Yeah, but I mean it in the most positive way possible. There’s a lot that I learned in my years studying to become a preacher- but by far the most freeing – the thing that I feel unifies us all is that every single one of us is fucked up. Everyone.

The people you look up to? Fucked up. The douche whose life just keeps craping out rainbows for him, even though he’s never done anything to deserve it? Jacked. That girl at your gym who you can never muster the courage to talk to b/c she’s just way out of your league? Total mess. The perfect family living across the street who’s always smiling & washing their cars? Well, they’re fine but you’re fucked up b/c you wish they’d get swineflu.

So how is this supposed to help me?

First, it’s just cool knowing you’re not the only one who doesn’t have their shit together. Second, seeing your faults isn’t a bad thing- they’re your faults, you own them, and being aware of them is a step in knowing yourself- the hardest and most essential thing you’ll never really accomplish.

There’s lots of reasons we’re all fucked up. You can’t be 100%- there’s always going to be something you fall short in, regardless of whether you see it. For the most part it’s just a matter of context. Take any person- anyone- and there’s plenty of environments where they’d look as fucked up as you feel.

No one is perfect. You can feel pretty perfect if you’re not tested in life and your flaws aren’t being exposed, but that’s some boring shit. We’ve got maybe 80 years to figure a couple things out- if you’re not figuring shit out about yourself on a regular basis this whole thing is going to pass you by. Most people who look like they’ve got their shit together are just content b/c they have no fucking idea who the fuck they are. You figure out who you really are and sometimes that’s enough to freak you out- b/c we’re all fucked up.

I’ve been feeling a bit fucked up lately, and reading the following passage this morning in the Upanishads reminded me just how hard getting a handle on yourself really is:

To many it is not given to hear of the Self. Many, though they hear of it, do not understand it. Wonderful is he who speaks of it. Intelligent is he who learns of it. Blessed is he who, taught by a good teacher, is able to understand it.

The truth of the Self cannot be fully understood when taught by an ignorant man, for opinions regarding it, not founded in knowledge, vary one from another. Subtler than the subtlest is this Self, and beyond all logic.

Have you met someone who really gets herself or himself? One thing you usually pick up quickly is how humble they are. You don’t get humble by constantly winning at everything and keeping on top of everything- you get humble by being a real-life, screwed up human being who fails.

The saints & seers who wrote the Upanishads knew it- they said your nature is beyond logic (that’s sanskrit for you’re fucked up, dude). And every time you think you’ve got your shit together, all that stuff’s going to creep up and give you a reacharound just to let you know the score.

How to get to know yourself

Well, if you’re overwhelmed, feeling less than perfect, or wrestling with your inner demons then you’re already picking up on some of this. The thing to do now is to take a deep breath and check to see if the world is still spinning. I’ll wait.

I’m assuming it is or this post was a total waste. Now shut the door, turn off the tv/computers screen/radio/etc and listen. I’ve got a journal I write in to figure out all the shit running around in my neurotic mess of a mind. It’s served me well for over 20 years- I’ve got bins and bins of journals that could probably have me put away or at least shamed into seclusion. I write everything that goes on- good or bad- because the journal is always there to listen. Shit, I even started listing fuckups one day just so I could see what I learned from them.

Don’t sensor yourself- dump it all out in all it’s glory- everything you’re wrestling with our proud of or wondering or obsessing over or just figured out. Do it whenever you can or you remember. Then, every once in a while, go back over it. I’ve found that I learn a lot about myself just by writing down the screwed up stuff I think, and I get another dose laughing about it later on.

Soliciting feedback is a another way to get to know the things about yourself that sit in your blind spots, but beware of that one. The folks who see you a lot can give you great insight into knowing yourself, but it’s rarely the easiest thing to hear. Just asking something simple like “what’s one thing you wish I’d change” or, “how would you describe my character,” can bring a lot of unexpected answers. I suggest starting with yourself, as does the Upanishads.

The ancient, effulgent being, the indwelling Spirit, subtle, deep-hidden in the lotus of the heart, is hard to know. But the wise man, following the path of meditation, knows him, and is freed alike from pleasure and from pain.

