High School class assignment: Plan a terrorist attack. Thankfully, this was not in an American school, but it would not surprise me to see it in one. While this might make sense at University level for more mature students, the lessons of Columbine and just simple common sense should tell a teacher that this is a bad idea.
I think that it is important for students to understand the perspectives around terrorism, not to excuse it but that by better understanding its origins and logic that we may more effectively prevent attacks and even engage in a process to reduce the drive to attack.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Provoked Thought
A friend of mine sent me this link to a "Recommended Christian Essay". Since he frequently sends me thought-provoking stories, I read the story. Here are the thoughts it provoked.
Last Thursday, as I was driving into my neighborhood after a good day at work, I saw a small yellow hand-lettered sign at the intersection announcing “Talking Dog Show Tonite at 6 PM. 119 Brandywine.” Since talking dogs are rather rare in my village, and having some time to spare before dinner, I decided to take the kids over to see this spectacle.
I parked the car in the garage and entered the house. Before I could even call out, “Honey, I’m home,” the kids accosted me at the door asking, “did you see the sign?” and “Can we go?”
“Whoa,” I protested, holding up my hands, “What sign are you talking about?”
“The Talking Dog Show!” They replied in rare harmony.
My wife rolled her eyes slightly (as only she can do) and I confessed to the kids that I had seen the sign and that we could go if they got ready quickly so we could still be back in time for dinner. They immediately scattered to get their shoes on and my daughter asked if I could get her camera so she could take pictures.
Two minutes later we were walking down the street, camera in hand to 119 Brandywine. I asked the kids if they knew who lived there and the oldest replied, “Evan and Rachelle.” I commented, “I don’t remember hearing you kids talking about them—are they new to the neighborhood?”
“Yeah, they just moved here a couple months ago, but they’re pretty cool,” said the oldest, and the others agreed.
As we got closer to the house, we ran into some of the other kids and dads from our street. (One of the cool things about our street is that there are lots of children all the same age who play together.)
There was a small table by the side of the house at our destination with another sign reading: Admission 50 cents. I was impressed at the business savvy of these elementary-aged kids and gladly paid a 9-year-old girl (whom I deduced was Rachelle) the two dollars for our party to enter the backyard.
As we entered the backyard, there were a couple short rows of folding camp chairs supplemented with picnic table benches. A rope was strung between two trees with picnic blankets thrown over it to create a makeshift curtain at the back of they yard.
We sat together on one bench as most of the rest of the neighborhood kids filtered in, most accompanied by their Dads (there must have been a of peacefully-quiet houses on the street for the Moms at home). We exchanged pleasantries with our friends and neighbors as they took their seats.
After a few minutes, Rachelle walked to the front of the curtain and the talking in the audience quickly hushed. With remarkable presence and showmanship she welcomed us to the Talking Dog Show and thanked us for coming out. I briefly looked around and saw that there were about twenty kids and parents gathered on this pleasantly-warm August evening.
“…And without further ado, I present Sparky the Talking Dog!” called Rachelle as she deftly pulled back the curtain. As if on cue, the entire audience leaned forward in their seats. I saw this out of the corner of my eye from my vantage point on the right-hand side of the back row. I smirked at the collective performance but then quickly realized that I was part of it as well.
There, in the middle of the back yard was a rather large brown furry lump. There was also a red dog dish with “Sparky” hand-lettered on it in large black letters. Rachelle took a couple of steps toward the lump and commanded, “Sparky, stand.”
We all again leaned forward in impromptu unison to watch Sparky stand. A second later, out anticipation was fulfilled as Sparky slowly rose as if being awakened from a nap. Now, I’m no dog expert, but Sparky looked an awful lot like Evan Holder, Rachelle’s 6-year old brother. I confess that I can only assume it was Evan because his face was covered in brown makeup except for a shiny black nose. He was wearing the most authentic-looking Halloween dog costume I had ever seen. (I’m sure Mrs. Holder will be recruited by the school to make costumes for the next annual play.)
Evan “stood” on his hands and knees panting with his tongue sticking out and looked attentively at Rachelle for direction. “Speak, Sparky,” she commanded.
Sparky responded, “Hello, my name is Sparky. I am a Talking Dog.” I am sure I heard muffled gasps of surprise from my fellow audience members. Surprisingly, there was no laughter—not even a smirk. Rachelle then ordered Sparky to speak a poem and Sparky responded by reciting “Old Mother Hubbard,” which I am sure held a special meaning for a dog.
