Tag Archives: Life Lessons

A Cautionary Tale

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“I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear.”

–Nelson Mandela (1918-2013; a towering figure in the fight against apartheid in South Africa and a symbol of resilience, reconciliation, and forgiveness worldwide.)

Have you ever found yourself sitting in front of your computer, fingers poised over the keyboard, eyes locked on the blank screen? The cursor blinks, mocking your indecision. The room holds its breath, waiting for your next move. 

Of course you have. We all have. I have, too.

Actually, I had that happen not long ago. I was sitting in front of my computer, enveloped in a curious trance as I looked at my PowerPoint options. Each was a digital beacon of possibilities, beckoning me into a realm where creativity and innovation might dance hand in hand.

My seasoned fingers, once adept at coaxing brilliance from the keys, hovered hesitantly over the mouse, betraying the uncertainty that clouded my thoughts. The screen gazed back at me with patient anticipation, as if urging me to breathe life into the blankness into which I stared.

But as I peered into the depths of the display, my mind became a whirlwind of memories. How many lectures had I crafted with this very tool? How many minds had I ignited with the flicker of a well-placed slide or the resonance of a perfectly timed transition?

And yet, despite my seasoned expertise, I found myself transfixed, caught in the labyrinth of my own imagination. The cursor blinked mockingly, a silent reminder of the silence that echoed through my mind.

I sat there, staring, waiting, realizing that in the digital world of ones and zeros, the true magic lies not in the tools we wield, but in the stories we choose to tell.

Indeed, I had a story to tell. Gina Byrd, Executive Director of the Friends of Handley Library System, had invited me for an “Author Talk” at Bowman Library (Stephens City, VA). My topic? “Reinventing Yourself: Writing Your Next Chapter.”

Several weeks before my talk, Gina and I met at the library so that we could go over logistics.

“Will you be using PowerPoint?”

“No, I don’t think so. I like to walk around the room while I talk.”

It was settled. No PowerPoint.

But when I got back home, the notion swept over me that perhaps I should use PowerPoint. I hesitated for a moment before deciding to reach out to Gina. After all, I had initially dismissed the idea, preferring the freedom of movement without slides. But as I mulled it over, I realized that visual aids could enhance the audience’s understanding of my topic. With a sense of uncertainty If I can keep from it, I fired off an email to Gina:

It occurs to me that I might want to use PowerPoint after all, especially if you all have a remote clicker that I could use as I walk around.

Gina’s prompt reply reassured me:

That’s fine! We have the Clear Touch Panel (it’s basically a huge iPad) and a clicker you can use. If you can bring your presentation on a thumb drive, that would be easiest.

The next day, I talked myself into tackling the PowerPoint presentation.

“Piece of cake. You’re an expert on reinvention. After all, you’ve been reinventing yourself for a lifetime. You’ve got this.”

Sure. Right. Self-talk works most of the time. However, this seemed to be one of those times when it wasn’t working. There I sat, once again, staring at my blank computer screen while PowerPoint stared back at me. Even though I had more than a week to complete the PowerPoint, my mantra was immediate:

“Go on. Just do it. Get it out of the way.”

The glow of the PowerPoint screen beckoned, but I found myself lured instead into chasing the indoor tasks awaiting my attention. The dust bunnies, like mischievous gremlins, taunted me from their hiding places, my laundry begged to be folded and sorted, and my houseplants drooped in silent protest against neglect. As I tackled each chore, a siren call steered me further away from the digital abyss.

The next day, I faced the blank screen once more. It was then that my fear looked back at me. I realized that I had not developed a PowerPoint presentation in more than two years. I realized that I was fearful simply because I was no longer familiar with a task that, in reality, was simple and straightforward.

That settled it. I sat down in front of my computer, determined to develop the presentation, slide by slide. I had no expectation that I would finish it that day, but I resolved to complete a draft. I knew that I had to get past my fear.

The next thing I knew, I found myself ensnared by the choices at my fingertips. Each transition, a delicate balance between subtlety and spectacle, whispered promises of visual delight. Each animation added movement and meaning to static slides. Each carefully selected photograph added depth and resonance to my narrative. The bullets, like soldiers marching in formation, stood ready to deliver their payload of information with precision and clarity. Every click held power, and I was in charge.

I finished my PowerPoint presentation the next day, and I was delighted with it. Actually, I was ecstatic because I had as much fun developing it as I had ever enjoyed in the past.

When I gave my talk at Bowman Library, I realized that my decision to use PowerPoint was a wise one. It helped me navigate my talk smoothly, and, more importantly, it kept everyone engaged. Afterward, several people commented on its effectiveness, with special praise for the transitions, which they felt reinforced the content.

