Life, Work & Wonder

Tag: humanity

  • Super Bowl Not An Excused Absence? (AKA Where’s The Humanity)

    Two.

    That’s how many Super Bowls the Seattle Seahawks have won in my lifetime, and I was alive and well during our first season in 1976. (It’s also how many Seahawks games I’ve watched over the past 10 years — the NFC Championship and the Super Bowl — although I do root from afar and read about them every day in the sports journals).

    So it’s a special occasion for a city to win the Super Bowl, and there are projected to be a million delirious Seattle-ites at the Super Bowl Parade today.

    The Seattle Public Schools announced that schools will be open as scheduled and the Super Bowl Parade is NOT an excused absence.

    As someone who attended Seattle Public Schools as a student for 13 years (K-12), then taught in Seattle Public Schools for a year as a substitute teacher and administrator, and who now volunteers for a charity that helps deliver food to kids in need at schools, I think it’s AMAZING they’re keeping the schools open. Because there are families and kids who need the schools to be open as a safe space for eight hours.

    But wow oh wow. To not EXCUSE attending the parade? Making kids miss a memorable experience? Or making them fight through overpacked busses or closed streets to get to school? Where’ the humanity in that? Why not keep the schools open but also be understanding if kids can’t make it to school that day because of the parade? That would be the double-awesomeness of humanity.

    We live in a world where there is increasingly less humanity. Where wealthy people lay workers off while pocking more money. Where companies lay off human beings for robots. Where people hate on each other over political beliefs? Why not show a little extra humanity when we can by having a place kids can go to but not expecting them to be there on what is a special day for their city?

  • Pride Is Folly

    Pride.

    There was a time I had too much pride.

    Waaayyyyyy to much pride.

    It was pride that prevented me from being too open and out there in public. For example, I dreaded sales calling because of pride. And didn’t have social media accounts because of pride. And never ever allowed dirty dishes to be in the kitchen because of pride.

    Pride brought my spirit down when there was a flaw with my house or car. It made me sensitive (and lash out) at criticism (“f— you!”). It made me fret too much about silly statistics, like batting average or shooting percentage or quota attainment percentage. Who cares what I batted in recreational softball??

    It was pride that embarrassed me when my (now ex) wife promoted her business and herself, like that time she stood on the street corner and handed out Halloween candy with her business card on it. I remember having to quietly work so hard to swallow that pride, to let her do what she needed to do without commenting that it was embarrassing seeing my last name being handed out on a street corner.

    And it was pride that drove me to always look my best, to make sure my hair was good and my body was firm and I stayed youthful looking.

    In short, pride made me worry too much about how people perceived me.

    Then lung disease grabbed me in 2011. Put me in a hospital bed. Made me tired. Nearly killed me. Then, by some incredible undeserving miracle, it loosened its grasp on me and retreated, sparing me and letting me not only live but live without an oxygen tank (a 50/50 chance)!

    Maybe best of all, when lung disease retreated, it also took with it my pride. Which I think is a good thing. In fact, it’s a great thing.

    I could care less how people (except Larissa) perceive my career. Or whether they remember me as a good athlete or smart or not. Or see me as attractive or not. Who cares?? What does it change or matter??

    In 2019, when my hurtful ex-wife chose trying to shame me about various things rather than just honestly saying she wanted to move on with her life (i.e. chose gaslighting and shaming rather than transparency), I guffawed at her. “I won’t be judged by you,” I said. “I beat lung disease. What the f— have you done?”

    That was the moment I realized that I was truly confident. That lung disease spared me from the judgement of others. Because when we’ve faced the specter of death, not much in life can scare us after that.

    Now I don’t care how people perceive my career. Or think I’m goofy. Or roll their eyes at my goofy rambling face-book posts.

    It’s incredibly liberating.

    Today I made myself vulnerable. Posted on Facebook and Instagram and my LinkedIn page that I was holding an open house tomorrow. 15 years ago there is no way I would have done that, but today I only felt happy that I could do my best to promote Larissa’s client. It felt good.

    Meanwhile, I could care less if ultimately people on LinkedIn think I’ve had a successful career or not. I know the truth. What do I care how some random person perceives me based on my profile? This also feels good.

    Pride is folly. Because at the end of the day we’re all human and vulnerable and fallible. No matter how perfect we are or rich we are or even strong we are, we’re just a bout with lung disease or cancer away from death. This is humbling. And it’s beautiful.

    Here is to being pride free. And the incredibly luck that is beating terminal illness. I’m so grateful.