My father worked for many years as a professional musician.  He played the French Horn in orchestras for movies made by Disney, 20^th Century Fox, and Paramount pictures.  He also taught French horn lessons in our home, and that meant as a young boy I had to be quiet part of the time.  Being quiet was hard for me.  At times it still is.

My father also required that I take piano lessons.  The lessons were okay, but I hated practicing. In retrospect, I have to admit that I learned a lot, especially from my dad.

One of his most important points of emphasis was phrasing.

“It’s like taking a breath,” he said.  “Each phrase must be interesting.  You can’t rush to the popular part of the music and ignore the rest.  You must pay attention to each note. Every note is important.”

Dad’s advice was great for playing music.  It was also great for my writing.  Every word, every sentence, every paragraph has to be interesting.  When I consider buying a book I open it to a random page and read a paragraph.  Then I turn to another page and read a second paragraph.  If neither paragraph interests me I don’t buy the book.

In the 1980’s I owned The Whitefire Theater in Sherman Oaks.  My friend David Beaird directed many plays there.  I believe that Penn and Teller got their start at my theater, before attaining great fame and success in Las Vegas.

I was sitting next to David one day as he was auditioning actors for an upcoming play.  As the first actor finished a few lines, David turned to me and started talking.  I was startled.  I thought he should be paying attention to the actor.  He talked through a number of the auditions.

Afterward I asked him, “Isn’t it rude for you to talk to me in the middle of an audition?”

“Not at all,” he said.  “It’s up to the actor to hold my attention.  If he doesn’t, then he’s not going to hold the attention of the audience.”

I remembered my dad’s advice on playing the piano.  “Each phrase must be interesting.”

So in my writing, as in my life, I try to make each moment interesting – for myself as well as others.

In life, however, I have learned something counterintuitive.  The more closely I listen to others, the more interesting I become.  This is something we should all try to do. If someone you care about is talking, listen carefully to what they are saying. In these times of fractured attention spans, what could be more meaningful than to have someone really pay attention to you?

We all want to be seen and heard. I suggest there is no better way to connect with another person than to give them the gift of your undivided attention.

Thanks for listening.

Alan

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