Meditating focuses you enough to listen to your real self. I’m no Dali Lama but I know what kind of things tend to shut out the world and allow me some peace and quiet. Jogging tends to bring up a lot of good introspection time for me. Actual meditation helps, or so I’ve heard but I’ve never gotten that down. If you’re looking to build your introspection skills, reading is an activity that is said to help with that.

One thing is for sure, it’s tough figuring yourself out- and the moment that you catch up and get your shit together the whole thing is really starting over again- because even who you are grows and changes. If this is the first time in a while you’re trying to come to grips with something I hope this helps- getting to really know yourself can be really intimidating and scary, but if you agree with the passage above, the more you do it, the less you feel pulled by anxiety and more freed you feel.

An Attempt at Processing the End of a Story

I plan on writing a memorial for my dad on here at a later date, but ever since he passed away a few weeks ago I’ve felt the need to get the actual experience down in writing. For those of you who get frightened or confused by my serious side, I’ve included the tag “serious-face” to warn you. This could actually include something important.

A little over a month ago my dad, Ed Adkins II, died in a rest home from ALS, also referred to as Lou Gehrig’s disease. The entire trip played out like a coming of age film- somewhere between Garden State and Fear and Loathing. While the entire thing offers much for me to write about, it’s the actual moment of his death that enters into my head (sometimes once a day, sometimes a few) and my dreams.

Arrival, The Build-up and Contemplating Regret

Heidi, Paige and I were the last to have arrived to the rest home. The drive there had been actually peaceful- we had made good time from Baltimore to rural Delaware since it was after midnight by the time we had headed from the airport in our rental. Only having been to Delaware maybe 5-7 times in the last 14 years, it always has a mythical feel for me- somewhere between nostalgia and lack of familiarity. Like an old friend who’s changed significantly over the years.

When we got out of the car we greeted my step brothers, who led us back into the facility where my dad had been the last couple months. My sister had told me over the phone to prepare myself for seeing my dad. I’m pretty sure I was holding Paige- she had been amazingly behaved through the last minute flights- she turned 4 on the plane and spent both flights thoroughly entertaining anyone around us. At this point she had slept very little but was awake and had a very mature handle on how serious everything was.

Walking through rest homes provides a very clear sense of detached despair. It’s not too dissimilar from passing jail cells- you get these tiny snapshots of people who no longer have the freedom you do, as you pretend not to look. So we arrived- the room. I hadn’t been calling my dad very much the last few years. I knew he had been slowly deteriorating from PLS, the slower cousin of ALS, and then how a few months back he’d been diagnosed with ALS and given about 6 months to live. My neglect, which had always seemed somewhat reasonable to me for reasons I won’t put into this post, had me questioning whether I’d let myself feel guilty over it. What would seeing him bring up for me?

The Room

It was your usual bare-bones rest home. Two hospital beds, a couple TVs mounted on the walls, a couple closets a bathroom and curtains that could be drawn around each bed for privacy when being changed. This place was pretty nice- I hadn’t smelled that much of the urine/ammonia smell that usually characterizes these facilities. I give it a 7.5 out of 10.

My dad was laying in one bed, and the other had been made empty to accommodate the family while we kept watch. My family had been there for a day already but everyone was happy to be reunited and pretty alert for 3am. We all caught up a bit. My family told me my father’s condition, and that he wasn’t expected to make it through the night. Everyone had thought he was holding on until we arrived.

He laid there, propped up on the bed at a little less than 45 degree angle, sort of sitting and laying at once. His head hung to the side, and his chest raising over and over to take in labored, raspy gasps. His eyes, though slightly open, only revealed grayish eyes that seemed asleep.

The nurse let me know that they had kept his morphine level down so that he’d be able to greet me when I arrived. She gave him some morphine from a dropper, then gently took ahold of his head to get his attention and raised her voice to tell him I was there. Though his face was fixed in a way that betrayed little, his eyes became more aware. I leaned over him and let him know that Heidi, Paige and I were there. Paige was a little too unsure of it all to give him a hug but she came close. I smiled a lot to reassure him and we kept our gazes on each other- then tears started to drip from his eyes- that’s the extent of our communication in those last hours.

