The Most Important Thing: I Like It.

For the past couple of weeks, Ive been working on an article for an online publication.

I had a great idea.

I followed through on it.

I wrote the article, sharing it with the person I had interviewed.

She liked it; however, she shared with me her concerns about becoming so visible on the internet.

I listened to her concerns; and then returned to my laptop, making edits to the article, taking the focus off the person I had interviewed and placing it on the company for whom she works and her fellow co-workers.

I felt good about the finished article. I liked it.

I shared it with the person I had interviewed.

She very much liked the article.

I shared it with the company for whom she works.

They very much liked the article.

I submitted the article to the online publication.

I got a note today, indicating they did not like the article.

I’m sitting here at my laptop now, simply allowing my fingers to dance across the keyboard and very much aware of a memory showing up from an Act 1 scene during my high school days.

I’m recalling Senior Composition with Mr. John W. Stevens and the writing assignments he gave us.

I can remember sitting in his class, listening to him describe the writing assignments, and feeling writing ideas percolating within me.

So eager I would be to respond to the creative flow and express myself on paper.

I would turn the finished papers in to Mr. Stevens.

Mr. Stevens would return the papers several days later.

I vividly recall how some papers were covered with red ink, indicators that John W. Stevens had a different opinion about my writing.

I remember reading some of his comments, thinking to myself . . . well, I don’t agree with that.

But following the good-boy, not-making-waves student behavior, I simply did what Mr. Stevens suggested I do.

Sometimes I felt OK about the results, but too often I found myself writing to please the teacher.

And so today upon receiving the thanks, but no thanks message, I’m discovering some behaviors that are surfacing that are far more reminiscent of me as a 17 year-old in Act 1 of my life rather then me as a grown adult in my life’s Act 3.

I love the quote from my dear friend and spiritual teacher, J-R, Opinions are a lot like noses, everybody has one. You don’t live in other people’s noses, so don’t live in their opinions.

So with J-R’s quote percolating with me, I simply let go, knowing that I did my very best and accepting the opinion of someone else.

As for me, I like what I wrote. And I’m owning the fact that I like it and am realizing that’s the most important thing.

Loving you,

Robert, aka Bob

Are We There Yet?

I got a message from Albert Schweitzer today.

It read: Success is not the key to happiness. Happiness is the key to success.

Albert’s words of wisdom, triggered a memory from Act 1 of my life . . . me at age 10.

It was summertime; and the McCreight family along with my grandmother took a family vacation, driving from Illinois to the Pacific Northwest.

I learned that summer there’s a lot of land between the Mississippi River and the Pacific Ocean.

We traveled primarily Route 6, crossing the states of Iowa, Nebraska, and Wyoming before visiting my mother’s cousin and her family who lived in Ogden, Utah.

Traveling across Nebraska, I asked my dad more than once, “Are we there yet?”

My dad would laugh and say, “Sit back and enjoy the ride.”

And so . . .

I learned to sit back and enjoy the ride.

I looked out the car window, taking in the land, the towns, and the people, noting how differently they looked from my mid-western home town, East Moline, Illinois.

I liked to sit in the backseat, letting my imagination soar, playing a What if game . . .

What if I lived here? What would my life be like?

The game kept me entertained.

I loved the family vacations and the road trips that we took. They enabled me to expand my inner and outer horizons and practice tuning-in to the discovering-life-now channel.

Now in Act 3 of my life,  I still delight in the road-trip experience, be that a cross-country or a cross-town journey.

The joy of my heart is fueled by driving the open road and making discoveries about me and life now.

And so, Albert Schweitzer . . .

I thank you for your words of wisdom and the reminder.

Yes, the journey of life is a happy and successful one, when I choose to sit in the driver’s seat of my life, empowered by my heart’s joy.

Loving you,

Robert, aka Bob

Life Is Great: Discovering the Fountain of Youth

A setting from my life’s Act 1 was Hillcrest School in East Moline, Illinois.

I loved going to Hillcrest. I especially enjoyed hanging out with my friends, who all happened to be in the same class with me.

As an elementary school student, I found myself frequently challenged by the amount time I sat in a desk, confined within the four walls that supposedly described where learning was to take place.