As I drove back home, I started thinking about the PowerPoint battle that I had fought and nearly lost. It would have been so easy for me to have aborted my plan. After all, I hadn’t planned to use PowerPoint initially. But I had changed my mind. What a pity it would have been for me to have lost the battle to the dis-ease that I was experiencing simply because I had not used PowerPoint in more than two years.

Don’t get me wrong. If I were rating the level of my fear, I’d probably give it a 4 on a scale of 10, with 10 being the greatest fear. Actually, that’s not that bad at all, yet it was bad enough to lure me away from the task, not once, not twice, but multiple times.

Without a doubt, I’ve experienced far greater fears in my life. How well I recall getting back on a bicycle after several decades of not riding a bike. There I stood, at the trailhead to the Virginia Creeper Trail, nostalgia tugging at my muscles. The trail stretched downhill before me. I glanced at the path, comforted that Allen–my late partner, who also hadn’t ridden a bike in several decades–was facing the challenge with me. But as I considered the downhill descent, I could neither hide nor disguise my fear. With trembling legs, I pushed off, the wind carrying whispers of both fear and exhilaration. The trail unfolded. I pedaled. I kept on pedaling until I made it to Damascus, 34 miles later, safely past my fear.

More recently, I had a more frightening encounter with a chainsaw. I was finishing a day’s work of taking down some small trees behind my home. I decided to end the job by cutting a sapling. There I stood—a weekend warrior in faded jeans and work boots. The sapling seemed to know exactly how to make the saw bounce back, cut through denim, and rip through flesh, all the way down to but not through my patella—the hinge of leg movement, the guardian of joints. It took twelve stitches and nearly as many weeks to heal my knee.

It took me far longer to bounce back from the deep-seated fear that the chainsaw had instilled. Months passed. Every trip to my basement found me staring at the saw, wondering whether I would ever have the courage to use it again. Determined to conquer the fear, I ordered protective chainsaw chaps. When they arrived, I put them on hesitantly, started the Stihl, and cautiously but triumphantly took down a small tree. I tossed the wood and my fear into the stack for winter fires.

Experiencing fear, especially in certain situations or after a prolonged period of inactivity or after an accident, is a common and normal human response. Fear is a natural part of the human experience.

As a seasoned educator and as a man in his seventies, I’ve seen fear kick ass over and over again as people faced:

● Technology
● Change
● Failure
● Medical Procedures
● Public Speaking
● Rejection
● Regret
● Success
● Letting Go
● Driving
● Aging

The list is endless. But here’s the caution that we all need to hear regardless of who we are or where we are in life. As we navigate life, fear can often stand as a formidable barrier between us and our aspirations. Yet, as I’ve learned through my own experiences, it’s in confronting these fears head-on that we find the true essence of courage and resilience.

I urge you to take a moment to reflect on the fears that may be holding you back—whether it’s the fear of trying something new, the fear of failure, or the fear of the unknown. Embrace these fears not as obstacles but as opportunities for growth and self-discovery.

Just as I conquered my hesitation with PowerPoint, rode a bike after decades, and faced down a chainsaw, you too can overcome the fears that threaten to immobilize you. Step by step, challenge by challenge, you have the power to rewrite your story and embark on a journey of transformation.

I encourage you to take that first step today. Identify one fear that’s lingering in the shadows of your mind and make a commitment to confront it. Whether it’s signing up for that class you’ve been eyeing, reaching out to mend a broken relationship, or simply daring to dream a little bigger—embrace the discomfort, for it’s in pushing past our boundaries that we discover our true potential.

Remember: you are capable of far more than you know. Let’s rise above our fears, embrace the adventure of life, and write the next chapter of our story with courage, resilience, and unwavering determination. The blank page of possibility awaits. Let’s fill it with the triumphs of our bravery.

Let Your Light Shine Bright

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won’t you celebrate with me
what i have shaped into
a kind of life? i had no model.
born in babylon
both nonwhite and woman
what did i see to be except myself?
i made it up
here on this bridge between
starshine and clay,
my one hand holding tight
my other hand; come celebrate
with me that everyday
something has tried to kill me
and has failed.

