IT'S A SNAP

IMAGE: JoyGenea.com

Here’s a thought: How do you explain to someone what left and right are (assuming they have no help from signage)? Do you remember how you learned?

I do. Until I was three or four, I don’t think I had a clue. But once my mother figured out that I was right-handed, she taught me how to snap my fingers. I learned quickly to do it with my right hand; never really gave much thought to trying it with my left.

After that, any time I was in doubt about which way was right, all I had to do was snap my fingers.

OFF TO MEXICO – Yum-m-m!

I'm like a hungry man about to sit down to a hearty four-course meal. That's how I'm feeling on the eve of my 32nd trip to Mexico. 

(They've all been wonderful, but his time will be even more so. First, because last year's visit got stymied by a last-minute health scare. Second, because this time my whole family is coming down to help Sally and me celebrate my big, round-number birthday. (Rhymes with weighty.))

As beautiful as Minnesota winters can be, they starve us of sensation. Against this backdrop of bland whites and grays and taupes, we're challenged to find the sustenance of color in detail and nuance—like a rosy cheek or a tenacious freeze-dried crab apple. Smells are served unseasoned, frozen in midair. Sound, too, seems squeezed out of its luscious fullness like dried fruit. Even touch is blunted by layers of nylon (most of it black, it seems), feathers and fleece.

   A Minnesotan would be dragged before
   the neighborhood association for painting his 
   house these vivid shades of pink, blue or gold.

In most of Mexico, including Zihuatanejo, Guerrero where I'm headed, climate and culture collaborate to nourish one with colors, sounds, smells and flavors.



The colors: a Minnesotan would be dragged before the neighborhood association for painting his house these vivid shades of pink, blue or gold. The smells: so often they reveal, where sights may not, the real life that's going on beyond the sphere of one's sanitized tourist experience. The tastes: there's nothing dried or preserved about them; they're fresh and true and sometimes surprising. And the touch, oh, the caress of that soft, warm, delicious air pouring in off the Pacific!

Even the sounds of this place transport me: the haunting, three-note pan-flute plea of the itinerant knife sharpener; the blare of música norteña from passing cars and work sites; the other-worldly rasping of a covey of chachalacas. And behind it all, the soft, sure respiration of the surf.



Maybe it's the warmth that unlocks both stimuli and senses. Belying the laid back, unhurried lifestyle, the sensations of Mexico stir in me a subtle sense of urgency. A mango, for example, just picked from the tree outside our villa door, is such a beautiful form just to look at. But no sooner than it begins to blush with full color you have to eat it or it loses its tang and turns to mush. So many beautiful things are transient.

And Zihuatanejo's a place of seamless flow between indoor and outdoor life. With little notion of that confinement we Minnesotans suffer during winter, you sense everything going on —in El Centro, down at Playa La Ropa out on Zihuatanejo Bay—and want to be a part of it all. But it's okay; anything you do—even nothing at all—feels completely satisfying, thoroughly nourishing of body and spirit.

HUNKERED DOWN – When Wonder Moves Indoors

It's the depth of winter here in Minnesota. Not to worry; we're hearty souls. Generally, we don't let that stop us from enjoying life, even life outdoors—which, by the way, is still full of great beauty and life.

        A person's need for discovery and wonder 
        doesn't get left at the door like the parka 
        and boots.

Nonetheless, below zero wind chills conspire with the sun's quitting at 4:30 to make us spend far more time cooped up inside than we do in the summer. Some- times we have no choice but to hunker down for a couple of days and wait out a blizzard and the arctic deep freeze that so often follows.

But a person's need for discovery and wonder doesn't get left at the door like the parka and boots. Even indoors we're curious; our child side still needs to play, learn and experience delight.

Of course, there's always TV, a good book or the Internet to help pass the long, dark hours. But these, I submit, are remote, second-hand experiences. They may entertain or inform us, but do they nourish a curious soul?

Even indoors I'm always surprised and delighted at how many real-life, present-moment natural wonders await discovery when I'm willing to look with care. Here are just a few examples:

       Study the strokes and patterns; marvel 
       at the feathered crystalline brushwork; 
       imagine how the artist determined where 
       each element in the composition would go.

