It’s too short to do surveys too, but that’s another subject.
But I don’t like giving bad reviews, as in reviews on bad books, speeches, etc. I don’t do it. It doesn’t make me feel good doing it. And it can destroy the recipient.
I might give a friend feedback, and I’ll be honest too. But at least then, that person asked and knows that I’m trying to help and not tear down.
But an unsolicited, negative review, I’ll pass. I don’t need it, they don’t need it. I’ll just move along to the next book, presentation, speech. Whatever.
If I like it, on the flip side, unsolicited good reviews is what life is all about!
I love to tell an author how much I loved his or her book. It’s encouraging. For both of us. I feel good doing it. I know the recipient enjoys it too.
And we can all use more time feeling good.
Life’s Truths
What’s the Point?
What’s the point?
To climb a mountain. Why?
To exercise? What for?
To work hard? For what?
To deal with life? To what end?
When it comes down to it, there really is no answer that works for everyone. And there’s really no reason at all to push yourself. In fact, life would that you don’t. Don’t believe me?
Tell someone you’re on a diet. See how long before you’re told that it won’t work, or you’re not doing it right; not giving up enough stuff, eating the wrong things.
Start a new exercise program. You won’t be doing it long enough, at the wrong time of the day, or you’ll hear some story about someone who, despite being fit, died at a young age.
Set a goal. It’ll be too high, or too low.
Write something. You spelled it wrong or you’ll be told how they should do it too, you know since writing is so easy- a monkey can do it.
You see, no one wants to see you do something out of the ordinary or accomplish something.
I don’t think it’s always mean, but it’s discouraging. And ultimately, the naysayers are right.
There’s always a better way to diet and exercise. There’s always a taller mountain. There’s always someone who worked less and got more. There’s always a better way, someone more accomplished, or a threat of failure and total humiliation.
So what’s the point?
What is it? You know what makes you feel good. You know whether a challenge is rewarding to struggle for. You’re the one that has to tough it out; do the work. You’re the one that has to live with the results.
Don’t let perfection stop you. Go for it. For you. For your reasons. Climb your mountains, set your goals, do what you want to do and do it because you want to. Just be prepared to be asked, “Why? What’s the point?”
You don’t owe anyone an answer, but if you don’t know, ain’t no one going to be able to explain it to you.
Expectations vs. Reality
For the second year, I have anxiously looked forward to the “ice-off” at Strawberry Reservoir.
It has been famed and legended that as the long winter’s ice recedes from the shoreline in the early days of the high mountains’ spring, these channels between the shoreline and the darkened ice covered depths, warmed in the direct sunlight, attract small fish in big numbers. And small fish in turn attract hungry big fish.
The legend says these times are the time to find the fish concentrated within casting distance of the shore and eager to take minnow imitations. And as most legends go, the stories are too tempting to not to want to participate. And I, like others, watch for the word, like the beacons of Gondor, to take up our arms and seek the broad-backed, gluttonous, monster Cutthroats of Strawberry Reservoir. Friday afternoon, the torch was lit and on Sunday I arrived at the 7,600 foot elevated lake.
The promise is that so long as your arm can cast and your presentation reaches the water, the fish would be in-line to take your offering. A fish on every cast is what I had been conditioned to expect.
Well, as the day progressed, it became apparent that it would take more than one cast per fish.
I endured the wind, the snow, and the hours of standing on a cold shore, casting in various angles and using various speeds to attract the fish that prowl the slim channels in search of their spring buffet. But these fish do not get large by being caught every spring. They still possess their smart, suspicious hunting prowess.
In all I spent 8 hours for 6 fish landed. Legendary? Not exactly. Worth it? Oh hell yes.
You see in reality, at least for me, the fish made me do exactly what I like to do: to use my own skills. I had to change colors, change speeds, depths, and action. I fished. 6 fish in 8 hours? Yeah, I’ll take that. I’ve done much worse. And the quality of the fish was incredible. All 18-21 inches. All hefty and all hitting the jig with no doubt. They expected a juicy stray minnow and instead were completely fooled.
All my fish landed yesterday returned to the reservoir and are most likely plundering the warm-water-seeking little fish again today. No harm done, but perhaps making them a bit wiser and tougher to catch next time.
In reality, if the fish were as easy to catch as legend promised, there would be many more people there and many more fish removed from the lake. In reality, I’m happy to put in the hours to be rewarded as I was rewarded yesterday. Am I adding to the legend? No. But in reality, that’s a good thing.
Searching for Life’s Mysteries
I’m not sure if it’s the nearer to death one becomes as one gets older in age, or that I realize now that I am beyond dying young and with no assurance to grow older than what I already am, but I find myself weighing each decision I make with more gravity and spending more time wondering if it is the “right” thing to do. I find that, instead of savoring my time and experiences, I have fallen into the trap of overthinking the value of everything.
The problem with the pondering and assessments is that it rarely leads to more time “doing”.
I feel some important things have fallen to the wayside or have slowed down to speeds unacceptable.
