To Hear Your Voice

Lately issues about what makes quality of life have been popping up. After looking at the people whom I've come across in my travels and in life and seeing the people who are content and who are not -- I've come to the belief that what makes life fulfilling is a genuine connection with each other.



It can last just a moment. Have you ever been traveling and had a talk with a stranger you will never see again and you only spend a short amount of time with them but you walk away feeling good? It's that a part of them acknowledges a part of you when you're open and there's a connect.



The need for a true connection can explain why people who gain fame--especially at an early age--often search for something more. If you're a little older when you gain fame, you've already made genuine friendships and acquaintances who see you for who you are and have accepted you into their life. If you're young, there's been less of a chance for that.



Celebrities or children of a celebrities often don't know if someone is connecting to them truly or if they're being sought after because they have fame or wealth.



And in the midst of searching for something drugs and alcohol can begin as an experiment that causes a numbness that feels good to begin with but then actually infiltrates a person's life and distances them. The numbness causing an inability to truly be present to connect with other people. Ironic, isn't it?



I look at my parents and their friends and am grateful that the Asian community values their elders. Although, with every generation here in the U.S. I can see that value slowly deteriorating.



The gap in everyday American life is growing too with every generation. I just had a conversation today with a young woman in her early 20's that I work with. "Why is text messaging so attractive to people in their early 20's?" All of my younger friends text me instead of calling to leave a voicemail. A small thing, but one that takes me one step away from hearing his or her voice. From connecting to who they are. I can see people moving further and further away from having to deal with each other face to face or voice to voice and thus living in a virtual world.



The young woman laughs as I continue to ask her whey text vs. voice and wonders how it can be such an issue with me.



On the radio a few years ago I heard about a study where people who surfed the net more and e-mailed and chatted with people more felt lonelier and had less of a sense of leading a fulfilling life than those who did not spend as much time on the internet. In fact, the more time spent online, the worse they felt.



I guess you could consider me old. It's not that I don't believe in technology because I do. I also believe there is a place for text messages and a time for distancing yourself from the world. But what I believe in most is those genuine passages of time where you and another person talk and enjoy each other's company. Where you come away feeling energized and spiritually fed having recognized and having been recognized by another human being in a world that's quickly moving away from people and toward computers, phones, videogames and convenience.

Grinches, Grinches, everywhere

A week in Hawaii island hopping and not knowing what I'm seeing because I'm on an foreign language tour gives perspective. Everything goes by so fast. There's no time to really see anything. Just enough to scan the scenery and go. 10 minutes here, 10 minutes there. Go, go, go.


That's how it is for the holidays too. Back in the U.S. at work people are calling in frantic on the mobiles trying to buy presents as they do other things. No time, no time, go, go, going so they don't really enjoy the season in any way. They're grinchy and grouchy and snapping at the people at work here.



Sometimes it's easier to take it out on the people on the phone. Sometimes we're punching bags while the people who they're really mad at (themselves, family, God, etc.) go unspoken to.



But sometimes, it's better not to spend 10 minutes here and 10 minutes there. Sometimes it's actually better to BE PRESENT. Sometimes, that's the best present of all. For family, for friends, and for the poor service people on the phones.



That's all I have to say today. That and Happy Holidays in order of appearance: Happy Eid al-Fitr, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Winter Solstice, Merry Christmas, Happy Boxing Day, Happy Kwanzaa, and Happy New Year!

Whatever...

My brother's getting married next week. And I don't have a present. Now, I am not one that has difficulty getting presents for weddings. There's usually a creative twist with something meaningful behind it with custom wrappings.

But with my own brother, I'm stumped. It's like a shopping block. How do you get a meaningful present that will be enough to impart how much your own brother means to you? Nothing can measure up to that. All gifts that come flying through my brain aren't good enough or just aren't right for him and his upcoming bride.

If I didn't care about my brother it wouldn't be so hard. But he's my only brother and I've spend most of my life and all of his life knowing him.

In the end, we are a materialistic society and truly everything he literally needs he already has. Families in Africa would be grateful for 1/100th of what most of us Americans have. A magazine subscription is truly a non-essential luxury. It's all about food, water, air, clothing, and shelter.

So, back to the question of what to get. A donation to a charity? A nondescript gift card? A plunger with money stuffed inside?

Whatever it is, whatever it ends up being, the day belongs to them and what my gift is doesn't really matter does it? Ever?

Swarming Season

The door opens into darkness. I turn the corner and flip on a light. There's a towel lining the bathroom door. Wha?!? Drop the bags off my shoulders. Is it a leak? Is it too loud and this is a sound muffler? I slowly open the door and turn on the light.


AAAaaaaaeeeieeeesshhhooooootttt!

There are swarms of winged things all over the floor by the towel, lining the wall, on my floor, in my sink, in the shower! I flip off the light and shut the door. Ooofph!

Darn. I need to use the bathroom but I'm afraid to with all that--that---WHAT are they?!? Wwweeeeelllll..... as you can see by the photo, I did some research on the internet. (Isn't the internet handy?) And ....drum roll please....they're termites. Dry wood termites.

My apartment manager tells me it's normal and that it's swarming season. Especially for the termites with wings. I'm supposed to look around for a tiny hole and spray the wood with Windex and then put scotch tape over the hole and she'll have a maintenance guy put putty over it.

