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Defining Success


On Christmas, my wife and I visited one of our young men in prison. Of all my friends, he’s the one who enjoys Christmas the most, especially the anticipation, the expectation, and the promise of a happy time, a brighter tomorrow.

After five and a half years in prison, his spirit is brighter now that it’s ever been. He’s grown in so many ways, and achieved many of his goals. In prison, he’s actually had goals and found ways to achieve them. Before that, life was just survival, slogging through chaos and drugs, of being treated indifferently, without love, and not knowing who he was or where he was headed.

Now, he’s found purpose and meaning. He’s making peace with the demons in his life, and has found the strength and courage to look deep inside of himself, and to finally love himself, and all the possibilities he has in his life.

He wanted socks for Christmas, making sure everyone knew it, too. Now, he’s a wealthy man, Mr. Big in the world of socks. He’s the happy recipient of forty pairs of socks, socks of nearly every size and color. He has socks everywhere now, new socks to try on every day for over a month.

Yes, he had a successful Christmas, all the socks he could ever want. In the telling of his story, his laugh and his big smile light up his face; he knows now that he is loved and respected by so many people. He’s figured out the magic of Christmas, the reason for the season.

He’s successful in so many other ways this year. He’s taken charge of his life, looking deep inside of himself, and taking charge of who he is, and where he is going. He’s embraced his new maturity. He’s taken on his self confidence and is moving ahead. He’s found his courage and is nourishing and loving his soul.

He’s the person Robert Louis Stevenson was writing about when he said,
“That man is successful who has lived well, laughed often, and loved much, who has gained the respect of the intelligent men and the love of children; who has filled his niche and accomplished his task; who leaves the world better than he found it, whether by an improved poppy, a perfect poem, or a rescued soul; who never lacked appreciation of earth’s beauty or failed to express it; who looked for the best in others and gave the best he had.”  ~Robert Louis Stevenson

This year, many people I know have taken stock of their lives, summoned their courage, and moved ahead. Their accomplishments are many, and I’ve been applauding their journeys, and marveling at their determination and sacred intentions in their lives. It has been a year of transformation and a year of dramatic and momentous growth. Old demons have been called out of the basement, new directions has been set, and the tough, sweaty and hard work has been done. And, in that work, our communities are stronger, more vibrant, richer in so many ways.

Some people look to Washington politicians to make the big changes they want to see in the world and in their lives. Yet, the real change and the real work is done right here, inside my friends and neighbors, the farmer, the waitress, the young man in prison. The real change makers are right here, and the work is getting done. People are becoming transformed, people making a real difference.

Like my young friend in prison, people are taking inventory of who they are inside, and grasping the power they have to change. And, then, they are stepping out, and doing the hard, gut level work, and moving ahead.

They see the richness in their lives, not by the number of socks they got for Christmas, but in the way they love and are loved.

Struggling with Suicide and Grief and Everything Else


I don’t know what to say, or even think. A friend of mine has gone, at a time and place and manner of his own choosing. He left, not saying good bye, not asking for help with his pain, his choices. But, then again, maybe he did, and we did not listen, or did not respond to what he asked. At least, I did not hear him asking for a hand, or my ear, or even considering other choices. Or, maybe I did. And now, I do not know. I am, at the least, confused and lost, and stumbling around in my grief, my impotence.

Now, there is an emptiness, and a great unknowing. The “what ifs” keep multiplying, and I am left with wonder, with sadness, and guilt. “What if?” “What if?”

And, in the silence that follows my asking, there are no answers, only more questions.

Friends of mine, closer to him that I was, are left empty, unknowing, wandering in the wilderness of uncertainty, of deeper questions which have no answers today. My pain today is enough; I cannot imagine theirs.

I search for answers that are not there. I search for so much, for reasons, for explanations, for understandings, knowing that there is now only a cold wind blowing around my heart.

Raw craziness, that is what is running amuck in my life now. No answers, just more questions. Not much solace, yet knowing that my friend was, at least for a second, at peace with himself and what he was doing.
I was not on his road of life, and I did not know his journey. In his departing, there is even more uncertainty in my mind as to what I might have known, might have done, might have loved him deeper, had he shared his pain, his questions, his journey. But, he did not, and somehow I must accept that. Yet, in that, I find myself angry, and unknowing, and uncertain. I am confused, and enraged, yet what has been done was beyond what I could have done, and beyond what I am, and what I could have been to him.

