Balance + Compensation

One lesson we can learn from the forces in the universe is balance. You might think of it as a Yin-Yang thing, but I believe it goes much deeper than that.

One of the things that came to me today when pondering the subject of balance and compensation is advice that comes from several different sources that I've gained much insight from. It is quite simple in theory, but it takes discipline combined with discernment to put into practice. In order to achieve extraordinary feats, success is dependent upon first eliminating your barriers. Some of our barriers are physical and tangible, but others are mental, spiritual or social. In the case where those barriers are inherent or impossible to eliminate, the next strategy is compensation. Compensation may come from within or we may have to rely on a "higher power" - either a mentor or from God. Each one of us is unique in our innate abilities, limitations, balance between our abilities and limitations and our means of compensation, and each of us relies on different methods of compensation or what some refer to as coping strategies. Whatever the case may be, since we are all different, what works for one person may or may not work for another person, so these are some things to keep in mind when trying to assist or give advice to someone else or in the case where someone is trying to help by offering advice.

Our balance between abilities and limitations is rarely (if ever) 50/50. The imbalance may be somewhere like 40/30 or 20/70 or something like that for example, and the compensation will therefore need to be 30% and 10% respectively.

If this is starting to seem incoherent rambling, let me explain a few details to clear up the murky waters.

Abilities come in the form of talents (that we've worked hard to develop), inherent gifts (that we were naturally born with), and principles that we either acquired through childhood development and/or mature decisions or through experience. These are the attributes that lead to success.

Limitations are the barriers that we either place upon ourselves or have been placed in our way by other people. This also the baggage that naturally weighs us down through negativity, traumatic experiences, lack of confidence or other intangible, yet absolutely real conditions. Other barriers include physical and mental handicaps that exist regardless of any attempts to eliminate them, though some of the effects may be reduced or canceled out through compensation.

Compensation is a deliberate or subconscious method used to fill in the gaps where your abilities run short. Compensation is often good, but is often ineffective. Sometimes compensation can be detrimental to our progression or may be harmful to others or to our relationships, depending on what types of compensation are used and what is at stake. Compensation has to come from somewhere, so it sometimes comes at a price that drains us of resources that we could have otherwise used toward developing our abilities or the compensation comes from an external source, relying upon others and weakening their reserves.

Eliminating barriers often requires the help of others or temporarily compensation from within, in order to have the strength, courage or knowledge necessary to develop positive attitudes and rewire our neural connections to permanently change behaviors. Think of it in terms of building a bridge. A bridge doesn't just appear out of nowhere. It starts with weaker and less efficient methods or workarounds until the permanent structure is complete and thus the barrier is eliminated.

So, what do we do once we've eliminated those barriers and become successful in our areas of weakness? One might think that we could or should rise above the rest of the populous to dominate. This is erroneous because then a negative attitude toward others (that of feeling superior or desiring to dominate) becomes a liability - a limitation, so to speak. I've witnessed what I call "intellectual implosion" happen with some people and with others I have seen how pride has been the downfall of others. Whatever the case, a person reaches a point where they feel they no longer need to improve or they no longer need God or they feel superior to others and treat those less fortunate as peasants or foolish. They forget that at some time in their lives (and even at present) they have needed compensation from external sources. At this point, a person can go one of two directions: 1) Be humbled and genuinely elevate others through efforts of compensation. Teach, mentor, financially sustain and actively help others because they know that we become stronger as a society when more people are successful. 2) The person can pursue dominance. Token donations to the poor are used as leverage, but otherwise this person fails to acknowledge where he/she came from and feels fully entitled to any and all riches, accolades and distinction - in other words: power.

What do we gain from this? First, we must understand that the world is unfair. People are going to abuse their positions of distinction and wealth. Some stars shine brighter than others - meaning that some people develop extraordinary abilities and use them for good (and should rightly be acknowledged for their strengths) and there are yet others who either hide their talents or waste their gifts or abuse them to do evil. Some people have riches who do not deserve them. Truly, that is their barrier that stands in the way of becoming a wonderful human being. Most of us are going to simply be average. There is nothing wrong with that, however there are ALWAYS ways in which each of us can break down those barriers or find compensation to liberate our extraordinary abilities. We can ALL improve and find ways to help elevate others. No man (or woman) is an island. We are all interdependent and no matter how far a person ascends up the ladder, there is always the risk of falling. When a person has abandoned those who have helped that him/her get to that position, nobody is going to be there to break their fall.

