On a day when I don’t have any clients, I may read or watch TV or take a walk. I may think about getting a doughnut at The Good Place that is several miles away. If I go there I may take the long way, and stop if I feel like it.

I still see clients, and I have a couple of things that I’m working on, but to be honest, I’m not as concerned about work as I used to be. All of this makes me wonder about what it is that I should be doing with my time and whether I need a purpose for each day of my life. I know that there are some of my clients who are struggling because they feel like they don’t know what to do with their lives. I know others who are still focused on making money as though that is the answer to all of their problems. Or others who are finding that experiencing the world through travel gives them enough stimulation. The thing is, even when you go away, your problems follow you. If you’re anxious at home, you’ll be anxious in a new place. If you feel lost at home, you may really feel lost in a new place.

Author Kurt Vonnegut on telling his wife he’s going out to buy an envelope:

“Oh, she says, well you’re not a poor man. You know, why don’t you go online and buy a hundred envelopes and put them in the closet? And so I pretend not to hear her. And go out to get an envelope because I’m going to have a hell of a good time in the process of buying one envelope. I meet a lot of people. And see some great looking babies. And a fire engine goes by. And I give them the thumbs up. And I’ll ask a woman what kind of dog that is. And, I don’t know. The moral of the story is — we’re here on Earth to fart around. And, of course, the computers will do us out of that. And what the computer people don’t realize, or they don’t care, is we’re dancing animals. You know, we love to move around. And it’s like we’re not supposed to dance anymore.” (from a PBS interview conducted in 2005 between David Brancaccio and Kurt Vonnegut)

Maybe that’s what a day spent goofing off is like — a dance. I shuffle this way and that way, and soon an hour has gone by. If I think about it too hard, it can feel like I’ve wasted time, but that’s really the point. It’s an exercise in finding a different way to be. It’s also quite countercultural — everyone else is rushing around, pushing hard. On a goof off day, I drive in the right lane, and the movers and shakers don’t bother me quite as much.

One of the other benefits of slowing down and wandering is being able to see more clearly all the things that are around me. When I take a walk now, I notice the yards that are well taken care of, and I think about how much time it takes to put together a really beautiful garden. Every once in a while, I will see a bird that I like. I don’t know their names. but that might be something that I investigate tomorrow.

There is something freeing about not having an agenda. Among other things, I find that my mind moves to new topics. I’ve always enjoyed learning, and so I play with my computer and take some online courses and read a bunch. I might find something that I want to delve into deeper, and I may not. I remember going to the library as a boy and finding something new and then reading everything I could find about that new thing. It was fun.

You may have noticed that as I write this, I’m in the middle of one of those days, and this blog post suffers a little for it. It meanders a little, and isn’t very focused. That’s ok. Maybe I can encourage someone to take a break.

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For some reason I don’t like it as much as she does. I worry that some of the many dogs there will start to fight with each other (although most of them are well-behaved), and I don’t like the way some of the humans behave — grabbing the best looking apples before someone else, not paying attention to who was at a stand first, being generally pushy, and I feel badly for the vendors who have no customers. I know that bored feeling. So I wander around a little, but it’s not my favorite pastime.

Then one week, maybe halfway into the selling season, a new vendor showed up, selling fresh, hot mini donuts. Not only were the donuts delicious, but he was a nice guy, and I enjoyed talking to him. My farmers market experience was totally transformed. I started to look forward to getting up early on a Saturday and going.

So I was disappointed when I got there and found the usual Dinky Donuts space to be empty. I actually looked around to see if they had moved, but they were nowhere to be found. My mood shifted with a sudden jerk in a rotten direction, and everything in my vision took on a gray tinge. My overreaction is typical for me. It is related to things that happened in my childhood that I won’t get into here, but I’ll just say that unexpected changes affect me more than most people, and more than they should. In any case, I left the market and went to my car to sulk.

I’ve had a few disappointments lately. One project that I’m working on cost far more than I anticipated, and I’m still reeling a little from the changes that expense has made in my plans. I seem to be disappointed by our government every time I watch the news. And the weather has just continued to get worse. Did we even have a summer this year?

Disappointments are different than losses, of course. A loss is much more permanent, and painful. But a disappointment can have a lasting impact. It can change hopes and dreams, and alter future expectations. It may be that disappointment moves us in the direction of truth. Assuming that something or someone will always be there for you, or always do what you want them to, is just unrealistic. One of the benefits of mindfulness practice is that it focuses on the present moment — that which is happening right now — and recognizes that the past is gone and the future hasn’t yet arrived. It teaches that we should approach things as they occur with what they call “child mind,” which means looking at life as though each experience is new. That changes the character of an event: “Oh, isn’t that interesting. The donut stand is not there.”

Disappointments are always related to expectations. If your expectations are low, then you won’t get very disappointed if things don’t work out the way you wanted. This is not to say that we should reduce our expectations. That might affect the effort we put into a project, or change an important goal. I think it can be helpful to realize that disappointments are unmet expectations, and that expectations can be revised to reflect new realities.

This week, my donut guy is back. That made me happy, but it’s interesting — not as happy as I was before. Now there is a little annoying thought in the back of my brain that says, “They might not be here next week.” It’s a change in my expectation. That may not be a bad thing.

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I know that this kind of thing happens as each generation develops its own stars in their own mediums. My Dad would hear me talking about a band that I liked as a teenager, and he would just shake his head. I knew some of the people that my parents liked to listen to, like Glenn Miller or “Les Brown and his band of renown,” but probably only because we had to hear them when Mom played their records (to the younger readers out there — a record was a kind of media on a vinyl disc that could play prerecorded music).

The research on preferences in music and popular culture show that our adolescence and early adulthood are particularly influential in the development of our personal tastes. The reminiscence bump is the name for the phenomenon whereby adults tend to have a disproportionate attachment to the popular culture they encountered at those ages.

Morris Holbrook and Robert Schindler were the first researchers to develop this hypothesis, but later studies have shown that there are other factors at play. It turns out that repetition and peer networks are both important considerations. If your best friends all like a song, chances are you will begin to enjoy it too. When media was limited to top 40 radio stations and just a few major television networks, a generation’s most popular artists would often be held in common from person to person. Today, social media and the internet have created much more diversity, and an individual may have very different tastes than their peers.