Were they tears of joy? Were they frustration over his lack of speech? Regrets? They had to be enough, because no one could translate them. They’re mine to interpret.

Waiting for the End

The next day and a half were the same. If you did a time-lapse of the room you’d see us taking turns sitting at his bed recounting the countless insane Adkins stories that we know he loved. Sometimes someone would get a 30 minute nap. The occasional exit for a cigarette or to stretch, and lots of Paige climbing in people’s laps to comfort them or ask questions about what was happening. She picks up so much. There was also lots of crying.

Then it happened. After so many pleas for him to finally let go, his body was showing the obvious signs that it was shutting down forever. I had been nodding off, so they called me over. Everyone had a hand on him and were reassuring him that we were there and that we loved him. This process had seemed so long- he held on a day or two longer than expected and the whole time we had thought it was the very end. Our hearts had been given a lot of time to rehearse.

The very last moment was what stays with me. I had been holding onto my dad’s hand earlier, and studying his forearm. It was almost the same as when I was a kid and I’d climb into bed with him first thing on Saturday morning. I’d lay there and we’d talk and his dark hand with his college ring would be either gesturing what he was talking about, or arm wrestling me or occasionally playing the part of “the claw.” His hands are bigger than mine- a lot stronger. He was a football player and a manly man. I’ve got skinny hands that I’d always thought would grow into his, but they didn’t. This was the arm of the patriarch. It still looked like and even smelled like smelled like strength and Saturday mornings. All my senses seemed like they were trying to take a picture.

Then I was snapped to attention- my dad actually raised his head up. The color returned to his eyes and everyone was quiet. My sister continued to reassure him and he looked right into her eyes. It could have been the strain of hold his head up, but his eyes looked kind of amazed. Heidi has wondered if he was seeing something we weren’t. He then panned the room and with his eyes still wide, locked eyes with each one of us, one at a time. Then, with his eyes still open he let all of his air from his lungs.

What Comes out of This

At this point we all pretty much broke down- not necessarily crying, we just didn’t have anything else to do. As people started to choose a task, packing his clothes or shutting his eyes, I sat down on the other bed and started crying. Paige came over and was amazingly comforting.

“Why are you crying, Daddy?”

“My father just died.”

“But Daddy you don’t have to be sad. People get old and they die. How old was he, Dad?”

“65.”

“Daddy, that’s really old. It’s ok. You don’t have to be sad. You can be happy!”

Heidi came over and explained to page that it’s OK to be sad sometimes, but she was convinced that just by deciding to be happy I could turn it around. It was such an amazing moment that I actually did. I love my daughter so much- I’m convinced she’s here to save the world.

That last moment, where he looked at us, that stays with me. It shows up when I’m not thinking of anything, when I see someone die in a movie or in the occasional dream. I’m not unaccustomed to thinking about death- I’m constantly aware that someday all of this will be over and I want to make the most of it. But, I’m seeing it different now.

Maybe it’s because I’m the last Edward Sterling Adkins. Maybe it’s because I gave the Eulogy for the two others who came before me. I haven’t processed what this means to me fully, but I see people’s deaths differently now. I see my own differently, too. More importantly, I see my life a little differently, and while figuring out what that means is for a different post, I’m intensely grateful for it.

You are amazing. At three years old, you’re already showing every sign that you’re becoming exactly the kind of person that I feel grateful knowing- The kind of person who makes you feel like your life means something because they’re around and you got to witness them.

Everything you do, you do it memorably. When you’re excited you sing songs, dance around and get everyone involved. When you’re not, you pretty much do the same thing but much louder and more forcefully. You spend most of your time in a princess dress. You speak dramatically, and you’re so goddamed cute I frequently think I’m going to pass out because I can’t handle it. But as great as those things are, I want you to always hold on to two characteristics. You keep those, and it’s all I really want for you.

I don’t care much about you making mistakes- you’re going to refuse to listen. You’re going to think many of my ideas and suggestions are crap, and most of the time you’ll have to get yourself into trouble in order to figure out the right ways of doing things. That’s natural. You are doubtlessly going to party – and party hard when you grow up. Even with only half of my genes, you’re destined to push a lot of things to the limit and then keep cranking the dial ’till it breaks off in your hand. You’ll be fine.

