Experience

164. GODSHOTS PODCAST WITH LYDIA CORNELL #4 – BOOK DISCUSSION

One thing’s for sure, I’m blessed to have serendipitously met Lydia Cornell whose ethics and principles concerning self-help and recovery are nearly identical to mine. Both of us want a world free from abuse. Peacefully eradicating outer circumstances is a shared concern, but our main goal is to overcome those clandestine forces we unknowingly invite which seek to destroy us from within. 

The older I get the more I recognize that everyone carries a history of pain. Some manipulate their track record into a manifesto of self-destructive excuses, while others use their situations to try and showcase how one can rise above those experiencing similar circumstances. Not that I want to throw myself under the bus, but I have explored both paths which, if nothing else, grants me clarity from each perspective. Thankfully, I’ve walked the one which has the most power to keep me alive for quite some time now, though I’ve slipped occasionally.

In this episode we talk about the recent publication of my book. I’m pleased to say that Lydia agrees my message is one of hope, encouragement, and purpose. There’s a link and information in my last blog post as to where one can purchase it.

Please keep in mind that I am not the only person she has interviewed. In fact her podcast goes back years with many wonderful people who also feel and express themselves similarly. I encourage you to explore the variety of guests she has produced.

Thank you Lydia for the opportunity to continue our occasional partnership of optimistic action.

Click here for the podcast – 

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With Love and Compassion, Daniel Andrew Lockwood

163. PUBLISHED

 

Well…

I’m finally published. Took long enough, but it’s done. If I’m aware of anything, however, it’s knowing that having a book ‘out there’ equates with nothing more than putting on athletic shoes before a marathon, the real race lies ahead, and all I’ve done is gotten dressed. I’d better start running now, because my age and health are catching up to another inevitable finish line, and the clock is ticking.

I’m not overwhelmed by what lies ahead, I’ve climbed many mountains, and I’ll continue to do so as long as I seek challenges and adventures. What’s different about this journey is two-fold. Firstly,  I do feel somewhat ‘blindfolded’. Normally my intended path, while often set with obstacles and trials, is fairly well focused, but this time there’s a fog between where I am and where I will end up. I know what I want in the end, I know what outcome I demand, but there’s a huge difference this time because I simply don’t have access to the tools to plan and execute my trip, which means I need to rely on advice and guidance from people who are already where I want to be. It honestly feels a lot like when I first sobered up. I need a ton of faith and a whole lot less ego if I’m to take the proper direction seriously. Teacher/student is my only choice. I don’t have time for trial and error.  Secondly, my health is seriously holding me back from intent. My arthritis which is in every joint now, is compounding,  and my days are filled with severe, constant pain. Some are indeed better than others, but when it’s bad it interferes with everything. Luckily my work as a new construction plumber is still up to the quality I demand from myself and frankly, it’s a nice distraction when I stay focused and busy, but when I get home I fall into my chair and scream. My ‘free’ time is rarely used these days to follow up on motivations of continuing my vision. But I do promise this, I WILL find a way, I always have.

If you’re curious about the content of my publication I will say this, it’s similar in nature to my blog, but much more concise and usable for anyone looking to find a way to start a life path towards both purpose and reward. Some subjects are to be expected, but the majority of them are fairly unique and it all threads into a fantastic finish line, I promise. I’ve had two professionals in the field of recovery and psychology read it so far, and they basically both handed it the same highly praised complement, which relieved me greatly.

It’s written from the perspective of an ordinary person, and it’s easy to read too. It’s also short, only about 100 pages. I’m hesitant to put a link here to where one can find it, but it would be both disrespectful and ignorant to not do so.

Click here  – Insight out

The price for the hardback is WAY too high (as has been pointed out by a trusted friend) and I am working on lowering the cost, but the paperback is okay, and the Kindle version is totally affordable. It is on multiple web sites like Barnes & Noble and even Walmart. If you’d rather not use the link just type in my full name, Daniel Andrew Lockwood, and it should pop up. I do ask one favor, not for me, but for anyone else looking to find a solid path in life.  If you do indeed read it, please leave a review so others can be enticed into discovering it.

Lastly, I did not write this seeking fame or money, and anyone who knows me also knows this is 100% correct. I don’t give a damn about either of those things. I already have a great job and I’m picky about my social life. I’m also not stupid. If it does gain momentum and notice, then I’ll gladly play the part, because in the end all that matters is helping as many people as possible. I came to the conclusion many years ago that life is not about me, it never has been, and this tome is the result of that belief.

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With Love and compassion, Daniel Andrew Lockwood

 

 

161. MY D*** EGO

Of all the things holding me back in life, little compares to… myself. Nothing ‘out there’, no weird circumstance or unforeseen event has ever come close to overshadowing my own well practiced (and often subconscious ability) to set up roadblocks. What should have taken the metaphorical mile has often turned into a totally random cross country road trip with all kinds of dangerous layovers and distractions. I’m ever so slightly envious of those who practice myopic vision when it comes to reaching their goals. I’m not talking about becoming so narrow minded that I’d turn into some sort of bigoted dirtbag, but I’d like just enough of the skill to keep me from allowing petty, useless, and self-indulgent diversions to pull me off course.