Rachelle put Sparky through his paces, singing “How much is that doggy in the window?” and even doing some simple math problems. At one point, Sparky walked over to his bowl and ate some food.
I overheard one of the Dads commenting to another, “Wow, these dogs get smarter every year.”
“I never would have believed it if I hadn’t heard it with my own ears,” replied his neighbor.
I can’t tell how long the rest of the show went because I was already starting to make a mental to-do list for the next day. Meanwhile, the rest of the audience sat in rapt attention focusing on every word from Sparky as if he were the Oracle at Delphi. My kids sat politely, but not at the edge of their seat like the rest of the children in the audience.
“….And that, ladies and gentlemen, is Sparky the Talking Dog!” concluded Rachelle as she closed the curtain to a surprisingly sustained applause.
My children and I got up and started the three-clock walk home as I texted my wife to let her know we’d be home in five minutes.
As we turned up the street, I heard other children excitedly telling their fathers how amazed they were with what they had just seen. “I can’t believe we saw a real Talking Dog!” exclaimed Julian to his Dad. His younger sister Mikki joined in—“That was awesome! I hope we can see the show again soon.”
As soon as we were out of earshot, my youngest said quietly to me, “Dad, that wasn’t really a Talking Dog.” Because I wanted to test the kids a bit, I replied, “Well sure it was—it looked just like a dog, and it certainly could talk.”
The eldest (and most sophisticated 9-year old in the world) said, “that was just Evan dressed up as a dog.”
“But he ate dog food out of a bowl—Evan certainly wouldn’t do that,” I protested.
“Dad, that was just Cheerios—I could see that easily from where we were sitting,” he replied with grave seriousness.
“But…..” I started.
My daughter looked at me as only a daughter can look at her father, “Daddy,” she batted her big blue eyes, “Just because someone says it is a Talking Dog, doesn’t mean that it is a Talking Dog.”
I smiled to myself, confident that my kids were learning discernment. “I bet I can be the first one home!” I challenged as I set off in a light run. “No way!” I was challenged in unison by my three children sprinting off ahead of me.
Last Thursday, as I was driving into my neighborhood after a good day at work, I saw a small yellow hand-lettered sign at the intersection announcing “Talking Dog Show Tonite at 6 PM. 119 Brandywine.” Since talking dogs are rather rare in my village, and having some time to spare before dinner, I decided to take the kids over to see this spectacle.
I parked the car in the garage and entered the house. Before I could even call out, “Honey, I’m home,” the kids accosted me at the door asking, “did you see the sign?” and “Can we go?”
“Whoa,” I protested, holding up my hands, “What sign are you talking about?”
“The Talking Dog Show!” They replied in rare harmony.
My wife rolled her eyes slightly (as only she can do) and I confessed to the kids that I had seen the sign and that we could go if they got ready quickly so we could still be back in time for dinner. They immediately scattered to get their shoes on and my daughter asked if I could get her camera so she could take pictures.
Two minutes later we were walking down the street, camera in hand to 119 Brandywine. I asked the kids if they knew who lived there and the oldest replied, “Evan and Rachelle.” I commented, “I don’t remember hearing you kids talking about them—are they new to the neighborhood?”
“Yeah, they just moved here a couple months ago, but they’re pretty cool,” said the oldest, and the others agreed.
As we got closer to the house, we ran into some of the other kids and dads from our street. (One of the cool things about our street is that there are lots of children all the same age who play together.)
There was a small table by the side of the house at our destination with another sign reading: Admission 50 cents. I was impressed at the business savvy of these elementary-aged kids and gladly paid a 9-year-old girl (whom I deduced was Rachelle) the two dollars for our party to enter the backyard.
As we entered the backyard, there were a couple short rows of folding camp chairs supplemented with picnic table benches. A rope was strung between two trees with picnic blankets thrown over it to create a makeshift curtain at the back of they yard.
We sat together on one bench as most of the rest of the neighborhood kids filtered in, most accompanied by their Dads (there must have been a of peacefully-quiet houses on the street for the Moms at home). We exchanged pleasantries with our friends and neighbors as they took their seats.
After a few minutes, Rachelle walked to the front of the curtain and the talking in the audience quickly hushed. With remarkable presence and showmanship she welcomed us to the Talking Dog Show and thanked us for coming out. I briefly looked around and saw that there were about twenty kids and parents gathered on this pleasantly-warm August evening.
