It has been shake-your-head crazy at times. Eight in 10 voters say they feel repulsed rather than excited. Still, this season’s presidential food fight can enrich our lives for years to come. Among the things available to learn is how easily we demonize. And why we do it. And the steep price we pay for it. And how, if we choose, we can do less of it––should having a peaceful heart be something we want to cultivate.
Essays – Page 11
My Two Cents
While Donald Trump may be colossally unworthy of our trust to be president, there is one thing about him I honor: his role in making saints. (Not that he knows he’s doing so.) I’m not cracking wise here. If a saint is somebody who has compassion for everyone all the time, Mr. Trump is among the masters who serve those of us who hunger to grow that skill.
If you’re like me, daydreaming of moderating a presidential debate, and are contemplating what questions, or requests, you might ask the candidates to address, allow me to share the first ten items on my list. No gotchas. Just simple, open-ended, non-judgmental queries a candidate can either knock out of the park or hang themselves with––depending on how well they know the person in the mirror, and how willing they are to be frank.
You commit yourself to something that is the call of your heart: kindness, a friendship, learning to love by learning to Tango, forgiving everyone for everything.… Then you do what matters most: align that commitment with action.
Over time, as your dedication is shaped by the grist of experience, things happen that are indistinguishable from magic. Out of nowhere, like finding a hundred dollar bill in an old shirt, you suddenly feel the ever-deeper sensation of doing that thing more completely than ever before.
You’re just that much more in harmony, that much more expansive, that much more at home. This happened to me recently: a surge in my attunement to the drumbeat of “Only Love.” Then, the next day, my dog Red disappeared.
I recently attended my college reunion at Amherst. Among the events was an invitation for alumni to speak about something related to the college that they were particularly grateful for––an event, a relationship, a learning that has been a big part of their life since––and (at a school where, customarily, brevity is not a virtue) to do so in one minute.
Here’s what I said:
September 1971. The president’s reception for incoming freshman. I was 27, the oldest freshman Amherst had ever admitted, I was told. And, very likely, the only freshman to have graduated next-to-last in his high school class.
While I evidently did enough interesting stuff in my life to get admitted, apprehension remained. Could I actually thrive here?
When I introduced myself to president Bill Ward, he said, “Oh, you’re the old guy.” And then he said the most beautiful thing: “Welcome. You’re where you belong. Enjoy yourself.”
Today, I help people play with provocative questions. For instance: What should the sign say that hangs over the entrance to your organization, the sign you want every colleague to see every day?
If I were asked to answer that question for Amherst, I’d bow to Bill Ward and say: “Welcome. You’re where you belong. Enjoy yourself.”
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Podcast
"I honor that we are killing the earth for the same reason I consider being an alcoholic a privilege: it is a doorway to the profound self-understanding required to make truly healthy choices."
The Essay: Honoring the Killing of the Earth
