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Last week, I tried, to buy a shirt online.  I was directed to one page after another on a web site I’ll call “ShirtsToYou.”  It took me almost five minutes to find the shirt I wanted.  Then I was trapped on the site trying to complete my purchase.  When the checkout page refused to take my credit card for the third time, I gave up.

Then I tried Amazon, and bought the same shirt in less than a minute.  One reason Amazon sold me a shirt and “ShirtsToYou” didn’t is because Amazon makes purchasing easy.

I know a real estate broker, Dan, who moved to Hawaii a number of years ago.  I recently visited him and admired his home. It was beautifully furnished.

“It’s a funny thing,” he said.  “My wife Meg wanted us to retire to a warm climate.  I liked Seattle and wanted to stay there.  But on a vacation to Maui, Meg arranged for a local real estate broker to show us a few houses.

“I was in a bad mood that day and really wanted to be on the golf course.  But I’d made a commitment to Meg, so we looked at houses.  The first two were terrible.  But the third one, this house you’re sitting in, I loved.  It didn’t hurt that there’s a great view of the ocean and the house is on the ninth hole of my favorite golf course.  But what really sold me was that the house came fully furnished.  I suddenly realized I didn’t mind moving, but I didn’t want to pack and ship everything.  And I certainly didn’t want to decorate another house.  Meg and I almost got a divorce arguing over sofas when we furnished our Seattle house.”

“I understand,” I said.  “Until recently I hadn’t moved in forty years.”

By including the furniture the seller made it easy for Dan and Meg to say “yes” and move into a Maui home with everything, including art on the walls and dishes on the kitchen shelves.  “They even left their tool box and cooking spices,” Dan added. “And we sold our home in Seattle the same way.  It was only on the market a week.”

A dear friend of mine, Jane, lives in Chicago.  Her brother Ben wanted her to attend his daughter’s wedding.  The only snag was that Jane does not fly and the ceremony was in Boston.

“I sent a car and driver to bring Jane to the wedding,” Ben told me.  “She loved everything — the attention, the ride, and the wedding.”

There is an important lesson here.  If you want someone to do something, whether it’s buying a book, your house, or attending your daughter’s wedding, make it easy for them.

Speaking of making it easy, you can buy any of my three People Tools books or my children’s book Benji and the 24 Pound Banana Squash, quite simply.  Just look me up at Alancfox.com. My new children’s book, Benji and the Giant Kite, will be released in August and is available now for preorder.

Many thanks.

Alan

I recently read a beautiful note written by my friend Trudy. When I receive something I appreciate from a friend, they can only know my delight when I tell them. So I immediately emailed Trudy to tell her I was touched.  She then shared a memory I found quite helpful.

“Alan, I’ve always listened to your advice and appreciate your perspective…

This is a page I scanned for you…”

It was from a 2015 edition of Rattle in which I interviewed the poet Jan Heller Levi.

Trudy wrote, “…loving what you said at the end [of the interview] & wondering if it has to do with how well you’re doing during a difficult time.”

As many of you know I recently experienced a personal loss.

The part of the interview Trudy so thoughtfully shared was a timely reminder of the important role that grief serves in our lives.

Here is the excerpt:

“FOX:  One of your poems you’re writing about Lao Tzu:

what do we see

what can we see without seeing

what have we been given

‘      what has been taken away

what are the questions underneath our questions

how do we make our griefs our tools.”

How do we make our griefs our tools?

LEVI:  Well, I guess we have to.  The conventional way of thinking about our griefs is that they hold us back, that they’re a weight that we carry that holds us back from doing our work in the world—but there is no life without grief.  And it’s an animating force.  It’s what we need to use, because we need to use all of ourselves.  That’s a big part of ourselves.”

So how am I connecting through my grief? This morning my dad, his caregiver, my daughter, her husband and I enjoyed a Sunday brunch together at The Smoke House in Toluca Lake. Their Sunday brunch has been a family favorite for years, but I enjoyed myself today more than I ever have before.

Why?

Because we all shared a rewarding conversation. We were all open and vulnerable.  Everyone participated and we learned more about each other than we had before.

Why?

Because, being suddenly single, I was willing to begin by taking a risk. I ignored my potential embarrassment and shared that I had joined a dating service.  I was relieved when my daughter and her husband, both in their early thirties, said that everyone does that nowadays.

We had a wonderful time getting to know each other better, and it was fun.  My dad asked my daughter and her husband about their experiences in separate graduate school programs.  He shared memories of his own childhood which I had never heard before.

When I disclose my important feelings, when I ask a question and really listen to the answer, when I spend meaningful time with friends and family, I satisfy an emotional hunger that food can never fill.  In fact, our conversation was so nourishing I finished only one plate of food from the buffet.  That was a first!

In a few months we have our next Smoke House Sunday Brunch on the calendar – to celebrate my dad’s 104^th birthday.  I look forward to another conversation, as meaningful as it was today.

Alan

Today, in the age of Attention Deficit Disorder, hundreds of texts each day, and short sound bites, I suggest that the regular use of two words will change your life.  They could have changed mine.  Those two words are, “I’m sorry.”

I was in a dental office several years ago as the dentist tried to screw an implant into the gum of my lower jaw. I’m sure the Dentist did the best job possible, but I have a low pain threshold.  I easily feel hurt, both physically and emotionally.

Every time I winced, the dentist said, “I’m sorry.”  Make no mistake, his was a full-throated and attentive, “I’m sorry.”  It was not its orphan stepchild, the quick, detached, “Sorry.”  He said “I’m sorry” so well that I was sure he really cared about my pain.  But when both the pain and the “I’m sorrys” continued for more than twenty minutes I felt the lidocaine of “I’m sorry” wear off.  My mouth hurt every time he touched me and I became mistrustful and, finally, upset.

I remember this scene vividly because few dentists, or dental hygienists, seem to care about my pain as much as I would like them to.  Possibly their minds and emotions have been dulled to caring about their patients.  And that is what “I’m sorry” is all about.  It tells me that you care.

For years my friend Roger has said to his wife every evening, without fail, before they fall asleep, “I love you.”  That’s nice. It’s something we all should do.

But recently he accidentally dropped a hammer on her foot. She screamed in pain, Roger said without thinking, “You should have stayed out of my way.”

Ouch!  Maybe he was embarrassed, maybe scared that she was hurt, but Roger responded coldly.  His wife told me later that Roger’s single “You should have stayed out of my way” wiped out an entire month of nightly “I love yous.” She no longer believed in the “I love you” because her husband had failed to give her a single, appropriate, “I’m sorry.”

I’ve learned to say, “I’m sorry,” a lot.  Maybe not enough, but a lot.  I say it as soon as I realize I have hurt someone.  I’m not embarrassed, I don’t feel I will lose face.  If I am criticized with, “You darn well should be sorry. You were careless,” I say, “You’re right.  I was careless.  I’m sorry.”

I recently cut in front of another car.  Then the driver raced his car ahead of mine, forced me to stop, and jumped out of his driver’s seat to confront me.  I opened my window.  “Sir, I’m sorry.  I was wrong.  I’m really sorry.”  He glared at me, but silently returned to his car.

“I’m sorry” is one of the most effective and needed lubricants in the tool box for human relationships

One of the lines in the pop song Me & Bobby McGee is, “But I’d trade all my tomorrows for a single yesterday.”

I might well have traded all my tomorrows and remained in every relationship I have ever left for a single, timely, “I’m sorry.”  Two words I say often, but have probably not said enough.

Alan