–Lucille Clifton (1936-2010; “won’t you celebrate with me”; acclaimed poet and writer who overcame significant obstacles related to race, gender, and economic adversity; a Chancellor of the Academy of American Poets; Poet Laureate for the State of Maryland; and Distinguished Professor of Humanities at St. Mary’s College of Maryland)

Sometimes late at night when my words grow tired of dancing and I grow tired of waiting for the dance to begin anew, I let music waltz me off to sleep. Recently, I drowsed off to Susan Boyle singing “I Dreamed a Dream” from Les Miserable. Instantly, I remembered her appearance on Britain’s Got Talent (2009, Episode 1, April 11). I was mesmerized across time’s timeless expanse. I knew then, and I know now, exactly why. In part, it’s because of the poignant lyrics that evoke raw and vulnerable emotions:

I dreamed a dream in time gone by
When hope was high and life worth living
I dreamed that love would never die
I dreamed that God would be forgiving

In part, it’s because of Boyle’s powerful, soulful, resonant, evocative, and captivating voice.

However, more than the voice and more than the lyrics is this. Susan Boyle overcame great odds and landed a triumphant second-place finish. Her performance left everyone reeling, including the judges:

Piers Morgan: Without a doubt, that was the biggest surprise that I have had in three years on this show. When you stood there with that cheeky grin and said, ‘I want to be like Elaine Paige,’ everyone was laughing at you. No one is laughing now. That was a stunning, an incredible performance. Amazing. I’m reeling from shock. I don’t know about you two.

Amanda Holden: I am so thrilled because I honestly think that everybody was against you. I honestly think that we were all being very cynical, and I think that’s the biggest wake-up call ever, and I just want to say that it was a complete privilege listening to that.

Simon Cowell: Susan, I knew the minute that you walked out onto that stage that we were going to hear something extraordinary, and I was right. […] Susan, you’re a little tiger, aren’t you?

Then, the moment of truth: the voting and the final word:

Cowell: Susan Boyle, you can go back to the village with your head held high. It’s three yesses.

Cowell’s comment–“Go back to the village with your head held high”--resonates with all of us. Something in us makes us root for the underdog–“everybody was laughing at you”–because we’re hoping that someone out there is rooting for us when others are laughing.

Susan Boyle’s performance that night catapulted her into fame and stardom and set me to thinking about other underdogs whom I admire because they overcame seemingly herculean obstacles to achieve success, sometimes breaking barriers, always reminding us that the human spirit can prevail against all odds.

Immediately, I started thinking about underdogs from my home state of West Virginia. In an instant, Pearl S. Buck, author of The Good Earth and the first American woman to win the Nobel Prize in Literature, came to mind. With equal speed, I was ready to exclude her because I wasn’t certain that she had really faced obstacles on her path to fame. Then I remembered. Born in Hillsboro, the daughter of missionaries, she spent much of her early life in China. Without a doubt, she faced monumental challenges growing up as a minority in a different culture, and her early years were marked by poverty and social isolation.

Closer to where I grew up is Bill Withers, known for his acclaimed hits like “Lean on Me” and “Ain’t No Sunshine” and heralded as the Bruce Springsteen of the African-American community. Born in Slab Fork, a coal mining town, Withers grew up in a poor, working-class family and rose above those obstacles. His soulful and heartfelt songs have left a lasting impact on the music industry.

Still within spitting distance of where I grew up is Katherine Johnson from White Sulphur Springs. She was a pioneering mathematician and physicist known for her contributions to NASA’s early space programs. Her story gained widespread recognition with the release of the movie Hidden Figures, which highlighted the overlooked contributions of African-American women mathematicians to the space race.

And what about Homer Hickman, who grew up in the coal mining community of Coalwood? Inspired by the launch of the Soviet satellite Sputnik in 1957, he pursued a career in rocketry. Hickman’s story is depicted in the memoir Rocket Boys, later adapted into the film October Sky. He overcame the challenges of his mining town upbringing and became a NASA engineer.

Obviously, I can’t leave out Jeannette Walls who spent part of her life in Welch–just a stone’s throw from Coalwood–and went on to write The Glass Castle. Her memoir details her unconventional and challenging childhood, growing up in poverty with her eccentric and nomadic family. It has received widespread acclaim for its honest portrayal of resilience and determination in the face of adversity.

I thought, too, of Don Knotts, actor and comedian best known for his role as Barney Fife on The Andy Griffith Show. Born in Morgantown, he grew up in a family that struggled financially during the Great Depression. As a child, he was known for his lanky frame and high-strung personality, but he used humor as a way to cope with social awkwardness and to connect with others.

All of those West Virginians–and I could talk about others who resonate with me, including Chuck Yeager, Mary Lou Retton, Brad D. Smith, and John Nash–showcase the resilience and determination to be found time and time again as underdogs overcome obstacles–whatever they may be–and achieve success that inspires each of us and helps us believe:

“If they can do it, I can, too.”

