed.

He would write the list and promise to do better the next day.

The thing is, he often repeated the same mistakes he promised to correct, even as soon as the very next day.

Noticing this, a friend asked, “Rabbi, why write the list and make the promise each day if you’re only going to break it?”

The rabbi answered, “Ahh, good question…but tonight when I write the list and make the promise, I’m actually going to mean it!”

None of us are strangers to human error. No matter what we believe, what we practice or how we live, we all make mistakes. 

The really cool thing about mistakes is that they help us learn.

Our capacity to grow is limitless. 

The only thing that can stop us from learning from our mistakes is ourselves. 

When we continue to try, even and especially in the face of repeated setbacks, we give ourselves endless opportunities to succeed. 

When we model grace, self-love and a growth mindset we give our kids the same.

One area in which I’m actively working to grow is in my response to people in situations where I find myself emotionally triggered.

It happens to the best of us. Something is said or done that strikes a nerve and we respond from a place of emotion rather than a place of thoughtfulness.

The other day I tried a thing the other day when I found myself in that very situation. It wasn’t rocket science but it was a thing.

I was triggered and ready to speak in frustrated tones. I also knew that isn’t ever my preference.

Whenever I respond in negative ways it tends to increase negativity and extend triggering situations. So I gave myself a minute to consider my response.

In that minute I realized I needed more time. I knew I was on the right path, slowing down, breathing deeply, considering what impact I could have on those around me, thinking about how to lift the situation rather than dragging it around (and possibly even down).

So, I set a timer on my phone for 20 minutes. I made an agreement with myself that I would not respond in a negative way for at least 20 minutes. If in 20 minutes I still thought a negative, frustrated response was appropriate, then so be it.

Guess what. I didn’t. 20 minutes was just enough time for me to remember how much better it feels to meet a triggering, potentially negative experience or interaction with positivity, patience and grace.

Is it reasonable to set a timer each time we get upset? Is it possible? Maybe not.

That said, I’ve spent plenty more time than 20 minutes draining energy from myself and others with negative self talk, frustrated tones and unproductive confrontation in some situations.

To be clear it’s mostly all good. I’m generally surrounded by people who lift me up and I spend most of my time in positive, loving and kind interactions with those people.

I am human, though. So I do make mistakes and I do look for ways to learn from them when I can. I’m going to keep trying the 20 minute response strategy to positive pathways when I have the opportunity. Even if I fail a bunch between succeeding.

It feels good, and interestingly, it seems to enhance my relationships, provide others with enhanced outcomes, and move me through challenges even more quickly than when I respond to triggering situations immediately.

Slow and steady might actually win the race.

Live. Love. Listen. Learn. Lead. Thanks.

Do Fun Things. Enjoy Life.

There’s nothing to it. If you want to enjoy life, do fun things. There you go.

Well, maybe it’s not quite that simple. Life is jam packed with experiences. Some we choose. Some we don’t choose. Some we have control over. Some we don’t have control over.

Our eight year – old and I are reading “13 Things Strong Kids Do” by Amy Morin. He keeps reminding me that when we can’t control what happens we should work on controlling how we feel about it. That helps us set our own course in any kind of weather.

We were in Knoxville a few weeks ago. We were visiting our Nan and our Pop. It’s been almost four years since we were able take what had previously been an annual road trip. The recent pandemic shifted those plans. We love our Nan and our Pop. That shift was tough.

Now, we’re back at it and feeling great that we can be. It’s fun!

We could avoid the ten hour drive by sticking with FaceTime, phone calls and texts. We’d still be able to interact with Nan and Pop, but those kids of interactions aren’t nearly as fun or as meaningful, so we take the drive.

We laugh and play on the road. We share our time and enjoy keeping close company with each other.

When we’re in Knoxville we laugh and play with Nan and Pop. We make deep and lasting connections that we couldn’t make through screens. We have fun!

One of the great things about Tennessee is the temperate climate. Because of the blue skies and the hot sun we decided on a hotel with a pool on the outside.

Guess what…it rained every day we were there. We couldn’t control that.

Guess what else…the rain didn’t stop us.