By far, my favorite time of the school day was recess, lunch, and after-school sports. At these times of the school day, I woke up to life’s joy. I could freely move about, play, and laugh with my friends.

Laughter in the classroom was definitely frowned upon. Yet, on numerous occasions, the giggles would just naturally erupt amongst my friends and me, easing the tones of the serious learning.

Mr. Jim Marvin was my 5th grade Social Studies teacher. His looks reminded me of the actor Lee Marvin, who at that time appeared weekly in a Friday night TV series M Squad.

Mr. Marvin liked to sit behind his desk and talk to the class about early American history.

Frequently to stay engaged in Mr. Marvin’s lecturing, I’d pretend that he was the actor, Lee Marvin, and my classmates and I were detectives on the M Squad.

Mr. Marvin taught us about the early explorers. I learned the explorers’ names. I learned when and where they explored. Mr. Marvin’s teaching focused on the facts and nothing but the facts.

One of the explorers who really fascinated me was Ponce de Leon.

I was so intrigued by the story of Ponce de Leon and how he had heard of a legend claiming there was a  fountain of youth, that  if anyone drank from its water, they would never grow old.

To my 10 year-old mind, this Ponce de Leon story sounded very cool.

So here I am now in Act 3 of my life, thinking of my teacher, Mr. Jim Marvin, and the lesson he taught on Ponce de Leon’s search for the fountain of youth.

What triggered this memory?

A quote from Joseph Campbell: Participate joyfully in the sorrows of the world. We cannot cure the world of sorrows, but we can choose to live in joy.

The quote has been percolating with me through the day.

I’ve connected the dots in my life between Hillcrest School, Mr. Jim Marvin, Ponce de Leon, the fountain of youth, and joy.

Little did I know at age 10 that I would discover for myself what Ponce de Leon and his expedition went searching for.

And what did I discover?

Joy . . . and how taking sips of my heart’s joy throughout my life has awakened within me to the fountain of youth.

For me throughout my life, the sips of joy were the moments of laughter shared with family, friends, and with me.

Those moments when I chose to lift myself up from the role of playing the serious, somber student to the role of being a joyful student of life.

Perhaps, my biggest steps along my journey to discovering the fountain of youth were those where I consciously chose to laugh at myself in the role of the learner.

Yes, Ponce de Leon . . . life is great.

And yes, oh yes, Ponce de Leon . . . I’ve discovered the fountain of youth; it lies within the heart and it speaks the universal language of laughter.

Loving you,

Robert, aka Bob

Three Pennies and Me

I’ve placed on my kitchen counter three pennies I’ve recently found. Three pennies I discovered one at a time.

For some reason or other, these three pennies are tugging at my heart, sparking a memory of a white handkerchief and me.

I close my eyes and I see myself at the house on 16th Avenue. My mother is there, helping me, a first grader, prepare for school.

She takes my little white handkerchief and tenderly ties three pennies into a corner of it. She then tucks the penny-laden handkerchief into my pocket and sends me off to school with a kiss and I love you.

I ponder for a moment the memory tugging at my heart, wondering what prompted it to show up now.

Oh, I could go back in time and hang out in the memory of the growing-up years on 16th Avenue; however, I recognize the memory is showing up now with a gift for me.

The gift is wrapped in love.

And how do I open the gift?

With practice, I’ve learned to do so lovingly, patiently prodding the memory and awaiting the moment when I get the gift.

Funny how the pennies I found just showed up. It’s not like I went looking for them. No, they just appeared.

And the same is true, with a gift’s aha!; the more I put struggling efforts into my attempts to get it, the harder it is to receive the gift.

And so here I am in Act 3 of my life, entertaining a memory from what some would say is long ago.

The kinder and gentler I am with myself, the mystery of the three pennies, white handkerchief, and me is revealed.

Yes, I let go.

And that is the message . . . let go, Bob.

I let go my wondering where the money is coming from and receive the gift of the three pennies . . .

Live,

Alert and awake,

And, like the discovered pennies, the money simply shows up!

Loving you,

Robert, aka Bob

The Power of the Mind

Recently Cowboy Bob and Bertha Brennonstool came for a surprise visit.