“…And without further ado, I present Sparky the Talking Dog!” called Rachelle as she deftly pulled back the curtain. As if on cue, the entire audience leaned forward in their seats. I saw this out of the corner of my eye from my vantage point on the right-hand side of the back row. I smirked at the collective performance but then quickly realized that I was part of it as well.
There, in the middle of the back yard was a rather large brown furry lump. There was also a red dog dish with “Sparky” hand-lettered on it in large black letters. Rachelle took a couple of steps toward the lump and commanded, “Sparky, stand.”
We all again leaned forward in impromptu unison to watch Sparky stand. A second later, out anticipation was fulfilled as Sparky slowly rose as if being awakened from a nap. Now, I’m no dog expert, but Sparky looked an awful lot like Evan Holder, Rachelle’s 6-year old brother. I confess that I can only assume it was Evan because his face was covered in brown makeup except for a shiny black nose. He was wearing the most authentic-looking Halloween dog costume I had ever seen. (I’m sure Mrs. Holder will be recruited by the school to make costumes for the next annual play.)
Evan “stood” on his hands and knees panting with his tongue sticking out and looked attentively at Rachelle for direction. “Speak, Sparky,” she commanded.
Sparky responded, “Hello, my name is Sparky. I am a Talking Dog.” I am sure I heard muffled gasps of surprise from my fellow audience members. Surprisingly, there was no laughter—not even a smirk. Rachelle then ordered Sparky to speak a poem and Sparky responded by reciting “Old Mother Hubbard,” which I am sure held a special meaning for a dog.
Rachelle put Sparky through his paces, singing “How much is that doggy in the window?” and even doing some simple math problems. At one point, Sparky walked over to his bowl and ate some food.
I overheard one of the Dads commenting to another, “Wow, these dogs get smarter every year.”
“I never would have believed it if I hadn’t heard it with my own ears,” replied his neighbor.
I can’t tell how long the rest of the show went because I was already starting to make a mental to-do list for the next day. Meanwhile, the rest of the audience sat in rapt attention focusing on every word from Sparky as if he were the Oracle at Delphi. My kids sat politely, but not at the edge of their seat like the rest of the children in the audience.
“….And that, ladies and gentlemen, is Sparky the Talking Dog!” concluded Rachelle as she closed the curtain to a surprisingly sustained applause.
My children and I got up and started the three-clock walk home as I texted my wife to let her know we’d be home in five minutes.
As we turned up the street, I heard other children excitedly telling their fathers how amazed they were with what they had just seen. “I can’t believe we saw a real Talking Dog!” exclaimed Julian to his Dad. His younger sister Mikki joined in—“That was awesome! I hope we can see the show again soon.”
As soon as we were out of earshot, my youngest said quietly to me, “Dad, that wasn’t really a Talking Dog.” Because I wanted to test the kids a bit, I replied, “Well sure it was—it looked just like a dog, and it certainly could talk.”
The eldest (and most sophisticated 9-year old in the world) said, “that was just Evan dressed up as a dog.”
“But he ate dog food out of a bowl—Evan certainly wouldn’t do that,” I protested.
“Dad, that was just Cheerios—I could see that easily from where we were sitting,” he replied with grave seriousness.
“But…..” I started.
My daughter looked at me as only a daughter can look at her father, “Daddy,” she batted her big blue eyes, “Just because someone says it is a Talking Dog, doesn’t mean that it is a Talking Dog.”
I smiled to myself, confident that my kids were learning discernment. “I bet I can be the first one home!” I challenged as I set off in a light run. “No way!” I was challenged in unison by my three children sprinting off ahead of me.
Monday, August 2, 2010
More Reading
I continue to realize things as I read more.
The first is just how little I miss listening to the radio. I read about 20 minutes of news on the internet at lunch and pretty much know everythign there is to know. I had long thought that I had to read a lot of news to understand what was going on. I now realize that I really don't need to read that much news.
