onedecision.com

The human will, that force unseen, The offspring of a deathless soul, Can hew a way to any goal, Though walls of granite intervene.   —James Allen

 The year I turned forty I decided to mark the occasion by running my first marathon. This was an interesting choice considering I used to believe that it would be impossible for me to do it and that anyone who runs 26.2 miles was either suicidal or insane. So I set out to do the impossible, testing my theories on the psychological mindset of marathoners in the process.

After six months of training, race day finally arrived; a cloudless, sunny and unusually hot October day in Washington, DC. Veteran marathoners know that hot and sunny is a brutal combination that can neutralize the best training regimen. I was a blissfully ignorant novice, however, and I thought the weather was ideal. I was about to be receive the re-education of a lifetime.

On the advice of Lisa Goldman Levy, a friend and experienced marathoner, I put my name on my shirt with fabric ink so the crowd could offer personal encouragement. In big red letters I emblazoned “Super Art” on my chest. It was the smartest and dumbest thing I would do that day.

When the gun went off, nerves, excitement and adrenaline combined to fuel a very fast start. I was hitting sub-seven minute miles, more than a minute faster than my training pace. When I turned the corner onto M Street in Georgetown, the crowd was jacked up; people were screaming, “Art! Art! Go Super Art!” I started pointing to the crowd, high-fiving kids, scanning the field thinking; maybe I could win this thing. I was superhuman. I was Super Art. I was delusional.

Half-way down M Street, as the cheering for “Super Art” continued, a guy next to me, who couldn’t see the front of my shirt, said, “Who are you? The freaking mayor?” I didn’t have time to explain it; my focus was on the Kenyans.

I continued my blistering pace down Constitution Avenue where my daughters were waving, “Go Daddy” signs. By the time I got to the other side of the mall, around mile 13, suddenly Super Art wasn’t feeling so super. My fantasy of winning the race evaporated as quickly as my adrenaline.

The race then went out to Haines Point, a long, lonely, crowd-less six-mile stretch, which ended the dreams of many thousands of marathoners before me. It was here that I earned my Ph.D. in the meaning of the runner’s expression hitting the wall. When you hit the wall, everything ends in an instant; adrenaline, willpower, motivation and physical strength.

The sun and heat conspired to suck the life out of me. I was severely dehydrated, like an engine that runs out of oil, my body seized up and almost ceased functioning. My legs were so badly cramped I could barely move. But it was here that I also learned about the power of the human will—our ability to summon up strength when there is no physiological explanation for it.

 With my body screaming, “For God’s sake, stop,” I did confirm in that moment that my original hypothesis was correct, marathoners are insane, but one thought broke through the pain: I must finish this race. The only possible answer was to keep going. And so I did, slowly, painfully, a step at a time, going for miles in what felt like super-slow motion. By the time I crossed the 14^th Street Bridge around mile twenty, the full force of the mid-day sun was bearing down as the mercury rose into the high 70s.

With less than three miles to go, the ongoing, almost violent battle between my body and mind had reached its apex; my body was finished. I had nothing left. Just as I was resigned to do the unthinkable, to quit, I heard cheering from the top of a bridge, I looked up and saw this sign, “Pain is temporary, but glory lasts forever.” The truth of those words exploded in my mind. I realized that my pain exists only in this moment, but the glory of finishing this race, today, will stay with me for the rest of my life.

Like Popeye who just downed a fresh can of spinach, those words gave me new life—I felt strong, vibrant and unstoppable—any thought of failure was gone. And then the most amazing thing happened. I started running again, certain I would finish this race.

As I climbed the spiraling rise towards the Marine Corps Memorial, the crowd was electric and the cheers for “Super Art” filled the air again like I was some kind of rock star. I like to pride myself on eschewing ego, but I’ll admit it, it was pretty cool. It fueled my drive to the finish line, which I crossed three hours and forty-two minutes after I started.

As difficult as this experience was, it is humbling to realize how insignificant it was compared to the sacrifices, suffering and struggles of soldiers, holocaust survivors or victims of persecution who didn’t have an option of quitting, whose limits were tested beyond my ability to even comprehend. I feel that my suffering, in a small way, helps me appreciate, understand and honor their sacrifice.

I learned a lot about myself that day, but above all I discovered an inexhaustible will that is far stronger than my body, emotions or thoughts. Now, whenever I encounter any seemingly insurmountable obstacle, my default response is to find a way to overcome it. When my body or reason tells me I’m done, I summon my will and takes me as far as I need to go.