Most of today’s 25 year olds will have little or no memory of some of the most popular stars during the 1970s, 80s and 90s. Names like Walter Cronkite, Mary Tyler Moore, Lucille Ball, Phil Donahue, and Arsenio Hall will likely be unfamiliar to them, whereas they are some of the most famous celebrities of those earlier periods.

All of this may partially explain my cluelessness at some of the following names from the Venice Film Festival.

• Furi Nanase and Rokka Okada - never heard of them.

• Nicola Peltz Beckham - I’m assuming she is related to the soccer star?

• Bhavitha Mandava - nope.

• Chase Sui Wonders - I’m wondering.

• Jonathan Bailey - no clue.

I’m not completely oblivious. There were some people I did recognize:

• Ricky Martin

• John Malkovich

• Javier Bardem and Penélope Cruz

• Maggie Gyllenhaal

But then there was a whole group who were completely new to me.

• Zazie Beetz

• Zoey Deutch

• Amelia Dimoldenberg

• Amanda Seyfried

• Emma Corrin

• Kim Gordon

• Marion Cotillard

• Irina Shayk

• Vittoria Ceretti

• Domhnall Gleeson

It’s hard for me to understand how I have completely missed these folks in the media. I wonder if I am not paying attention, or if I just have no interest in whatever it is that they are doing. Among other things, it makes me acutely aware of the differences between the generations, and I wonder how often younger people hear me talk and say, “What is that old coot talking about?”

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I have an eclectic taste in music — I like all kinds of stuff: rock ‘n roll (from the Beatles to Jimi Hendrix), classical (all the greats — Beethoven, Bach, Handel), folk (John Prine, Mary Chapin Carpenter), bluegrass (Bela Fleck), jam bands (Phish and Umphreys McGee), Latin (Juan Gabriel, Juanes), Bachata (Juan Luis Guerra, Romeo Santos), and more. The one common denominator for me is that I like melodies. Some of the electronic music or dissonant avant-garde recordings are not for me.

That’s why this song has been a surprise for me. It’s the only song on Hornsby’s new album that I like. But for some reason, I like it a lot. I find myself humming it at odd moments, or singing the line “O let these days be your delight” in my car.

The rest of the album feels more experimental and less melodic.

Here is a link to the performance:

The song is a retrospective look at a dumb mistake he made at age 16, trying to make a “great big entrance” to impress people at the Indigo Park Pool, and ended up making him look silly and embarrassing him.

Now Hornsby is looking at this event from the perspective of a 70 year old man, and the mistake from his youth becomes little more than a humorous story that he can remember with kindness rather than criticism of his younger self.

We’ve all done or said boneheaded stuff in our lives — I know I have. When I think of these things I can get down on myself at times. Wouldn’t it be nice to be a little more forgiving of ourselves?

The song takes a longer and broader view, and recognizes that one moment doesn’t define a life. Another line that I like says: “Succeed or fail it’s all the same — It’s only life, and life is enough.” This life we’re given encompasses so much — pain and delight, both. Maybe our drive for success is not all that important.

Here’s what Hornsby says about the song:

As I was boring Lisa with my repetitive playing of this song, she pointed out to me that the sometimes irreverent writer and pastor Nadia Bolz-Weber wrote a blog about her daily prayer, “God, help me not be an asshole.” Then she had dinner with a friend who told her that her daily prayer was, “God, help me be surprised and delighted by my life today.” Bolz-Weber thought that one was so much better.

That story made me realize that this one line from Bruce Hornsby could be both a blessing and a prayer. So please. accept this blessing: “O let these days be your delight.” Amen.

Maybe even captured in rhythm and rhyme.

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There are two types of people in the world: those with long attention spans and those with — hey there’s something shiny over there!

There are two kinds of people in the world: those who keep secrets and… well, I can’t tell you the other kind.

As a psychologist, I have a theory that there really are two kinds of people. Of course, this is a huge generalization, with some folks flipping between the poles, and others in the middle somewhere, not sure which way to move. Nevertheless, here it is: there are those who take responsibility for their actions, and those who blame others.

Think about this with me. I have had severely depressed clients who had an underlying belief that they were not good enough. They thought everything they did was wrong, and even their depression was their own fault.

These people can be helped. Because they believe that the problems they face are of their own making, they also believe that making changes can make a difference. They are motivated to change, and use their responsibility for their own good.

It is much harder to treat someone who takes no responsibility for their actions. They often end up with a character disorder or personality disorder diagnosis, which are notoriously hard to treat. These are the blamers, the finger-pointers, the people who go through life with the idea that everyone is working against them. This group will resist trying to change, because they believe they have nothing to change. It is always someone else who needs to change, because the other person is to blame.

Individuals diagnosed with Antisocial Personality Disorder show a persistent pattern of blaming others for their actions, not taking responsibility, and violating social norms. They lie, get into legal trouble, and frequently hurt others without remorse. You might hear them say, “Everyone does this,” or “the system is rigged against me.”

In Narcissistic Personality Disorder there are some similarities, but the main focus is protecting their unreasonable self-image. These people have difficulty admitting mistakes, and blame others when something goes wrong. These responses are a defense mechanism against shame or feelings of inadequacy.

I can’t diagnose anyone from a distance, but it is interesting to look at some of the patterns that show up in the news.

Donald Trump

After losing the 2020 presidential election, he immediately began saying “This election was rigged,” and he has never let up. He blames external fraud for his loss.

Boris Johnson

In England, when the rest of the country was prohibited from having indoor gatherings due to COVID, Johnson’s party was holding meetings and dinners. His excuse was basically, “No one advised me that this was illegal.” This is an attempt to put the responsibility on others.

Elizabeth Holmes

In a massive fraud against investors and the scientific community, Holmes touted a breakthrough technology to run hundreds of tests on a single drop of blood. When the deception was uncovered, she said it wasn’t her fault because she had relied on the advice from her team. Again, this is trying to shift responsibility.