Old pains, and other suicides, and those still unanswered questions come back now, again reminding me of old wounds, unresolved enigmas, old doubts and tears. I do not know. I didn’t know then, and I still don’t know. Old stuff, reopened, bleeding again, making new tears.

Part of me wants answers, but I know that answers won’t ever come. I move on, in life, yet I am left with wonderment, and enigma, and cold winds, ice in my heart that comes at unforeseen, strange times, dragging me back to old ghosts and old, unresolved times.

The poet writes of what I feel, and points me towards forgiveness. Yet, that word seems foreign to where I sit now, empty and alone, not knowing, not finding sanity in all of this. The poet’s wisdom circles about me, aflame, trying to warm my cold, lonely heart.

Perhaps, I should reach out, and accept that warmth, on this cold winter’s night.

Forgiveness
By Marion Waterston, January 31, 2005
 
I guess I’ll never know
All I want to know
Or understand
What can’t be understood
But I believe it’s time to forgive
 
Time to forgive you for leaving me
So abruptly and so painfully
And time to forgive myself
For talks we didn’t have
Laughs we didn’t share
Songs we didn’t sing
Foolishly I thought that time was on our side
 
Can it be that time now wishes to atone for this betrayal
For tears no longer flow like endless rivers
Anger seems a wasted emotion
And dreams those dreaded night-time visitors
Can come as friends
 
Once again I smile at the innocence of children
The unabashed warmth of lovers
The enthusiastic affection of dogs
And although I do not see you my precious love
You are with me
 
So I guess I’ll never know
All I want to know
Or understand
What can’t be understood
But here in this quiet moment
It’s time and I’m ready
To forgive.

Cold Morning Walk


The essence now in that envelope
between night and dawn,
the eastern sky silent through pure white spectrum,
everywhere crystalline frost, its task to bejewel
fallen leaves and winter twigs,
and share itself with
me.

Now,
stillness—
deep silence,
until my soul opens up and
sees the all that is here
just, and only, now.
I need only
be.

Moving through the silence, only my
white breath moving, only my shoes
beating a faint cadence in this between time,
I become one with this world,
space where everything can be the future
if only I dream it, and move towards it.

—Neal Lemery 12/4/13

Being Thankful


“Let us remember that, as much has been given us, much will be expected from us, and that true homage comes from the heart as well as from the lips, and shows itself in deeds.”  ~Theodore Roosevelt

Yes, the Thanksgiving dinner table will “groan” with an abundance of food, and a delightful gathering of family and friends, and rich conversation will mark the feast. We will pause to hear each of us express what we are thankful for in the past year, one of our favorite traditions.

And, in that telling of thanks, there will be a few tears, and a few laughs, and my heart will be filled with gratitude of what I have in my life. People new to our Thanksgiving table will remark about the goodness of speaking about what we are thankful for, and sharing that with others.

Yet, I try to express my thanks in more than words. As Theodore Roosevelt said, truly giving thanks is putting our gratitude into action, into our deeds.

This week, I sat with two of my young men in prison, each of them at a crossroads in their lives, each of them struggling to move ahead, to grow, and to steady themselves on their paths. Their particular challenges were different, but each of them steeled themselves, dug deep inside of their souls, drawing on their resilience and their growing self esteem, and moved ahead.

I marveled at their strength, and at their insight into their challenges and dilemmas. In the short time I’ve been privileged to be in their lives, I have seen them grow into healthy, strong men, gaining confidence and perspective on how far they’ve come, and what potentials they have to make it in the world.

I found myself giving thanks for the privilege of simply being present, as they worked on their problems, seeking solutions, weighing alternatives, and doing the gut work they each needed to do in order to move on. What each of them were working on, and what each of them accomplished was bloody, gut wrenching, soul challenging work.

There was old ugliness and pain, stuff all of us would probably want to find easier to ignore, and keep buried deep inside. Yet, they plunged in, dealing with the ugly past, the old patterns of thinking, and simply did the work. They tried out their new tools, and embraced the light they want to have in their lives, leaving behind the dark, sad past.