Regarding First Amendment Rights

I'm going to exercise my constitutional First Amendment rights and break silence for a bit because I believe that if we do not continue to exercise our constitutional rights, we will lose them.

We are at a crossroads where our rights are being threatened. There are those who belong to influential movements - outside our country as well as domestically - who do not share the same convictions and passion for defending our constitution and our freedoms the same way as patriots who have sworn with their lives in the defense of our country and constitution do and have done in years past.

For these special interest groups, rather than standing up for freedom of speech, religion, the press and the right to peaceably assemble (as well as other amendments contained in what is known as the Bill of Rights), it is more important for them to promote their own interests alone, disregarding the rights of others.

For lack of better terminology, we live in a hostile world. There are many things, too numerous to number, that are offensive, destructive, and even harmful. We need to delineate and distinguish between those that can cause us actual harm and those we simply deem offensive.

In order to preserve that which we hold dear to us: our sacred beliefs, our religions, the thoughts in our hearts and minds, that which we teach our children in our own homes and in our sacred sanctuaries... it is IMPERATIVE that we also tolerate that which we feel is offensive to us. If we cherish what we believe, we must also allow others to express their beliefs as well... and we must accept criticisms of our beliefs.

We are all going to be offended. That is a fact of life. I can't even take a drive down the street or visit a public place without finding something that is offensive to me in one way or other. I can't attend school or go shopping or turn on the TV or even go to church without finding something that offends me. To rise up and force others to bow to my whims because I find something offensive oversteps another's rights of free expression. To litigiously compel individuals and business owners to cater to my every desire because otherwise I would be offended is a violation of that person's constitutional rights - which violates not only the business owner's First Amendment rights, but could also trample on his or her Sixth Amendment rights as well.

We must be cautious of what "rights" we promote as our own because as we abuse the courts for our own purposes, we set precedence for that which we certainly will find offensive and even to the point of destroying the very constitution that we are using as our legal leverage... because the end result is censorship. Censorship is one of the first steps toward tyranny. When the government gets involved in managing our personal affairs, the less liberties we enjoy.

Tolerance is a two-way street. I do not agree with every decision that is enacted into law and some I find very offensive, but it would behoove me to at least tolerate and recognize those laws. Likewise, I would expect reciprocation on the part of others, who disagree with or would find offense in my particular beliefs as I exercise my constitutional rights. To only recognize one group's or one person's constitutional rights (as interpreted by members of the Supreme Court) but to impede or nullify another's rights is unbalanced and the end result will most certainly bring about unintended consequences - because in everything, there are natural laws of equilibrium. There can't NOT be a rebalancing of powers. Throughout history this results in uprising, rebellions and physical violence. We do NOT want this.

Those who truly believe in peace will work toward peaceful resolutions which require tolerance on ALL sides. Those who are religious must tolerate that which is considered to be the most vile and offensive while those who eschew religion or who have alternative or unconventional religious beliefs should also tolerate those beliefs - especially considering that the majority of citizens in our country adhere to a spiritual belief system. Those with differing beliefs must also tolerate not only what they deem offensive, but accept inconveniences that come about as a result of religious preference.

In the end, we must work toward unity or our methods of divisiveness will rip our nation apart. If we continue down this disturbing path, the end result will result in destruction and violence like we have never experienced before. We cannot achieve love through hatred.

One final thought: It is more important to Do right than to Be right.

The Term: "Narrative"

One of the current buzzwords that I find most disturbing is the word "narrative." In and of itself, it is an innocent word, but the way it is used so prevalently is that it is used interchangeably with the word "truth" - the idea that if you believe something strongly enough, it is therefore truth, is a very disturbing concept. Some might find it offensive, but truth is an absolute. Anything that is not within the bounds of that absolute is not truth. The truth IS binary. 

I must also add the disclaimer that we ALL lie and we are ALL hypocrites to one degree or other, but probably what matters most is what justification we use for as a basis for our deceptions - and what are our intentions or end goals? Sometimes, deception is used as a defense or weapon against evil and there are numerous examples of governments' use of deception to keep their country safe from enemies and there are even numerous examples of deception used for righteous purpose in the holy scriptures. But those are the extreme exceptions. 