Sam Bankman-Fried

When Bankman-Fried was caught shifting money between two different companies to cover his losses, he said, “I didn’t knowingly commingle funds.” He was trying to say that he didn’t intend to hurt anyone, and was essentially saying this is all a big mistake. Nobody bought his explanation.

These are just a few examples. Whenever something goes wrong, it’s usually pretty easy to see who is taking responsibility and who is trying to blame.

Clinical observations

You might recognize a few defense patterns that are in play here:

• Externalization - something else caused this; not me

• Minimization - this was just a small glitch; no big deal

• Lack of intent - I didn’t mean for this to happen

• Diffusion of responsibility - It was those other guys

• Self-serving bias - If it was good, I’ll take credit, but if it was bad, then it was some external force

• Moral disengagement - actions are reframed to reduce guilt

It seems to me that this is a valuable way to look at our political candidates. Everyone makes mistakes. Will they own up to them?

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Chicago by Brian Doyle

Doyle describes the Windy City in such beautiful detail that you recognize things that have gone unnoticed right before your eyes. A story with magical realism that begins to feel natural.

Slow Horses by Mick Herron

A gritty, smart story filled with British wit and a wry look at the world. One part comedy and one part thriller, this book kept me wanting to see what would happen next. This is the source of the acclaimed Apple TV series starring Gary Oldman.

Epitaph by Mary Doria Russell

This is the story of the shootout at the O.K. Corral, and its ramifications. There are lots of famous names here: the Earp brothers, Doc Holliday, and Bat Masterson, to name a few. I was really enlightened by the fact that our current scourge of misinformation isn’t new — it happened in the 1880s too.

The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. LeGuin

If you are a science fiction fan, this could be the book for you. An ambassador from another world shows up unexpectedly on a planet that has not embraced much new technology, but has plenty of rivalries and political intrigue. The alien is misunderstood and abused, but continues his well-meaning mission nevertheless. LeGuin really got me thinking.

An Accidental Death by Peter Grainger

This one is a detective novel of a different sort — not the high octane hero that will eventually be played by Tom Cruise in a movie. Instead, it features an older man who is smart and experienced, moving logically through a complicated mess to its ultimate conclusion. You won’t find chase scenes and graphic violence, but rather a solid plot that keeps you wondering.

Call Them by Their True Names by Rebecca Solnit

Solnit doesn’t pull any punches. In this book, she focuses on Donald Trump, climate change, violence to women, and plenty of other current topics that deserve more light than the heat that they generate. Solnit takes some specific cases and works with them toward general conclusions. This book makes me think. It was published in 2018, so it is slightly dated, but it also allows the reader to see how right she was when it was written.

I hope you like these. Enjoy.

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Masks have been a part of ancient indigenous cultures such as the Aztecs and Mayas for centuries. Warriors were trained as Jaguar Knights who wore spotted pelts and masks to frighten their enemies, or Eagle Knights who wore feathered headdresses and masks that had prominent eagle beaks. This history was undoubtedly part of the inspiration for lucha libre.

The sport became popular in 1933, when Salvador Lutteroth González founded the Empresa Mexicana de Lucha Libre (EMLL). Like Big Time Wrestling in the U.S., the athletes are heroes or villains, and the crowds cheer wildly for their favorites. It has become a cross between a soap opera and an athletic event, as each match is staged and conforms to a storyline, but the competitors are doing amazing flips and dives and somersaults while they play their parts. Today, the lucha libre wrestlers are everywhere — TV commercials, print ads, and cereal boxes. Their stories have been turned into comic books, films (you may have seen Jack Black in Nacho Libre) and children’s cartoons.

I tried to see a lucha libre match in Guadalajara last year, but I couldn’t arrange a time to go. This week I finally saw a spectacular show in Arena Mexico, “The Temple of Lucha Libre” in Mexico City, where shows have been performed since 1956. In the match that I attended, the story drew an explicit connection between ancient Mexican creation myths and the roles of the wrestlers. Much like Greek and Roman mythology, the gods of the Aztecs and the Mayans were involved in human disputes or arguments with each other, leading to the showdowns that the wrestlers depicted, and explaining the creation of the sun and moon, corn and the agave plant.

The show itself was wild. The music and drumming was loud and virtually constant, and the crowd cheered and booed with every kick and punch and body-slam. It began with dancers in native dress and a big screen cartoon that explained the story, followed by the wrestling itself. As the drama intensified, so did the drums and the screams and jeers from the crowd. There were families with children having a blast, eating pizza and popcorn while wearing masks that were available for purchase. The high energy show didn’t stop until several matches had been completed and the arena erupted in colored streamers and confetti while the wrestlers received an ovation from the crowd. This was great fun, and is not to be missed if you are in Mexico City.

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One of the central themes in the story is the idea of Zeus’ Law — essentially hospitality to strangers. This is the Greek concept of Xenia (“guest friendship”). The way this was understood was that the proper way to behave is to give food and shelter to a stranger first, and only later to ask who they are and where they came from. The law is rooted in the mythical idea that the gods sometimes travel among people while disguised as mortals. It is in this disguise that they can judge the true worth of a person. Or, as Odysseus says in the film, “the clearest view of men is from below.”

The way Odysseus was treated by those he encounters on his journey provides a number of examples of following or disobeying this law.

The worst violation of Zeus’ Law is by the Cyclops Polyphemus, who doesn’t welcome Odysseus and his men, but rather traps them in his cave and turns a few of them into tasty snacks. Eating your guests is in no way hospitable.

Later on, Circe seems to welcome Odysseus’ men with food and drink, but the tainted concoction she serves them turns them into pigs. This betrayal of their trust is another way to mock Zeus’ Law.

The book contrasts this bad behavior with examples of how we should be acting. When Telemachus, Odysseus’ son, welcomes a stranger, he gives her food and drink and only later asks her identity. Similarly, when Odysseus returns home dressed as a beggar, his servant Eumaeus welcomes him without hesitation and shares his meager meal.