I suppose my number one stumbling block is a tendency to react with a clenched jaw and thousand mile stare when I’m asked if I’ve done something before I’ve had a chance to follow through with my intentions, especially if it’s brought up more than once. That’s my ego on full blown display. My poor feelings have been hurt and now I’m going to go into some sort of insanely illogical juvenile defiance tantrum. For instance, if I mention that I need to wash my car, and three people ask me when I’m going to do it before I’ve gotten around to it, my knee-jerk programming says, “Screw it, let the dirt eat it to the frame, I’ll show them.” Wow. Talk about suicide mode for actually getting things done, yet time and again I’ve chosen conceit over humility, and the only person who gets crushed is me.

When I look back and evaluate the majority of self-damage, it becomes overwhelmingly clear that my health has suffered the most. Fifteen years past where I should have scheduled my first colonoscopy, I’m finally moving forward with it. Better late than never I suppose. And YES, it’s been brought up a lot in the last decade and a half, but when it has been mentioned it’s always been with Love and concern attached, never anger or harshness. About six weeks ago I had my second knee replacement surgery and I did NOT want to do the intestinal procedure before then just in case something bad showed up and kept me from moving forward with my impending arthroplasty. What originally put things off even more, however, was that my knee operation had been scheduled to take place almost one year ago. And guess why? Ultimately my ego cornered me into a very dangerous situation.

In 2015 I had back surgery for a slipped disc. Less than 24 hours after I had gone home I found myself back in the hospital for a total of nine days because of… pulmonary embolisms. I had zero energy and could not move. After massive doses of blood thinners and constant monitoring, my doctor announced that they had been successfully dissolved. The physician treating me said I went down to about a 3% chance of survival at one point. They also told me I needed to be on blood thinners for life, Eliquis to be specific. I did so for maybe three months after and blew it off. Why? Because I’m an idiot, that’s why. A few years later I ended up with a clot in my right leg the size of a banana. More hospital bed time, more prescribing blood thinners, more me letting my pride drive the bus. And this brings us to ten months ago when clots showed up in my lungs again, this time the size of ping-pong balls. I know for a fact because saw the scans myself. What was supposed to be my pre-op visit for my left knee turned into a justifiable crisis because I told them I was short of breath at the appointment, which prompted the staff to insist I immediately visit the emergency room, thank God. This time I was incarcerated for only three days.

I detest drugs. Being in recovery now for 28+ years is something I want to keep intact. I don’t want to be dependent on anything resembling addiction, but honestly that’s my ego rearing its head again thinking it knows better. For the moment my life is dependent on certain supplements like Eliquis, but I also have to take steroids to battle my rheumatoid arthritis which for the past ten years, and especially the past four, has dropped like a piano on me.

There’s an abundance of similar examples going back to my childhood which reflect patterns of deliberate ignorance in my life. It’s painfully obvious now that the older I get the less I can allow such behavior to continue. Honestly the only thing which has acted as water to my self-destructive infernos can be summed up with a single word… surrender. And when I say surrender I mean when an outside solution to my problems presents itself, no defense is to be allowed at all.

I think there’s an esoteric strength that comes with willfully abandoning that part of our ego which rots our lives. It lies in the in the hands and pleas that reach out to us. It comes from the ones who only want the best for us without asking for anything in return but our continued presence, and if that isn’t pure Love, I don’t know what is.

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With Love and Compassion, Daniel Andrew Lockwood

160. TWO POWERFUL QUESTIONS

One of my favorite self-empowering tools is the knowledge that life can be greatly manipulated by how I chose to shift and reword my questions. I’m not speaking of what I ask others (though there’s an obvious importance on that front) it’s the internalized ones which have had the most influence throughout my lifetime. There’s a dangerous generalized belief that there is no such thing as a bad question. Those who feel this is some sort of rock solid truth are highly misinformed. Social media is crammed with videos documenting the consequences of people having asked bad questions. The ensuing all too often catastrophic outcomes of thousands of people acting upon bad decisions is abundant proof. Unfortunately my own history has reflected some dumb, unhealthy, and downright self-destructive questions too, not the least of which was “Why not just get drunk every day?” While this may sound made up, I assure you I really did ask myself that one. Not only that, I have a vivid memory of where and when it happened. Self-talk is insanely powerful, and I’ve found by experience that what I consider doing, either with focus, or more likely from a subconscious footing, I will more than likely act upon eventually.

I’ve already covered this topic a few times, but there’s two specific questions I’ve yet to address, and I feel they are heavyweight contenders for how to stay focused and grounded in life. If we keep ourselves on track for clear and worthy goals, then our actions and behaviors will automatically align with manifesting our intent. Here is the first question –

“If you knew you had only one hour to live, felt good, and weren’t scared, what would you do?”