Could there be a more elegant artistic expression than the crystalline masterpieces Nature renders with water? Outdoors, of course, it’s snow; whether seen as flake or drift, it's the most sublime of sculptures. Indoors, though, relegated to the two-dimensional “canvas” of frozen glass, she once again outdoes herself.

Look closely at frost; study the strokes and patterns; marvel at the feathered crystalline brushwork; imagine how the artist determined where each element in the composition would go. Touch it; see how ephemeral it is. See if you can melt it without quite touching it.

Perhaps the one thing that changes most when our world moves indoors is our appreciation of things that live and grow. Instead of marveling at trees, shrubs or flowers in their natural, wild setting, we devise ways to shrink, capture and confine them in pots that clamber close to windows. Try not to take them for granted. These plants, for their staunch, surrogate duty, are all the more worthy of our notice.

For our indoor animal fix, we turn from summer's chancy thrill of spotting critters in their own realms and on their own terms to the certainty of specimens we've shaped to our convenience, bred to need no more than our care and attention. Take advantage of these most opportune occasions to relish your closeness to these dear creatures.

    The subtle white, comet-tail streaks suggest the 
    seeds have streaked out from center. And there 
    they’ve landed, on the vivid, glossy surface of 
    the fruit, each cupped in its own tiny crater. 

Instead of discovering a strange new fruit or nut on a wild plant somewhere in the woods, we learn in winter to explore things closer at hand, perhaps things so common we never thought to look at them with wonder. For example, have you stopped to appreciate the elegance of line, color, form and texture in a freshly sliced strawberry?

See how the flesh morphs from furry, white, womb-like core into sweet, solid crimson. Note the subtle white, comet-tail streaks that suggest the seeds have streaked out from center. And there they’ve landed, on the vivid, glossy surface of the fruit, each cupped in its own tiny crater.

Would you agree that discovery and wonder need not be lost on the home-bound? See if you can find "wild" living critters like meal worms, spiders or perhaps the occasional holdover ladybug. See what you can discover about another person. Play with soap bubbles or static electricity. Explore the attic. Cook something. Try to...ah-h-h...wait a second...whoa-a-a!...I'm sorry, I have a fire going in the fireplace, and there's this...amazing bright blue...tongue of flame…

A BAGGY COAT – A New Years Reflection

During this season of generosity swirling with obligation, of simple joy made sad by unmet expectation, of grateful abundance diminished by addictive excess, I'm trying on, once more, the baggy coat of acceptance, a garment whose fit depends on not its own but the wearer's measure.

         

What do you need to accept or let go of to allow the grateful, hopeful spirit of New Years wrap comfortably around you?

GOD SPELLED BACKWARDS – A Schnauzer’s Prayer

My dog prays. Every day. To God.

How do I know this? Okay, I’m not saying Sylvia sits up, puts her front paw pads together and recites her Glory Be's. No, the way I know is that she’s actually asked for a little help.

So, every morning, right after breakfast, I grab my coffee, plop down in my easy chair and Sylvie—our precious miniature schnauzer—hops up in my lap. She turns and looks up at me expectantly until I start.

            …and oh, my God, those real bones
            with meat on them!

That’s not the only reason I know about Sylvie's spiritual side. I can see it in the way she interacts with me and the rest of her world. Always in the moment, one with her environment; does love like no human being I’ve ever known; and, though she might appear to take everything for granted, just exudes gratitude, for even the smallest things.

Unlike us human beings, who’ve managed to complicate our connection to the divine with our own conceits, that of animals is just a straight-up, no-pretensions conduit of love.

So of course she wants to pray. Granted, she only has about a 50-word vocabulary and has trouble pronouncing even those few words. So that’s where I come in. I provide the lap…and the voice. Now you may think it’s just my own voice, my own ideas. But that’s not how it feels to me. What really happens is that I channel Sylvie; I actually feel what she’d say if she could:

Dear God, thank you, thank you, thank you for this beautiful day. This precious day of living, sensing, feeling…and loving.

Thank you for my Mommy and Daddy. For our home and all the cushy places where I get to snooze and snuggle. Thank you for our walks and all of Nature’s sights and sounds…and especially the smells—my way of keeping track of all the critters who’ve tried claiming my turf in the past few days.

Like those squirrels, they don't smell much, but they drive me nuts. They wait till I'm almost on them, flicking those bushy tails, just to taunt me. I always fall for it, but I've never once caught one.