Drizzly and cold, our crew didn’t’ waste any time not being in outside hotel pool. Day after cold, wet day we geared up and jumped in. It was fun! Possibly more fun than it would have been without the rain.

We played the color guessing dunk game, shark attack, swim race, and many more classic Berg kid pool games.

We made up a new game called, “Skip Flop” during which players try to skip their flip flops as many times as they can on the surface the pool without hitting their siblings (or their parents) in the face. Very few casualties occurred.

One of my favorite moments was when our almost 14 year – old jumped in on the first day and joyfully exclaimed, “I forgot how fun this is!”

It’s easy to skip trips to the pool wen you’re busy with other stuff, working on pursuing interests, or just too comfortable being dry. Turns out, when we push through the “busy” list, get our bathing suits on and jump in…it’s fun!

We spent hours in that pool. It was great.

I’ll alway remember the first trip back to Tennessee after the world got right side up again, and the important reminder to make room for fun, even when I’m too busy or too tired.

I understand how fortunate we are to have opportunities. I try hard to stay grateful in every moment of every day.

I know that many people don’t’ have access to road trips, hotel pools and even to Nan’s and Pop’s. I try not to take these things for granted.

My hope for all families and all individuals is that there are times when they can access people, things and activities they love…and that when they can, they choose to.

We can’t alway decide what’s in front of us. We can’t always avoid unanticipated challenges and roadblocks…the small, inconsequential ones or the big, mountain moving ones.

One of the things our fun-loving kids and a rainy week to Knoxville reminded me of is that if we work really hard to focus with open hearts and open minds we can sometimes control how we feel about whatever road we’re on, warts and all…and when we find enough calm and enough clarity we can sometimes find enough fun to truly enjoy the moments we have on this long and winding road.

Live. Love. Learn. Lead. Thanks.

Loss Learning…Powerful and Positive!

My heart was racing. My eyes were wide. The crowd around me was blurred. I could hear the shuffling and the chatter, but I was laser focused. 

Our eighth grader and our sixth grader were ready to play in their first tennis match of the season. This was our sixth grader’s first match ever. I can’t think of much I enjoy more than watching my kids engage in activities they’re passionate about. 

Watching them gets me into a flow. I don’t think it’s about vicarious living. I’m just so proud of them. No matter the outcome of any activity or event, I’m so proud. 

We have four. In this moment they’re thirteen, eleven, ten and eight years-old. I’m forty nine years-old, and while I still have goals, a wonderful career and an active personal, professional, spiritual, social and intellectual life, most of what I do is set on a foundation of my kids’ joy and well-being. 

I want them to be happy. I want them to achieve. I want them to know they’re loved. I want them to have courage, give themselves grace, learn how to balance their lives, feel calm, and find meaningful pathways through the triumphs and the challenges they have and will undoubtedly continue to face. 

The first set was underway. Our eight grader and his doubles partner were hitting every shot. Serves were on point, feet were shifting and shuffling, the ball was an obscured yellow blob rocketing back and forth with purpose. 

They stretched and they leapt. They pulled each other along with fist pumps and racket taps. They were steady, calm and patient, and they made quick work of it, excusing their opponents after a 6 – 2 win. 

It was as if I blacked out while they played then came to after the set. I was standing next to the mom of my kid’s partner. We exchanged smiles. A great result. After taping rackets and thanking his opponents, our kid looked up to where he knew we were watching with a wide grin and a thumbs up. I returned the gesture. One down and one to go. 

Our sixth grader, in his first match ever, was playing with an eight grade partner in a points match. It was a big deal and he was thrilled. 

That week we talked a lot about playing one point at a time. No matter the score, every point is a new point. Before long he and his partner found themselves down 4 – 1 in the set. I’ve seen many middle school tennis matches. This is typically where the opposing team wins two more games and runs away with it. Not here. Not this time.

The kids were hitting shots and moving fluidly around the court. They were simply off by a flick of the wrist here and a stretch of the arm there. As they crossed the court to switch sides at 4 – 1 our sixth grader flashed me the same kind of genuine and enthusiastic grin I got from our eight grader after his win. I knew in that moment he was nowhere near done, and that he was holding a winning attitude. I knew that no matter the outcome, this was a great experience for him. 

