RobKnight

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Doing a dumb thing

30 November 2009

Standing on front of the movie display for 'Legion.'

Recently, I did a dumb thing. Without getting into specifics, let’s just assume that the thing I did was sufficiently dumb to warrant self-reflection, more than one apology, and a blog post.

So how do you recover from doing a dumb thing? I don’t know for sure, but here’s where I started.

Accept that you did a dumb thing

If you did something dumb, you need to own up to it. It can’t be overstated: you save yourself a lot of trouble when you are honest about doing something dumb. Everyone does dumb things from time to time. The time it takes you to recover from doing a dumb thing is directly correlated to how willing you are to accept and admit that you did a dumb thing.

Accept that your reasoning might have been flawed

Chances are, while you were doing the dumb thing, you had a rational reason for why you were doing it. Now that you are out of that moment, you should probably go somewhere private and think about whether or not that reason is still rational. What sounded perfectly normal in the moment probably seems dumb now. Try explaining your reasoning to a friend or say it out loud to yourself. Or, say it to your cat (don’t let anyone see you saying it to your cat, because that is dumb too).

Understand the dumb thing before trying to fix it

Never set about fixing a dumb thing before you understand what you did. Some dumb things don’t reveal themselves as dumb things until time passes (or someone walks up and tells you). You may have done a dumb thing that hurt someone’s feelings, changed or harmed a friendship, or made daily interactions with others difficult. Doing a dumb thing can carry more weight than you know. Be sure you understand the magnitude of what you did before you try to mend it.

Accept the outcome of doing dumb things

If the dumb thing you did hurt someone, be ready to accept that things may never be the same between you and that person. Don’t try to fix a dumb thing by doing more dumb things. This just compounds the situation. It’s important to accept that doing dumb things comes with consequences that you have no control over.

Above all else, accept that you did a dumb thing with grace and humility. Those affected by the dumb thing you did may not forgive you. A friendship may have been harmed or lost, or a relationship altered. Or both. Some dumb things are forgiven with time, but not all dumb things are forgotten. Accept this and learn from the dumb thing you did. Make sure that you’ve made amends and apologized to those affected…if you can. Some dumb things may be difficult or impossible to talk about openly and that may make it harder to recover from. Just try to move forward with grace and humility and hopefully things will work out.

By Rob|In my mind, That's Life| Comments (0)

Atlanta in an unordered list

22 November 2009

The Fox Theater in AtlantaIt’s been a couple months now since I visited Atlanta, but I want to share a post I wrote at 4 am on the last full night I was there. I had a great time and I tried to capture why. Sort of:

Once again, I’ve stayed up past my bedtime in Atlanta. However, tonight I did more thinking and less working. I love to travel because in every new place, there are thousands of places to stop and ponder something you may take for granted in your usual surroundings. Here’s my short list of thoughts from Atlanta:

  • I’m super, ridiculously silly-tired.
  • I sometimes use hyperbole abundantly when I’m tired.
  • My relationship with flying is still so odd to me. I love to soar above everything. I’ve been in a single engine propeller plane (Citabria) and all sorts of passenger jets. By far, I love flying more than any thrill ride at any amusement park. But it puts me in such a weird mindset. Before a flight, I think about every person I know and care about. I wonder if I’m leaving them well. That is, am I right with that person? I guess the morbid-sounding way to put it is: if I never see them again, are they going to remember me with a smile? I have trouble explaining it and I usually ends up sounding like I hate flying.
  • I’m always so grateful to the people who live and work where I’m visiting. I find that I say “thank you” profusely on trips. I’m just so excited to see new places that I want to thank every person I see for making my experience enjoyable. I need to do this more at home. Everyone should be thanked for making life enjoyable for others; whether I see them every day or once in my lifetime.
  • I like being tossed into new situations with no expectations. It scares the crap out of me, and I’m shy in new situations, but I really enjoy the experience of being up-ended by new surroundings.
  • I think an awesome gift you could give someone is a “Yes” coupon. The person you give the coupon to can ask you for anything (obviously, you’ll want to give this someone you trust) for a set period of time and you have to say, “yes.” I can’t remember where I first saw that, but I was thinking about it tonight and I think it would be an awesomely selfless gift.
  • Sometimes, you just have to keep walking. Last night, my conference co-attendee Tom and I walked to the Fox Theater. They were gearing up for the last night of The Color Purple musical, so we could not go inside to check it out. Tom had been inside the night before and he said I should see it. So we wandered around Atlanta until around 10pm, when the show let out. As the crowd began to stream out of the doors, Tom and I walked toward the door. Right as we got through to the inside, a door person asked Tom what he was doing and instructed him to leave. I just kept walking. I faintly heard the door person call me back, but I just kept walking. I turned back once and made eye-contact with the door person and I think he understood that I wasn’t going to turn around and leave without seeing more. I patiently waited for the crowds to come down the staircases and then went up each one until I was on the third level. I walked into the theater auditorium and was momentarily breathless. It is amazing. It looks like a hazy, evening sky. It’s like you walked outdoors on a perfect Georgia night. Unbelievable. If I had stopped when asked, I would have missed out on an amazing experience. It’s a sappy metaphor for life, but sometimes you really have to keep walking past those who would stop you or you’ll miss the pretty stuff. I’m so glad I got to see the inside of that theater. Of course, I profusely thanked the door person as I made my way out.