As a young kid, I loved watching Cowboy Bob on his daily afternoon TV show, called Circle Six Ranch.

I’d rush home from Lincoln School, turn on the TV, and day-after-day own my role as a Cowhand on the Circle Six Ranch.

One of the things I most enjoyed about the show was the movie serials, featuring cliffhanger scenes.

I was quite an impressionable seven year-old.

One of the serials, Cowboy Bob showed was entitled “The Black Widow.”

The movie featured a woman who wanted power and would do whatever she could to attain that power, sometimes using her pet black widow spider.

About this same time, the McCreight family took a trip to Williamsburg, Iowa to visit my grandmother’s friends, Bertha and Jack Bennonstool.

I had never before met Bertha and Jack. When I did meet them, my mind took over, playing a game called “The Black Widow.”

To me, Bertha Brennonstool looked exactly like the evil lady in the movie, “The Black Widow.”

Bertha Brennonstool had very fair complexion and jet black hair, piled high on top of her head. Upon greeting me into her home, she smiled, then laughed making a cackling sound, and said, “Bobby, how nice you’re here.”

When I heard the cackling laugh, I quickly scanned the room, looking for where the black widow spider was lurking.

I decided to stay close to my mother’s side. It was there that I felt most safe in the home of Bertha Brennonstool and her husband, Jack.

Bertha Brennonstool talked a lot. Her husband, Jack, nodded a lot. It was obvious to me who was in control in this home.

Time came for lunch, and I sat beside my mother at the kitchen table. The food was served. I was not hungry. I scanned the kitchen scene, wondering where the black widow spider was hiding.

Suddenly, Bertha Brennonstool shifted the topic of conversation to me, saying, “Bobby, why aren’t you eating? It’s not poison.” And then she cackled.

I was frozen in fear, thinking to myself, poison . . . what do I do?

That afternoon at Bertha Brennonstool’s kitchen table, the table napkin became my very best friend.

So vivid are these memories from an afternoon visit to Williamsburg, Iowa and the home of Bertha and Jack Brennonstool.

I look at the memory, wondering what’s there for me at this time in my life.

Pulling a chord of the memory, I receive the gift of an aha!

I recognize the power of the mind to create, and in the case of Bertha Brennonstool and me, the power of my mind to cast Bertha Brennonstool into the evil role of the lady with the black widow spider.

And so . . . that memory serves as a reminder to me, as I move into my life’s Act 3, to paint good pictures in my mind of the vibrant role I am creating and playing throughout my Act 3.

Loving you,

Robert, aka Bob

The Little Engine That Could

As a little kid I loved the book,

The Little Engine That Could.

Again and again I’d ask to have the book read aloud.

I loved hearing my mother and dad,

And

My grandmother and grandfather

Repeatedly read the book to me . . .

Especially the Little Engine’s inspirational cheer,

I think I can . . .

I think I can . . .

I think I can . . .

I think I can.

To my mother and dad and my grandparents’ loving spirits,

I write a note today,

Thanking them for taking the time to feed me this uplifting message.

I recognize now,

How deeply the Little Engine’s message

Is woven into the tapestry of my life.

I’ve run marathons.

I’ve cycled 565 miles on six-day road trips

From the Twin Cities of Minneapolis and Saint Paul to Chicago.

I’ve climbed in under 20 minutes,

The Chicago’s Hancock building’s 1,563 steps.

I’ve grown as an artist from drawing stick figures

To creating whimsical cartoon-like characters.

I’ve performed as a storyteller and puppeteer to adolescent young men

Incarcerated at Chicago’s Cook County Juvenile Detention Center.

And for the past 18 months,

I’ve been on a journey,

Deeply exploring my life’s Acts 1 and 2,

Connecting the dots,

Making sense of my life,

And

Awakening ever more fully to the magnificence of my life,

And discovering my personal vision for living my Act 3.

Yeah, I’ve been chugging along,

Listening to my heart,

Following my heart’s lead,

Trustin’ and believin’,

Trustin’ and believin’,

Trustin’ and believin’.

And so . . .

To the loving spirits of my mother and dad,

And grandparents, Mom and Pop,

Thank you from the bottom of my heart

For your words of wisdom

You so eloquently conveyed to me

Through the Little Engine’s inspiring story.