I know that no one out there would say “I need to get to the bank, mow the lawn, or finish my laundry.” Neither would they get out their luggage and fill it with as many valuables as they could so they could be prepared for what happens next, just in case. When I’ve asked this question of others, and yes, I’ve asked it a lot, I’ve heard two, and only two serious answers. The first answer is rare and commendable. On occasion someone will say they would spend the time alone in silence, prayer, and gratitude. This is indeed an honorable and noteworthy exit, but it’s not my choice. Mine aligns with the majority, and it sounds something like this – “I would make a few phone calls to thank and say goodbye to those who have meant the most to me in my life, and the rest of the time I would spend reminiscing with and holding the person I Love the most.”

The importance of this question, and the resulting answer, is that it forces us to realize what in life has true importance. To die with wonderful memories and Loving relationships is really the only goal which has value. To reach the end and know we have been of humble service, leaving behind a world that is better than we found it, is the greatest gift we can give ourselves. There are of course a great many who live selfish, self-centered lives, but when they face the end the only conclusion they can come to is that it was all for naught. A lifetime of nothing but egocentric accumulation will never translate into currency that pays for going out peacefully and magnanimously.

The second question follows up neatly with the first, and it’s a bit more specific when it comes to refining a lifelong mission. It can be stated two ways and they are –

“What would you like your friends an acquaintances to say about you after you die?”

Or another way to put it would be –

“In one sentence, what would you want written on your tombstone?”

I have to say if I could look into the future and witness my colleagues talking about me after I had died, and the best thing they had to say was “Man, he sure had a nice car!” (or something akin to that shallow of an observation) I’d be mortified. In other words, if my legacy was nothing but material in nature, I would know I had failed to live up to my ethics and principles.

I do indeed have a vision of what I would want on my tombstone, and it really sums up the underlying energy that pushes and guides me.

“Here lies a man whose enthusiasm refused to die.”

In the end we are only as good as the changes we’ve left behind.

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With Love and compassion,

Daniel Andrew Lockwood

159. A LIFE OF DECLARATIONS

I had no real ambitions as a boy. My motivations were mostly based on doing my best to avoid fist fights in school while trying to sidestep the same type of situation, but worse, at home. Fleeting daydreams of what my world might turn out to be as an adult were fantasies more than goals. Even if I had wanted to pursue a focused future, my parents never planted the seeds of ambition, nor did I give the idea any serious thought on my own. I suppose I wanted it to be related to my predilection for artistic pursuits, but my parents told me straight out that there was no money in such a frivolous talent. Advanced education was seen as something my privileged, well-off friends could (and did) take advantage of.

In my case hindsight is extremely revealing as well as a little spooky because everything I said I wanted to do, actually happened. I clearly recall a pivotal moment in third grade. I was standing around with a bunch of my classmates, all of whom were rattling off what they wanted to be when they grew up, cop, fireman, astronaut, soldier, etc. The standard generic ‘heroes’ at the time were all name-dropped. When it came my turn, I thought some humor would be in order and I gleefully stated I wanted to be a garbageman. Yes, it got a laugh, but I had no idea how much power that tiny declaration carried, and frankly, I didn’t connect the dots until many years later.

One of my first real jobs ended up taking place at elementary school. Somehow, around fourth grade, I wrangled my way into getting paid to help the school janitor, Stu Morelli, take the trash out after lunch every day. I did miss some recess because of it, but I didn’t mind. If I recall correctly my duties netted me about fifty cents a week, which equals about three dollars in purchasing power today, enough to satisfy the mindless wallet of a ten-year-old.

Fast forward seven years and I found myself working night shifts at Target… as a janitor, which is really just a glorified, indoor garbageman. I ended up blindly following this career path for fifteen years, and while I eventually got really good at my duties, which included supervision, ordering supplies, fixing equipment, hiring and firing hundreds of people, and eventually earning the reputation of having the best and cleanest store in the city, my life remained woefully unfulfilled. At this point I STILL hadn’t recognized that my current position in life had aligned with what I had said all those years ago. It was during this time another seemingly random event altered the course of my life.

During lunch on one of our shifts I was sitting in the breakroom with the rest of the crew when the subject of the ideal life came up. I was maybe twenty years old by this time. When it came my turn, I was rather unprepared. I hesitated for a bit and in a moment of speculative inspiration I said, “I suppose I’d love to be in a position to provide jobs and better lives for the people I care about”. Nothing specific as to how to get there came to mind, but the objective came from a place of absolute sincerity. As fate would have it, that’s exactly what happened.

