Make Room for Success

I don't want to diminish your partying skills ... especially on such an auspicious evening, but try to keep up.

We are in downtown Washington, Indiana in a space overlooking Main Street. We're waiting for the crowd to gather. It could be a while.

Okay. I confess. Nothing is planned for midnight on Main Street here. Rather than blow into noisemakers and braving the showers of confetti, we're here. Rather than making certain our glasses are half full and nearby at the final minute, we're here. We usually plan a quiet evening, occasionally with friends. But tonight it's just us.

We're bringing in the new year by putting out the next edition of "Striving for Success" magazine. And doing some chores. For instance, I cleaned up the table where we have tea service in our office. I moved the printer and scanner from my desk to another nearby surface. I moved the glass beer mug that holds my pens, pencils, and highlighters to a shelf across the room. I'm getting ready. Are you?

This preparation makes sense in light of a book of instruction I have. It's called "Writing Rituals" and it's written to keep people like me on track.

I don't just like to write. I have to write. It's part of who I am. Since I'm a commercial writer, this isn't all bad. I get to channel my creativity into helping other people become successful.

I may help them explain their business. I may help them land a new client. I might persuade people to try their product or to donate money to their charity that is changing lives and helping people renew their hope. As a copywriter, I may do all that ... but not unless I'm ready.

The first ritual is clear your mind. That's the only one I'll share with you right now, but it's a doozy.

You don't just close your mind and go somewhere for a minute. You physically clear your work area. Put away things you just finished. Don't pull out things you've not yet begun, even though they're on your to-do list. You don't need anything but items that support what you intend to do right now.

Close all the windows on your desktop that aren't related to the work you're doing. Turn off any distracting sounds. Be here. Clear your mind.

So, I'm getting ready. I'm clearing my desk. I'm deleting old emails. I'm putting things away. I'm dealing with clutter. Tomorrow is a New Year. I am expectant. In 2017, Success -- in whatever form it chooses -- will come into my office and take up residence with me. I'm doing everything I can in the moment to make sure it has ample room to settle in. I intend it to stay for a long while.

Put to Use

It takes a while to find just the right place, doesn't it? That's true of ourselves and of our things as well.

Today, Joan and I have been in Washington, Indiana for just about 18 months. It has not been what we expected, to say the least. We came with abundant experience as writers and editors. That's not an especially marketable skill in a small town. So we're a bit misplaced.

Despite that, we're blessed in many ways.

Joan has met so many wonderful people. Beautiful people, really. She has been embraced and valued as a substitute teacher in the local school system. People genuinely like her. Through their eyes, I've been allowed to reassess and honor things about her that I had taken for granted.

She brings with her a newcomer's perspective. Until now, she has not lived in a small town. Small communities operate differently than towns and cities where people are more transient. More value is given to lineage here. Who are your parents? Who were your grandparents?

If you're not from here, the people asking those questions are left with fewer handles to manage how they perceive you. That's discomforting for them and possibly better for all concerned. Without those handles, we have to let a person start from scratch. Wouldn't we all like a gift like that?

For me, the homecoming -- for truly it is -- has been very good. I'm among people I know, or at least have known. Some things can change in 35 years. The reconnections are grounding to me. I have been able to participate in a variety of volunteer work and in organizations that build up our community. I have enjoyed that immensely.

One of the projects we're working on is to develop a co-working space on East Main Street. We are in the heart of what once was a bustling shopping area and the core of community activity in this town. Since then, shopping has migrated to the outskirts of town. Shopping centers carry most of the retail commerce here. Downtown is less about retail businesses and more about professional businesses.

There are a few welcome exceptions, but only a few. Soon, a major area bank will relocate to a site south of town.

So, co-working. We're creating a space where entrepreneurs and business professionals can meet, work side by side, enjoy conversation, try out ideas, and encourage one another. It will have many of the comforts of working from home, plus the benefit of face-to-face time. Working remotely can be an isolating experience. We also offer new businesses a Main Street business address and a way to separate home from work. Many people bold enough to launch a business are challenged to keep the two distinct from one another.

I mention that because we've recently installed a piece of art that has bumped along with us for quite a few years.

Joan's parents found this window in an antique store in the Cotswolds in England when they were stationed there. John, Joan's father, had a great love for beautiful things. They collected quite a few antiques during the time they lived overseas.

We had several ideas for displaying these two panes. None of them happened. I think that's because this was where they were intended to go. They have been in the US since 1971, and are only now finding their place.

You know, 40+ years is a good long while. Just ask Abraham. And they are on an inside wall. That's not what you'd expect of a window. But then, most of us aren't doing what we expected we'd be doing in our youth, are we?

I think these windows are a sign of hope and a graceful gauntlet tossed to the floor--or the wall, in this case. Find a purpose. Find a creative way to use something. Find a creative way to allow yourself to be used.

And for heaven's sake, no baseball inside the co-working space!

Not a Sheep

I need to share this with you. It's written by a Jewish scholar and I'm not a Jew. But it's good and rings true. It's about relationship between us and God. It may just transcend faith. For many, this season is about relationships. Really, isn't every season?