At work I ask, "Other than eating wood, can termites do any harm?"

The woman sitting next to me sarcastically says "You mean other than falling through your bathroom floor because they've eaten their way through? No."

Hmmmm.....falling through the floor. How would that feel? And would it the whole toilet go? Or would it happen when you're just standing there? And what would my neighbors downstairs think?

And yet, you have to give these termites credit. They knew just how to pick the right apartment complex. Eat a good meal for a few years and then every once in awhile they'll run into scotch tape and get a hit of the ole Windex.

We humans will live with it too. Because it takes too much energy to deal with it. In the end, if you think about it, whether you're a termite or a human the compromise is better than a tent.

The Fall

This morning was a wake up call. It wasn't expected, it wasn't from anyone I knew, but it was profound and revealed itself in a nice way--like a soft blanket being pulled down toward your feet slowly.

Early this morning while stretching in the park with a friend an elderly, well dressed man shuffled across the grass and proceeded to tip over in slow motion.

The back of his hands were blue and mottled and they were extraordinarily soft. And as I grabbed those hands and held him steady we talked. It was then it dawned upon both of us that he needed more help than just getting up off the ground. My friend mouthed "Alzheimers" and we took him to a bench to assess the situation. It forced us to slow down.

And later that morning his eyes lit up and his face filled with joy as a young woman with red hair grabbed his hands and said "Dad!" That image is so clear. It replays in my mind throughout the day at moments where life issues that had been making me anxious and upset flit through my mind and then those things, those things that were so important are no longer issues.

It was truly a Blessing, because I remember...I remember all the things that do matter. How at the end of life the things we want aren't so much the things we want today.

I remember. As the gentleman forgets--and I'm sure he's already forgotten the both of us--I continue to remember and hope it's long lasting.

The Great Debate

Sometimes, at work, when things are slow we begin to discuss the heavy topics. Politics, Life, Death, Love.

This past week we talked about love. Break-ups and the idea that there is more than one love for everyone. Why do you break-up? Why do you get married? Why do you choose to stay together?

Amongst the heated debate of twenty to fifty somethings a voice of a woman who's been married for 40 years distinguishes itself. And as she begins to talk quietly to one person amidst the raised voices throughout the room, people begin to turn. To listen. To be still and quiet because what she has to say goes straight to the core.

People nowadays break up for the littlest things. The problem is that everyone is looking for the best in their partner. They always are seeing the good things. What you need to do is look for the worst. The absolute worst thing that drives you crazy. And then, if you can live with that worst thing without the need to change your partner in any way. If you can accept that worst thing, then, get married.

There is silence after that. Everyone in their own thoughts.

I've heard from friends who've been married and divorced that the first year is the hardest. And that if you go in expecting a fairy tale of what marriage is, you'll never survive.

You have to go in understanding it's a partnership and take the gleam off of what your ideals are for marriage. Let the other person be imperfect. Don't put marriage or your partner or your image of what you're role is supposed to be on a pedestal. In doing that, you help keep the sanctity of it. That's the irony.

And when I mention this to the woman who is celebrating her 40th year of marriage, she says no. The hard part is from years 8 to 10. The first part is the honeymoon period. You don't really get to know the other person until after 10 years. If you pass that point, then you can't imagine living without the other person.

Another friend of mine, a Christian who has been married, says that the marriage vows are not something you can fulfill without God. That they are humanly impossible to keep unless you put God in the middle.

All I know is that Love and Marriage seem to be complicated. And they aren't always intertwined. I've seen plenty of marriages without love. It's painful. I've seen plenty of people in love that are not yet married, chose not to marry, or cannot legally marry.

It's timeless. It's Joy filled. It's pain filled. It's what it is. Defined differently by each person. And defined differently for each relationship. It's...undefinable actually. Ironic, isn't it?

The Frozen Chosen

This morning I attended the funeral of a man named Frank whom I knew as an extremely generous host to the youth group I used to lead.

What I didn't know was that he had served in the Korean War with 10 to 15 thousand people in his Legion. Yes. 10,000 to 15,000. Of those, he came back with 12 other survivors. 13 out of 10,000 to 15,000. The survivors of the area called the Frozen Chosen (named for the freezing cold conditions along the Chosin Reservoir) were called the Chosin Few. That's what we were told at the memorial. Amazing.

And then I think of the history that is lost by his passing. Another friend of mine has been recording the stories of Veterans. An archival project of love as his father served and he wants to keep the stories alive for the next generation. He tells me that he sits every Saturday in a section of the library hoping that a vet will come in. He records them, gives them a copy for their children, grandchildren, great grandchildren in hopes that their stories will continue to be passed on and preserved.

And at times like these, I look around at the people around me and wonder what pieces of history and what stories are hidden in their past, in their present, and in their futures. Remarkable. It is truly remarkable what we allow to pass by us. Then I wonder about Frank. What did he learn from being amongst a very few remaining? How did it change his life? And why, did it take a funeral and his death to appreciate the fullness of what he experienced during his life?

A moment of reflection. To the Chosin Few. To Frank. And to everyone at the Frozen Chosen. Sometimes History doesn't always belong in the past.