My red Tesla is the best car I’ve ever owned.  It accelerates quickly, plays the music I love, and drives itself on the freeway so I can arrive at my destination fresh, rather than worn-out.

My Tesla and I have a deal.  It carries me along the road, GPS as a guide, bathing me in comfort and music.  And every evening I plug in its electric cord to supply the charge it needs to operate the following day.  That’s the deal.  The Tesla does its part and I do mine.

One recent evening, despite my best intentions, I failed to do my part. The following morning my Tesla was not fully charged when I began a drive from Studio City to Reno.  I knew there was a Tesla charging station along the way and assumed I’d be fine, but as I drove along a highway north of Los Angeles a steep incline drained the power more quickly than I had anticipated. Before I reached the summit just three miles of electricity were left.

I stopped at a gas station with an electric charger.  But it was not a Tesla charger, and the attendant couldn’t help me.  She said I was only two miles from the top and once there I could coast twenty miles to the Tesla charger on the other side.  She noted that I still had three miles of electricity, and wished me luck.

I don’t normally sweat, but for those last two miles I did.  I felt like I was on the road to H*** but instead of the needed energy the road was paved with nothing but my good intentions.  I drove slowly, and apologized to the heavens for my neglect.  My apologies didn’t help.  Then I pleaded for just enough juice to reach the summit. That didn’t help either.  With just five hundred feet to go my beloved Tesla quit.  Out of energy, it stopped, without even warning me to pull off the road.

I let my Tesla roll backward, hoping it wouldn’t be hit by oncoming traffic, and parked it on the shoulder.

I closed my eyes and slumped against the steering wheel, then got out of the car and cursed.  After that, I cried.  Then I thought of all of my wonderful excuses for not fully charging my car the evening before.  Nonetheless, my Tesla rested where it had stopped, unmoved, unmoving, on the side of the road while I waited for a service truck to arrive.

Late that evening I arrived in Reno, tired, angry, and ashamed.  I had narrowly avoided two accidents along the way because I failed to pay proper attention to my driving.

This is not just the story of a doomed driving trip.  It’s a parable for every human life.  Good intentions are great.  They help us feel good, make us smile, and show a generous spirit springing from a reservoir of kindness.

But good intentions, unaccompanied by actions, pave the road to emotional wounds to our family, our friends, and ourselves. Good intentions, without good actions, create toxic bonds of blame and a world littered with strained or ruined relationships.

Please, please be as kind in both your words and deeds as you are in your mind and heart. Or you might find yourself alone and stranded by the side of the road, many miles from where you intended to be.

Alan

Here’s a joke you might have heard before.

How many psychiatrists does it take to change a light bulb?

Just one.  But the light bulb has to want to change.

I have a problem that’s bothered me for more than twenty years.  My desk is always cluttered. I’ve made enough excuses about this to last a lifetime.

“I know where everything, or almost everything is,” I tell myself, although years ago I found a check for a rather large amount hiding on my desk.  It had been buried there for months.

“That’s just me,” I rationalize. “Lots of people have messy desks.”  True, and lots of us do things we really want to do better.  Excuses don’t improve the situation.

“I’m busy working.  Tidying up every day would take time away from my work.”  Right.  And not having everything in an organized place, takes up a lot more of my time.

So I’m giving myself a two-week challenge. I have until November 21, 2017, to neaten up my workspace.  I’m attaching to this blog a photo of how my desk looks today, and I’ll attach another photo two weeks from now to document my progress.

If I succeed, perhaps you will be inspired to make a change in your life and we will both benefit from my efforts. Accordingly, I challenge you to the following:

1. Pick one aspect of your life that you want to change. Pick just one, not two, not many.  I certainly would like to neaten up my desk at home, and also everything on my bathroom counter.  But I’m more likely to succeed when I aim to change one thing at a time.
2. Take full responsibility for the change. Don’t blame the clock, “I don’t have enough time.”  Don’t blame someone else, “Neatening up my desk is something that (fill in the blank) should do.”    I created the clutter.  I am the one who has to remove it.
3. Set a specific time limit. I don’t know about you, but I always work to deadlines.  No deadline, no work.  I was amazed when a friend of mine in class turned in a term project three weeks early.  That’s not me.  The pressure of a deadline helps me to focus.  Give yourself a specific deadline.
4. Make a public announcement, at least to a few of your friends or coworkers. You don’t have to email or write a blog that could be seen by thousands, but you do have to make a public commitment that will stick.
5. Resist the temptation to start your list of excuses a few minutes after you make the public commitment. “I have a busy two weeks coming up.”  ‘I need help, and I don’t know anyone who can help me.”  And that sturdy standby, “Just joking.  April Fools!”    No excuses.  Just the fear of possible failure combined with the potential joy of accomplishment.

Next photo to follow in two weeks.

Thanks for your help in pushing me to actually complete the one change I want to make, even if your help is only inside my own mind.  I think it will be effective.  We’ll see.

Alan

I was watching Saturday afternoon football on TV, and wondering what I would write my next blog about when I received the following email.

Alan,
The buyers have agreed and signed our counter offer. I will open escrow on Monday and be in touch with you, Congratulations!
Bill O.

I thought, “Great!”  But at the same time I felt hollow.

The house I have for sale is located across from the Mission Ranch on Dolores Street in Carmel, California. I was introduced to the quaint, seaside town of Carmel more than fifty years ago by one of my very best friends, John.  The house on Dolores is the first one I ever built. It’s surrounded by cypress trees and beauty. It’s where my family and I celebrated Christmas with friends for more than thirty years. But last year I spent Christmas on a Caribbean cruise – the tradition of Christmas in Carmel finished because of my divorce, and, partly, my own declining interest.

On reading the email that the house in Carmel might be finally sold, I initially thought “Great!” And then I felt hollow.  That’s the way it often is – my mind goes one way, my heart goes another.

The “Great” was from my head and completely justified.  Over the past twenty years, other than for those few days during Christmas, I had seldom visited the house.  Once I showed up in July without giving anyone notice.  The house was a mess.  The caretaker had assumed I would never arrive unexpectedly, and I found the sheets and towels from Christmas still piled on the floor in front of the washing machine.  But by then even Christmas in Carmel had lost its zest, even if the spaghetti sauce I prepared each year for thirty or forty guests had not.

Also, I had blocked the CPA part of my mind from telling the rest of me that the Dolores house was costing me tens of thousands of dollars a day for only five or six days a year of actual use.  Mortgages and property taxes don’t care about Christmas.

“Great!” my mind now said.  “You won’t have to take care of that house any longer.  No more new roofs, no gardener, no painting.  And I won’t have to replace the thirty-five year old carpet (still the original).  Selling Dolores will be a blessing!”

But at the same time there was a hollow place inside me where all the good memories still live. I spent many wonderful hours in that house: playing pinochle until dawn with my father brother, enjoying my young children as they tore off wrapping paper to find their gifts, feeling the warmth of a crackling pine fire during many chilly winter nights.

I hold on to people, and to places.  I simply don’t like to let anything go.

But, hopefully, my Carmel home away from home will soon be owned, probably remodeled, by another family who will bring to it their own dreams, experience in it their own joys, and create their own sweet memories.

As the American Indians use to say, we don’t really own anything.  We only get to use it for a while.

Alan