The guys won three more games, going down to their opponent 6 – 4. It was a great set! When he came off the courts he told me he felt shaken at 4 – 1 and realized that some deep breathing and mindfulness would help him get back in it. Even thought they didn’t take the set this time, he was beaming with pride at having won three more games after that trying moment. I couldn’t have wished for a better outcome! Sometimes loss learning is just as good as winning.

Coach tells the boys they either win or they learn. There is no losing on this team. Our kids take it to heart and live that paradigm as a young athletes. It’s wonderful to watch. 

After the match, coached asked if anyone had anything to say. Our sixth grader was the only one to speak up. He said, “I just want to say, whether you won or learned today, I think everyone did a really good job!” 

That moment will stick with me forever. So important to remember. Wining is great. Learning is great. With a growth mindset and a positive attitude it’s all great! 

When we listen to our kids, let them guide, celebrate their efforts and support them in processing the unique paths they tread, we help them build resilience. 

Loss learning can be powerful and positive when we make it so!  

Live. Love. Listen. Learn. Lead. Thanks.

Let’s Never Allow Hate To Be Normalized Again

Today I chaperoned our 13 year-old’s Sunday school field trip to the Holocaust Museum. 

We gathered with the Rabbi to prep before leaving the synagogue. She came bearing food, as all good Rabbi’s do. A variety of tasty muffins helped set a foundation of comfort and a positive affects we took the moment to ground ourselves in contemplativeness (which I’m almost certain is a word).

The Rabbi asked us (adults and teens) to individually consider what it means to be Jewish today and throughout history. She told us there’s no right answer. She said each us would likely walk out of the museum with thoughts and feelings uniquely our own. 

She suggested we talk with one another, with fiends and family, that we ask questions and  that we take time to process. She urged us to be present and reflective. 

As we drove I asked asked our son what he knew about the Holocaust, what he hoped to learn and how he felt. He was thoughtful in his response. He let me know he was looking forward to learning more. I’m very proud of the young man he’s become. 

We didn’t talk much during the tour. Every so often he pointed to a picture or some other artifact, quietly and confidently letting me know about a realization he was having or an epiphany that had shifted his thinking. He was so mature and composed. 

I tried to front load him as we approached each exhibit. I check in regarding his comfort level multiple times. He maintained that he was fine and wanted got keep going, keep learning, and continue looking through this lens of his own history. 

Early propaganda, discrimination and hate, disbelief and confusion, policies of oppression, the ghettos, the uprisings, the many heroic “upstanders” who risked their lives to save the lives of others, the many who turned a blind eye, the parallels to so much tragedy still being perpetuated in our world today, the camps, and the chambers. This was a to contemplate; for both of us. We will undoubtedly be processing together for some time. 

Our tour ended in front of Ann Frank’s picture and story. A story she lived she wrote down when she was just about his age. 

In the short years she spent alive on this earth, Ann Frank somehow had the wisdom, insight and foresight to write of a chestnut tree outside her window, “From my favorite spot on the floor, I look up at the blue sky and the bare chestnut tree whose branches little raindrops shine, appearing like silver.”

We each have a unique vision of the world. A vision based on the complex amalgam of who we are, coupled with our lived experiences in any given moment. 

Ann Frank’s vision…the beautiful, complex and simple way in which she saw the world, a world that we literally crumbling in and around her…was her hope. It was her guide and her salvation. It was her enduring and critical message. 

She wrote, “What is done cannot be undone, but one can prevent it happening again. I don’t think of all the misery but of the beauty that still remains. Whoever is happy will make others happy too.”

Michigan’s Holocaust Museum was gifted a sapling from the very tree that stood within sight of Ann Frank’s “favorite spot on the floor.” That sapling grows in the museum’s courtyard. It’s pictured above. 

Today, our son and I had a chance to look at that sapling. A living, connected artifact that had been looked at by Ann Frank. One that inspired her to the indelible outcomes she achieved.  