What I care about is this: I want you to feel good about your decisions and I want you to remain empathetic.

As your Dad, I’ll probably say things like this a lot, but while I’ve made a shit-ton of mistakes, I regret almost none. I could honestly say that I’d make nearly all of them over again, gladly. The reason for this is simple- while I’ve made many decisions that had negative results, I made them based on the limited info I had and I made them for what I still believe to be the right reasons. You can’t always know what is right to do, you just act based on how informed you are and what you believe is right. Never go against that- Don’t betray your morals (you’ll get those from your Mother). For example,

• Don’t change your personality to fit in – but feel free to change things in your character in order to get along with people.
• Don’t pick on people who are weak – but fee free to pick on people who aren’t.
• Don’t ignore someone who needs your help – You’ll find that your best memories will come from times you gave up comfort to give it to someone else.
• Don’t fool around with someone so they’ll like you – Do it because it’s fun.
• Don’t ever, ever, ever let someone drive a car who’s been drinking too much – Make other, way cooler mistakes.

Secondly, I want you to remain Empathetic. People are really, really stupid. They’re mean, they rarely consider opposing viewpoints and most of them will gladly join in on either picking on people or just plain ignoring them. Remaining concerned about people’s well being is one of the most difficult things you will exercise in life. There are so many opportunities and good reasons to hate; don’t let it erode your responsibility to care about people.

In the three years I’ve know you, I’ve constantly been amazed by how deeply you care about people. If you get the slightest sense that someone is hurt- either physically or emotionally- you rush to help. You could be in the middle of throwing a colossal fit, crying and stomping and employing every fiber of your body with the expressed purpose of infuriating your mother- but if for a moment she seems to be hurt by your actions you will stop immediately and console her. That’s powerful empathy. You care about everyone. There’s a cut on my hand that you’ve taken the time to inspect almost daily since it happened. I love you, and that’s part of why.

Happy Birthday, Paige. Raising you has been the hardest and most rewarding thing I’ve ever done and I wish it would last forever. Always strive for those two main things and it’ll cover most everything I hope for in your life.

*OK, that “wish it would last forever” thing is bullshit- when you’re 18, if you’re not in college you’re out on your ass. You can visit though- because I love you.

One of the most pretentious things I see is when people put up “If you like this blog, then you can thank me by sending me $$$ or buying me stuff!” *Mmmmmmpulch*. Thank you??!? Blogging is a desperate cry for attention, not some favor we’re doing. As soon as I see some hack no-talent writer pop that up on their blog I start hoping their keyboard gives them leprosy. If anything, you do ME a favor by stopping by every once in a while and feeding this pathetic addiction. I should be buying YOU stuff. Of course I should do a lot of things.

BUT, there are times when people are in need- and that is a different story. When a friend is in need, it’s important that they voice it. Zeroboss is asking for donations for a legal fund for some sort of crisis his family is going through right now. It’s not a prank or an experiment, it’s a plea. If you know him or read his blog then you may want to head over and donate.

Here’s the link: Zeroboss.

My Mom-Mom (thats grandmother for the uncultured) passed away.

I never feel the big stuff like this right away. I think some of us are just wired this way naturally. It used to freak me out a bit, make me think I didn’t care. Now I realize it’s just nature’s way of making sure there’s someone to serve the food at the funeral.

She had the biggest smile, loved children, made you feel at ease, laughed a lot, appreciated dirty jokes, cooked like nobody’s business, loved her dogs, knitted masterfully, was full of the cutest sayings, played the organ, loved her soaps, and loved to give gifts.

My Mom-Mom was the best. Both her and my Pop-Pop. Then had 52 wonderful years together before he died in her arms, and now I’d like to think they are somehow together again.

Without a Doubt- New York Times article by Ron Suskind.
Link for those who don’t want to subscribe to NYT.

I’m voting for Kerry.

True, I would rather just vote for my unborn child and Sean’s dog, but even they don’t seem to have their act together yet. I have struggled for four years to support the President. I voted for him. Initially, I was drawn to what I had read was his collaborative style of leadership; he was said to trust the judgment of the people who aided him. He was said to be a man who had strong principles, but sound judgment.