Thank you for my kibble, especially when Mommy or Daddy adds a little chicken. For the smorgasbord of tidbits they manage to drop on the floor. And for those crunchy little Milk Bone treats…and oh, my God, the real bones with meat on them!

    Help me to be a good girl. To make
    Mommy and Daddy smile and not frown.

Thank you for playing, for running, fetching and tug-of-war. For hide & seek and catch…and oh, tummy rubs! Thank you for all my toys: my lobster, skeleton, Nylabones and tennis balls…even though any old stick would do.

Thank you for my friends: our neighbors, Merrily, who always has a treat for me, and Megan who might just love me more than Daddy and Mommy do; and all my puppy friends at doggy day care. Especially Yogi, who’s my size and looks like me.

God, please help me to be a good girl. To make Mommy and Daddy smile and not frown. And to protect them from folks I don’t know—especially when they try to come into our house. No one seems to like that, but I can’t help it.

Please bless us all, and keep us safe and healthy. And for us and all the folks we love let it be a very good day.

Sylvia doesn’t know about “amen,” so I add that for her.

What do you think? Might your pet pray if you provided the lap and the voice? If not to God, perhaps to St. Francis, patron saint of animals, to the Great Spirit or to whatever manifestation of Universal Intelligence you invoke? You’ll never know unless you try. At the very least, it’s a nice, centering way to start the day—for both of you.

And please, share your experience—or just your thoughts—with the rest of us!

THANKS A MILLION!

You're looking at...well, reading from...a million-seller! That's right, One Man's Wonder has just registered its one-millionth page view.

Originally an effort to promote my book (Under the Wild Ginger*—about noticing and celebrating small wonders) One Man's Wonder has come to mean so much more to me. 

The greatest reward has been hearing from folks who say one of my posts moved or encouraged them. Another is seeing the sheer reach of my little endeavor. A world map on my studio wall bristles with push pins for every country that's home to at least one of my readers—85 countries so far. I'm like some big-shot business mogul taking stock of their empire.

      Your comments fuel what I've always hoped
      would be more a dialog than a lecture. 

SELFISH ENDS
There's also a therapeutic benefit, the escape my writing has afforded me from the extraordinary stresses of life these days: the pandemic; a near-constant assault of troubling world news; and the shameful assault on truth, decency and democracy being waged here at home.

And I'll admit it; I need affirmation as much as the next person. So knowing my blog reaches a growing audience is gratifying. But the numbers are far less important to me than the sense of connection I feel with all of you. Best of all, your comments fuel what I've always hoped would be more a dialog than a lecture.

Thank you to everyone who's knocked at this virtual doorway to small wonders, especially those who've walked in, stayed a while and, perhaps, shared a bit of yourself here.

CASHING IN
Once in a great while I wonder if I should have monetized my blog. You know, allowed a few small ads, maybe worked some product plugs into my posts. If I'd chosen that route from the get-go, and managed to eke a buck from every visit, I'd be a millionaire, right?

But that's never been a real option; it's just not true to the spirit of this work. I mean here's a one-time professional writer, well into retirement, who's lucky enough to still be writing—and still be read. If you ask me, that's a pretty fine reward. It's not—never has been—about the money.

So, again, thank you for your virtual presence here, many of you becoming what I consider by now to be old friends. Please, if you like what you read, share the wealth on social media, and mention One Man's Wonder to your friends and family.

* To order signed copies of Under the Wild Ginger – A Simple Guide To the Wisdom of Wonder—at a special "Thanks a million" price of $9.95 each—email me at jeff@willius.com

UNDER CLOUD NINE – Reclaiming My Lightness of Being

Sometime during my adolescence I felt my identity as a carefree boy being challenged. Nothing extreme, just occasional negative thoughts, self doubts, perhaps a tinge of fatalism. 

ILLUSTRATION: Dreamstime

Part of it was, of course, simply being a teenager. I was experiencing feelings typical of this difficult stage: worries about fitting in, embarrassment over everything my parents did or didn’t do, frustration that I was neither a
child any more nor quite yet an adult.

But there was also something just a bit more sinister, a kind of low-grade dread. Of what, I wasn't sure. Maybe there was some dark secret my family was keeping from me.

