World Wanting Peace

What's Your Greatest Productivity Secret?

It's funny how the world works - giving you what you need instead of what you think you want.

First, you take a shot to the left jaw and you see stars. Then, in a flash, the second part of the 1-2 punch lands on the right jaw...and NOW we've got your attention.

Friday, I took the first hit.

A book arrived that my...

Having a blast over here at Zaadz!

I'm meeting tons of people and reading about some really interesting folks. But I bumped into someone yesterday with the same last name as me -- that's not all that common. And then I recognized him from The Apprentice.

That's him on my friends list on the right. . .recognize him?

The Four Forbiddens: Part II
Cash is King

A solitary, spare, whitewashed-concrete block building sat at the crossroads of the un-incorporated mountain town of Alpha, Kentucky. Perdew’s Grocery, owned and operated by my grandparents, Marion and Ina Perdew, was a gas station / post office / grocery, a convenience store before convenience became a marketable commodity.

Marion sat near the pot-bellied stove entertaining customers who were buying a bologna and cheese on two saltine crackers for lunch, picking up the morning mail, or trading guns and knives with local gossip, news that had come in with the mail, and his political evaluations of Eisenhower (loved him) and Kennedy (hated him).

Ina - the real businessperson of the family - sorted the mail, ran the cash register, pumped the gas and reconciled the accounts.

As a child no taller than the antique wood and glass display counters, my mission was to not get caught slipping a handful of jawbreakers into my pocket. From my vantage point behind the Milky Way rack one day, I heard a customer say, “Ina, put this on account,” as he handed my grandmother a few items, which she bagged and returned to the customer. The customer left. He didn’t pay for the groceries.

Whoa! What’s this? You don’t have to pay for stuff you want, I thought, if you put it on account.

I took a handful of Sweet-Tarts, M&Ms, and Malted Milk balls to the counter, handed them to grandma and said, “Put these on account.”

Growing up, we never talked about money. We grew much of our food and raised our beef or pork on our small country plot out of necessity. With 11 people in the house, we all knew that money was scarce. So when I began working at 13 in the local car wash, I spent the money I earned with abandon, like a kid in the candy store. It only got worse.

The first 42 years of my life, like most of the 296 million Americans, had been “on account.” According to CardData.com, the average American household uses 14 credit cards of some type, or 5 cards per person as of March 31, 2005. Total American monthly debt on credit cards is $677 billion. That's $2311 per American. For comparison, the average Brit owes $1616 and it's $950 for the Australian, again according to CardData.com.

I cut my cards into tiny little pieces in 1995 in a small ceremony commemorating my plan to take back my life from my huge debt. After spending several years learning about cash - you know, the green stuff with Presidents pictures, I began using cards again for recordkeeping and to reap the mileage rewards - see my Denver Post article.

We’re living on plastic in a very dangerous way

Those of us who’ve gone over the edge - and lived to spend another day by adopting a cash-n-carry lifestyle - can see it clearly. The card companies are struggling for new markets. With the American market saturated, card companies have begun fighting each other for a bigger share of the same pie. Intra-industry lawsuits abound. Credit cards can be used now to collateralize your 401(k) retirement account or nearly all the equity in your house.

But even worse, the card companies are pushing credit to the previously ignored high-risk consumers: low-income families, fixed-income retirees, and college kids who’ve just tasted parental freedom for the first time and are declaring their independence at the local watering hole with a Discover card. We choose Gift Cards to give to for birthdays and holidays because, as the ad says, they are “Better than Cash.”

We’re becoming indentured to the plastic cards in the wallets just as the coal miners and mill workers were to the company stores in the early 20th century. We can’t afford to pay the high rates, but we don’t have the cash to get out of the cycle because we gave it all to the card companies.

In Perdew’s Grocery 45 years ago, a hardscrabble hilltop tobacco farmer who’d opened his first bank account laid down a check for a bag of groceries. My grandmother looked at the check, then at the farmer, and said, “I can’t take this. The last check you wrote came back. You didn’t have any money.” The shocked farmer pulled out his checkbook and, showing it to her, said, “Ina - I don’t understand. I got plenty of checks left.”