Their challenges, and their deep, thoughtful, soul changing work, brought tears to my eyes. Their stories of their childhoods, and their heart wounds, and search for love and acceptance in this world, tore at my heart. Yet, they accepted who they had been, and embraced who they are becoming. They are moving forward, with courage and with love for themselves, at last.

Being a witness, and a cheerleader at times, I was humbled by their perseverance, their determination to move forward. They faced change, and moved on. They faced uncertainty, and complex choices, yet each of them knew where he wanted to go, and what they wanted to accomplish for themselves.

I learn from them all of the time. They inspire me, they mentor me, in how to live a healthy, productive life. They teach me that one’s past is not necessarily the predictor of one’s future, that one can change and move away from disaster and bitterness, and into a life of sanity and unconditional love.

Outside the prison walls, our society faces challenging problems, and dilemmas that seem to defy solutions. And, soon enough, these young men will be leaving prison, and living their lives as free men. I am excited that they will soon be free, and will soon take an active part in our country’s life and culture. They are strong, capable, and determined men, men with brains and a healthy way of looking at life, and who they want to be. They will be rich, productive assets for the rest of us. They have much to teach each one of us.

I am thankful for them, for being able to be a small part of their lives, and, in a small way, help them move on and be strong, loving, and amazing young men.

—-Neal Lemery, 11/27/2013

Walking on Life’s Path


I don’t know it all. And, I never will.

But, in this journey of curiosity, inquiry, the anticipation of what may be around the corner, and the meeting of what I haven’t figured out yet, lies the excitement.

And, yes, I might even be wrong about what I think I know. I’m not perfect. I’m not a master of much of what goes on in the world, or what I think I know to figure out a problem. And, the more I work on the stuff that I think I’m pretty good at, even a master of, I keep finding out that there is more for me to learn, and even more problems and questions that come up, as I go about my tasks.

The learning curve still have a pretty good slope to it, keeping my journey as a healthy form of exercise, on all levels.

Often, being able to ask the question is often more important than thinking I have the answer. I usually don’t have the answer, at least the right answer. Even if the answer was right a while ago, it has a good chance of not being right now, anyway. And, “right” and “correct” are relative, anyway.

But, I have a lot of questions, and more than enough enigmas, quandaries, and paradoxes to keep me moving forward, looking for the answers. Somedays, I just discover I have more questions.

Simply having the questions is becoming increasingly comfortable. I’m full of questions. I keep finding more questions, and revising, rewriting the questions. Questions give me structure, and give me direction.

I’ve always needed direction. I’ve been around long enough that I can see the cycles, the patterns of life, and society, and being able to navigate through it al, with some sense of purpose and structure. I can get easily lost if I don’t have focus, and a path to try to follow.

“If you do not change direction, you may end up where you are headed.” —Lao Tzu.

When I figure out I’m going in the wrong direction, I summon my courage, dust off my list of questions, and take a new path. I “work my hard” and change directions, heading on a new path. And, when I look back, I can see where I’ve stumbled, and where I’ve danced, and I usually figure out that my choices were good ones.

I’m loaded with questions, and I’m on my path, my meandering path. My job is to keep track of where I’m headed, and to not get so caught up in myself that I start thinking I know it all, that I have all the answers. If I’m curious and not afraid to look at the compass once in a while, life keeps on being an exciting, and rewarding adventure.

—Neal Lemery, 11/23/2013

November Storm


November Storm

Quiet now,
so quiet I can almost imagine
the sheets of rain beating on the roof,
running down the windows, while I make tea
and feel its heat in my hands, the rest of me
buried under my blanket in my chair,
drying mouse hunter snoring in my lap.

The house will shake with yet another gust,
the roar and whistling of wind streaking by
not long from its marathon above the ocean
from the tropics or Alaska, or wherever this storm was born.

The lights will flicker with the bigger gusts and maybe go out,
leaving us with the lone candle on the coffee table,
before I light Grandma’s “coal oil lamp”
and get out the cribbage board.

Perhaps then we will make sandwiches by candlelight,
sipping the soup I’d made before the storm began,
and deal another hand, laughing and talking—
the storm slamming against the house,
garbage can lid and the last of the leaves
sailing by,
in the deep black of the soaking wet
night.