By no means did this ruin my life; I was still generally a happy, healthy, functioning teenager. But it did have an effect, inhibiting my social life, I’m sure, and giving voice to a kind of self-defeating alter ego. I just had this vague sense that something stood between me and the full happiness I imagined was possible.

Most of the time I wasn’t even conscious of these feelings at a level I could have described, much less that I thought anyone else might notice. I just figured they were normal, that everyone felt that way.

Those hazy, dark thoughts, that elusive doubt, continued to weigh on my spirit well into my adult life.

                 Why do you always have that
                 dark cloud over your head?

DIAGNOSIS! 
When I was about 40 I had an epiphany. It occurred during a meeting of my men’s group.* That night, in our continuing effort to understand each other and challenge ourselves to grow, we were doing an exercise called simply “feedback.” **

Each of us got a handful of three-by-five cards. We were to write down for each of the other men an observation about him. No judgments, no criticisms, just an observation. We could either sign our cards or remain anonymous. 

The first card handed to me—signed by Peter, a man I admired very much for his courage and insight—read: “Jeff, why do you always have that dark cloud over your head?”

The consequences of that question have been profound. The immediate impact was a sense of relief, perhaps like that felt by a patient finally getting clarity after suffering for years with some undiagnosed illness.

Finding out that it has a name, that it’s not all in your head, at last lets you address the problem and start doing something about it.  

All this time I’d managed to keep my little affliction stuffed into an uneasy little corner of my psyche, figuring that’s just the way life is. Finally I knew that it might not be normal after all, and, more significant to me, that everyone else could see it.

 Either I’d keep entertaining this unwanted guest
 in my house, or I’d put out the “No Vacancy” sign.

CLEANING HOUSE
The very next day, finally seeing my little burden as others could see it, I began cleaning house, realizing that each time I became aware of my defeatist self talk I’d have a decision to make: either keep entertaining this unwanted guest in my house, or put out the “No Vacancy” sign.

In a sort of self-styled Zen, I started working to detach from expectation and the illusion of control. I chose to feel good, not bad. Gradually, I reclaimed my sense of completeness and rediscovered the lightness of being I’d known as a boy.

Now, lightness of being doesn’t mean one is always happy. It means that, even when all’s not going well, when you’re in pain or sorrow, you acknowledge those hurts, but don’t let them define you. You look for gratitude to supplant expectations. You take it easy on yourself and find humor in your imperfection.

A MANTRA
One thing that’s really helped is my new mantra. I guess I’ve always believed in it intuitively. But I’ve only called on it regularly since the traumatic confluence of disasters that have piled up on the world over the past decade or so. And since I’ve started encountering the many personal physical and emotional challenges of growing old.

IMAGE: Genuine Tibetan Arts

So when I find myself especially overwrought about the state of my life or of the world, that’s when I invoke it: If there’s something, anything, I can do about it right now, do it. If not, let it go.

   The things triggering them literally do not exist.

PAST, TENSE
To clear my skies of the dark cloud it’s also helped considerably to identify which tense my self talk is using to discourage me. And, if that tense is either past or future, not to listen to a word of it.

As the gifted spiritual guru Eckhart Tolle teaches, the past has already happened; it no longer exists. The future hasn’t happened; it doesn’t yet exist. The only time that does exist is the here and now.

I spend lots of time thinking about those tenses, trying to fully realize that emotions like expectation, fear, regret, dread and guilt are pretty useless considering that the things triggering them literally do not exist.

AND YOU?
So do you have a dark cloud? An inner voice that blocks out the sunshine of your spirit? We’d love to hear how you’ve come to recognize the encumbrance and how you manage it. Jot your reflection in "Comments" below.

* My men’s group, founded to challenge ourselves and each other to be more thoughtful, more loving—more evolved—human beings, has been meeting more or less every two weeks since 1977. Forty-seven years!

** We were fortunate to have two members of our group who were organizational development professionals. They provided many thoughtful team-building, consciousness-expanding and communication exercises. Among them, the “car wash,” where each week one member had to sit and be “washed” with compliments from the rest of us; a ropes course, which forced us to recognize and apply each member’s unique strengths to bring the whole group through a series of physical challenges; and taking the The Myers-Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI) test to explore our respective personality types and how they colored our relationships with each other.

“I’m not afraid of storms, for I’m learning how to sail my ship.”
LOUISA MAY ALCOTT