It’s all funny money

Whether it's the $7.8 trillion deficit and our $26,272.43 share, or the shopping spree at CompUSA, or the check to the dry cleaners, none of it’s real. We get the bill for MasterCard and we write a check – no money seems to have left my pocket yet. It’s too easy to forget that checks and credit card slips represent cash. My generation, the baby-boomers, are the first to be able to “charge it” freely. We’re making purchases and postponing the financial consequences.

My youngest son wanted to go to the movie when I was particularly broke many years ago, and he didn't understand my answer, "I don't have any money." He pointed to the ATM we were driving past and said, “That’s where money comes from. Go put your card in.”

Obviously, I'd passed my lack of knowledge about money to my son by not talking about money. How do we fix it? Talk about money!

What’s the quickest demonstration? Use cash!

I almost learned a lesson about money from a friend in college. Every time he bought a Coke, out came the book and he made a note of it. I thought he was very peculiar. But I also knew there was something here that I didn’t comprehend. So I tried it.

It was too painful. Seeing the reality of my financial life didn’t fit with my fantasy life. As soon as the numbers started pointing me to the truth of my financial ineptness, enormous fear made me pull the plug and run in the opposite direction. It was a long fall to the bottom.

Ten years ago, I lost a business, then a wife, because I didn’t understand the meaning of cash. Fortunately, I found many people who were in the same boat as me, and finally we talked about money. A lot. There were support groups and non-profit agencies to help with debt repayment. It seems I’d stumbled into a growth industry - people trying to recover from years of not understanding basic money concepts.

In addition to cutting up my credit cards, I limited myself to writing three checks per month – rent, phone, and tuition payment for a child - and all other bills I paid in cash. Recording my daily transactions became an obsession – a good one. Spending 67cents for a Snickers became a real trade of my hard-earned cash which represented my energy for something I really valued. Usually, I  put the Snickers back on the shelf.

Six months passed before the fear subsided and I could actually breathe again. But I replaced it with strength and willingness to deal with my creditors. It’s been 10 years since I decided to change my financial life. The side benefits included growing some integrity and self-respect from a place of true confidence rather than fantasy and arrogance.

Writing down my numbers was a door through which I found lost faith and the beginning of a spiritual life. It showed me that my life hadn’t been about making bad choices; it was about making NO choices. My days, once disappearing in a haze of breathless panic and chest pain that comes with self-loathing and insecurity, are filled with consciousness – not always an easy thing.

Time is becoming as valuable to me now. And I'm finding that I spend it wastefully too. So what to do? Talk about it. And figure out how to spend it fruitfully and with whom.

What's your experience with money? Let's talk about it.

See the Ball

I loved baseball.

When I was 9, I began playing organized ball in the Minor Leagues. That was the prep league to Little League, which was for 10- to 12-year olds. Then came Babe Ruth League from 13- to 15-years old. High school ball started when I was a sophomore and until I was 17. And, finally, that was followed by American Legion baseball, which I gave up at 19 to join the Air Force.

My memories of baseball always flood back this time of year: The hot Indiana sun roasting us as we kick up the dust picking up grounders or chasing fly balls. All summer long, it was the same routine, day-in, day-out. There was nothing like the feeling of snagging a hard-hit high-hopper, twisting and turning as your mind gauged the distance between you and the batter, and calculating automatically just when and how quickly to release the ball to throw him out at first base. That was fun!

But picking up the bat and staring down the pitcher -- that's when my mind soared. I couldn't be stopped when I could see the ball from the moment the pitcher released it. I could follow it all the way in as it increased in size until it looked like a basketball and I couldn't miss. But seeing the ball is a state of mind, not a physical phenomenon. Ask any sports psychologist.

That state never existed for me in the first year of any league. As a 10 year-old, I cried after every game because I wasn't big enough, good enough or fast enough to play. No matter how hard I practiced, I warmed the bench. Slowly, through my 11 year-old year, I improved and grew naturally. When I was 12, I experienced seeing the ball. I became a star, hitting home runs, stealing bases all the way around, and learning to intimidate the batters from the mound. I knew something had happened, but I wasn't sure what. I was focused and, to get a little zen on you, one with the ball.

Then I moved to the Babe Ruth league, where I became again, no one with the ball. I was the smallest and youngest bench-warmer for a year. The same routine happened: Over the next two years, I improved and became a star leading the league from the mound and the bat with best pitching stats and most doubles and singles in the league. The ball was back -- it was part of me again.