Eventually our employment by Target was terminated and the scope of work taken over by a subcontractor who kept us hired in the same positions. Some years later I was approached by my employer to take care of several Payless Shoesource stores here in town, maybe two dozen or so. At the time I was running janitorial duties in a Kmart and was too overwhelmed with additional obligations to bear the extra load. I had recently hired my roommate to be my lead man since he had lost his job at a tire company. I suggested to management he could possibly shift his responsibilities to earn some extra money and handle the contract himself. They both agreed and he took on the work load swiftly and efficiently, and as he got busier, I soon had to acquire a new lead man. At the time all we were required to do was to scrub and wax Payless’ backrooms, that’s it. However, several weeks later he approached me asking me how to clean their carpets… which was NOT a duty agreed to by our company. A store manager had asked him to do this on the side, so I covertly ‘borrowed’ the necessary equipment and met him at the first store for a training session. As time went on, he picked up more and more side jobs from them. Lock and safe combination changes, painting and repairing walls, parking lot clean ups, building shelving, fixing toilets, basically anything maintenance related, though indoor cleaning services remained the backbone of his income. He eventually took over the contract from our previous employers and he became the go-to guy for three districts, or about 100 stores. When one of the district managers was to be transferred to Seattle, and wanted the same convenient services there, I volunteered to move and work for him to help expand the company.

Within five years he had secured a maintenance contract for the entire company, more than 3,500 stores in several countries. As time went on his only direct employees were eventually limited to the original metro area as he farmed out everything else, basically giving Payless only one number to call when something needed fixed or improved. My own Father ended up an office manager for years for him and two of my best friends were also employed for quite some time. He also approached and acquired Einstein Bagels with the same strategy, though I don’t know if he got the entire chain. Payless is out of business these days, but he was smart enough to see the ship sinking, so he didn’t drown with them. These days he’s pared way down, but don’t fret, he’s well off enough now to not have to ever worry about his funds running out.

I’m NOT taking one iota of credit for his obvious ambition and years of hard, meticulous work, that’s all on him, and thank God for it, but it’s nice to know I had a hand in starting him on the path he continues to walk to this day, and it WAS, and continues to be a manifestation of that spontaneous statement I’d said in the mid-eighties.

The ultimate reveal is this. Everything of significance that has come to pass in my life has been born of some sort of statement. A thought all by itself (which of course precedes everything) was not enough. It turns out what has been voiced, both humorously and solemnly carries some sort of special energy, at least from my perspective. There’s not an event in my life I don’t recognize having as a hand in creating once I’ve spoken an opinion about how my future should unfold, and that goes for outcomes both wanted and unwanted… unfortunately. I don’t even have to dig all that far into my history to reveal those points.

So if you’re like me, be mindful of what you say. You might end up either the richest person in history, or the most miserable person in the lowest gutter. Personally I’m glad I’ve said more constructive intentions than self-destructive ones, and yes, I’ve said, and own, both.

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With Love and compassion,

Daniel Andrew Lockwood


155. WORDS IN THE DARK

When I was between the ages of nine and eleven, we moved into our third house in Colorado. My new room in this home happened to be in the attic. It was small, but the entire floor was all mine. Between first and tenth grade we ended up living in no less than nine places, so looking back, there was a decent variety of spaces to compare it to. I imagine this one ended up being the most memorable because of the privacy it provided. It had its own full-sized staircase with a door at the bottom. There was also a window that faced the backyard which not only helped to give the room a complete feel, but, when necessary, eased the hot summer nights and allowed the droning of crickets to fill an otherwise extreme mountain silence. My parents rarely came up as it was just big enough for my twin bed, a dresser, and a kid sized desk. If my memory is correct, they couldn’t even stand up fully. This was the best real estate I was to occupy up until I was in my twenties.

Over the stairway was an ancient globe light fixture that had a pull string switch I could reach from my bed. For some reason my father had put a low wattage blue bulb in it, and this ended up being fortuitous. When I needed to use the bathroom in the middle of the night, it was plenty to illuminate the way, but I often used it for more clandestine reasons, reading.

Once I started third grade, I was already quite the reader. Not because it came naturally, but more because the idea itself was intoxicating and therefore a worthwhile and satisfying pursuit. My parents had started teaching me at home when I was quite young, and when I realized what was (possibly) printed on undiscovered pages, it was like discovering new worlds. I’m also sure that being an only child fed into my favorite pastime. For most of my childhood all I really wanted for gifts were books. I recall going to the school library (still in third grade) determined to check out the biggest book I could find and tackle it. Now, I was focused on the BIGGEST, which in my mind meant size, so I’m glad I didn’t go for “The Complete works of Shakespeare” or something of that nature. The one I did pick happened to be “The Wonderful Wizard of OZ”. Honestly, it was a real struggle. My parents helped when asked and I bleeped over a lot of words, but I did make it through.

Soon after finishing the novel we moved into the house I previously mentioned. A neighbor who was a friend of my parents, and was the manager of a bookstore, knew I’d done this and to my surprise bought me “The Marvelous Land of OZ” for Christmas the following year, which is the second book in the original series of fourteen. I had no idea the storyline continued. When I found this out I went out of my freaking mind, and she was thrilled. She also bought me the complete boxed set of “Winnie the Pooh” which I adored. We called her ‘skinny Jenny’ and she was, but I remember her more for being very pretty and sweet. She had no children of her own so I suppose that played into her motives. In any case, Baum ended up as a staple in my library, even to this day. We knew her long enough for her to introduce me at a later age to the “Chronicles of Narnia” and “The Phantom Tollbooth”. The books she enthusiastically gifted ended up being my go-to fantasy escapes for years. To this day “Tollbooth” is still my favorite book.

