I’ve always lived in a haunted house.

I’m not talking about a house with ghosts that pass through walls, or rattle chains in the basement or the attic. I’m talking about all of those ghosts that live in the shelter of my own mind.

When I was thirty-one years old, single and dating, I always asked one question on a first date; “How did you get along with your father?” I believe that all of us project our father’s or mother’s face onto each man or woman we meet later in life.  Sprite, for example, adored her father. That’s a ghost I can happily live with. And yes, when I was young, I thought my mother was a Saint. I still do.

Some of my ghosts are helpful. They inspire me by murmuring words of encouragement. “You can do this.”  “Express your love.”  “This too will pass.” I will always have a cozy nook in my mind for those phantoms that care about me

But what about the wicked goblins who, all too often, spring from their hiding places deep in my mind to taunt me with memories I’ve long ago transformed into enduring expectations of rejection and failure?  Those spooks are nasty to live with and difficult, if not impossible, to evict.

When I was two or three years old, I woke up screaming every night with a recurring nightmare of being chased by “The Big Bad Wolf” who was going to eat me alive.  My father always raced into my room to sit on the side of my bed.  He patiently suggested that, in my dream, I should stand my ground. He told me that instead of running away, I should turn around, face the Big Bad Wolf, and tell him “I’m not scared of you. Go away Mr. Wolf.”

I tried to follow my dad’s advice, but running away felt safer. But finally, after many months, I did what my dad suggested.

In my dream I stopped running, turned around, and said to the slobbering Wolf, “Mr. Wolf, I’m not afraid of you. Go away.” To my surprise, the Wolf looked startled.  Then the Wolf stopped, turned around himself, and slunk away.

“Daddy, daddy, the wolf ran away!” I ran into their bedroom and woke up both of my parents to spread the good news.

That wolf has never returned. Nor has the dream which haunted me after I graduated from college. Maybe you know that one, in which you haven’t attended class, never read the text book, and have to take the final exam in two hours?

Most of the internal ghosts which I struggle with today visit me while I’m entirely awake. They whisper to me, “That person won’t like you.”  “You’re too fat.”  “Sprite doesn’t want you anymore.  She didn’t greet you as ardently today as she did yesterday.”

These whispers are rooted in my past, not my present, and I don’t expect to ever dislodge them all.  But I’m making progress. Some of my ghosts, such as “You have to work all the time,” or “Sprite will emotionally abandon you one day,” have begun to pack.

It has taken determination, reassurance from others, and the passage of time for me to reduce the influence of those voices. It also helps when I talk or write about them, exposing my ghosts-in-residence to the light of today.

I’ve always lived in a haunted house. How about you?

Alan

I’m newly married. As you might expect, this means I’m making changes in my life. This morning I began to work on selling my vacation home in the San Juan Islands, a home I built more than twenty-five years ago. It’s a beautiful place, surrounded by tall trees, where my family and I spent many joyful days.

Michael is the general contractor who built my Friday Harbor home and has helped to maintain it ever since.  Over the years we’ve become good friends, sharing our life experiences, our hopes, our disappointments.  Whenever we are both on the island we visit and have dinner together. We have watched each other’s children grow up.  We have moved from being active in our respective businesses, working sixty hours a week, to wanting to slow down a bit (though neither of us has entirely managed that yet).

Today I called Michael to discuss the house but then, as often happens, our conversation turned elsewhere. As we talked I began to feel sad, but not about parting with my home away from home.  I’m not sad about no longer visiting the San Juan Islands with my family.  We will see each other somewhere else.  I’m sad about leaving behind the friend I’ve known for so many years.

It might seem strange, but sadness is one of my favorite emotions.  Sadness is deep, and it invites intimacy.  When I’m sad my barriers come down and I can gratefully accept comfort and support from those to whom I feel close.  That’s a very good thing.

Years ago I coined a phrase, “Life is loss.”  That’s not meant as a downer.  I know that life is often about what we gain – new friends, new experiences, new abilities. But ultimately our friends move away, our memories fade, and our abilities change and disappear.  That’s sad, but to me it isn’t unhappy.

Where do I go from here?  I just don’t think I’d be getting up there very often, so I’m planning to sell the house Michael built, largely with his own hands, so many years ago.

I’m sure that Michael and I will share a final dinner, toast to our friendship, and promise to stay in touch.  You know how that goes.  We’ll really mean it. But will we ever get together again?  I’ll cling, for a while, to the idea that it’s possible, even though, in my experience, a distance of almost a thousand miles is seldom overcome.

I had close friends in high school, and I’ve enjoyed previous intimate relationships, all now consigned to the twilight of nostalgia.  My life, every life, at some point changes irrevocably, as it did for my grandparents when they boarded a ship in Europe, more than one hundred years ago, leaving everything and everyone they loved behind, to begin a new life in New York.

Contemplating the changes I’m making in my own life, I already feel an emptiness in my heart, which I know will be filled by my new marriage, discoveries to come, friends I will meet. But I can never replace the memory of Michael and our building a home in the woods, our talks, our solving problems together. In a library Michael recently read my blog on hiking.  He laughed out loud and received a stern look from the librarian. Another memory we share.

So this morning I raise an imaginary glass to the past, good times, and to a very dear friend who may soon be found in the mist of what has been.

Alan

A friend of mine, Barbara, has a son, Ben, who is a junior at a private high school in Los Angeles.  Ever since he was a toddler Barbara has taught Ben to be nice. Ben is respectful and polite. He is also smart and full of ambition to make his fortune and to save the world.

One serious problem for both Barbara and Ben is that many of the other parents at the same school want their sons and daughters to grow up to be CEOs, and think that to become a successful executive they must not only be assertive, but also arrogant and devious.  Recently, a classmate plagiarized one of Ben’s papers. The classmate is both a friend and one of the top students in the class.

I agree with Barbara.  I believe that it pays to be nice.  And so, I offer the following seven benefits of being nice. I’m sure you can come up with many more on your own.

1. It feels good to be nice.
2. You can be a CEO and be a nice person. I’m a CEO.  I think I’m also a nice person.  But, if I had to make a choice, I’d rather be pleasant than pompous.
3. If you’re unpleasant to others they will most likely return the favor. Let’s not forget the example of Leona Helmsley who, according to Wikipedia, “had a reputation for tyrannical behavior that earned her the sobriquet Queen of Mean.” Leona served 19 months in prison after a conviction for federal income tax evasion. She was turned in by disgruntled contractors and employees.
4. If you’re nice to others they are more likely to be nice to you. Life is much easier when your friends and family are fully behind you.  This also applies to your life partner.
5. Being nice to others opens doors. Carlos, a friend of mine, was hired for a top executive job because he helped a neighbor by shopping for her groceries while she was sick in bed for a week.  She happened to be the assistant to the woman who owns the business.
6. People who are nice tend to be happy, and create a circle of supportive warmth around them. Would you rather swim in warm water, or ice?
7. You will live longer and enjoy yourself more. For many years my dad has been the perfect portrait of a man who is kind, helpful, and supportive of his friends and family.  We all love him and help him in his life.  My dad will celebrate his 103^rd birthday in three months.

The choice is entirely up to you.  You can wake up each day with a snarl or with a smile. In my life, I see a lot of happy faces around me.  I don’t see many frowns.

This morning I received a text from one of my daughters.  “Good morning Dad.  I hope you have a great day!  Love you.  Sara.”

I’d like to pass that along.  I hope you have a great day!

Alan