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A wonderful quote came to
me by an anonymous author and it goes like this…
"Life is not a journey to the
grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well-preserved
body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally
worn out, and loudly proclaiming, "WOW!! What a ride!"
The quote reminds me to ask myself how I am living my own life.
Since June 2006, I have had the opportunity to
spend time with my 84 year old father as he transited through the
worst part of a serious illness.
My dad and I didn’t get along in my younger
years; he wasn’t the best father I thought he “should”
be. The vein of conversation I had about him was along the lines
of, “if he had only helped me with my career choices, or if
he had only attended all the father-daughter opportunities that
were available to us, or if he hadn’t gone from home for work
so much, or if he wasn’t so gruff in his communications with
me” and so on, “then my life would have been perfect.”
It wasn’t until I was able to notice that
what was missing was my own commitment to me to be responsible for
what I think that I began to have a fulfilling relationship with
anyone else.
Yes, what I actually *thought* about my father
(and others) led me to assume that it was his responsibility for
me to be happy. With coaching at age 30, I began to observe my undermining
internal conversations and it was then I finally began to discover
what my father had contributed to me. My 7 siblings and I always
had clothes to wear, good healthy meals on our table, the experience
of traveling the world and life in another country, an education
in good schools plus I was left with the realization that I can
take on anything and be as successful as I commit to be.
With me learning to shift my way of thinking, in
this case with my dad, I’ve been privileged to learn who my
father has been in life.
He was born months after his 5 siblings and his
parents immigrated to New York from Hungary in 1921. At 18, he joined
the Army-Air Corps and became a fighter pilot, flying 3 sorties
on D-Day. During WWII, his plane crashed into a barn and he broke
his back. That didn’t stop him, he got out of the hospital
after having metal rods and clips placed along his backbone to keep
his spine straight and went on to fly in Korea and Vietnam. In the
early 60’s, before the world knew it existed, my dad was a
test pilot for the highly secretive long range strategic reconnaissance
titanium plane called the SR-71 also known as the “Blackbird.”
He professes to have taken it to heights of 93,000 feet and to Mach
3.2. He shared with me that he flew “everything in the air”
from 1940 to 1970, retiring from the Air Force after 30 years.
He took up skiing at age 60 and it was extremely difficult to catch
him on the slopes. I could go on for pages! What I know is that
my dad has contributed to me mostly by living the true meaning of
“skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out,
and loudly proclaiming, "WOW!! What a ride!"
He’s still recovering and yet with my willingness
to have given up who I thought he should be, I know if he is to
pass away before I do, I will have truly earned the privilege of
being loved by him.
What if…
We were to learn to consistently shift our thinking to what’s
right about or what works in our lives?
Consider that…
We will always be able to turn our mistakes and predicaments into
opportunities for growth and relatedness.
Observation/Exercise:
In the next month, begin to observe how much your old ways of thinking
about others have shaped how you are with them; the conversations,
the actions you take on, the thoughts of who they *are* in life.
Next, begin to look from the perspective that you
may really not know them as they are today only who you determined
they were years or even months ago.
Notice what begins to happen in your interactions
with them. Is there room for discovery? Joyfulness? Compassion?
Do let me know what you find out practicing
this exercise.
Respectfully,,
Patricia Hirsch, MCC, MBA, RN
ICF-OC President, 2006
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