I pay attention to words, and I’m especially sensitive to the subtleties of the positive and negative.

For example, the other day, I caught myself writing to a friend, “I can’t have lunch with you until I finish my next children’s book.”

I imagine that most of us would read that sentence without a second thought, but I revised it because I’d rather express myself in a positive way. I changed the sentence to:

“I look forward to having lunch with you as soon as I finish my next children’s book.”

Same message, but with a vastly different tone. Words such as “I can’t” or “I won’t” hit me in the face like a damp dishtowel. Words such as “I look forward to” and “I will” brighten both my outlook and my day.

When my children were young I taught myself to say, “I’d be happy to take you to the store as soon as you put the finishing touches on cleaning your room.” This is a “yes,” and my young children knew they were doing fine and had only a little bit of work to complete.

I could have said, “I’ve already told you twice that I won’t take you shopping if your room isn’t clean. Don’t ask me again until your room is clean. Totally clean.” If I said that I might have felt better for a moment about all of the other frustrations in my life, but to my children it would have sounded like a criticism, and that probably would not have gotten them to clean their room. Nor would I have gotten a warm and fuzzy response from a child I love.

There is a saying, “As the twig is bent, so grows the tree.” To prove this point you need look no further than the Monterey peninsula where the cypress trees, blown by strong onshore breezes, point away from the sea. Just like those trees, when you talk in positive terms you also think in positive terms, and you point both yourself and others toward happiness and success.

In writing my blog for the past five years I occasionally get stuck, and catch myself thinking, “I’m going to run out of time. This is hopeless.” But then I remember an old cartoon from the New Yorker. Two men are shackled hand and foot, facing each other, halfway up the very tall walls of a prison cell. The single window has bars, and is too small for either of them to squeeze through. Nevertheless, one prisoner is saying to the other, “I have a plan.”

He has plan, when most of us would have given up.

Each of us, every single day, is that onshore breeze bending twigs – the thoughts and attitudes of ourselves and others.

I’m going to have a very good day. And so are you.

Alan

All of us are tempted to live anywhere but in the present moment.

We often dwell in the past, remembering triumphs or tribulations, pain or pleasure, from yesterday or years ago.

We are lured by the future.  We look forward to or dread what might happen tomorrow, next week, or years from now.

For several decades, however, I have practiced living in the present. It’s a state of mind, focused on being in the here and now.

Do I remember the past?  Of course, but only as a guide to the future. I don’t live in the past.  My father dated a woman for nearly ten years.  Every time I was with the two of them she talked about her former husband. She never moved out of the past and into the present. After six months of hearing the same talk I finally tuned her out.

I have a personal rule that in conversation with my family and friends I try to share only what has happened to me during the past two weeks.  I keep it current because I don’t want to repeat old stories and bore people.  I like to keep the dialog relevant to how we feel with each other right now, and what is happening right now.

Do I look forward to the future?  Absolutely.  But in thinking about or planning for the future, I remember that I am enjoying the planning, which is what I am doing in the moment. For example, at the end of this week I am traveling with my entire staff to Hawaii to celebrate the 50^th anniversary of the founding of my company.  I smile whenever I think about the trip. I enjoy anticipating the celebration in the present moment.  In this way, I can enjoy thinking about the future while still staying centered in the present. I only think about the problems – renting a car, having a place to stay, etc., as needed to make the arrangements. Once those have been made I don’t think about them again.

When I was younger, I was taught by a politician friend of mine how you can hurry along a reception line.  You shake the hand of the person in front of you and pull him along while you look at the next person in line and say, “Hello.”  This means that you are always paying attention to the next person, not the one attached to the hand you are pulling. By rushing the reception line along you are living in the future. But why rush your life along? Why not connect with the person you are with in the moment,

Living in the present improves human connection. When you talk to me I am only doing one thing: listening to you intently.  I’m not thinking about what I should say next or what I will eat for lunch.  I’m not remembering what happened last night.  I am paying attention to you.  Right now.  The flip side to this is that I expect you to pay undivided attention to me when I talk, and not take out your iPhone to check the latest text you might have received.

I enjoy the person I’m with when we’re together, and I don’t miss people who aren’t here.  If I did, I would be living in the future.  Then, when that future arrived, when I saw them, I would be thinking about my next future and I would completely miss the benefit of seeing, hearing, and feeling everything that is taking place in my life right now.

So stop to smell the roses.  And then sneeze.  It’s all a part of life.

Alan

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