#317

M 'n' m don't think it's funny anymore, every morning at breakfast, when I say, "Oh man, I had a nightmare last night that I lost my job!" Jokes sour fast. And I guess kids aren't the best audience for gallows humor. They're like spring flowers, tender, fresh, facing the sun. Meg, however, has a wicked fondness for sarcasm already, and cynicism and skepticism; my least favorite attitudes. Kids have a way of finding their parents' 'least favorites.' Michael, on the contrary, is encouraging and cheerful and told me this morning, "Good luck searching for a job today, Dad." How sweet. He's probably worried sick. Actually, he's not; that was me being melodramatic. He's fine and Meg is mostly oblivious. Perfect.

"I don't think the heavy stuff's gonna come down for quite awhile."
     — Carl, Caddyshack

Years ago, a self-improvement article I skimmed challenged readers to 'think of some successful cynics.' I thought of some comedians who use cynicism as shtick, but otherwise I got the point. The best around us kill their inner cynic. Or they silence it, manage it, show up every day positive and productive, confident but compassionate, ready to give and receive good energy. I sound like Tony Robbins!

"Oh, Ed, you sounded like Dirty Harry just then."
     — Grace, Ferris Bueller's Day Off

I listen to the Tim Ferriss Podcast. It's been #1 on iTunes; his guests are remarkable and he mines them for valuable wisdom. Today, renowned chef Joshua Skenes said this: "To me, success is living what brings you joy, and I think doing whatever process brings you happiness." Joy and happiness. I'm in. We know it's true; if you love it, it will bring out the best in you. Your best effort, energy, focus, desire. Find what you love. Trite but true. (I love coffee. I will go find more coffee in a minute.) But I mention this also because of the word 'process.' It speaks to me. 'Moments' can be wonderful, but our 'process' — our daily rituals, habits, routines and the paths and pursuits we choose, the ones that consume our hours (not just a few moments) — is indeed our life.   

Megan let loose some astonishing flatulence last night. Laying on the couch, on her stomach, on her iPad (of course). The volume and length were shocking. I said, "Good lord, how were you not blown up like a balloon before that?!" She just laughed but I thought about calling her doctor. It's not hereditary.