Please know how deeply I love you

And so appreciate your encouraging me

Onward and upward

In living my life,

And to trust and believe in my heart’s inspiration!

Loving you,

Robert, aka Bob

Time for Recess!

I’m a graduate of Mrs. Wilson’s first grade class at Lincoln School.

Lincoln School was located in East Moline, Illinois

At the intersection of 4th Street and 17th Avenue.

It was a red-brick, two-story building built in 1907.

It’s no longer there.

It was torn down a number of years ago, replaced by a credit union.

When I close my eyes and reflect momentarily on those days,

I can see my first grade teacher, Mrs. Wilson,

Standing at the front of the classroom,

Saying to me and my fellow first graders,

“Boys and girls, you’ve been working so hard,

Doing such good work.

You’ve earned a break.

It’s time for recess.

Let’s get ready and go outside and play.”

Like a giant wave,

Smiles would spread across the classroom;

And the class of 21 would joyfully exit

The confines of the classroom

and

Embrace the freedom of Lincoln School’s playground.

There was nothing glamorous about the playground.

It was mostly blacktop,

And not very spaceous;

Yet, to the kids at Lincoln School,

It was a play land, featuring a menu of golden possibilities,

Encouraging our creative imaginations to soar.

The playground had monkey bars,

And a couple of stick-hockey boxes,

And a grassy area for playing kickball.

Twice a day Mrs. Wilson made this recess announcement,

Morning and afternoon.

For 15 minutes the children attending Lincoln School would let go,

Running about the playground,

Chasing each other,

Playing tag;

Jumping rope,

Chanting in unison rhythmic rhymes;

Or

Standing in groups,

Watching the older 4th graders play stick hockey,

Marveling at the daring moves made by two players,

Using a stick picked up off the ground

To knock a small rock about,

Aiming to get it through a small hole

At the end of the stick-hockey box.

For 15 minutes, twice a day,

We were given permission to let off steam

And to learn the lessons of the playground,

Feeding our creative spirits,

Encouraging us to laugh with life.

No one needed to tell us what to do.

We simply played passionately to our heart’s delight

And then went back into Lincoln School,

Feeling refreshed and invigorated.

To this very day,

When I look at the clock and see the times:

10:15 AM

And

2:15 PM,

My heart smiles and whispers to me the encouraging words,

You’ve been working so hard,

Doing such good work,

You’ve earned a break.

Now . . .

It’s time for recess!

Loving you,

Robert, aka Bob

The Front Porch Swing

The house at 449 where I grew up had a big front porch.

It was located on16th Avenue, a brick road, lined with tall, majestic elm trees,

Whose branches created an archway along the then less-traveled road.

One of the rites of late spring was assisting my dad in putting up the screens,

Thus creating a wonderful screened-in front porch

That just happened to have a swing.

As a young adolescent, I loved sitting on the front porch, swinging back ‘n forth;

In particular, on warm summer nights after the sun had set.

To me, there was something magical about the front porch swing.

So quietly, I’d sit and ponder my young adolescent life.

Summer for me was a time to just hang out,

Hanging out with friends,

And hanging out with me and the swing.

The front porch swing taught me lessons about life.

It influenced me to go with life’s naturally swingin’ beat.

I’d just sit there on the swing all by myself,

Listening  to the sounds of summertime silence.

Yes, through the adolescent summer-time years,

I discovered silence to be my friend;

It fed me in ways my mind couldn’t grasp.

Now, I recognize how this summer-time setting served me,

Connecting me to my heart and to its whispering voice,

Encouraging me through the adolescent years to be true to myself.

Amazing how this memory transports me back in time

To some serene, peaceful adolescent moments.

And what triggered this memory?

Today I overheard a conversation in an office,

Letting staff members know if they had downtime,

Others had work to share that would keep everyone busy.

Yeah, I thought to myself,

The message for today seems to be:

Got to fill the downtime with busy-ness.

I can hear the swing on 449’s front porch,

Gently calling out . . .

Come sit with me.

I’ll peacefully rock you,

Serenading you with the sounds of summer,

Connecting you to your heart,

And to your heart’s creative whisperings,

Designed especially to awaken you to you.