Not unacceptable because of no other reason than I want to do more stuff. Not as a rush against a two-minute clock or anything. Instead it’s more like: “Why do I care what it’s worth if it’s what I want to do?”
My writing has slowed down. This blog is a great indicator of a general lack of committing enough time to wrte as much as I want to. One of my main goals for this blog is to leave a record of my thoughts. Remember when Blog meant Web Log, or Web Journal. Now too many times, Blog means marketing. Not exactly why I started my first blog years ago and not exactly enough reason to make me want to write posts. When I blog, I blog because I want to.
I write posts in my head all the time while riding my motorcycle; however, it’s not very condusive to taking notes, or leaving behind a posted entry. I write posts in my head because I enjoy it. How have I allowed life to take place of writing posts for real? I know it’s mostly for me anyway. It’s time to write more blog posts. If any of you read them, I hope you enjoy them. And if you like the posts, maybe I can interest you in a book. *Eye brows raising up and down*. Seriously, do as you wish, that’s what I’m doing.
And Fishing. I really need to fish more.
Ice-off is coming soon to my favorite lake. I will be fishing it. And then I will not stop until it’s frozen again. I will set a goal of how many times my waders need to be wet each month. There’s always something more important than fishing. At lease in other’s eyes, and yesterday in my own. That has to change.
There was a time that I dreamed of being a guide. The big reason I decided not to pursue that dream was that I worried about feeding the family and the thought of leading others to that fish of a lifetime and then being the one at the end of the net and not at the end of the fly rod just didn’t seem right.
And with that dream lost, I somehow also gave up my effort to be as good as a guide, to think it was important to keep the pulse of my waters, to be the expert, to always know where the fish were, what were they hitting, and to always be into many huge fish. I let things more important dictate skilled fishing wasn’t worth the time and effort.
Life is short. It flies by so fast. And when one is looking at the last stretch of forty, one never knows just how short the remainder might be.
But a lot can be stuffed in a very little. And if God grants me anywhere near as many years in the future as he has in the past, and I fill, no, stuff them with the things I want to do, I have a feeling I won’t feel cheated or wanting.
On the Subject of Olympics and Being Fourth
Shaun White finished fourth in the Half Pipe event. The event in which he has won Gold for the past two Olympics.
Fourth.
That would be fourth in the world.
Am I fourth best in the world in anything? No.
Is anyone that has since spoken like fourth in the world is a disaster, fourth best in the world in anything? Probably not.
I, of course, mean all the people who talk of Shaun White’s fourth place, “non-medal” finish with a tone of disgust, a hint of ridicule, or the scent of failure.
He’s fourth best in the world after reigning for the past 8 years as #1. I still say Wow! That is incredible! Congrats!
If you are not still in awe, check yourself. Fourth out of 7,000,000,000 ain’t too bad and a whole lot better than I could have done.
Thanks Shaun. Thanks for going for it on that last run. Thanks for congratulating #1,2, & 3 when it was all done. Thanks for the fun over all these years.
BTW- Everyone rightfully went nuts for Erin Hamlin who finished third in the women’s Luge: the first American Individual Luge Medal ever. I guess according to some, we can only be happy for Silver and Gold in those events now.
To Be Olympic
I love the pageantry: the drama: the emotions.
So much is on the line, every run, every performance, every moment.
The leader board rolls in constant change. Sometimes underdogs winning from behind, sometimes expected leaders winning it all as expected. We get to watch it all.
Actually we don’t.
We, the viewers, only see one version of one finished project. Many do not see the qualifying rounds. Even less of us see the National qualifications that select the teams. And fewer still, the competitions, the trials, the practices, or the training. In fact, I bet less than 1/2 of 1/2 of 1/2 of 1% ever see anything other than the NBC nationally broadcasted, primetime events. I’ll raise my hand and admit that I’m one of them that only sees the Olympian during the free-TV broadcasts.
It doesn’t mean that I don’t appreciate the efforts. But it is so easily lost in the heat of the moment that it’s only a moment.
I like sports because of the humanity that it displays; the conquest of the human spirit. I love this stage of Humanities, of will, of might, of determination, of success and of failure.
I love the application or perspective that the Olympics provides for me.
I write books. No one sees the hours I spend by myself struggling over this word or the other. These sentences this morning have been changed a few times, even this one. But no one, but a few, see anything but the finished product. My writings are then read and the moment is over.
My moments continue.
How much I put into these other moments are mine and mine alone. No one cares whether I do it or not. I know, however, that these moments will determine whether the finished product is good enough to win literary Gold or not. Maybe they will only add up to be good enough for a passing “not bad”; perhaps only meriting to some to be barely worthy of a “one-star” brutal review. There will be a point where my talent, my efforts, and my end results can only take me so far. There are others out there doing the same thing and the competition is tough.
Some are better writers than I am. Some are better funded or supported. Others may even be lucky. Those are factors over which I have little control. I can only put in the work and hone the craft the best I can. When I have taken my training, my practice, my qualifications; as far as I can, I then can only put it out before my judges, the readers.