There is probably a separate blog on reflecting on the role of the media in today's world, and while I am not taking anything from the concept of a free press, I do take issue with a for-profit press that has to create news rather than keep leaders accountable. I used to enjoy listening to NPR because their stories were usually more interesting and thoughtful than regular radio. On Friday, having already finished my most recent audiobook of To Kill a Mockingbird, I turned on NPR. The story that robbed me of 4 minutes of my life was about the oh-so-secret Chelsea Clinton wedding. It was a story about the fact that there was no official story since everythign was oh-so-secret. I used to expect NPR to be better than that, but they have lost it also. They are so enamoured with anyone in that particular political party that they had to stop the presses to cover something that wasn't even a story yet. I think I need to end my membership with them.
I am also starting to see that the more you read, the better you can write. I still haven't read a lot yet, but I find my mind filled with ideas that I have to commit to writing here.
Next time I will tell you about filling my nook.
The first is just how little I miss listening to the radio. I read about 20 minutes of news on the internet at lunch and pretty much know everythign there is to know. I had long thought that I had to read a lot of news to understand what was going on. I now realize that I really don't need to read that much news.
There is probably a separate blog on reflecting on the role of the media in today's world, and while I am not taking anything from the concept of a free press, I do take issue with a for-profit press that has to create news rather than keep leaders accountable. I used to enjoy listening to NPR because their stories were usually more interesting and thoughtful than regular radio. On Friday, having already finished my most recent audiobook of To Kill a Mockingbird, I turned on NPR. The story that robbed me of 4 minutes of my life was about the oh-so-secret Chelsea Clinton wedding. It was a story about the fact that there was no official story since everythign was oh-so-secret. I used to expect NPR to be better than that, but they have lost it also. They are so enamoured with anyone in that particular political party that they had to stop the presses to cover something that wasn't even a story yet. I think I need to end my membership with them.
I am also starting to see that the more you read, the better you can write. I still haven't read a lot yet, but I find my mind filled with ideas that I have to commit to writing here.
Next time I will tell you about filling my nook.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Reading
It started Memorial Day weekend. My Trophy Wife got the audiobook of "Johnny Tremain" to supplement the kids' reading of the book as we drove to Iowa and back for the weekend. I so thoroughly enjoyed the story that I was reawakened to how good books can open your mind to looking at things differently and make you think.
I then joined the summer reading program at our local library, with the challenge itself being part of the motivation, but the gift card to a bookstore just the frosting on the cake. The program included reading 5 books (1 may be an audio book) and checkign out a movie within the months of June and July. There is also a prize drawing among people who submit a review of a book.
This has really stretched me. I started reading Moby Dick--I had always wanted to read it, but never really had the excuse. It was surprisingly good, but quickly I realized that I would have to finish by audiobook on my drive to and from work--the reading was just too tedious with my limited time. Even though the reading wasn't exactly the same as reading, I think I almost got more out of it through the dramatic reading. Either way, I got to experience a book that I would not have otherwise.
Some of the other books were a little lighter, but still enjoyable. Interestingly, as I wrote the book review, I found how difficult it is to write a good review (and mine is not very good). I had the interesting experience of disliking a book by an author that 'everyone' raves about. It is another stretch to experience something that puts me at odds with a host of critics and numerous fans.
Some interesting things have happened to me since I embarked on this reading frenzy. For one, I found that I do not miss listening to the radio on the way to and from work. I had long ago stopped listening to music on the drive--it was all to repetitive and not very cerebral. I had been listening to NPR for several years--not because I agree with their viewpoints, but because it was intelligent, informative, and often unique. But I found my news junkie habit very easy to kick and I look forward to getting the time with an audiobook on the drive to and from work. It makes the time go by so quickly and lets me escape a bit on the way.
I have also found that I am a little more patient and less rushed that I had been. The thing about reading is that it is a deliberate and thourghtful process, not something you can do lightly or passively (like watching TV or listening to popular music). You must engage your mind to get anything out of it.
I find that I think a little different now. As I walk in downtown, I think about descriptions and observe thigns better. My speech is more careful and deliberate.
My Wife has reinforced this (and to some degree created a monster) by getting me a Barnes & Noble Nook e-book reader for my Milestone birthday. I love it and look forward to using it on my commutes downtown.
More to follow on this topic soon.
I then joined the summer reading program at our local library, with the challenge itself being part of the motivation, but the gift card to a bookstore just the frosting on the cake. The program included reading 5 books (1 may be an audio book) and checkign out a movie within the months of June and July. There is also a prize drawing among people who submit a review of a book.