Most nights, after I knew my parents were asleep, I’d quietly pop on my light, dim though it was, and read for hours, always with mixed feelings of paranoia that I’d be caught, and euphoria that I was getting away with it. At some point I had a little flashlight I used occasionally under my covers (this felt better, probably because it was sneakier) but batteries were hard to come by. One of my other stand-by authors during this time was Thornton W. Burgess who wrote the “Old Mother West Wind” series, which no one seems to remember these days even though he wrote close to one hundred seventy books.

Being read to by various teachers back in the day was my favorite class activity. It easily eclipsed art projects, softball, or even recess, and it too spurned me to continue feeding the habit. Here is where I first heard “James and the Giant Peach” (along with other Roald Dahl titles), “The Pushcart War” and “Half Magic” and at least a dozen other long forgotten titles.

By fourth and fifth grade my path found the Henry Reed series and Beverly Cleary’s collection, which included the joyful “The Mouse and the Motorcycle. “Charlotte’s Web” and “Stewart Little” by E. B. White were there as well. The road of discovery continued later through Edgar Rice Burroughs’ library, which I’ve often called ‘romance novels for guys’. Several hundred of his titles (I was an avid collector for years) in various editions, some extremely rare, still sit on my shelves to this day. As I grew older new interests and more serious publications caught my eye. In the eighties newspapers (remember those?) and magazines, particularly those of a scientific nature, were common distractions. Eventually my tastes shifted into self-help, psychological, and even spiritual titles, especially once I sobered up in nineteen ninety-five. Wayne W. Dyer, Alan Watts, and Viktor E. Frankl are currently part of my ever expanding foundation of influence. Audio books are a large part of my itinerary these days as well, and sites like YouTube provide an almost endless supply of free, previously unconsidered publications. Altogether my library consists of about three hundred audio titles and three thousand print ones, and no… I have NOT read them all.

One thing is certain, reading, whether it’s in tactile form or in audio format, definitely continues to feed my imagination, creativity, and probably most importantly, my intentionally evolving point of view. I hope the journey never wanes. I’m blessed to have had such passionate teachers, friends, and family who guided me into the world of other people’s expression.

And now we come the the point of why I wanted to write this post on a blog that is focused on self-help and recovery for beginners. If you’re feeling empty, lost, or overwhelmed, read, please trust me. Contrary to what one may think, (most) books don’t really take the reader anywhere but inward, to the spirit. They unmask and reveal our inner selves, and that’s the best discovery of all.

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With Love and Compassion, Daniel Andrew Lockwood

 

 

 

 

152. PAYING IT FORWARD

When I was in kindergarten we lived in a modest apartment in Bakersfield California. The couple who resided above us were older and the husband was retired from an unusual job, he had owned and maintained a variety of vending machines which included those small glass encased ones at the entrances and exits of stores designed to entice kids into begging money from their parents for cheap trinkets and bits of candy or, of course, gumballs. Pennies were easy to talk my parents out of, but silver coinage was another matter, so when I did manage to get my hands on larger denominations, my excitement rose considerably. Nothing I managed to buy was all that thrilling, but it was the anticipation of the unknown which made my eyes go wide at the sight of colorful and usually pointless baubles.

One night there came a knock.

“Good evening, I’m the gentleman who lives upstairs.”

My mother let the man in while I bounded towards the visitor with enthusiasm. My fear of strangers at that age was limited to one-on-one encounters, meaning while in the presence of my parents any such apprehension would never have manifested. As he stood there with his hands behind his back, he looked at me and smiled. 

“I have a gift for your son” and with that he produced a good sized plastic bag stuffed with dozens of gumball machine prizes. I was stunned that an almost total stranger would go out of his way to randomly give me something without really knowing who I was. All my previous gifts up until then had some sort of expectation attached to them. My relatives and parents gave me all sorts of things, but they were always because an occasion such as my birthday or Christmas had arrived. This was the first instance of random generosity I had encountered. He went on to explain where he had acquired his stash of miniature toys and thought I’d be happy to have them.

None of the individual items were all that impressive, but the event itself has become one of my favorite memories. As a result of this incident, I too was eventually inspired to periodically give without expectation of repayment, especially to strangers. Every once in a while when the mood strikes me I’ll take notice of the abundance in my life and the urge to share will strike. If the person does know I’ve done something, and they say they would like to eventually repay me, I always say, “just pay it forward.” I’ve occasionally purchased items when the person in front of me realizes they can’t afford everything they’ve picked out. Sometimes I’ll buy the order behind me in line at the drive through. I’ve also bought scratch tickets for whoever’s next in line, whispering to the cashier to tell them it’s a gift.

Other times I’ll be a total nutcase about it and I WILL ask for something in return, but this is rare.