Rabbi Harold Kushner’s entire essay unpacks the beautiful poem that is the Twenty-Third Psalm. That’s the one that begins, “The Lord is my shepherd …”. I’ve excerpted the last section, “And I Shall Dwell in the House of the Lord Forever.”

Shepherds play a significant role in the pageantry of Christmas. They were the simplest of men, but the most in touch with their natural surroundings. Many discounted them because they were rough and not the sort to mix well in polite society.

If you had to choose, though, wouldn’t you rather be a shepherd than a sheep? Kushner encourages us to give the psalm a thorough reading. You’ll find you’re neither a shepherd nor a sheep, you’re much more.

And I Shall Dwell in the House of the Lord Forever

Of the thousands of people I’ve spoken to about my book since it was published, I’ve run across three people who did not like the twenty-third psalm and all for the same reason. 

They all said the same thing—“I don’t like this psalm because it says, ‘The Lord is my shepherd.’ And if the Lord is my shepherd, that means I’m a sheep, and I don’t like being told I’m a sheep.” 

The first time I heard this, I didn’t know what to say. By the second time, I had an answer ready. I said, “First of all, this is a poem. Give me a break. You don’t take a poem literally. It’s images, it’s metaphors. 

More than that though, the psalmist’s first line is ‘The Lord is my shepherd.’ That is, I am scared and vulnerable, and God is there to take care of me. But that’s only the beginning, the first line. 

Look at the last line: ‘I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.’ All his life experiences, all the times he’s found himself in ‘the valley of the shadow’ and was able to find his way out have taught him something about God and about his relationship to God. 

It’s no longer an abstract relationship, a theological matter of speculation. It’s no longer this passive, childlike dependence on God. It a reciprocal relationship: God does things for me, and I do things for God. And I am welcome in the house of the Lord. 

I’m not the sheep. I am the house guest. I am friends with God. He reaches out to me. I respond to him.”

*****

Through the Valley of the Shadow, by Harold Kushner, an essay in “The Life of Meaning: Reflections on Faith, Doubt, and Repairing the World” by Bob Abernathy and William Bole

© 2007 by Educational Broadcasting Company

Beware the Helpful

I am disgusted by opportunists who borrow respect for the law, then charge people significant sums in exchange for little or no service. Beware.

Today I went with two friends to a nearby Social Security Administration office to discuss a disability claim. My friends had applied online, but not at the Social Security website. The official Social Security website for disability applications is https://secure.ssa.gov/iClaim/dib.

In using a different site, by accident my friends nearly engaged the services of a law firm. Please know this. If you are applying for disability, there is very little a lawyer can do to assist you in submitting an initial claim. By that I mean, they might stand beside you looking forbidding while the claims representative assists you. That’s it.

The result will be that a new claims representative might become nervous. An experienced claims representative might become annoyed. Neither result will work in your favor.

In the case of my friends, this law firm provided a completed Form SSA-827, “Authorization to Disclose Information to the Social Security Administration” and Form SSA-1696, the form to appoint a representative. How nice. The SSA-827 was completed online by the applicant, so the cost to the legal firm was printing and postage.

For this service, the law firm was prepared to charge my friends 25 percent of any resulting disability award or $6,000. For a pittance of ink and a postage stamp. And one neatly folded, pre-addressed manila envelope to spring the trap.

This law firm is nearly five hours away, offers nothing of value, and would never meet my friends to check on their wellbeing. Six thousand dollars.

I congratulate the claims representative at the SSA Office. She pleasantly went through the packet, discarded the needless paperwork, set an appointment to meet with a disability claims representative, and told us “Well done.” We could tell she was as bothered by this as we were.

It was apparent that this happens much more often than we think. It’s not illegal. Neither is getting your windshield involuntarily cleaned on a street corner. Both activities are annoying, but whoever is “helping” people file for disability is carefully collecting signatures that will put the force of law behind their eventual invoices. Rather than being illegal, it is despicable and detestable.

Know your rights. Know the processes to submit claims. Don’t let people you care about get taken. And thank the next government employee you meet. They’re trying to do their best. Despite some of the rest of us.

Relief: A Trip to Pigeon Forge

On Tuesday, November 29, 2016, I got a phone call  from a friend. It was about 10 o’clock at night, but it was Evan. So I took it. 

Evan said he wanted to gather relief supplies for victims of recent fires in the Smoky Mountains of Tennessee. He would put everything he gathered into his food truck supply trailer and take them to Pigeon Forge.  Did I think that was crazy? No, I didn’t. Did I want to go with him on Sunday to deliver the supplies? Yes, I did. Could we leave around 3:30 in the morning. Gulp. Why not?

He announced his intention on Facebook around 11 o’clock that night. The next morning, the post had been seen by 4,000 people. By the time we hit the road for Tennessee, more than 11,000 people had seen it.

Daviess County is an exceedingly generous collection of communities. All day Wednesday and Thursday, Dave Crooks spread the word on his radio stations. That day Evan received more than 40 phone calls from people who wanted to help. Lindsay Owens interviewed Evan for the Washington Times-Herald and Melody Brunson placed the story on the top of the front page on December 1. People knew of the various drop-off points and generosity began to percolate.