I have watched, and I have been moved to try and understand his policy decisions. It was hard. Both his economic policy (or lack thereof) and his actions regarding foreign relations have been laughable. And “well, Bush works in mysterious ways” only goes so far. I have learned though, that most of the time the simplest of answers is usually correct. If he looks like an idiot, walks like and idiot and quacks like an idiot, he probably is one.

This article outlines the basic problem with Bush’s presidency, and the reason why at a time of crisis he looked like the right fit. He spits out answers. Of course they may seem stupid or misinformed or lacking basic deductive skills, but they come out relatively fast. Most- now this excludes you, gentle readers- people want someone else to think for them. That’s why opinions and issues become so polarized.

With the internet, file sharing, idea sharing, blogs and the like unleashing information and ideas, it’s going to become harder and harder to maintain control like that- but it’s still possible. You have to work hard to make sure that decisions are made by a small group. You make sure that questioning leadership is seen as disloyalty, and you make damn sure that decisions, attitudes, and ideas flow down and the only thing that flows upward is good news. Sure, people will crack the veneer and spread the word that this is how you do business, but you still have a chance of maintaining control- at least long enough to secure another 4 years.

I hate that. That’s what bugged me most when I wanted to be a minister. I wanted to help people and make a difference in the world. When it came down to it, though, it was obvious: most people would think what you told them to. They wanted to believe stuff. Now, the content or the logic weren’t much of a concern, just the image that you had answers.

“Faith heals the heart and the spirit, but it doesn’t do much for analytical skills.” – Suskind

The image of infallibility is the basis of the Bush Presidency. Now, that is very reassuring in a time of great crisis like 911. Not so great once people have the time, the freedom and the balls to start questioning stuff.

Now here’s the tricky part. When you look to have the answers, and you have managed to capture a relatively large amount of the unthinking masses you have it made. All of this is assured by your opposition. Because, even though you have an opposition, it’s still got a large amount of these same unthinking masses- people who leave it up to someone else to do the thinking. And who actually does raise their voice to oppose you? Your first and loudest opposition is the fringe. And these voices work to discredit their movement, because they don’t mind resorting to emotional, loony and untrue arguments. They’re the fringe, what do they have to lose.

Now, I believe that enough people are moving over to the Kerry camp to give him a chance, but he still may lose. At a time when so much information is so free, it’s scary that most people still get their opinions from mass emails, but my guess is it’s true. Those who are the majority online are not the majority of the nation.

It’s taken me a while to finally decide on this- I try not to make decisions like this quickly. I’m not a fan of Kerry but at least he doesn’t freak me the hell out like Bush does. I’m not looking for someone I agree with, I’m just looking for someone I can put a reasonable amount of trust in.

This is another “serious face” post.
(more…)

My mentor, Prof. Howard Olsen, recently published a book along with his wife and daughter, all who are in the field of Strategic Planning/Marketing. Today their book debuts on Amazon.

Strategic Planning Made Easy: A Practical Guide to Growth and Profitability

Prof. Olsen (and his family) has taught me pretty much all I know concerning marketing, strategic planning, business metrics and the like. Their company, M3 planning is certain to be a catalyst of great change for small business in the coming future.

Congrats, Prof.

“As you get older, you tend to have less- but better- friends.”

Heard that on the radio, and it sounded new. Of course I’ve heard it a million times, but it means a little something different to me in my late twenties. In highschool I had very few friends. Not by choice per se, I just wasn’t well liked. Then all the sudden that pool increased exponentially in my senior year. Nothing creates quick shallow friendships like the introduciton of drugs and alchohol.

Then I moved away, went to college and stuffs, and got a whole new bunch o’friends- and at times all the drama of a novela.

Now, having married and moved away, I look at my friendships in a more guarded way. The difference I believe is that I’ve realized I don’t have to be friends with everyone.

If you are the kind of person who drags people down for sport, we won’t hang long. If your life requires a constant near-lethal dose of drama, let’s stick to email. Lastly, if you just don’t value people- and that shows up in so many ways- I’m not willing to be your friend. I won’t make excuses for you. I won’t put up with your abuse. I just don’t have the time- we only get one go of this.

