Alan Fox

When my children were young I caught myself talking to them harshly.  I sounded exactly like my father.  That was scary. My father had a rather loud bark.

My father was also extremely successful in figuring out his life.  He was a professional musician, but taught his students much more than how to play a wind instrument.  And, starting from zero, he discovered the secrets to leading a very fulfilling life.

Dad shared lots of invaluable wisdom with me and my brother.  But he was my father.  He dropped out of college before he earned his bachelor’s degree, and he was far too old to understand my problems, or so I thought at the time. And, well, he had a temper.

Yet, to paraphrase Brutus in Shakespeare’s play Julius Caesar, “The mistakes we make are buried with our bones.  Our wisdom, hopefully, lives after us.”  That is why I wrote my three People Tools books.

A few of the lessons my father passed on to me are:

1. I am responsible for my own actions.
2. Actions definitely speak louder than words.
3. This is a tough one.  But I find that an apology is essential to soothe hurt feelings.  It doesn’t cost a dime, can be used over and over, and unless everyone agrees that you are always perfect and never wrong, there’s no real substitute.
4. Find the sweet grapes in life. Have a positive outlook.  Great expectations precede great experiences.
5. Especially frustration.  Whenever one family member had a complaint against another, Dad would call a “Family Conference” where each of us could speak, uninterrupted, for as long as we needed to.  (Although it seemed that I always remembered my best arguments after the meeting was over.)  As an eight-year-old my parents actually listened to me.  That was neat.
6. You don’t have to be perfect to deserve love.

It seems I appreciate my dad more each day, especially in his absence.

As Joni Mitchell sang in the song Big Yellow Taxi,

Don’t it always seem to go

That you don’t know what you got ‘til it’s gone…

Alan

When Daveen and I began living together almost fifty years ago, I told her to be on the lookout for a behavior of mine that was based on a belief I had carried since childhood.

“Don’t let it work on you,” I said.

Daveen and I had been together long enough for her to answer, “Tell me more.”

“Sure.  Somehow, when I was young, I got the idea that if I was upset enough for long enough other people would be sympathetic and give me what I wanted.  So if I go around the house sulking, ignore me as much as you can.  Don’t reward it.”

“O…kay.”  She sounded dubious.

When I think about it today, my belief was sometimes accurate, even if it was counterproductive – acting hurt to get sympathy.  Really?

Psychology books tell us that to encourage repetition of behavior we should give positive reinforcement.  When your children finish their homework we (should) say, “Great. Good job.”   (And never, “It’s about time.”)  When you step on the scale in the morning you should congratulate yourself on your success.  (If I think that my weight has risen, I sometimes wait a few days before I even step on the scale.)

But intermittent reinforcement is the strongest motivator of all.  When a pigeon receives a bit of food after every peck, it will soon stop pecking.  If the
“treats” are unpredictable a pigeon will continue pecking. So if my “mad on” got attention every third or fourth time, I was encouraged to continue using it.

We always have a number of emotional tools at our disposal. Acting upset so that everyone will know how hurt you are is certainly one of them.  But it’s far more pleasant to move past disappointment and feel happy.

We all know the saying, “Misery loves company.”

Guess what?  Joy loves company even more.

Have a cheerful day.

Alan

Several years ago I sold the house I had lived in for 45 years.  On the morning the sale closed, the buyers stopped by to take possession and found me on the patio in back, sorting through boxes of papers and possessions that had been left for the trash collector.

“I’ll be finished soon,” I said.  They looked at me as if I was nuts.  Maybe I was, at least in the sense that I am a saver of stuff and reluctant to dispose of anything. While my need to save hasn’t risen to the level of hoarding, there certainly is room for improvement.  So I’m working on letting go of possessions I no longer need.  It’s not easy.

Clearly, over the years, I have accumulated a lot of “stuff.”  But when I find something I haven’t seen or thought about for years, I still want to keep it, “just in case.”

Daveen is now “organizing” her “stuff” in our garage.  She showed me a pair of my gloves that I don’t remember and haven’t worn for years.  I seldom need gloves, but I kept them even though I don’t know when I will ever wear them.

Last Sunday evening at a dinner with friends, this topic came up.  While we discussed our collective need to save things, someone proposed a logical explanation.  Perhaps it is “depression mentality,” passed on to us by our parents, who grew up in the “Great Depression” of the 1930’s.

One woman said, “In our garage we still have my mother-in-law’s dining room table.  We’ve stored it in the garage of our last three homes, even though we will never use it.”

Ultimately, I’ve realized that I don’t really care if my children have to sort through my stuff and throw most of it out. Maybe they will find a treasure or two. Daveen feels the opposite – she wants to sort through her stuff herself.  I guess all couples have different styles and approach their challenges in different ways.

Years ago I hired a professional organizer.  She divided everything into three categories – “keep”, “decide,” or “discard.”  I never got around to looking through any of it.  Those boxes are probably still lurking in my home somewhere.

By contrast, in Viet Nam we visited the home of a rural artist.  While his art overflowed the house, his possessions included just two sets of clothes — one for today, the second for tomorrow.

Next year Daveen and I plan to move again.  She has already sent a full truckload of my stuff to storage.  I plan to visit it one day.

And in 2022 you will probably find me, on the day the sale for my present house closes, still there, sorting through my stuff.

Alan