A few years ago I was walking into a 7-11 and a young woman approached me asking for a dollar. One dollar, nothing more. I told her to wait. As finished my transaction and stepped out I said, “I’ll give you the dollar, but first you have to do this.” and I started doing the “old prospector dance”. After a few steps I stopped and went Ta-Dum! With a  dumbfounded expression she informed me she wasn’t going to do that, and I said with a goofy voice and an overanimated gesture, “Then you can’t have it.” She looked annoyed so I made a compromise, “I’ll tell you what… I’ll do it with you.” She sighed and we both started dancing in front of the store. My goal was to get her to at least smile, which she eventually did when we stopped. I then handed her the bill. “Here you go, not only did you get your dollar, but now you feel better too.” Honestly, I think being a dork is in my genes. 

To this day if I have change (or I can bum it off my wife) and I pass by those machines full of juvenile surprises, I’ll buy a bunch and leave them on top for the next kid to unexpectedly find so they too can share in a tiny bit of the joy I felt as a boy. Maybe someone years from now will remember their random discovery and they too will be inspired to pay it forward. 

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With Love and Compassion, Daniel Andrew Lockwood

151. ADOLESCENT SENIOR MOMENTS

When I turned eight my parents abruptly informed me that no more allowance was forthcoming. I was somewhat baffled since I had never really gotten one to begin with, so I immediately demanded back pay. I was serious and they thought it was funny. I suppose it WAS pretty funny. In any case they prodded me into generating my own income by suggesting I contact our neighbors and ask if I could do any odd jobs for them. Thus started my working habits at a fairly young age.

I was raised in the mountains of Colorado about twenty miles west of Castle Rock between 1971 to 1980 from the age of seven. The community we lived in was quite spread out and I really was one of those kids who had to walk quite a ways to the bus stop, often in horrible weather. Sometimes going to see a friend took an hour or more before finally reaching them. I didn’t complain because I never knew any better, it’s just the way I was raised. There were, of course, a few kids my age around, but I was close with only two or three over the years. In time the majority of my friends turned out to be those I sought comic book money from by doing various chores. Most of these people were, in fact, senior citizens.

Their names live on in my memories. Ed, Jack, Darlene, Kathy, Paulene and Paulene, Cecil and others had me doing all kinds of things for them over the years. Shoveling snow was usually the biggest one, but often it was gardening, chopping wood, cleaning gutters, hauling coal (a lot of people still had coal fed furnaces) cleaning trash, and clearing weeds.

Jack, the gentleman I eventually did the most work for, had me accompany him once a month to town so he could have someone help him to shop at health food stores, which were, at the time, rare… and for some reason remarkably tiny. Nothing like Whole Foods existed. I used to buy carob bars ( I know, ick… ) and other weird trinkets when I was out and about with him. One of his stops was around the corner from a used paperback bookstore, which for me, was like hitting the jackpot. Forty-five years later the bookstore is still there but the market is sadly, not. Jack definitely needed help carrying his groceries, but one of the weirdest things he’d have me do was swap out wheels on his pickup when the weather was bad. One set had chains preinstalled on them, the other had regular tires. By this time I was in my early teens so my strength and size were more valuable and I could swiftly handle such cumbersome duties. In the winter the weather was often harsh where we lived, but once we had usually reached a lower altitude, increased traction was no longer needed so his solution was to change the chains in this strange manner. Honestly it made no difference to me, there was no judgement on my part because I took any opportunity to get into town and explore. The money I earned was secondary. The saddest thing I did for him involved one of his dogs, which I of course knew quite well. One of them had crawled under his home and died. Jack needed me to get him out of there so I wriggled into the structural space and crept on my hands and knees through all the spiders and bugs. I got a hold of him by his leg, and dragged him free. It was quite a distance, maybe thirty feet or so. Once outside I proceeded to dig a grave. I buried him with as much dignity as I could and placed a makeshift marker in the spot. I cried the whole time.

One of the Paulene’s I knew was the owner of a car dealership and had two homes, one of which was close to my normal school bus stop about three quarters of a mile from my home. One day she asked me to do something strange. Her house was built in such a manner that the foundation walls were in place for a basement, but the builder had, for some reason, filled it back in with dirt, and most of it was to the rafters of the main floor. There was enough room to go down the stairs to a hollowed-out area where the propane furnace sat, but the rest was inaccessible except for a doorway to the back yard directly across from her makeshift mechanical room. Since it was a walk-out design, there was a way to exit the “basement” without going upstairs. By this point you’ve guessed what she wanted me to do, dig out her basement so she could finish it. It was easily a thousand square feet, and to add complications, the heat from system had dried out the soil (for what was likely thirty years or more) all the way to the mantle. I cheerfully accepted, and for the next several months I spent every evening after school digging out that rock hard earth. I’d end my shift with watering down the top so the following day I could scrape off about a half inch. I did waste a lot of time watching TV upstairs as she was really never there, but I ultimately got it done over the course of several months. In 1979 I made 100.00 off that job and walked away feeling like Midas.