The idea of hospitality as critical to moral living was carried forward in Biblical literature. The Bible treats hospitality as a spiritual practice rooted in God’s own welcome of humanity. There are several places in scripture where hospitality is emphasized.

Hebrew Testament

Leviticus 19:33–34 (NRSVUE) says: “The alien who resides with you shall be to you as the citizen among you; you shall love the alien as yourself, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt.” This command is grounded in Israel’s own history. Because the Israelites had experienced life as vulnerable outsiders, they were to extend compassion to others.

Deuteronomy 10:18–19 describes God as one who: “…loves the strangers, providing them food and clothing. You also shall love the stranger…” Hospitality is therefore not simply a human virtue—it reflects God’s own character.

Abraham: The Classic Example

Perhaps the best-known story is in Genesis 18. Abraham sees three strangers approaching. Before knowing who they are, he runs to them, washes their feet, prepares a meal for them and gives them a place to rest. The visitors turn out to be messengers from God, and Abraham receives the promise that Sarah will bear Isaac. This story teaches that hospitality may become an encounter with God.

The New Testament

Jesus continues the teaching of hospitality in the New Testament.

In Luke 10:25–37, the Good Samaritan not only helps the injured man but also pays for his lodging at an inn. Hospitality extends beyond one’s own home to ensuring another person’s well-being.

One of Jesus’ strongest teachings appears in Matthew 25:35–40, when he says: “I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me…” Jesus identifies himself with strangers and those in need. Hospitality toward them becomes hospitality toward Christ.

The Greek word often translated “hospitality” is philoxenia:

• philos = love

• xenos = stranger

Literally, it means “love of strangers.” Its opposite is not simply inhospitableness but xenophobia—fear of strangers.

Closing the Door

In our own country today, perhaps due to xenophobia, we are treating the stranger as a threat rather than a guest. U.S. policy focuses on detention and removal of strangers (foreigners). Asylum seekers, those threatened in other lands, are being treated as criminals and deported in record numbers. Even those who hold Temporary Protected Status, people who have already been received into our community, are having their status revoked and are being deported.

These political actions are already having unintended results. American farmers and restaurants are having difficulty hiring workers. Colleges and universities who previously brought in the brightest minds from around the world to work on scientific research are unable to continue valuable programs. And the U.S. military is no longer receiving the same level of support from many countries across the globe. To say nothing about the ill will that we are developing.

Jesus says, “I was a stranger and you welcomed me …” In America, we’re no longer doing that welcoming. We need to change, or, as was shown in The Odyssey, we will suffer the consequences.

By 1860, Chicago became the country’s rail center, with access to water ways and a geographic advantage, linking the East and West. Almost immediately, national markets developed for livestock, grains, and other goods. Between 1870 and 1900, Chicago grew from a population of about 300 thousand to nearly 1.7 million.

So it is no wonder that one of the finest railway museums in the country is in Union, Illinois, a little more than an hour outside Chicago. It is called the Illinois Railway Museum (IRM), and it is run by volunteers. This is not the kind of museum that just talks about a subject and shows pictures and historical documents. It has all of that information available, but the best thing about this place is that a visitor can experience the trains — you can see, touch, and ride them.

The IRM is located on about 120 acres, and has its own rail spur that is used to take visitors on a 20 mile ride on a steam train in passenger cars that are over 100 years old. Volunteers have refurbished these train cars and all the engines, and new donations of cars and engines are constantly building their inventory of equipment.

Riding in a car pulled by an old steam powered locomotive is an experience for all the senses. It is loud and smoky and there are moving parts everywhere. The ride shakes over the old railroad tracks, and there are steam whistles and puffs of smoke billowing out into the sky.

The museum has exhibits of luxurious private cars built for industrial barons and Pullman cars that took people on overnight trips out west. There are gigantic snowplows that could clear tracks of snow that was 10 feet deep, and single person cars used to speed individuals down the tracks. It includes everything from great freight trains to intercity commuter cars. Some of the exhibits focus on train signal devices, or model trains, or station signage.

If you have an interest in trains, or history, or just want to learn about railroads, this is a great place to visit.

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I wrote it the first time because I had just read Jon Moolamem’s book Serious Face (which I highly recommend), and one of his essays got me thinking about clouds. I’ve always loved looking at them and imagining that their shapes looked like something (“That one’s a bear.” “No, it’s a dog.”), but I haven’t been one of those folks who could tell what types of clouds I was seeing, or what the types meant.

When I am in an airplane, the clouds are endlessly fascinating. At times they seem to go on forever.

I always thought that clouds were made of water vapor, but that’s not exactly true. Water vapor is pretty much invisible, but as it rises on warm air currents and cools, it turns into tiny water droplets or ice crystals, which are so small that they float in the air. That’s what clouds are made of.

Clouds are classified into three main groups, with lots of sub-groups. The main groups vary by the height of the cloud.

The highest group, Cirrus clouds, usually are related to good weather. Cirrostratus clouds are thin enough that you can see light through them, and they often cover the whole sky. Cirrocumulus clouds are little white puffs that look like cotton balls, and are often lined up in rows.

Of the Alto group, Altostratus clouds are darker, usually gray or blue, that are associated with storms. Altocumulus clouds look gray and puffy, and are normally found in groups. They can point to upcoming thunderstorms.

The lowest cloud group are the Stratus clouds, which can cover the entire sky with what looks like fog. They may be accompanied by light drizzle. Stratocumulus clouds are rows of gray clouds with blue sky visible between them. Little precipitation comes from these formations, but they can turn into Nimbostratus clouds, which can bring rain or snow. Nimbostratus clouds are still low, but they look like a gray, wet layer.

Others

Cumulus clouds are individual puffy clouds that can start low and move higher as they grow. When they get much larger they can form Cumulonimbus clouds, which can span several height levels, and bring heavy rain or snow. These are the clouds you see during thunderstorms.

I only recently became aware of Cumulonimbus clouds that can be generated by a large wildfire. These are called Pyrocumulonimbus clouds, which have two nasty properties: they can produce lightning, which can start new fires, and they tend to create high winds that can fan the flames.

I still look up and think, “That looks like a car.”