"Super Art" Running Marine Corps Marathon

Get the facts, or the facts will get you. And when you get them, get them right.

                   —Dr. Thomas Fuller

In high school, one of the funniest people I’ve ever known was Steve “Whale” Wyman, a story-telling freak of nature. Fueled by incomprehensible quantities of Diet Tab (there were rumors he’d consume a case a day), he was a verbal-machine gun, cranking out stories in rapid succession, speaking so fast that saliva would often spew forth from the fastest mouth in the eastern hemisphere. He’d punch or slap classmates if he saw their attention drifting. Savvy veterans learned to stand in the back of the room. It was great theater. Some people stayed for content, others just amazed at the seemingly inhuman stamina Steve possessed. Classmates came and went, but he just went on and on. I often wondered what happened when the last person left. Would he just stop? Keep going? Pass out? Would he even notice?

It was during one of these marathon sessions that Steve said that the reason gin was known for creating “mean drunks” was because the juniper berry from which it was made had hallucinogenic properties. He bolstered his credibility by reminding us that his father was a liquor distributor. I bit like a trout. I thought it was a fascinating explanation. Call me stupid, naïve or gullible, but I never thought to question it.

For the next 25 years, whenever the conversation turned to alcohol, I often shared this little gin factoid with dozens, if not hundreds, of other people. During our 25^th reunion, when I told Steve how I still remember what he told me about gin, he stops, looks into my eyes and says, “Art, that was total “Bull—-.” Now I felt stupid, naïve and gullible as I thought of all the people who could be perpetuating this same untruth throughout the US, or even the world.

The first take-away here is that every mistake we make is an opportunity to learn and grow, but that only counts when we act on what we learn. Awareness without action is meaningless. Since that moment with Steve, I vowed to be discriminating about sharing information that wasn’t verified or accurate. Although the gin mistruth is fairly harmless, there is so much information being spread through the internet that is not.

I often receive emails that, ostensibly from a credible source containing information that is shocking, if not frightening. The first thing I do is check Snopes.com, which thoroughly researches these types of stories. I’d estimate that 9 times out of 10, the story is mostly or completely untrue. I strive to be as sensitive as possible when I send the fact-check link to the sender because I know how embarrassing it is!

The timeless adage, don’t believe everything you read or hear, means exactly what it says. It’s our responsibility to apply reason, logic and facts to what we read or hear. And while the internet can be a dangerous tool for spreading misinformation, it can also be effective at verifying information if we just take a moment to use it correctly.

When you read or hear something, the verification process begins with one simple question: Is it the truth? You may also want to ask yourself:  Is this true or something that I want to be true? When we feel passionately about something, the temptation can be strong to spread information that supports how you feel, but isn’t necessarily true.

From the time my daughters were young enough to comprehend basic English, for example, I explained to them that the annual contest between the Boston Red Sox and the New York Yankees was much more than baseball—it was actually a struggle of good versus evil, a move that has surely disqualified me from any hope of consideration for the parenting hall of fame.

It comes down to one simple choice. Do I want to fuel fear and perpetuate damaging misperceptions about other people or am I committed to fairly and accurately sharing the truth? If I take a moment to think first—I help become part of the solution—and avoid personal embarrassment in the process. But what do I know? I just had a few glasses of gin and I think I may be hallucinating.

Steve "Whale" Wyman The Fastest Story-Teller in Human History

The best conversations I’ve ever had have never occurred where I spend most of my time. It happened again last Monday during a hike with Grace and Aly on Maryland Heights, across the river from Harpers Ferry, West Virginia. The only dialogue we had on the way up, however, consisted of a lot of huffing and puffing, punctuated by frequent “How much further?” questions.

When we did get to the top, the view is so breathtaking that even my teenagers were affected by its beauty. On the way back down, Aly started talking about a book she’d be reading about the Holocaust, which prompted Grace to share her thoughts on the subject. Both girls revealed a remarkable depth of knowledge, but even more importantly an understanding, empathy and compassion for the unfathomable suffering the victims endured. It was the kind of conversation that parents live for.

I felt privileged to have this moment with girls who will be following their older sister to college faster than I can even comprehend. These are the moments that I treasure and value, when I know that everything we’ve done or sacrificed for them has been worth it. It’s a feeling of joy, pride and satisfaction that brings real meaning to my life.