This has really stretched me. I started reading Moby Dick--I had always wanted to read it, but never really had the excuse. It was surprisingly good, but quickly I realized that I would have to finish by audiobook on my drive to and from work--the reading was just too tedious with my limited time. Even though the reading wasn't exactly the same as reading, I think I almost got more out of it through the dramatic reading. Either way, I got to experience a book that I would not have otherwise.
Some of the other books were a little lighter, but still enjoyable. Interestingly, as I wrote the book review, I found how difficult it is to write a good review (and mine is not very good). I had the interesting experience of disliking a book by an author that 'everyone' raves about. It is another stretch to experience something that puts me at odds with a host of critics and numerous fans.
Some interesting things have happened to me since I embarked on this reading frenzy. For one, I found that I do not miss listening to the radio on the way to and from work. I had long ago stopped listening to music on the drive--it was all to repetitive and not very cerebral. I had been listening to NPR for several years--not because I agree with their viewpoints, but because it was intelligent, informative, and often unique. But I found my news junkie habit very easy to kick and I look forward to getting the time with an audiobook on the drive to and from work. It makes the time go by so quickly and lets me escape a bit on the way.
I have also found that I am a little more patient and less rushed that I had been. The thing about reading is that it is a deliberate and thourghtful process, not something you can do lightly or passively (like watching TV or listening to popular music). You must engage your mind to get anything out of it.
I find that I think a little different now. As I walk in downtown, I think about descriptions and observe thigns better. My speech is more careful and deliberate.
My Wife has reinforced this (and to some degree created a monster) by getting me a Barnes & Noble Nook e-book reader for my Milestone birthday. I love it and look forward to using it on my commutes downtown.
More to follow on this topic soon.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Human Rights
Some of you may be familiar with plightof the Romeike Family. They are a German family who recently were granted Asylum in the US because of persecution in their home country. What was the cause for which they were persecuted? They sought to homeschool their children.
There's a lot more to be said on this, but ponder this: How can a government force a family to send their children to government schooling in the 21st century? The Universal Declaration of Human Rights clearly indicates that parents have a right to opt out of this?
I don't think you have to be a die-hard defender of homeschooling to recognize that there is something very wrong when a government forces parents to send children to state school. Hasn't Germany done this before?
There's a lot more to be said on this, but ponder this: How can a government force a family to send their children to government schooling in the 21st century? The Universal Declaration of Human Rights clearly indicates that parents have a right to opt out of this?
I don't think you have to be a die-hard defender of homeschooling to recognize that there is something very wrong when a government forces parents to send children to state school. Hasn't Germany done this before?
Monday, April 19, 2010
Eyjafjallajokull
Most of us can't even prounounce it, but thousands, perhaps millions have been affected by it. Eyjafjallajokull is the name of the volacano on Iceland that has created havoc with air travel in Europe since Thusday.
While others are making the traditional observations, I felt the need to offer my less-obvious observations.
1) What a great reminder that no matter how much we try to predict (or want to predict) life--we can't. How many travellers on either side of the Atlantic thought they had everything covered in their plans (and even bought travel insurance) and now are stuck? (note, most travel insurance considers this--rightly--to be an Act of God and therefore do not cover this).
2) In light of facing the unexpected and unplanned, how would you respond? Would you be able to keep your calm or would you panic? Would you enjoy a few extra days in your destination, or would you waste them by worrying about something you can't change?
3) Even power has its limits. US President Barak Obama was scheduled (along with many other world leaders) to fly to Poland to attend the funeral for the President of Poland this past weekend. Even the proverbial Most Powerful Man in the World was grounded--the volcanic dust would clog or destroy Air Force One's engines as easily as it would an Air Malta Airbus. There was no way to fly over, under, around or through this cloud without risking the safety of all aboard.
4) Have you heard that the dust and ash from Eyjafjallajokull may have a cooling effect on global climate? Just in time to solve that "global warming" problem they have been panicked about. Of course, I am just waiting for the first scientist (or should I say "scientist") who blames the eruption on man-made causes.
While others are making the traditional observations, I felt the need to offer my less-obvious observations.
1) What a great reminder that no matter how much we try to predict (or want to predict) life--we can't. How many travellers on either side of the Atlantic thought they had everything covered in their plans (and even bought travel insurance) and now are stuck? (note, most travel insurance considers this--rightly--to be an Act of God and therefore do not cover this).
2) In light of facing the unexpected and unplanned, how would you respond? Would you be able to keep your calm or would you panic? Would you enjoy a few extra days in your destination, or would you waste them by worrying about something you can't change?