I stared. I couldn’t look away. An electric current ran through my body. I was viscerally aware that the unthinkable tragic events of the Holocaust, while deeply important to myself, my child and every Jew, connected to our individual and collective identities, were among a myriad of similarly tragic events that continue to plague our word. Not the least of which (and uncontrollable present in my mind in that moment) is the history of slavery in the United States and the western world.

One of our community members asked the Rabbi what we can do to make sure this never happens again. With a deep breath and a comforting smile she told offend that we must never allow hate to be normalized. She said while we can’t each move mountains, when we each take care of pebbles in this way, the world can change. 

So, next time you hear a discriminatory statement issued about a person with a disability, see a person being judged by the color of his skin, or witness someone suffering at the hands of others on the basis of her identity, do all you can to not let hate be normalized. 

Resist hate. Do it careful, compassionately and with grace. Do it with an open heart and an open mind. Remember, the beauty still remains. The beauty always remains. 

For our ancestors, for ourselves and for our children…for our history and for the future of our world, let’s never let hate be normalized again.

Live. Love. Listen. Learn. Lead. Thanks.

I Fell Into A Dumpster (Nothing But Blue Skies)

It would be reasonable for someone to use the idea of falling into a dumpster as a metaphor for hitting rock bottom. I could see someone saying something like, “I fell into a dumpster” to address some sort of loss, misgiving, or feeling of defeat.

Well, I actually fell into a dumpster. On Friday afternoon, in fact. 

As unique an experience as it seemed at the time, I did it. I actually fell into a dumpster. Then, as I was lying on my back at the bottom of said dumpster, nestled in and around multiple bags of noxious trash, breathing through my mouth to no avail, and the only thought I could muster was, “I just fell into a dumpster…I actually just fell into a dumpster.”

It was how you might be imagining it. It was the result of a brilliant idea, of which I have many that I must admit result in less than fortunate outcomes. I do lot’s of learning (or not, some might say). To my credit, I would still speculate that it had at least a 75% chance of working out better than it did. 

You see, I was throwing a mat away. It was a really big mat. It was a mat so big, it didn’t fit into the dumpster. Picture it, I fashioned this really big, dusty and damaged old mat into a giant Little Debbie’s Swiss Cake Roll replica, dragged it to the dumpster and hulked it in like a humongous, floppy javelin. I issued a flawless tough guy grunt as I released the mat. Super proud of myself. Very satisfying.

But…it didn’t fit. It was sticking out a good several feet on a diagonal from the other end of the dumpster. 

Ironically, as my brilliant idea hatched it was accompanied by the knowledge that Lorelei would have, in no uncertain terms, denied me the opportunity to put this plan into action. 

She would have insisted that I didn’t step on the center of that half sticking out of a dumpster mat. 

She would have told me it would not have folded cleanly, giving me the ability to easily step over the mat and out of the dumpster after generating a precise fit with my engineering prowess.  

She would have confidently outlined impending disaster without blinking her eyes. She would have let me know that instead, I would end up on my back at the bottom of the dumpster. 

Ha. Lorelei doesn’t know everything about everything. Besides, Lorelei wasn’t there. It was just me, my thoughtful analysis of the situation, and my imminent glory. Also, Lorelei doesn’t have to know about every great idea that pops into my mind. Frankly, I don’t think she could handle it. 

Well, as you (and Lorelei) now know, I ended up on my back at the bottom of the dumpster. Hindsight. Maybe she makes some good points occasionally. 

Regardless, after I rested for a moment I took a picture. For posterity. It’s the picture above.

I climbed out fo the dumpster through the sliding door on the side, brushed myself off to the best of my ability and went inside to take my lumps. My colleagues and I had a few good laughs over it. 

One of the teachers I work with said, “You know what, Seth…when you’re lying at the bottom of a dumpster, looking up on a day like today, all you can see are blue skies.” 

I think he would have patted me on the shoulder but thought better of it because of the stench. 

Anyway, he was right. We face many challenges. Each of us has our share. The more we do so with a positive affect, an optimistic viewpoint and grounding in the beauty of every moment, the better off we may be.

Sure, I fell into a dumpster. When I did, all I could see was bright, blue skies. 

Through the triumphs and the challenges, life’s pretty darn good…and I’m filled with awe and gratitude. 