I will not be on NBC. You might not be either. But we can watch those athletes that are performing before us. We can cheer and cry with them. And then mimic their efforts as they have mimicked our lives.
To stand on the Podium must be a wonderful feeling, but to have a chance to even compete for the chance to do so; is not an accident.
Neither is yours or mine.
If You Want To Be Perfect…
Sleeping is great isn’t it? I mean really, is there anything more relaxing, non pressured, and more satisfying as going to sleep? That brief moment that consciousness is fading, nothing yet everything, makes sense and you feel yourself drifting off. I believe at the point of going to sleep, life is perfect. That is the only time.
True perfectionists just keep their place and things organized, try to do everything right, and go about their business. It’s important for them to attempt to be perfect, but no one else needs to know because it wouldn’t help them in their quest.
Pseudo-perfectionists are those who just want a license to be rude, who want to try to pretend that their goal is perfection and that since they want everything perfect, you must also comply. They then take liberty to inform you how many ways you are not perfect and how their lives would be better if you would just do it their way. And if you politely tell them to “blow it out their hole”, perfection now is unattainable because of you and all the others who are not willing to comply. How convenient.
I like jobs well done. I like things that run smoothly. I like order and discipline as well. But I also know that perfection and one’s desire for it are an impossibility. It doesn’t exist.
If you want to be perfect, go back to bed.
Sometimes I’m Just Silly
Sometimes I’m touched by the simplest things. Tonight, it’s hearing a song by Kermit the Frog.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jSFLZ-MzIhM
Why are there so many songs about rainbows and what’s on the other side?
Rainbows are visions, but only illusions, and rainbows have nothing to hide.
So we’ve been told and some choose to believe it.
I know they’re wrong wait and see.
Someday we’ll find it, the rainbow connection.
The lovers, the dreamers and me.
Who said that wishes would be heard and answered when wished on the morningstar?
Someone thought of that and someone believed it.
Look what it’s done so far.
What’s so amazing that keeps us stargazing and what do we think we might see?
Someday we’ll find it, the rainbow connection.
The lovers, the dreamers and me.
All of us under its spell.
We know that it’s probably magic.
Have you been half asleep and have you heard voices?
I’ve heard them calling my name.
Is this the sweet sound that calls the young sailors.
The voice might be one and the same.
I’ve heard it too many times to ignore it.
It’s something that I’m supposed to be.
Someday we’ll find it, the rainbow connection, the lovers, the dreamers and me.
Someday we’ll find it, the rainbow connection, the lovers, the dreamers and me.
The Day After Christmas
After all the presents are opened and the day has moved past the night
The day after Christmas and all its mess begins at the first break of light.
The tree now looks so lonely and bare, the presents guarded now gone.
Ornaments not quite so cute, the lights not so bright; if we turn them on.
Space in the living room is at a premium, how long to keep this stuff?
The wreathes, the knick knacks, the little displays. Enough is enough!
Tradition states, we recall, that all must remain at least to New Years Day.
It’s a whole ‘nother week and then, the work begins to put it all away.
Each year I swear as I pack up each and every Christmas Decoration box
I won’t do it again next year, no I won’t, I don’t like it, “not even with a fox”.
Not a light to hang, not a Santa to play, not even a ribbon or bow
Next year, I’m not even going to hang any advantageous Mistletoe.
But the year rolls on and the seasons change and while I eating the Bird
I get excited to go outside and decorate, to light my little part of the world.
Oh the Season is the Season and I can’t help but to play and participate.
I think, however, I need to remember, It’s only the Day After that I hate
The (A) Meaning of Christmas
Christmas, for me, is all about tonight and early tomorrow morning. The culmination of all the festivities, the lights, the trees, the goodies, the songs, and the whole crazy month of December and then some, bringing us to the one night when we all get together, make the phone calls, and think of those who are dear to us. The family and friends gathered together in a family room, exchanging gifts and sharing a joyful time is what it’s all about. Yes there are rough patches in getting so much family together, but there always is. On Christmas Eve, it’s just fun.
I know Jesus fits in the middle of this as Christmas, remembering the greatest gift of God to us all. It saddens me, however, when that thought is used as a stick to make people guilty to be excited about the candy n the stocking and the gift shopping and wrapping. Let’s be honest, most of the things we deem “tradional Christmas” has absolutely nothing to do with Luke 2.
Don’t get me wrong, I love taking my own personal moments, usually during a rendition of “Oh Holy Night” and think of the bigger picture. Of Grace. Of miracles. Of God. I cherish those moments. But Tonight, its about the presents. It’s about the ones around me. It’s about thinking of those who are not. It’s a time to laugh together. To hug. To kiss under the pagan mistletoe and feel and share the love of others.
Jesus is invited too. But not at the exclusion of everything else. It doesn’t have to be a black and white thing. Christmas is a time for all of it.
With that Have a very Merry Christmas Eve!
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Mike M Jensen 