It’s a karmic mind-bender to think that this moment would have never happened if I didn’t “encourage” them to go hiking with me that day. I have to credit a mentor, Dr. Bev Celotta, who advised me that teenagers are much more likely to cooperate if you tell them how important something is to you and that you’d like their help. I told the girls how much I would love it if they would go hiking with me, but that we’d have to get up earlier—and to my amazement—they both signed on. While this may seem like shameless manipulation, it’s really not because I meant every word of it.

The most important take-away for me is what a change in venue can do for a relationship. The most productive and meaningful conversations I’ve ever had have never taken place in my home or place of business. There is something magical about time in a neutral place. It liberates us from the trappings and pressures of our daily lives and frees up mental space and energy to really be with the other person. On our hike, just shelving the iPods and cell phones freed up at least 75 percent more capacity!

Our homes and our workplaces represent work. There’s always some kind of mental pressure that something needs to be done. It’s difficult to feel relaxed and focused when we’re mentally conflicted and it’s especially challenging to have a quality conversation with all that other static buzzing in our heads.

After church on Sunday mornings, my wife and I cherish our weekly trip to Starbucks. It’s our special time to catch up, reconnect or just simply be with each other. We’re five minutes from home, but it could just as well be 500 miles.

The best conversations I ever had as a manager never took place behind a desk. In fact, those were the worst! An office or desk represents power and division—it is an unequal playing field—and the last message you want to send if your goal, like mine, is to build trust. The smartest thing I ever did was spend time working with my employees, side-by-side. When I went on sales calls, we took their car, not mine. By being with them on their turf, I leveled the playing field. They felt comfortable and they opened up. That’s how trust starts to build.

So if you are feeling stuck or frustrated in a relationship, or if you need to have a challenging conversation, I think the best first step is to make a change of venue, to find a neutral place where you both feel comfortable. It’s amazing what a small shift like this can do for your relationships and your life.

Maryland Heights, Across from Harpers Ferry

All truth passes through three stages. First, it is ridiculed. Second, it is violently opposed.

Third, it is accepted as being self-evident.

                     —Arthur Schopenhauer

My wife and I saw a T-shirt one time in the window of a Charleston, SC, shop which read, “I used to be schizophrenic … but we’re okay now.” It was funny, sure, but I couldn’t laugh too hard because I hear voices too. There’s one voice in particular that speaks to me frequently—a voice that sounds an awful lot like my father.

My dad was the master of the maxim. Whenever I screwed up, he would deliver an adage that fit the crime so perfectly it was impossible to argue against it. It was like a nuclear bomb that wiped out any hope that he might actually buy the arguments, excuses or explanations I worked so hard to create. Here’s a sample of some of his favorites:

·         Two wrongs don’t make a right

·         Don’t judge another until you walk a mile in their shoes

·         It doesn’t matter what someone else does, it only matters what you do

·         And he would sing this one: “Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when at first we try to deceive.”

I didn’t just dislike these mantras; I despised them, probably because I had to hear them so often. I wasn’t exactly a model child. In fact, if my parents left me in a dark alley somewhere and were tried for child abandonment; I think the only question the judge would ask is: Why didn’t you do it sooner?

These “Dadisms” were so frustrating to me because I couldn’t find a loophole.  My protests, explanations and excuses were powerless against his omnipotent wisdom. I’m sure my father knew this. He didn’t encourage extended debates.

 What makes these adages so effective is that they obliterate excuses and force us to accept personal responsibility for our choices. We can’t justify our behavior because of the behavior of others. No matter what kind of mental gymnastics we do, we cannot change or alter the truth that two wrongs don’t make a right. Two wrongs will never make a right, in any situation or circumstance.

Whenever I’m faced with a life choice that is confusing or gray, I often hear “the voice.” Instead of resisting it, I allow its wisdom to guide me. If someone has hurt me or someone I love, for example, the temptation is always there to find a way to strike back, to even the score. But then I hear my father saying, “Two wrongs don’t make a right,” and suddenly, the choice is clear.

When a part of us desires to commit another wrong to make things right, we often try to justify or rationalize our action until we come up with something that fits. If we heed this truth, however, then we just can’t do it. We have no alternative but to accept responsibility and pursue the right course of action.

I won’t get into the other voices in my head at this time, but I feel lucky to have my father’s wisdom as my moral constitution. He instilled in me a blueprint for character and decision making. He taught me the importance of honesty, accountability and hard work. I lost my way for many years, but I never lost the gift of his teachings, which did more than just guide me—they helped save me.

I’m especially lucky because next Friday is my father’s birthday. If I want to hear a real live voice, all I have to do is pick up the phone. Thanks Dad, for everything. And happy birthday.

Don Dwight in the NH Hills