Live. Love. Listen. Learn. Lead. 

The Amazing Human Being – Truly a Miracle!

I was walking with our eight year-old the other day. We were downtown in Detroit. It was sunny. Winter was almost behind us. It was one of those Michigan moment when the coats come off and you’re compelled to be outside.

Loads of people were taking advantage of the beautiful day. I remembered these moment from my childhood. Walking around the city, feeling the connectivity and the rush of energy these streets so effortlessly provide.

He looked at me and asked, “Hey Daddy?”

I answered, “Yes, Sir?”

He said, “I was thinking…”

I replied, “Uh Huh.”

He continued, “It’s amazing that human beings exists and that we are what we are.”

I dug in, ”What do you mean?”

With thoughtful enthusiasm he told me all about it. Turns out, the kid views our existence as miraculous. He made some sense, too.

Albert Einstein said, “Live your life as if nothing is a miracle or as if everything is a miracle.”

I think the latter might be the way.

Our eight year-old is a thinker. He’s incredibly reflective. This isn’t the first time he’s opened my eyes. Every little thing. It is pretty incredible.

Why, then, is it so difficult for me to be grateful all the time?

I do have gratitude. It’s just that it tends to show up around majestic, magnificent moments. Beautiful sunsets, the birth of my children, huge, life changing events like when the Spartans make the Sweet Sixteen, and so on. Great moments indeed, but at closer examination…aren’t all moments miraculous?

What about every time we interact with one another? What if every time one human being had an interaction with another human being they both considered it miraculous? What if each time we connect we do so with intentionally, savoring the moments we get to spend together, listening with open-minded curiosity, and seeking to learn?

April is Autism Awareness month.

As the principal of a school with a categorical AIA program I’m keenly aware of the incredible impact children diagnosed with Autism can have on the learning, growth and strengthening of a community. As we move into April I think we can take the very important lesson our youngest taught me to heart.

Human beings are Amazing. Tall human beings, short human beings, musical human beings, athletic human beings, neurodivergent human beings, neurotypical human beings, human being who are shy, human beings who are outgoing, and every human being in between.

This seems like a really good time to be thoughtful and intentional about living our lives as if everything is a miracle. In fact, maybe it’s always a good time!

Live. Love. Listen. Learn. Lead. Thanks!

Trying to Find the Source of the Poop Smell

I called home after work the other day. I asked Lorelei, “How’s it going?”

She answered, “It’s fine,” followed by, “we’re just trying to find the source of the poop smell.”

We do have a puppy and twelve shoes between us.

In this case, someone literally smelled poop. In that moment Lorelei and kids were actually searching the house for poop so they could clean it up.

Even so, the phrase landed on me with a figurative connection to the reality of parenting, education and daily human life.

My roles as an educator and a parent are both incredibly joyful. Congruently, they both also occasionally come with dizzying challenges. Not the least of which is repeatedly finding myself faced with the task of “trying to find the source of the poop smell,” in one way or another.

It comes in multiple forms.

Sometime I smell it, by which I mean sometimes I’m aware a challenge exists: the demands of putting forward a rigorous curriculum while simultaneously fostering classroom and community cultures focused on relationships, connections and social-emotional well-being, nuanced and complex human interactions that inadvertently lead to miscommunication and strain at work and at home, the heavy lifting of seeking to understand functions of behaviors that can confuse and distract us, and so on.

Sometimes I don’t smell it, by which I mean there are times when others have challenges I struggle to understand and/or recognize. My struggle to understand and/or recognize the challenges in those situations doesn’t tend to make them disappear. Contrarily, a failure to understand and/or recognize challenges faced by those around me can exacerbate the challenges. Perception is reality. A challenge is a challenge, regardless of my fallibility in any given moment.

When someone is struggling in ways I don’t understand, my ability to empathize and respond with compassion is occasionally impeded. I’m working, in part, through a study of contemplative practices such as mindfulness, meditation and flow-inducing activities (like exercise and art) to address that roadblock. It feels like I’m headed in the right direction. Still, I have a long way to go.