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I used to feel certain that as a world, we were on a path toward greater knowledge, greater opportunities, better health, and more peace. I felt that the small parts that I played in this grand drama were at least pulling in the right direction. Now I’m not so sure.

Our situation in the world feels more uncertain than it’s been for many years. They tell me that the Doomsday Clock is closer to midnight than it has been since World War II. I can’t count on our government maintaining the same policies from month-to-month or even day-to-day. Things that I used to believe were obviously true are not any longer. Foreign nations used to be our friends. I can remember crossing over into Canada to watch hockey games with my dad and my brothers, and it was a simple process. Now we have an ongoing war of words with Canada, and a new bridge near Detroit has not been dedicated by the United States. We used to call nearly every European nation an ally. Now we appear to be at odds with almost all of them.

I wasn’t around during the buildups to the World Wars, but our current situation feels comparable. Nations are jockeying for positions of power, and violence is being used as a substitute for negotiation. There is an anxiety that is related to all our uncertainties because we can see some large cracks developing in the foundation of our world order. Something big could happen, because many small things are clearly happening. My concern is that this big thing could be harmful to all of us.

It is a comfort to have some things that you can rely on. When those things go away, it begins to feel as though you are walking on quicksand. I used to believe that I lived in one of the best countries in the world. Now I would have to qualify that. I used to believe that people were generally good and kind. Now, I still believe that, but it seems like a number of people are at least confused, and possibly are being deliberately misled. What used to be called common decency is no longer common, and can’t be assumed.

I also feel a great deal of uncertainty about my own future. Years ago, I didn’t worry too much about whether I was doing the right thing, or whether I was putting my energy in the right place. Now I feel an urgency to do something new in my life, to see new places, to speak a different language, to learn about new cultures, to help other people, and to try to be a better person, and the clock is ticking. I don’t know how to do all those things. I still feel obligations to continue things that I have already started, and I don’t know how much time or energy that I will have to start something new. I also want to learn more. I’ve always enjoyed learning, and maybe that one thing has remained consistent.

I’ve been noticing that I’m praying more lately. Maybe the loss of certainty is leading me to get closer to God. There are a variety of ways to do that, and I’ve explored many of them already. The practices that seem to do the most for me are those that stretch me intellectually and emotionally. Sometimes it’s just a song that can set me off in a new direction. This may be one more way that God takes something negative — the drastic change that is creating uncertainty — and transforms it into a path to greater faith. It may be that a meaningful life doesn’t rely on certainty at all.

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After my recent experience watching my friend Greg die, I have been acutely aware of how quickly it can happen, and how the losses pile up. The first things to go were all his hopes and dreams. He had plans, even if they weren’t all concrete ones — travel, days in the sun, fun with loved ones, a normal life.

It makes me think about how this new health scare will play out. I think about all the books that I want to read, all the conversations I want to have, and all the ways I would like to experience life. Then there are the people I care so much about. Will I have time for those relationships?

Another friend was traveling overseas and had a heart attack. She is recovering, thank God, but it just reinforces the idea that anything can happen at any time. We think we have time to do the things we want to do, but we may not.

I sometimes ask my clients the question, “If you had only one week (or day, or hour) to live, what would you do?” It is a question designed to discover your priorities. What is important to you, and what are you ignoring as you go through your daily routines?

The Summer Day by Mary Oliver

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean —
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down —
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

https://www.saltproject.org/progressive-christian-blog/2015/6/29/the-summer-day

Maybe the most important thing that came to mind as I thought about my mortality was the big question: Is it true? Is there life beyond this life? As much as I believe this, as much as I have dedicated my life to belief in God, there is still doubt, because none of us can prove it. I go back to the scriptures and I can only imagine the awe and the amazement of the first disciples who witnessed the resurrection, and almost immediately there is a part of my brain that wonders if it is true. The historical record shows that thousands and thousands of people radically changed their lives — and what else could do that?

We will never truly know, of course. That’s why we call it faith. There are other possibilities — our lives after death may be so different as to be unrecognizable. Our spirits may go on in ways that we cannot imagine. What I am beginning to understand more clearly than ever is that my time to live in this way, in this body, in this moment in history, is limited, and I better figure out what I want to do with it.

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Risk vs. Risk

To decide whether to operate or not, the basic idea is simple: is there a greater risk to waiting, or surgery? The risk of waiting is that the aneurysm might burst, which can be fatal. The risk of surgery is an adverse outcome, including stroke or death.

Risk of Waiting

There have been lots of studies which show that the risk of rupture or dissection increases with the size of the aneurysm. The risk of rupture for an aorta in the normal size range (<= 3.2cm) is almost zero. At more than 4.5 cm, the risk of rupture increases by more than 6300 times, but it is still low (0.3% per year). At a size that is greater than 6cm, the risk of rupture or dissection is approximately 14.1% per year.

There is some controversy about these numbers. The American Cardiology Association and the American Heart Association have published new guidelines as of 2022 that suggest that intervention may be appropriate at smaller sizes. Another difficulty is that making measurements inside the body is not exact. Different types of scans can yield different results.

Risk of Surgery

The surgery to replace part of the ascending aorta is long and complicated. Practice makes perfect, my mom used to say. While hospitals are not perfect, their adverse outcome rate declines with the number of similar procedures performed each year. Most hospitals do less than 5 ascending aortic replacements in a year, and their mortality rates can be nearly 5%. For high volume surgical centers, their adverse outcome rates can be as low as 1%.

Just the Facts, Ma’am

The statistical comparison isn’t easy. 1% is less than 14.1%, so at higher diameters, it is safer to operate. But at 0.3% per year, the calculation is a little different. The one year risk is actually higher for surgery. But over five years, the rate of rupture rises to 1.5% for waiting, while the surgery risk stays at 1%. The reality is that both of these numbers are low. The chances that I can live without surgery or a rupture are pretty good. They are both great bets at a casino. But in a casino, you only lose some money. Here the stakes are higher.