Then I moved to the high school playing field -- you get my drift, right?

Baseball is a great metaphor for life. That's why there are so many movies about baseball. But for me the baseball ideal is clear: Practice, grow, and improve until you see the ball. It happens. That state of mind sneaks up on you, but only when you've invited and prepared for it.

I have to remember that just because I haven't achieved that special state of mind in the beginning of an endeavor doesn't mean that I won't by the end. The early days of any project are the toughest, whether it's building Peace at home, in your heart, or on the ball field.

Today, try to see the ball.

*Tomorrow, another baseball story about the coach -- the only person I've hated for so many years, and why that was a mistake.

Rolling Thunder

As I sat on my covered porch this morning meditating (ever-so-briefly), I listened to the thunder roll in from the northwest. The birds ran for cover leaving only the soft rain on the roof as it gently lulled me into a deeper reality.

It's just 9:30 a.m. I've been on two conference calls since 8 a.m. and revised a deal presentation for a good friend and client. They are very important to me, both the deal and my client/friend. But the soft rain, like God's background music, and the rolling thunder that lasts for minutes at a time, like the Spirit's voice softly beckoning me to merge with creativity this morning -- that's really important.

Rain on the Porch

As I sat, eyes closed, breathing slowly, my mind wandered to the conference calls. I brought it back to the breath, the sustaining doorway to clarity and right thought. Focus on the breath. Breathe in -- deeply. Breathe out -- deeply. In. Out.

Client deals. There they are again. And before I know it, I'm thinking about work, but I'm thinking clearly. I see the future in that moment, and feel it now. I create a vision for my life in just a split second and realize that I'm actually already living it. Tomorrow, it may be different. Yesterday, it was complete. Now, I'm living the vision.

Come back. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Listen to the thunder calling me deeper. Still with my eyes closed, a lone cardinal flies to the rail and whispers approval.

Success Ain't Everything

I read this at inc.com this morning:

One weekend, while relaxing with his wife, Carol, in their ski chalet, a three-story house in the mountains east of Seattle, Greg James had a revelation. At age 44, the founder of Topics Entertainment -- an educational software developer in Renton, Wash. -- had personally raked in more than $1 million a year for a decade. In that time, he had built a successful business and a comfortable life for Carol, himself, and his three young children. Besides the ski chalet, he had been able to purchase a beautiful four-bedroom home, a 46-foot yacht, and five automobiles, including a Ferrari and a Mercedes convertible. But, in this quiet moment of introspection, James realized that something was missing.

My first thought was: We should have his problems!

But my next thought was that I totally understand his situation. In my roller coaster life, I've been successful several times by others' standards (never like Mr. James,) yet always felt something was missing. In my confusion, I usually destroyed the limited success to go looking for the missing: Made a lot of money. Lost a lot of money. Been at the top of my career and booted out of the same office. Proclaimed by the wife "you're a wonderful man" only to be followed by "but I want a divorce."

Often painful, growth happened. I survived. I got stronger. And I gradually realized I'm not really that important in the scheme of things.

Some people -- I used to be one -- think accumulating possessions is the key to success. You know, he who dies with the most toys wins. Of course, the truth is that he who dies having loved the most wins. Don't confuse "having loved" with "having been loved." The latter is not important at all. It follows when "having loved" becomes your way of life. I live with someone who practices that philosophy.

Always thinking of ways to help other people, she calls friends to check on them. She visits elderly friends to ease their loneliness. She's always available -- for me and others. When she becomes pitiful sometimes because she questions the parts of her life that took a wrong turn, she overcomes it by picking up the phone to check on someone in distress. Often, they will never know that she is feeling out of whack. After listening, she feels better.

For years, I thought people like Mr. James couldn't possibly have problems. And I thought enough was never enough. Like all good stories, the inc.com article has a happy ending:

. . . to achieve happiness, you must enjoy doing your best while contributing to something beyond yourself . . . he's living proof that happiness can be found in the difference between what (Martin Seligman, in his book Authentic Happiness) calls a pleasant life and a meaningful one.

Here's wishing you a meaningful AND peaceful life.