Looking back I now see a common thread most of these people shared. Ed Cummins lived in a trailer and had advanced emphysema. Cecil Bookie had a small home in the valley where she sat, retired. Miss Rodgers was pretty much in the same boat as were several others, and Paulene was a widow. Basically they were all… lonely. It never occurred to me then, but often I spent more time just sitting and talking with these people than I did doing whatever they said they needed. Perhaps that was their primary goal to begin with. And while I enjoyed their company I didn’t label it as friendship until much later in life. Looking back I’m glad to say it was mutually beneficial as well as an honor to have served these people.

My understanding is when I left the neighborhood another kind young soul, a neighbor I knew of but was not friends with, took up my services and continued where I left off, so that’s comforting. I’m glad those who relied on me were not left with burdens they couldn’t handle on their own. These days the culture of youth going door to door to ask for work has vanished. My wife and I  have lived in the same home for twenty years now and never once has there been a knock from someone looking to earn a few extra dollars. Perhaps it’s because the comradery I had grown up with in this country has grown increasingly caustic, full of fear and suspicion. Some are faster to grab a gun instead of wield a smile when the doorbell goes off, but perhaps the real truth is many people want to be left alone these days, and that’s a shame, because those who desire solitude will assume the rest want it too.

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With Love and Compassion, Daniel Andrew Lockwood

146. LET’S TALK TALK

     

     I like to talk. A lot, probably too much. I know the all too familiar taste of my own foot, and the bitterness of saying the exact wrong thing at the worst possible moment. Over the years these incidents have forced me to hesitate ahead of opening my mouth. They’ve also taught me (through way too much trial and error) how to be tactful. One would think I’d slow down eventually, but I haven’t actually backed off my tendency to blither away with joyful abandon. I have, however, fine-tuned my idiot meter to a point where I rarely cringe after saying something.

     I enjoy listening to people who speak well, and have a healthy jealously of those who tend to address their audience as if they have a script memorized. I’d LOVE to think my skills in this area are above average, and someday maybe I’ll get a chance to test my confidence in this arena. I’m currently working to do podcasting on YouTube to link to this blog and we’ll se how this venture plays out.

     I believe the true art of talking is not necessarily about what’s being said, but in large part it has to do with knowing and respecting the audience. If don’t say something that’s wanting to be heard, I’ve lost the game before it even starts. I feel the absolute BEST are… comedians, and ALL great comics have the same three behaviors in common.
 

  • They will NOT say something they themselves don’t find interesting or amusing. One cannot help but laugh at someone who can’t get through their own joke without cracking up. I’ve seen plenty of comedians who are obviously going through old material, and it shows.
  • They ALL have a visual act that accompanies their delivery. Even such people as Stephen Wright and Bob Newhart, who are both famously reserved and indifferent, STILL present their characters with skill and precision. When you think of a few of the stratospheric names of the comic stage, George Carlin, Robin Williams, Rodney Dangerfield, Jim Carrey, Steve Martin, and Jerry Seinfeld you’ll have an instant picture of them in your head because of how attached their demeanor is to their content. God, especially Rodney. All you have to do is think of his face and you start laughing.
  • For good or bad they wait for the audience to react. Whether it’s thunderous applause and laughter, or bushels of rotten tomatoes catapulted at them, they practice timing. Johnny Carson, at least in my opinion, was a both a horrible AND a brilliant comedian because his schtick was knowing he sucked and then playing off the reaction rather than the delivery. THAT’S confidence in yourself, and people are drawn to it.

     You’ve probably seen performers who were just shuffling from one joke to the next with almost no variation in their voice or stance and wondered what was missing. I would say watching mannequins with monotoned prerecorded messages is pretty much the same experience for a lot of wannabes. If YOU don’t enjoy what you do, sell with enthusiasm (or at least a gimmick), and allow criticism, both good and bad, no one will pay attention. Enough about comedians, but you must admit, they are great examples of the art of speaking.

     Actors are also in the fold, and those who speak with magnificent skill are well remembered. Personally I’ve admired Cary Grant, Yul Brenner, Sean Connery, Jack Nicholson, and my favorite, Anthony Hopkins. Keep in mind that they too also have a very practiced and recognizable body language which works in perfect synchronization with whatever they’re saying.

     I’m well aware all of my examples so far are men, which stands to reason because I’m a man, and I’m going to be drawn to align and emulate those whom I admire. I, of course, in no way am purposefully ignoring women, it’s just that I’m more comfortable equating my aspirations with other males.

     So, onward with what I want to keep “talking” about.

     When I need to address someone on an important topic I use a trick to keep my thought process focused and flowing with a nice variety of words. Almost anyone can pick this skill up and I have explained and demonstrated it to several people over the years who were surprised that they too could do it so effortlessly. In the early nineties I was watching an interview on an early news show with the wife of someone who was then considered a dynamic public speaker. This is where I first heard of this technique. The interviewer asked her what made him so good at what seemed like instant, unprepared speeches. She said he clears his mind and imagines a blank blackboard in front of him. While he speaks, he simply let’s words manifest which will perpetuate what he’s trying to communicate to the listener. He then picks the next best option and continues the process until it’s no longer needed. I tried it, and to this day when I really do concentrate on keeping conversation on topic, it serves perfectly. Give it a shot and see for yourself. Now, you WILL find yourself pausing occasionally to make good choices, but to the listener it comes across as if they are witnessing someone who really cares about saying the right thing, which, of course, they are.