I like people. I love having friends and enjoying life with other people. Heck, I don’t go to the DMV with out inviting someone. People are a blast. Just, we all have the right to decide who to hang with and who not. People need to excercise it more. Brats are only brats because they’re allowed to be.

I think the best thing you can do sometimes is not be a friend. Some people need it. Maybe they get the picture, maybe they don’t. It’s not really your responsibility, and unless you are a trained therapist you’ll probably never help them if you do stick around.

You just go be a good friend to another good friend. It’s simple and obvious, but I think more people need to hear that it’s their choice to make.

For those who have just recently come to E&H.com, the “serious face” category is reserved for the truely serious stuff. It’s basically the only way people know I’m not joking.

Well, the jokemonkey isn’t feeling too great today. One of my buddies is gone, and it’s an awfully confusing story as to why. Right now, it’s not time to figure that out though- it’s just a tough time and tough times happen.

So enjoy yourself today- we’ve all got a ton to be thankful for. For me it’s going to be a weekend of counting all that stuff and taking stock of where my life is at and catching up with the freinds who are also affected.

If I don’t get around to posting, make sure to have a great weekend.

Man. We were getting ready for work when Heidi’d mom called. She told us about the attack in Madrid this morning. Heidi’s sister is studying abroad in Madrid this semester and rides that metro every morning to school. We have confirmation that she is OK. Talk about a sobering morning. We love you Rachel.

I was watching Finding Nemo recently with Heidi and took note of the blue Fish Ellen DeGeneres plays who has no short term memory. It reminded me of something which I’ve been meaning to write about for a while. Movies and TV have displayed several characters with similar memory-related problems like Memento, SNL’s Mr. Shirt-Term Memory, or the forgettable Blank Slate. But what if it was a real life affliction? It is.

Enter Clive Wearing. A world-renowned British Musician, Composer and Choir Director, Wearing suffered a sever bout of viral infection to his brain in the 80’s. Destroying his left and right Hippocampi, the virus left him with profound amnesia. Clive’s stored memories were wiped clean. Tragically, he also lost the ability to develop new ones.

Our brains work in a way much like a computer. We keep long-term memory in a system much like a hard drive and recall it when necessary. In order to get to the hard drive, a memory must go into an intermediate “short term” system as well. We also have working memory which works much like RAM, giving us a system that we use to complete the tasks at hand. Clive has his RAM, but it can no longer communicate with the hard drive.

He is perpetually in a state of “now.” He has no trace of past or future. Within a few minutes he begins again, believing he is conscious for the first time. Each time his wife enters the room he greets her with excitement and open arms as if she is a long-lost love returning from months away. Each time.

Frustrated by his condition and unable to fully comprehend it, he feverishly fills journals with diary entries including the date, time, and the fact that he just woke up. Forgetting that he wrote them and unable to reconcile the fact that the handwriting matches his own, he angrily scratches each entry out only moments after writing them. He has journals filled with scribbled-over entries.

What is fascinating is that even though he lost his short term capabilities, he has kept the long term “hard drive memories.” He knows who he is, and what any normal person would need in order to function in society. He also has kept his procedural memory, enabling him to walk, talk, play the piano and sing. He is still skilled enough to point out mistakes in musical pieces.

In a remarkable moment caught on video, Wearing is seen playing a beautiful piano arrangement perfectly. The piece actually takes longer than our working memory would hold information, but he finishes the piece. The toll though is that he begins sputtering in light convulsions after he finishes the piece, reminiscent of the freeze a computer holds for a few seconds as it’s RAM catches up to a heavy load of information.

I couldn’t imagine being trapped in that state of perpetual moments. His wife who cares for him in the video must be going through emotional hell, never being able to truly connect with the love of her life, even though he is walking and talking in front of her. She probably catches what look like knowing glimpses in his eyes where for a moment she believes he has figured out how to go on and is once again the man she loved. And again the moment is gone and he his greeting her for the first time; one of an endless string of first times.

Fortunately, it has been 18 years since the documentary I saw and wearing is doing a little better. Moved to a facility that can offer him a more stable enviornment and care he is reportedly less frustrated by his condition. His wife visits almost every weekend.

Pretty Nuts. Clive Wearing.