Loving you,

Robert, aka Bob

Whisperings of the Heart

Upon awakening this morning,

I was greeted by a memory of me at four years of age.

There I was little Bobby McCreight,

Dressed in red corduroys and a white shirt,

Standing on the stage of the First Methodist Church’s Fellowship Hall.

It was Christmas time.

The room in the basement was packed full of people

There to enjoy the annual Christmas pageant.

I had a verse I was to recite.

I had practiced and practiced the verse.

I knew the verse by heart.

Yet, as I stood on the stage,

Looking out at the crowd,

When it came by turn to recite the verse,

I just stood center stage

And smiled back at the room full of people, smiling at me.

The words were simply replaced by smiles,

Beaming back and forth between me and the onlookers.

And then I heard Millie Lundeen’s whispering voice,

Softly saying, The wise men . . .

It prompted me to say my verse,

The wise men opened their treasures.

They gave Him their gifts.

The smiles grew bigger and the Christmas-pageant crowd applauded.

I think I may have taken a bow.

A memory from so many years ago awakened me today

To the whisperings of my heart,

Nudging softly at me to remember

A verse about the wise men’s gifts,

And to connect the dots

To taking center stage in my Act lll.

Like the rising morning sun,

The crescendo from the voice of my whispering heart,

Enlightened me . . .

With awareness and understanding

Of the wise man status I have acquired

Through the decades of living, learning, and loving.

And so fellow wise men and wise women

Performing center stage in Act lll of life,

I encourage you to listen to your whispering heart

And open your treasure chest of life learnings,

Giving forward your gifts, blessing generations to come.

I love this quote from the movie Land Before Time:

Let your heart guide you.

It whispers, so listen carefully.

Loving you,

Robert, aka Bob

Looking for the Good

My day begins by scoring a triple play:

A gorgeous sunrise over Parmer Lane;

Soft, soothing music from a guitar and a cello,

Harmonious sounds being created by two neighbors,

Young adolescent boys,

Sitting outdoors,

Seeming to serenade the rising sun;

And . . .

A quote that danced into my life,

Words of wisdom from the ballet master,

George Balanchine,

I’ve got more energy now than when I was younger because I know exactly what I want to do.

Balanchine’s words of wisdom

Resonate with my heart.

Yes, knowing what I want to do, energizes me.

And what do I want to do?

Well . . .

What I love to do is play detective,

Looking for life’s good.

And, now that I’m a senior in life,

I’m continually discovering the good in Act lll of my life

And rediscovering the good that was part of my earlier life.

I feel as though

I’m livin’ in the celebrating the goodness-of-living groove.

Do you remember what it was like being an underclassman in high school?

I do recall looking up to the seniors,

Thinking they had it altogether

And were so worldly and wise.

Well, my perspective is a little different then it was at age 14.

Me . . . I’m now in the senior class of  life.

Through decades of first-hand learning,

The curriculum of life has added such wisdom to my life’s tapestry.

And what is a key learning life has presented me?

When I look for the good, I discover it!

I must admit, looking for the good energizes me,

And wises me UP into embracing a bigger view of life.

My day began today with a jump-start with goodness.

Oh, . . .

A little later during the day,

I got an email, filled with doom ‘n gloom,

Promoting a fearful approach to livin’ in Act lll of life.

I felt my energy spiraling down, down, down.

From the pits, the goodness was out of sight.

And so what did I do?

I silently thanked the email sender for the opportunity to grow

In my awareness of the foods I’m choosing to feed myself,

As a member of life’s senior class,

A sage-in’ agin’ in my Act lll.

I then deleted the email,

Got up from my desk, and went for a short walk.

I breathed in the fresh air.

I focused on the blue skies.

I took charge of myself, re-focusing on the goodness of living.

Goodness to me is like a freshly percolated pot of morning coffee,

Taking sips of  life’s goodness inspires my soul.

And as a senior in the school of life,

I have an abundance of goodness that’s been percolating for decades

And

It’s ready to be shared and enjoyed by the world . . .

A world eagerly awaiting a focus on life’s goodness.

Loving you,

Robert, aka Bob