Sometime “the poop smell” is coming from me. I’ve stepped in it, so to speak. During times of heightened stress I occasionally even find myself manufacturing challenges that might otherwise not exist. I occasionally smell “poop” I never end up finding. Positive progress happens when I muster the strength to let it go and move on during those times (often by making use of the contemplative practices mentioned above).

We all have challenges. In fact, problem finding and problem solving are arguably what it’s all about. Through a parenting and education lens it’s important to both recognize when challenges present themselves and to find pathways toward solutions.

Ignoring the “poop smell” can cause unhealthy circumstances, both for individuals and for the community. Ruminating on the “poop smell” for too long without being able to identify it’s source or find a remedy can do the same.

When it comes to “trying to find the source of the poop smell” I believe we need to take a balanced approach. Trust your own senses, believe and support those around you, make genuine efforts to create healthy, safe spaces for all to move around in, and always remember that there is a positive way forward.

Live. Love. Listen. Learn. Lead. Thanks.

One of my Daring Days

Our 12 year-old recently said to me, “Today is one of my daring days.” I don’t remember the context.

There was something to overcome and he overcame it. It might have been an orchestra concert to perform in or a tennis match to play. It may have been connecting with a new friend or sharing thinking in class. Regardless, “One of my daring days” stuck with me.

At 12 years-old he understands and can articulate that some days are daring and others are not. He knows that courage isn’t at the ready all time, but a character strength we have to understanding and intentionally enlist. He know’s even thought is’t not always available, that daring is accessible to him. He had access to it on that day and he recognized that access. I believe this sensibility will allow him to have increasingly more daring days, along with more automatic access to them as he grows. He seems to like the feeling. I was thrilled he mentioned it.

In mentioning it, he reminded me that while daring days are wonderful, some days are not daring days. Some days are cautious. Some days we get stuck in fear and find ourselves unable to move. He reminded me it’s ok to live some days within our comfort zones. Even to live some days regressed and motionless. Sometimes I feel like I can conquer any fear and travel any distance. Sometimes I feel locked in place. Human. 

Change, while essential and inevitable, requires daring. Even positive change. Change is wonderful and exhilarating. Change is also loss. Even when we change for the better, the better replaces what was in its place. Whatever was there before the better might not have been as good, but it may have been comfortable. 

“Better,” even though it’s better, can be scary. When we change for the better it often feels like we are then responsible for maintaining. Can we be expected to be our better selves indefinitely? What if we mess it up? There’s lots of pressure in change. On daring days, the motion of change, the growth that accompanies it, and even that pressure can be exciting. 

Our 12 year-old knew he was having a daring day. The possibilities were boundless. After the first daring thing he decided to do more daring things. He told me it was a daring day while we were driving toward home. After he told me he mentioned he was going to write when we got home. If you’re a writer you know it can be a daring thing to do. He was teaming with ideas and enthusiasm. He enlisted the daring he found access to. He maximized its benefits while they were in front of him. 

It’s ok to have days that are not daring. When we do have days that are, we should harness them. We should take action and make plans. We should specifically plan for open-hearted self love and for grace in the knowledge that we will continue experiencing many types of days, and that each one it gift; days we soar, days we doubt, days we show up, and days we hide. Each is a gift. Each has value.

We should ground ourselves in reality by being intentional about identifying our daring days, taking advantage of them, and settling in comfortably to the notion that our moods, our energy and our capacity to engage courageously in the world, both inside and around us, is subject to ebbs and flows. 

It is said that happiness does not come to the person who has the best of everything but to the person who makes the best of everything. We should consider that as best be can, forgive ourselves when we can’t, and dare to keep putting one step in front of the other with every bit of strength we have in every given moment.
In it together for the kids. 

Live. Love. Listen. Learn. Lead. Thanks.

A Massive Stroke of Genius

I have five brothers and sisters. Our mother had a massive stroke on Friday. While it was terrifying, I was in crisis response mode in the first moments and hours; listening and learning, answering doctors’ questions, providing comfort, contacting family members and friends. Thankfully we were at the hospital when it happened, waiting for our mom to come around after a successful procedure. 