Other factors

The logic that I’ve presented so far makes sense to me. There are other considerations that make things harder. There is no guarantee that a surgeon at a high volume center will take my case. I might be considered a riskier patient due to a number of possible conditions — size, diabetes, high blood pressure, and I’m a Cubs fan. They may advise me to wait until the aneurysm gets to a certain size, continuing to get scans every six months.

Psychological impact

I’m already anxious about this whole situation. Two weeks ago I felt just fine, and now I feel like I have a time bomb in my chest. Every little twinge gives me a start. I’m not sure that I want this feeling to continue. On the other hand, there’s no guarantee that if I have the surgery I won’t feel the same way, wondering if the new artificial blood vessel will hold.

The bottom line

My main interest is living the rest of my life with relative independence. I don’t want to lose my ability to think or to be a burden to others. I also don’t want to be afraid of picking up a bag of groceries or a small child. I’m unsure of how to proceed. I plan to talk to more experts, get more opinions, and do some more reading. If it does get larger, even then it feels like this will be a tough choice.

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[Electronic voice] Welcome to Verizon. Are you calling about the number that you are calling from today?

> Yes.

How can I help you today?

> I would like to cancel my Hulu bundle.

I would be glad to help you with that. In order to verify your account, I will be sending you a text message. Please open the message, click the link, and press allow. Then submit.

> Okay. [I clicked and allowed and submitted.]

Thank you for verifying your account. [A live person gets on the line.] Let me put you on hold while I pull up your account.

> Sure.

[3 minutes pass.]

Hello. Thank you for your patience.

I have looked at your account, and the Hulu bundle that you are currently subscribed to is a no-fee perk from Verizon.

> Right. I would like to cancel that subscription.

The subscription is free. It is a part of your account.

> I understand, but I want an ad-free version of Hulu, and Hulu tells me that the account must be cancelled by Verizon in order to change my plan.

I see. Let me put you on hold while I look into this.

[5 minutes pass.]

Mr. Campbell?

> Yes.

I cannot find a way to cancel only part of your current plan. Let me put you on hold while I research this a little more.

> Okay.

[Muzak starts to play. After 2 minutes, the call is disconnected. I called back.]

[Electronic voice] Welcome to Verizon. Are you calling about the number that you are calling from today?

> Yes.

How can I help you today?

> I would like to cancel my Hulu bundle.

I would be glad to help you with that. In order to verify your account, I will be sending you a text message. Please open the message, click the link, and press allow. Then submit.

> Okay. [I clicked and allowed and submitted.][Pause. A live person gets on the line, with a thick Indian accent.] I cannot complete this operation without the authorization of the Primary Account Holder.

> I am the primary account holder. I am calling from my number on the account.

I’m sorry, but that number is not listed as the primary account in our system.

> Wait a minute. I’m the owner of the account. I’ve already been disconnected from your system, and the other agent was able to verify my account.

That may be the problem. Your account may still be open.

> Okay, but that’s a problem on your end, not mine.

Can you please give me your account number?

> Sure. [I read my account number.]

I’m sorry sir, but this number is not listed as the primary account in our system. If you can just get the primary account holder on the line …

> Can I speak to your supervisor?

Yes, sir. Let me put you on hold while I locate a supervisor for you.

> Fine. [5 minutes pass.]

Sir?

> Yes?

Our supervisors are all working with other customers. Would you like me to have the system give you a call back in one to two hours?

> No. I’ll wait.

Yes, sir. Please stay on the line. [4 minutes pass.]

Sir?

> Yes.

Thank you for your patience. Our supervisors are still busy. Please give me two more minutes.

> Okay.

[4 minutes pass.]

Hello?

> Yes?

Thank you for staying on the line. It will still be a little while before a supervisor is available. Can you give me your account number again please?

[I give my account number.]

That number is still not registering in my system, and I won’t be able to help you until the account is verified.

> I thought you were finding a supervisor.

Yes, but we still need to verify your account.

> [Now I’m mad.] Okay, forget it. I’ll call back later.

But sir, we can have the system call you back …

> No thanks. Good-bye!

[I hang up, and then I called back, trying to get someone who could verify the account.]

[Electronic voice] Welcome to Verizon. Are you calling about the number that you are calling from today?

> Yes.

How can I help you today?

> I would like to cancel my Hulu bundle.

I would be glad to help you with that. In order to verify your account, I will be sending you a text message. Please open the message. Click the link and press allow. Then submit.

> Okay. [I clicked and allowed and submitted.]

Thank you for verifying your account. [A live person gets on the line.] Let me put you on hold while I pull up your account.

> Sure.

[3 minutes pass.]

Hello. Thank you for your patience. I understand you would like to cancel your Hulu bundle.

> Yes.

I don’t believe we can cancel that, as it is part of your account.

> Hulu tells me that you have to cancel the account, as I am paying for the service through you. All I really want is to get the no-ads version of Hulu, but they won’t let me change my subscription until you cancel the old one.

Ok, let me look into that.

[3 minutes pass.]

Hello?

> Yes?

Thank you for remaining on the line. I have looked into this, and we are not able to cancel only a portion of your account.

> But …

In order to cancel the subscription, we can either change you over to a new cellular plan, or cancel your cellular plan. Can I tell you about our available plans?

> But I don’t really want a new plan. I just want you to cancel this free subscription.

Yes, but I am not able to do that. If we set you up with a new plan, then this perk will be automatically cancelled.

> [Deep breath.] Okay, tell me about your new plans.

[I switched to a cheaper plan, and got rid of my bundle. Then I was able to get onliine with Hulu and get a no-ads version of the channel so that we could watch The Bear without an ad every three minutes. I think I ended up actually saving a little money, even though it cost me a little sanity.]

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So now it is my turn.

My wife has bugged me for months to get a $49 heart scan, the kind that lets you know if you have plaque in your arteries. One of our relatives had one, and they sent him directly to surgery. It saved his life.

My scan showed that while I have clear arteries, I have something called an ascending aortic aneurysm. Basically, one of the biggest arteries in my body has stretched like a balloon, which could be very dangerous if that stretching continues. Aneurysms can burst, which can be fatal. I think of it like a bulging spot on a tire — if you don’t fix it, you might have a blowout.