On Thursday, Kylie Thomas and Tony Kassissieh from WTHI-TV called Evan, then met him Friday at The Iron Kettle Restaurant in Plainville to film a spot for the evening news. I got to participate as well. Kylie and Tony were great to work with and the Daviess County relief effort got even more valuable press.

Speaking of the Iron Kettle, owner Leetha Stoll is an inspiration. She reached out to people who have helped with other out-of-state disasters and they got funds into her hands right away. She absolutely filled her SUV with dry goods, snacks, toiletries, candies, flashlights, batteries, and more. All very practical, welcome items at such a difficult time.

On Saturday, items from each of the collection points went into the trailer. By the end of the day, anyone opening the trailer door risked being buried in an avalanche of love. Blankets, pillows, gloves, water, toys, tissue … the outpouring was tremendous!

Three a.m. is a challenging time to be in motion if you’re not accustomed to it. Neither Evan nor I had slept well the prior evening as he took the wheel and drove us all the way to Pigeon Forge. We went from dark to damp to outright wet along the way. The two-axle trailer seemed to be caught up in the excitement, doing a little cha-cha movement every now and again to keep us entertained. Passing semi-trailers moved us around a little more. 

The hills of eastern Kentucky and Tennessee strained the truck on the uphill side and the brakes on the downhill side. Despite that, we arrived just fine at Huck Finn’s Catfish Restaurant in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee. We checked in with Chrissie. When she heard the amount of items we’d brought, she sent three of the guys working in the kitchen out to help us transfer from our 18-foot trailer to a 53-foot semi trailer they had parked out front. That’s when the rain became more steady.

The Huck Finn’s guys got into the semi-trailer and put things into their proper places. When we were done, our contribution rounded out their most recent collection and their trailer was pretty full. 

Here’s an interesting thing about being seen doing good. At least one person stopped by and apologized for not having much, but added their contribution as well. People like to be part of something larger. And the size of the contribution was not as important as the act of contributing. We welcomed her and had her hand her items up to the guys. Her something is still bigger than nothing. And it may be just the thing somebody needs at just the right time. Why hold back?

When we were finished unloading, we were happy, hungry, and soaked. The staff at Huck Finn’s offered us dry shirts. Better yet, they offered us lunch. We were more than ready. If you’re in Pigeon Forge, please make it a point to dine with them. They appreciated what you’ve done and they took good care of us.

After lunch, we dropped the trailer at the back of their parking lot and took US-321, the main road toward Gatlinburg. It was closed three miles into the Smoky Mountain National Park, but we drove that far, then turned back toward Pigeon Forge.

Near the turnaround, we began to see that the undergrowth was burnt away and the trees were blackened. The West Prong of the Little Pigeon River divides the two travel lanes through the national forest. The blackened ground went all the way down to the bank of the stream. Seeing it, you think, “Thank goodness. It stopped here.” Not so. The Little Pigeon there is a small stream fed by a number of smaller tributaries. It’s picturesque, even in its winter decline. But it was no match for the recent fires.

Turning north again to return to Pigeon Forge, we saw evidence that the fire had been active on both sides of the stream. Evan had visited other disaster sites in the past. There, the destruction was a marked swath of natural fury. Here, it was oddly capricious.

We turned onto one of the roads leading from the valley into the surrounding hills. The residences here are a mix of the modest, the charming, and the more expensively classy. The fire showed no discernment or respect for the structures. Nor was it all-inclusive. A home on one side of the road seemed unscathed while its neighbor is a pile of scorched masonry and ashes. 

Brick veneers that fronted fine homes high on the hill are all that remains. On other homes, black marks ring the house where the siding meets the foundation. A bright orange tag affixed to the back door marks the property as condemned. What looked like a former garage was burned to the ground. The church building beside it was completely spared. 

The rain only amplified the other sensory note. The whole area we visited still smelled of wet burn. Think of revisiting the site of a bonfire the next morning. Now multiply that smell, the stench, as if the bonfire had expanded to consume your entire property. That, and more, is the sense you get as you drive past these properties. 

These are buildings, but we came to help people. An entertainer who sings at Huck Finn’s lost everything. His co-workers have been helping him in the meantime and he has continued to show up at work each night and entertain visitors. We’re told he was insured for fire and he may come out of this better than he was before. Certainly that is not the case for everybody affected. And there is still the meantime. He’ll still need to get through that.

The guys who helped us transfer items into their trailer told us that when the WestGate resort burned, 700 people lost their jobs. Their homes may be intact or only slightly damaged, but their livelihoods have disappeared. 

Imagine having been here around Halloween. Everybody would have been enjoying the celebrations. Families would have been meeting in the resorts. Staff would have been working their trades and earning their livings. None of them would have conceived of the changes that would come so soon. Life does that. It turns so quickly. I’m proud to be part of a community that is ready and willing to so quickly respond and make a difference for neighbors they have never met. 

Daviess County and friends, you are too good for words!