3) Even power has its limits. US President Barak Obama was scheduled (along with many other world leaders) to fly to Poland to attend the funeral for the President of Poland this past weekend. Even the proverbial Most Powerful Man in the World was grounded--the volcanic dust would clog or destroy Air Force One's engines as easily as it would an Air Malta Airbus. There was no way to fly over, under, around or through this cloud without risking the safety of all aboard.
4) Have you heard that the dust and ash from Eyjafjallajokull may have a cooling effect on global climate? Just in time to solve that "global warming" problem they have been panicked about. Of course, I am just waiting for the first scientist (or should I say "scientist") who blames the eruption on man-made causes.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
"You've always wanted to be 40!"
Those were the words of one of my oldest friends. Drew lived across the hall from me in university and then later we were roommates while in the Navy. He's always been very insightful into my personality and I count him as one of my best friends.
The comment came as we had a chance to reconnect a few weeks ago while I was on a business trip to San Francisco. He lives very close to the airport there and even though this was the first time I had seen him in 18 months, we picked up right where we had left off. It says a lot about our friendship that even after the 10-year period when we were in only very very loose e-mail contact, we were able to catch up quickly as if we had never left.
We spent a couple hours that evening discussing life and how we were making professional choices that might limit our upward mobility in the workplace, but were true to the family values that really mattered to us. I mentioned that I was actually feeling very comfortable with turning 40 this summer. I mentioned that I had long ago decided to step out of the rat race and that I didn't really care about having the latest gadgets, clothes and cars. I am actually proud that my car (and the requisite minivan) are 10 years old and still running. I buy my clothes on sale at Land's End and love a bargain more than a label. I've let my hair grow to longer than it has been since high school, and I'm even a little proud of the flecks of grey that show on my temples. (I shaved my goatee not because of the copious grey in it, but because I got tired of maintaining it.)
As Drew was teasing me of wanting to be 40 even back in university, he recounted a trip one night to a local bar where everyone else ordered a simple collegiate beer. I ordered a Scotch--not because I actually liked it, but because I thought of it as being so much more mature than beer. But the real point was that I did what I wanted to do, not what others were doing or what I thought others wanted/expected me to do.
So what's the point of my rambling? The pride I felt from Drew's observation is that the idea of being 40 marked a specific point of maturity. That is the point at which we decide to do what we want because of what matters to us and not because of what we think others expect of us, or because of wanting to receive some certain recognition from others. I'm not going to start wearing dark socks and sandals just to make a point, but I would if my feet were cold. It's actually quite liberating to stop caring what others think about silly things like that.
The comment came as we had a chance to reconnect a few weeks ago while I was on a business trip to San Francisco. He lives very close to the airport there and even though this was the first time I had seen him in 18 months, we picked up right where we had left off. It says a lot about our friendship that even after the 10-year period when we were in only very very loose e-mail contact, we were able to catch up quickly as if we had never left.
We spent a couple hours that evening discussing life and how we were making professional choices that might limit our upward mobility in the workplace, but were true to the family values that really mattered to us. I mentioned that I was actually feeling very comfortable with turning 40 this summer. I mentioned that I had long ago decided to step out of the rat race and that I didn't really care about having the latest gadgets, clothes and cars. I am actually proud that my car (and the requisite minivan) are 10 years old and still running. I buy my clothes on sale at Land's End and love a bargain more than a label. I've let my hair grow to longer than it has been since high school, and I'm even a little proud of the flecks of grey that show on my temples. (I shaved my goatee not because of the copious grey in it, but because I got tired of maintaining it.)
As Drew was teasing me of wanting to be 40 even back in university, he recounted a trip one night to a local bar where everyone else ordered a simple collegiate beer. I ordered a Scotch--not because I actually liked it, but because I thought of it as being so much more mature than beer. But the real point was that I did what I wanted to do, not what others were doing or what I thought others wanted/expected me to do.
So what's the point of my rambling? The pride I felt from Drew's observation is that the idea of being 40 marked a specific point of maturity. That is the point at which we decide to do what we want because of what matters to us and not because of what we think others expect of us, or because of wanting to receive some certain recognition from others. I'm not going to start wearing dark socks and sandals just to make a point, but I would if my feet were cold. It's actually quite liberating to stop caring what others think about silly things like that.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)