I’m in the middle of my first waiting period. After that first scan, I was told I needed a better CAT scan, but it wasn’t available right away, so I have it scheduled for two weeks away.

Meanwhile, I’m consulting with Dr. Google and Dr. YouTube, who tell me that none of this is good news. It seems that the experts have decided that aneurysms that measure 5 cm or larger (about 2 inches) should be surgically repaired. They reported mine right at 5 cm. There is some discussion about the size criteria — some say 5 cm, some say 5.5, and some say even smaller. So the exact size matters, which is why I’m getting a more accurate scan.

The surgery is serious. It is open heart surgery, where they crack the chest and use a heart-lung machine to keep the patient alive while they replace the defective artery. The procedure takes 4-5 hours. I used to be the chaplain on a heart unit, and I know how arduous the recovery is. It takes weeks, and months more before the return of strength and energy.

My reactions to this have been all over the map. We tell people that the most common reactions to a severe stressor are fight, flight, or freeze. My reactions to this have been laugh, cry, or feel faint. I’ve been praying a lot, but I’m not clear about what to pray for. I’ve been thinking about death, and whether I’m closer to it than I thought. I’ve had thoughts about all the things I would still like to do, and all the people I love. I’m a little on edge. (Scratch that. I’m a lot on edge. I got mad at Lisa for the way she loaded the dishwasher.)

Thinking about dying is scary, but it’s not really death itself that bothers me. It’s the pain and embarrassment and weakness and yuckiness that is involved in the process of dying. I want to be independent. I don’t want to get to the point where I can’t think straight, or I need help to do normal tasks.

I also know that this is part of life. There are no guarantees. Greg had cancer, I’m going this weekend to visit a friend who has ALS, and I’ve seen hundreds of others struggle with various illnesses and conditions over my career. Every one of us is on a countdown timer. My aneurysm is opening my eyes to all the ways I love life, and what a blessing it is to be alive. I guess I’ll be wrestling with my heart stuff for a while. I’ll write about it as it develops.

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Even when it is expected, death is a shock. One second, there is life, and the next, the spark is gone and the person we knew is a memory. As the grieving begins, the next shock is that life continues. Bills must be paid, food prepared, and gas put in the car. We take the time that we can to remember, and to be with others who loved him, and to share comfort where we can. But life continues to intervene.

There is value in the rituals that we have created — the funerals and memorial services, the prayers and the cards and the gatherings. They remind us that life is short, and we must share our kindness and our caring while we can. They also allow us to take a moment to contemplate the spiritual questions that we often ignore. What happens next? Is it true that we live on, or did someone make that up?

I choose to believe that death is not the end, that the sentence that is our life is punctuated not with a period, but rather a comma.

The Apostle Paul said it best:

For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. (Romans 8: 38-39)

Rest in peace, Greg.

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We don’t really do much. We reposition him, make sure he gets his meds on time, offer him something to eat or drink (which he generally doesn’t want), keep him clean, and sit with him. He isn’t talking much now, so much of our time with him is sitting quietly, or talking to him hoping that he can hear us, or talking to each other. I find myself praying a lot. I pray that he won’t be in pain, I pray for the right words, I pray for peace for his husband and all those who love him.

The root word for “lucid” is the Latin lucere, meaning “to shine” or “to be bright”. This verb traces back to the Latin noun lux, which means “light”. Greg has always been the brightest light in every room he entered, so it is disconcerting to see that light flickering on and off. There are times when it is clear that he is with us, and other times when his eyes may be open, but he is somewhere else. I wonder what he is thinking and feeling. He has always been so sharp — I wish I had some clue about his thoughts in this situation. Is he impatient for his next step? Are we helping or hurting?

Friends are coming from out-of-town, and others from down the street. There is a parade of caring folks who feel the urgency of this time, and want to see him before it is too late. There are so many that they can’t all be accommodated — he just doesn’t have the energy. It’s a time for a lot of memories to be shared, and we’ve been laughing at some of the things Greg has done or said. We’ve also been shedding tears for what’s happened and the wonderful person we are losing. At the same time there is gratitude for an amazing life and the way he has touched each of us.

Some of the most important things that people do during this time are the smallest tasks — loading the dishwasher, cleaning out the refrigerator, making sure that the garbage is out. Lots of visitors bring food, which is a welcome treat. Each small job accomplished is one that Greg’s husband Danny doesn’t have to do, one more moment that they can spend together. It has been a blessing to see all the ways that people want to help.

I’ve been finding myself wondering about all the things we don’t know: How will I die? Will it look like this? What happens next? As much as I have faith in an afterlife, what does that look like? Can we communicate with our loved ones after death? I know many people who swear they have had signs and even messages from deceased loved ones. I’ve had the personal experience of feeling called by God. Is that stuff real, or is it some quirk in our psychological makeup? I don’t know any of these answers.

As we spend time together, emotions are running high. Everyone is waiting on edge for something to happen, looking for a sign of distress, or some change that indicates that things are getting worse. We all know that the eventual outcome will not be good, but this period of waiting feels difficult. I know that no matter how much I try to hide it, I don’t have much patience with others. I don’t want to hear one more comment from someone who doesn’t really know what they’re talking about, or who is just repeating something they read on the internet. I find myself getting short with people, or not giving them as much attention as I should. It’s also exhausting, which adds to my impatience. There is too much to do, and not enough time to do it. Yes, I’m struggling with this, but so is everyone else, each in their own way.

I understand why we spend this time together. This is one way we can give back to someone who gave so much to us. It’s a time to show our respect, a time to deeply feel the emotions around this loss, and to be available to support each other. It’s terrible, and confusing, and lovely all at once.

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And while it is encouraging to see the outpouring of support for the LGBTQ+ community, there is still a great deal of work to be done to ensure human rights for all. There are only 23 states that have enacted laws to protect LGBTQ+ individuals from discrimination in housing. The ACLU is tracking 530 anti-LGBTQ+ state bills across the country. While the right to marry was decided in the 2015 Obergefell v. Hodges case, the Supreme Court has been petitioned to overturn this decision by some religious groups such as the Southern Baptist Church and some conservative legal groups. The fight is not over.