     One last point (and it is a selling point) I’d like to make is the usefulness of Toastmasters International. I’ve attended before, and they are extremely helpful for almost anyone who needs to hone their speaking skills for their careers or other personal reasons, and that seems to include the vast majority of humans to begin with. They allow people to attend for free for a while (which I encourage) but they’ll eventually ask them to sign up to get past a certain point. The dues are minimal and totally worth it. It’s been some time, but I believe they may be around 200.00 a year with payments allowed. Assignment material and other membership items like newsletters will be sent to your home. There is a structured itinerary and you can usually proceed at your own pace. The “classes” I’m familiar with usually last two hours once a week and have several segments in which members will participate including, speeches, interviews, telling jokes, improv, AND evaluation of your classmates among other things. It’s pretty casual and the people are, in my experience, very friendly. They also sponsor contests that go all the way to major cities and beyond. They are, as the name indicates, worldwide with thousands of chapters.

     Remember, speaking is a skill, one which can be mastered and leveraged to sell and create the deepest and wildest of dreams. Maybe someday I’ll see you out there changing the world because you read this post. You never know.

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With Love and Compassion, Daniel Andrew Lockwood


134. SILENT RESPONSE

I have a big mouth. Not so big as it used to be, not so fast to ignore an approach of kindness and appropriate response in favor of egotistical wit or perhaps, more precisely, sarcasm; but it’s still plenty big.

As a little boy I had almost zero filter. While this “skill” becomes more tolerated in those who are of advanced age, it does not carry the same acceptance when it’s voiced by youth. Saying what’s on your mind as a kid, without consideration for whom the audience may be, can result in fast-tracking a lot of enemies, and yes, I had a bunch. Having no siblings, my social skills were atrophied early on. I had a few close friends who tolerated my eccentricities, but they themselves were probably too busy with their own problems rather than point out or be bothered by mine. There were, however, plenty of critics of all ages, but their caustic opinions never swayed me to change. Negative feedback was offered in copious amounts, mostly followed by physical abuse. I got into frequent fist fights with classmates while various adults used me for a punching bag on occasion. This motivated me to become even more entrenched with my habits.

I carried this type of behavior well into adulthood, and because I DID become an adult (at least on the outside) my reactions towards life seemed to be more and more acceptable. As a result, I figured my approach may have been appropriate to begin with. Eventually I found out I was dead wrong. People had simply learned how to ignore what they had neither the time, energy, nor interest to oppose. It was many years before I realized how much I was being politely ignored. In any case my typical approach to communicating was so far off base it was outside the ballpark entirely. My roommate from many years ago had an insight that turned me around, and I’m grateful to this day for his honesty.

My presumption was this, if I’m approached by someone with an opinion, especially a passionate one, or even more so, if they are in a state of frustration and are looking for an audience for their difficulties, then they are obviously wanting some sort of judgement on the subjects being presented. Why else would they turn to me if not for my viewpoint? Alternative reasoning never occurred to me, my ego was too dominant, too hungry for attention and self-verification. I had no idea what they really wanted, but I knew what I wanted, attention, and this action was selfishness of the highest order. I’d take the dreams or nightmares of others and use them to prop up a belief I was being sought out for my “infinite wisdom”. I must admit, on occasion I STILL find myself falling into the well-worn ruts of my past, but I usually catch myself and do what I can to quickly correct my role.

What my roommate, my friend, explained to me was this, when people open their mouths (and hearts) they are wanting foremost to be heard; all they’re usually looking for someone to pay attention to them. If listening is a skill, then listening without thinking about what to say once they’re done is a master skill. High expertise is required to accomplish this, and I’m still terrible at it. The egotistical droning in my head all too often drowns out what the other person is saying. As a result I begin to ignore, or even worse, interrupt them in favor of expressing my opinions. As I said, I usually catch myself (not always) and at the very least ask them to repeat what they were saying while I make a concerted effort to focus on their narrative. One thing’s for sure, IF the other person wants my feedback, they’ll request it, otherwise my duty is to support or empathize with them silently. Acknowledgement of what’s being said need be nothing more than eye contact and facial expressions combined with genuinely paying attention. Whether or not a person is reacting to and absorbing someone else’s delivery is easily recognizable by the person who pitches it. I know when it happens to me. Whenever I’m attempting to communicate I can usually tell if I’m being ignored, even if the appearance of attentiveness is being presented. I’ll bet you can too.

I’m one of those dorks who occasionally hands out greeting cards to express myself. Sometimes it’s a thank you to a supervisor, other times it might be to convey empathy for another’s loss, and every once in a while, just to be a goof. In any event this is, of course, a form of silent communication as well. Not only that it’s a gesture rather than a declaration. Anyone who thinks silence doesn’t have the loudest voice, has never taken time to explore the possibilities.

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With Love and compassion, Daniel Andrew Lockwood