Later on, under the added blanket,
I will wake to a long gust, whistling around the house
yet more rain coming sideways, only
the lightning showing me the neighbor’s house,
thunder joining the wind in chorus of the night long song.

After dawn, air still, rain down to a drizzle,
the rumble of the furnace, and the refrigerator,
means I can make the coffee,
the cribbage board there on the table, ready for the next deal.

—Neal Lemery, 11/18/13

First Cup


First morning cup, brewing before dawn,
the son packing up his bag, ready to go
back to his Sunday job, to school—
more tests this week, only a month left
his first term in a real college.

His face lights up, his words all about campus
and classes, and the brainy discussions and lessons—
him fitting in, getting into his groove, finding his way,
living his dream we talked about so often.

Finding his path, in so many ways, now
footsteps steady on university sidewalks,
exploring the library, coffee with new found friends,
conversations rich with ideas and challenges.

We talk, me reaching to offer a tidbit of advice, of support
before he gets back at it, this new life of his,
me, wanting to be fatherly, yet not wanting to push,
me, proud of his sure steps, his confidence, all of his success.

Him, now fully a man, both feet firm on his chosen path,
him, moving forward, not knowing where he will travel
yet, happy with the idea of his journey, his idea
of who he is, and who he is becoming, at last.

Dad work now nearly done, this son has found himself,
his wings strong, finding the updrafts,
soaring, towards the sun
of his newfound happiness.

First cup now drained, he fills his car mug with his second,
heading towards the door, and turns back
hugging, one last time, and then
he is gone, down the road, moving on with his life.

The house, quiet now, without his voice, without
him playing the guitar, his singing in the shower,
his eyes twinkling as he speaks of his new life,
he goes down the road, leaving me with
a second cup and wet face.

Neal Lemery 11/10/2013

A Courageous Dilemma


We often think heroes are the folks somewhere else, the people on the front page or on the TV news, people who have done something amazing. They’re the people meeting the President, getting a medal.

But, we have heroes here, right in my town. And, sometimes, I get to be a witness to some amazing acts of courage and determination to just do the right thing.

A friend of mine is facing a serious dilemma. Their work, and their values and morals, and what is truly in their best interest are now at loggerheads. Life isn’t working out the way they want it, and there’s a lot of conflict, a lot of strife.

And, it’s becoming clear that the right thing to do is make some big changes, and to move on. That means giving up some things that are near and dear to their heart. Yet, they aren’t able to fully live their morals and values the way things are now.

They are at the crossroads, and the road is muddy, and there are a lot of questions, and not as many answers.

My friend has wrestled with all of this, and keeps coming back to thinking they need to live their morals and values, and be true to themselves, to honor their core values. And, when they’ve looked at their dilemma in that way, the choices become clear, and the path ahead opens up, and they can move forward.

They’re unstuck, now, and they’ve figured it out. Do the right thing, be true to their values, and find the courage to move ahead, to embrace change. Once they’ve come around to living life according to their beliefs, the choices are a lot easier, a lot clearer.

This conflict hasn’t been easy. There’s been a lot of sleepless nights, a lot of conversation over coffee with friends, a lot of wandering in the desert of uncertainty and doubt. And, in that darkness, they’ve found their stars again, and they’ve refocused on their beliefs and morals. Their compass has found True North again, and they are ready to make their move.

I’ve helped, just a bit, in that journey. I’ve listened, and put my judging and second guessing to the side. My role as friend in all this has been to listen, and to repeat back to them what they are saying, so they can hear their own words, their own values, through another voice.

My friend has figured it out. I don’t need to decide for them, and I don’t need to analyze the dilemma through my own values and beliefs. I just need to let them hear what they are saying, and let they say and hear their own advice, their own solution to their dilemmas.

I’d want that for me, when it’s my turn in the box of paradox, dilemma, and conflict. Someone to hold up that mirror, and let me see myself for what I am, and for what I believe in, and want to achieve. We all need that person in our lives to give us permission to get out the compass, and find our True North.

My friend is moving on, taking steps now in the direction they’ve chosen, and feeling pretty happy about it. They aren’t expecting to get a medal from the President, but they deserve one, for being courageous and for doing the right thing.

Neal Lemery 11/5/2013