Thank you, Atlanta. It’s been real. And I still have one more day.

By Rob|In my mind, Vacation| Comments (0)

Intentionally left blank

1 November 2009

Mead composition notebookWhen I did most of my writing in Mead composition notebooks, I’d occasionally leave a page in the middle of a notebook blank. The idea was to leave a space to reflect back on that period of time with the benefit of clarity and hindsight.

This post is one of those spots. I’m not going to finish this post. I’ll have to come back someday and finish it. Maybe I’ll never finish it. This post is a placeholder for a moment when many aspects of my life are weird, unfinished, or unknown. This post represents (in my head) a time capsule of collected memories spanning the last 2 months (as well as others from the past year). A combination of profound moments I will never forget and fleeting moments that take on a different meaning when reflected on and sewn together later.

Sometimes the thread of life is just as important as the fabric of life.

I’m not sad or worried that certain parts of my life don’t make sense right now. Some of it will make more sense later and some of it will not. Either way, now I have a place to add clarity when I get it. See you then.

By Rob|In my mind, meta| Comments (0)

Swimming lessons

6 October 2009

Anna Mae DeshiellWhen I was 4 years old, my mom started taking me to swimming lessons. She would sit in a wooden chair, away from the edge of the pool, watching as I learned how to blow bubbles, kick, and hold my breath under water. It was an exercise in bravery. Not for me, for my mom.

My mom had an intense fear of water. She inherited the fear from her mother, who had presumably inherited the fear from my great grandmother. This fear extended to all bodies of water, from bath tubs to the ocean. On family trips to the beach, it was my dad who accompanied me into the water. He’d carry me out to the water on his back and we’d bob up and down with the rolling waves. Thinking back to those memories, I don’t recall my mom ever venturing into the water deeper than her calves.

Determined to avoid passing her fear on to her children, my mom enrolled me in swimming lessons as early as she could. Even though I was young, I knew she was afraid. She never joined me in the water, preferring the safety of kneeling over the edge of the pool.

It mostly worked.

I love to swim and I have never felt any apprehension about jumping into the deep end of a swimming pool (especially at night). The same is not true of the ocean. The ocean scares me, it always has. Before I lived in Santa Cruz, I would regularly drive over the hill from San Jose (yes, I’m originally a ‘valley’) and stand on the bluff overlooking Cowell’s beach. I’d watch the surfers (and on some occasions, pods of dolphins) and imagine how cool it would be to be out there on the waves. Then, I’d get goose bumps and get back into my car and drive home.

When I finally decided to paddle out into the waves at Cowell’s beach in 2000, my childhood swimming lessons and my mom were on my mind. I wanted to face that fear, knowing that my mom probably would have told me to do so. I imagined her sitting up on that bluff, watching carefully over my every move, frightened for me. With mixed emotions, she would have still managed an encouraging smile, just like she did the first time I dunked my head underwater and blew bubbles as a 4 year old.

October 6th marks 27 years since my mom died after a year-long battle with colon cancer. My mom fought cancer the same way she took on her other fears in life, quietly determined not to pass the fear she felt to those around her. In the weeks before my mom died, we took a family trip to Disneyland, visited relatives in southern California, harvested and canned late-summer fruits and vegetables, and celebrated my 6th birthday. My mom was too sick to fully participate in my birthday party, but we made the best of it and I remember laying next to her in bed after my party was all over. She was determined that we be a normal family as long as she was able.

I’ve marked October 6th in many different ways throughout my life; some healthy, some not. This year, I’m choosing to simply say thanks. Thanks mom for facing your biggest fear and in the process teaching me how to face my own fears in life. I’m still learning, but the grace you showed me when I was learning how to swim has stayed with me and provides the base on which I take on my own fears in life.

By Rob|In my mind| Comments (0)

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