By and large, my West Virginia anchors of hope overcame economic and cultural barriers. But here’s the beauty of it all. Anchors of hope can be found everywhere in the world, in every field of endeavor that we attempt, and in every obstacle that we face.

Among writers, I would note James Baldwin, an African American and openly gay writer, who faced the dual challenges of racial and sexual discrimination during a time of significant social upheaval. His eloquent and unapologetic writing style made him a prominent figure in the Civil Rights Movement and an influential voice for the LGBTQ+ community.

Another writer who transformed obstacles into insightful and controversial Broadway plays is Edward Albee, whose life was far from easy. Adopted into a wealthy family when he was just 18 days old, he never felt a sense of connection with his parents and instead felt alienated from them because of their high morality. Growing up gay in the 1930s and 1940s posed immense challenges for Albee–at home and beyond–yet he stood strong, celebrated his sexual orientation, celebrated the larger LBGT+ community of Greenwich Village and the world. At the time of his death in 2016, he was hailed as America’s greatest playwright.

I’m thinking about others who defied gender norms and achieved success, people like Christina Tosi founder and co-owner of Milk Bar, serving as its chef and chief executive officer. Food & Wine magazine included her in their 2014 list of “Most Innovative Women in Food and Drink.”

I’m thinking as well of Dr. Carla Hayden who made history by becoming the first woman and the first African American to serve as the Librarian of Congress. She overcame gender and racial barriers to become a trailblazer in the field of librarianship. Her leadership exemplifies resilience and the ability to break down barriers in traditionally male-dominated professions.

In the political realm, what about Shirley Chisholm (first African-American woman in Congress) or the late Sandra Day O’Connor (first female justice of the United States Supreme Court) or Barack Obama (first African American to be elected President of the United States)?

What about overcoming mental health challenges and financial hardship as Vincent Van Gogh did? He produced some of the most iconic and influential works in the history of art, demonstrating the transformative potential of creativity in the face of personal adversity.

Or can you imagine being born with no limbs? I’m thinking now of Nick Vujicic who overcame that immense physical challenge to become one of the most important motivational speakers today, delivering a message of resilience, gratitude, and the limitless potential of the human spirit.

These are just a few of my anchors of hope. I could go on and on with others, each representing a unique testament to the human spirit. Chuck Close (who triumphed over physical disabilities in art), and Misty Copeland (who shattered barriers in ballet) embody the resilience and determination that inspire me. Denzel Washington (rising from a challenging childhood to acclaim in acting) and Beverly Cleary (whose pioneering work defied gender norms in children’s literature) exemplify the power of perseverance. Dr. Ben Carson’s journey from poverty and academic struggles to a renowned neurosurgeon and Jay-Z’s success in overcoming the challenging environment of Brooklyn’s Marcy Projects showcase the transformative potential within adversity. Mark Zuckerberg (who faced skepticism and legal challenges in Facebook’s origins) and Elon Musk (who overcame personal and financial struggles in Tesla and SpaceX’s early days) reflect the tenacity of visionary entrepreneurs. Morgan Freeman (defying age norms with a career renaissance in his fifties) and Laura Ingalls Wilder (achieving fame at 65 with her Little House series) symbolize that hope and success know no age limits. Each is an additional anchor, proving that obstacles can be stepping stone’s to greatness.

I celebrate my anchors of hope all year long, but I do so even more during December. It’s a month chockfull of celebrations, starting with Hanukkah, moving on to St. Nicholas Day, Bodhi Day, Las Posadas, The Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe, Yule, Christmas, and ending with Kwanzaa. Each carries a unique message of hope, transcends boundaries, and unifies us in the spirit of optimism and shared celebration. What better time than now to celebrate the triumph of the human spirit against all odds and to gift ourselves with an extra measure of hope.

And you? Who are your anchors of hope? Reflect on them. Celebrate them. Hold them close to your heart. As you do, don’t forget the unsung heroes who can also be anchors of hope. A mother’s resilience, a father’s unwavering support, a brother’s camaraderie, a sister’s understanding, a teacher’s guidance, and a neighbor’s kindness—anchors, each and every one. With their unspoken sacrifices and steadfast presence, they embody extraordinary strength within ordinary moments, reminding us that greatness resides not only in fame but also in the uncharted territories of love, connection, and the indomitable spirit of the human heart.

As you reflect, remember this as well. Someone, somewhere, might be looking to you as their everyday hero who has achieved success against all odds. Someone, somewhere, might be looking to you as their anchor of hope.

Be the light that someone else needs to see. Shine bright. Shine bright.