Trans rights are under attack in several areas. Some states are trying to ban gender-affirming medical care for youth, and to restrict it for adults. VA hospitals no longer offer therapy, wigs, or prosthetics for transgender Veterans. Government sponsored insurance no longer covers transition surgery. There are attempts in Texas and North Carolina to ban transgender individuals from using public restrooms that they prefer. In Kansas, a bill was passed to ban gender self-identification on driver’s licenses and other identification documents. The fight is not over.

Transgender participation in sports continues to be controversial. Some states have banned trans women from taking part in school events, and more legislation is pending. Social conservatives take advantage of voters’ uncertainty around this issue to make it a prominent campaign focus. The most egregious action that some groups have taken has been to restrict information about the issue. The discussion of sexual orientation and gender identity has been banned in schools in Florida and Texas, all manner of books have been banned, and preferred pronouns that do not correspond to biological sex cannot be used in Idaho, Montana, or Tennessee. The fight is not over.

It wasn’t that long ago — in 1969 — that police felt that they could raid gay bars with impunity. That resulted in the Stonewall Riots, and the beginning of a movement. June is Pride Month, a time to celebrate and a time to remember. But there are about 1.3 million adults and 300,000 children in the U.S. who identify as transgender. Their rights need to be protected, and all of our freedoms need to be preserved. The fight is not over.

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The feeling of nakedness occurs when we are covering something that we don’t want to be revealed. Often these things say something about us that we are not proud of, or that we don’t like. The Wizard of Oz is fully clothed but experiences nakedness when his trickery is revealed, and he continues to try to cover it up, saying, “Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain.” The difference is shown in the story of the Garden of Eden, where prior to their disobedience Adam and Eve were unclothed but didn’t feel naked, but later felt naked and ashamed — not of their bodies, but of their actions.

To feel nakedness requires a feeling of shame. When I wander through the locker room after swimming, there is plenty of nudity, but no one feels naked, so far as I can tell. Shame develops from social standards and practices being stretched or broken. As a culture we work hard to keep the sexes in different boxes, with different rules and expectations.

Upon closer examination, the deeper issue may not be nudity itself, but vulnerability — the experience of being seen, known, and potentially judged by others. Physical exposure becomes psychologically significant because it symbolizes a more profound form of exposure: the possibility that others may see who we truly are and find us lacking.

At the heart of shame lies this fear of judgment. The anxiety surrounding nakedness is not merely fear of the body, but fear that one’s choices, character, or identity may be evaluated and condemned. Shame emerges when a person perceives themselves as differing from a cultural or personal expectation. In this sense, shame is relational and social; it depends upon standards that exist within communities, families, or moral systems.

However, not all shame necessarily reflects truth. If a culture imposes arbitrary or unhealthy expectations, a person may experience shame even while acting rightly. In such cases, shame can become misleading. Rather than signaling moral failure, it may simply reveal internalized social pressure. This has often occurred in some religious communities, who were critical of a particular sexual orientation or political view. When a person is genuinely acting in accordance with what is right, the more appropriate response may not be shame at all, but indignation toward false or distorted standards.

Invisibility

For many people, the fear of nakedness pushes them to try to be invisible. Sit in the back row so you won’t be called on, follow the crowd so that you blend in, and never, ever make waves. The difficulty with this strategy is that by not being seen, it is likely that you will not have to experience nakedness, but you also will not be selected — for a project, or a promotion, or even a relationship.

This leads naturally to the question of shame’s opposite. Confidence, innocence, dignity, and acceptance all offer partial contrasts, yet integrity may stand as the truest opposite of shame. Integrity reflects an alignment between the self and moral reality. It is not merely self-acceptance or social approval, but the experience of living consistently with personal values grounded in objective morality.

Human beings deeply desire to be fully known. There exists a longing to be known by another person, by God, and even by oneself. The tension between concealment and openness lies near the center of human existence: people simultaneously fear exposure and hunger for authentic recognition. To be fully known takes courage. We have to make ourselves vulnerable in order to be seen, and therefore subject to the opinions of others. If we don’t take this step, we will be relatively safe, but will not be all that we can be.

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Wherever I first saw it, his art has become one of my favorites, and I started to seek it out. I went to his glassblowing workshop in Tacoma, Washington when my son was living in Seattle. Just recently I saw a very large show of his work at the Frederik Meijer Gardens and Sculpture Park in Grand Rapids, Michigan. The number of pieces on display both indoors and in the park is overwhelming.

In 1962, Chihuly began studying art in Florence. He started glassblowing in 1965, and received a scholarship to attend the University of Wisconsin-Madison, where he earned an MS in sculpture. In 1976 he was involved in a head-on car accident that resulted in him becoming blind in one eye. Since that time he has famously worn an eyepatch.

His artworks range from naturalistic to otherworldly. Some of my favorite pieces remind me of sea creatures, but in wild colors. He has developed a technique for drawing on glass using glass of a different color, and has incorporated glass into fiber art in some installations. The pieces also come in a variety of sizes, from kitchen bowls to giant outdoor pillars.

Chihuly gets negative reviews from some people who find the work repetitive, or who criticize it because he doesn’t make every piece himself. He hurt his shoulder in a surfing accident, so cannot hold the heavy glassblowing tube. He now supervises over 100 artists who blow the glass and shape it to his specifications. For every negative review, however, there are many effusive ones. It is reported that he has a net worth of over $10 million, with some of his individual pieces selling for more than $50,000.

Chihuly is experimental and meticulous. Several walls of the exhibition at Meijer Gardens were covered with his sketches and instructions to his team of glass artists. Part of his genius is finding ways to create these elaborate structures such that they don’t fall apart.

When I visited his studio in Tacoma, I was able to see a small part of the elaborate process that goes into creating one of his works. The art is distinctive. I can tell right away when I see a Chihuly. And once you see one, you can’t stop seeing more — he has over 400 permanent exhibitions around the world, and many more temporary ones. I hope you get to see an exhibition. I’m looking forward to the next time.

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