Spoiler alert:  I will reveal the most important secret near the very end of this blog, so it’s your choice — either skip to the conclusion or read all the way through.  It depends on whether you like to enjoy your journey or prefer to arrive at your destination quickly.

Either way, I will keep it short.

During the past week I realized that, like many of us during the pandemic, I’ve fallen into the trap of feeling sorry for myself some of the time. Members of my household have even asked me, “Are you okay?”

Like my dad, I always answer that question with, “Everything’s fine.”  This past week has been no exception.  While I gladly solicit the opinions and help of others in business, I do not complain about my personal life unless it has become pretty grim.  But I have been grumbling to myself lately, giving myself an “Ain’t it awful” message instead of the more uplifting, “Isn’t this fun?”

But I’ve changed my internal message.  While my daughter and I prepared the stuffing for our Thanksgiving dinner, I focused on the joy of cooking together and found myself looking forward to an intimate dinner for four rather than the usual throng of twenty.  It will be different, but variety is a good thing, even though I do like certain traditions.

The real trick of getting what you want every day is to realize that, as much as we try, we can’t control what happens to us.  Bummer.  But we can control our reaction.  So all you have to do to get what you want every single day is to reframe your perspective and define the outcome as “exactly what you wanted”.

If, on Thursday, someone spills the cranberry sauce all over the floor, I’m planning to tell myself, “Thank goodness.  Now I can concentrate on the turkey and stuffing, and eat fewer calories.  I don’t like cranberry sauce anyway.”  (Of course, that’s only if I can’t find my secret stash of cranberry sauce in back of the pantry.)

Happiness is when there is no gap between what I want to happen and what actually happens.  I have trained myself to accept reality, and to label it, “That’s exactly what I wanted.  I just didn’t know it yet.”

Of course, after Thanksgiving dinner I would buy more cranberry sauce to enjoy with the leftovers, which is the best part of Thanksgiving anyway.  And with only four people at the table, there will definitely be more leftovers.

Yum.

Alan

This morning I noticed a wastebasket in the hallway outside my office.  In it were six or seven trophies my dad had won at lawn bowling tournaments.

By now all of my dad’s “stuff” has been sold, given away, or discarded, with the exception of several pieces of art that are in storage and eight boxes resting in a small space outside my office door.  A few weeks ago I asked a friend to sort out the contents of those boxes, and I’m guessing she decided to trash Dad’s trophies.

I immediately rescued them.

My dad died almost 18 months ago at the age of 104.  One cord that still connects me to him are my memories.  Just yesterday I shared with one of my sons a story about going deep sea fishing with Dad when I was fourteen and both of us caught our legal limit of albacore.

“I’m never going deep sea fishing again,” he said as we loaded our “haul” (20 albacore in burlap sacks) into the trunk of his car.

“Why not, dad?”

“Alan, it could never be better than today.”

True to his word, he never went deep sea fishing again.

Dad played racquetball until he was eighty, the same age that I am now.

“Too many gashes on my head,” he said when he quit.

A few years later he took up lawn bowling.  I remember that he and the two other members of his team once played a match in which they earned a perfect score, which is even more exceptional than a perfect 300 in regular bowling.  It was so unusual that the feat was reported in the local newspaper.

Another cord that still connects me to my dad are his possessions.  His wallet rests in my desk drawer at home.  Copies of the two books he wrote are displayed on a shelf in my dining room.  And his trophies . . . I will not let them go.  Maybe I’ll give them to his grandchildren at some point, but for now I want to keep them.

I have no idea about the names, let alone the lives, of my great grandparents, and I do not expect that my own great grandchildren will remember much about me.  But even though I may be loyal to a fault, I have become more attached to my memory of Dad, and to a few of his possessions, as the fact of his actual presence in my life is attenuated by time.

In the words of Frank Sinatra, thanks for the memory.

You are a Trophy Dad.

Love,

Alan

When I was eighteen I depleted my entire savings to buy my first new car – a metallic blue VW Bug.  It was an economy car, lacking amenities such as a fuel gauge.

As I recall, the fuel tank held 12 gallons.  When there were only 1-1/2 gallons left the engine would sputter to a stop, which meant I had to turn a black handle near the gas pedal to access the remaining fuel.  Every time I turned that handle I vowed to stop at the next gas station.  Sometimes, though, portable gas tank in hand, I had to walk.

Many of us, myself included, are feeling that COVID-19 has depleted our emotional fuel tank.  There is so much to worry about these days. How can we celebrate the holidays with family?  What if everyone isn’t being careful?  Will it be warm enough to eat outside?

The biggest difference between my VW running out of gas when I was eighteen, and my emotional tank running low today, is that refueling our hearts is never as simple as refueling a car.

In each situation we have to first be aware that we’re running near empty. I’ve learned to pay attention to my body for emotional cues.  Am I feeling low energy? Have I lost interest in activities I usually enjoy?

Next, we need to know what solutions might work best for us.  Where is the nearest filling station for your psyche? For each of us the answer will vary.

For me – it might be as near as my mind – giving myself positive messages.  I know I always feel better when I tell myself, “You’re going to have a great day,” rather than, “I hope today isn’t as bad as yesterday.”

I also avoid what I call “The Coloring Book Effect.”  This means that when I’m in a great mood every color seems bright.  But when I’m feeling low everything seems dark — until I’m able to separate the positive emotional wheat from the negative emotional chaff.  When this happens, I can remind myself that life is never all good or all bad.  It’s a mixture of light and dark.

I also know that I feel better when I’m physically active, so I’ve been walking a lot.

Finally, I find that helping others helps me.  I always feel better when I’m caring for someone else.

When you feel depleted I encourage you to find your own way of refueling. Whether it’s baking bread or reading or spending time with family (or your cat), each of us needs to identify those activities that will help us recharge emotionally.

My VW Bug rests somewhere on the scrap heap of history.  I now drive a Tesla, and refueling is just one electrical outlet away.

Safe travels, physically and emotionally.

Alan