The stroke team leapt into action and were laser focused for the next few hours. They kept me informed every step of the way and I kept in close contact with every doctor I knew, working to process and communicate with my siblings in realtime. We’re a close knit group and we’ve needed to share thinking a lot over the past 72 hours. Ironically, any one of us would typically be calling our mom to help make the decisions we’ve been making on her behalf. My hand is still reflexively going to the phone for her wisdom and feedback. 

Once things were relatively stable and we were through the initial response phase, waves of emotion began to wash over me. Family and friends were good to have around for this. I’ve lived long enough to understand a bit about grief, and there it was. Relieved with that assurance that our mom wasn’t going anywhere I began to grieve the initial deficit picture. Some loss of movement, questions about expressive and receptive language, and even wonderings about chewing and swallowing. 

If you’re reading this you most likely either know my mom or have heard me talk about her. My mom is a life coach. She has a PhD. She’s an expert in human development, she’s a problem solver and she’s helped a multitude of people find pathways to progress through challenging situations. She’s strong and she’s stubborn. She’s a fighter. In the preface of her book, “I Don’t Want To Be Anyone But Me”, she points to her own transformation, connecting the ideas that, “the first step to positive change begins with self awareness” and, “only you can empower yourself to choose your own destiny.” 

So, a massive stroke. It was shocking and surreal. You can’t be talking about my mom. This can’t have happened to the life of the party. This is the same woman who wakes up to thirty minutes on the elliptical machine every morning, the one who does the New Your Times crossword every day (the Sunday puzzle too), and the scrabble champion who can’t be beat. This is an international speaker who has inspired crowds all over the world. She’s the mother of six and the grandmother of twelve. Every person who meets my mom, from grocery store clerks to United States Congressmen, becomes her friend. Moreover, she doesn’t distinguish between them with regard to her outpouring of kindness and compassion. My mom gives tirelessly and loves without limit.  

She had a stroke, but when I think of my mom I think of a different kind of stroke. I think of the kind of stroke that an artist takes to create a masterpiece. I think of lines and colors on a canvas that I could stand and stare at for days. I think of beauty and imagination. I think of creativity and innovation. I think of eloquence, I think of determination and I think of grit.

During the past three days we’ve seen so much to be thankful for. After spending the weekend with my mom in this way I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that her recovery is going to be nothing short of a stroke of genius. No, a massive stroke of genius. My mom is using this opportunity to once again show us all what it means to take hold of life and control your own destiny. She’s already doing it. Every minute we’re seeing more engagement with smiles and laughter, hand holding and connected, knowing looks that might say, “This is frustrating,” but also say, “Give me a minute to work this out…we both know I can.”

Yesterday I asked her if she was ready to talk. We’re a teasing family so I told her, “O.K. mom, let’s give it try…say, banana pancakes.”  Her beautiful smile stretched into her cheeks and traveled up to her eyes, which she was simultaneously rolling at me. She’s here. She’s working. She’s resting. She’s problem solving. She is figuring this out. I have no doubt that my mom is already on the path to a full recovery so that she can get back to that elliptical machine, the crossword puzzles, Scrabble, her 12 doting grandkids, the 6 of us who need her so much, the sister she’s joined at the hip with, her extensive network of friends and family, and a world of people being washed over by waves of trauma that need Dr. Micki Berg’s comforting presence and sage wisdom. 

If you’re reading this and your a person who knows and loves my mom (two inseparable things), you can rest easy in the knowledge that she’s doing great. It looks like we have a journey ahead of us, and over the past 3 days she has shown us in no uncertain terms that she’s ready, and already carving a path. As always, she’s an inspiration. I cannot fully express how much my siblings and I are moved by the outpouring of love that’s come our way, and how important it has been as motivation for my mom. I know this goes without saying, but keep it coming.

I rewatched my mom’s TEDx talk today. Take a look for yourself: “Ageless Wisdom – Explore Your Untapped Potential” – Dr. Micki Berg. This is a woman who can’t be held back. She’s got this. Those of us who are with her are seeing my mom do what needs to be done to figure it out. Again, I am supremely confident that her recover will be nothing short of another massive stroke of genius. 

With my deepest love for my incredible mom. We got this, mom.

Live. Love. Listen. Learn. Lead.