Lying is so commonplace now that we don't know what is the truth anymore. Dishonesty has become so accepted in our society that it in some circles it is even considered honorable to lie... but even more of an honor to lie to the world is to lie to one's self. We have gone to the extent that our fantasies become "truths" and we wrap our lies, justifications, propagandas and belittling of those who disagree with us into a tidy package called our "narrative." 

It is a constant battle between media sources, with each end of the political or social spectrum calling each other liars. Who do we believe? What is truth anymore? It dawned on me yesterday as I was pondering the subject. The narrative has become the new "truth" and ALL major media sources that call their brand of media "news" are liars - ALL of them. Some of them lie knowingly and intentionally because they are elitists pushing a specific agenda and for them "the end justifies the means." Others, use speculative or unreliable reports as their sources and hope for the best. Sometimes it turns out to be true, sometimes not. Probably the vast majority of "news" outlets unintentionally, yet repeatedly report false information ignorantly. They don't understand the issues and are simply the messengers, disseminating whatever information gets transmitted to them without bothering to check the veracity of their feeds. News is a multi-billion-dollar media industry. What matters most in terms of their success (financially) is who reports the story first and/or who gets the most views. It's nothing more than sleazy competition, not unlike any other form of media or entertainment. The media in its many forms are extensions of political candidates and entities (to include political action committees - especially those entities) so the media is therefore a propaganda machine - but that is a whole other subject unto itself.  

So, the next time you hear the term "narrative" don't naturally assume it to be truth. It is merely personal opinion on steroids. Truth is truth - it is binary... it is absolute. Anything outside the bounds of truth amounts to nothing more than a lie.

Earth Day 2015

I've recycled when and where I could ever since I could remember and it's disheartening to see the effects of littering or misuse of resources resulting in unnecessary waste and adverse effects on our environment. Recycling is part of the solution, but the problems go much deeper than that and recycling is not always possible... of feasible... and many times when we think we are recycling, our efforts to sort and place "recyclables" into the proper receptacles are in vain because much of it ends up in landfills. But landfills are not the main problem. The problem is not properly managing waste or raw resources in the first place. Many of the atrocities we are acutely aware of are in third-world countries and serve as an example of how NOT to manage waste. When we outsource our manufacturing to countries that don't have adequate infrastructures for manufacturing and agriculture, the environment suffers, most especially in their communities.

Many of our problems can be managed at the consumer level. It goes beyond sorting out our recyclables and putting them into the proper receptacles. It starts with our purchasing decisions. 1) Purchase only items we need. 2) Don't make unnecessary trips in our motor vehicles or aircraft. Look for items that have minimal packaging, if possible. 3) Next, don't litter. I've seen people intentionally throwing trash out of the windows of their vehicles or just drop items on the ground or leave their trash behind in classrooms or whatever. There are people who want to save a few bucks in dumping fees who dump their trash, furniture, tires... even toxic waste, in vacant lots or in ditches along less-traveled roads. How could anyone with a conscience do this? 4) If you cut a tree down, plant another one... or two. Or just plant a tree or two regardless. 5) Be careful to avoid introducing non-native species, especially invasive species. Many are introduced accidentally by transport, agriculture or exotic pets and fish released into the wild. Some are intentionally introduced as a means to manage ecological problems, which further upset the natural balance. Florida is FULL of non-native species. Only buy or plant native plants for your yards. 6) Reuse items that would normally be thrown away. Trash bags are not a bad thing, if managed properly. We can use and reuse them over and over again and if possible, in the end recycle them. Many items that we see as trash can be reused or donated to charities and even if they are broken or don't work can often be recycled for scrap. It's hard work, but I've generated hundreds (possibly thousands) of dollars dismantling electronics and appliances for scrap metals. It put a few extra dollars in my pocket to pay for equipment that I couldn't afford otherwise. 7) Even if you didn't make the mess, clean it up anyway. Besides being involved in designated clean-up activities, we can do this every day, in every situation and in any location. It's really not a big deal to pick up a random piece of trash and dispose of it properly. Really.

In the United States and Canada, I think we've come a long way in managing our resources, but we could still do better with a few tweaks here and there. We ALL generate trash and consume resources. Awareness and education to learning how to minimize our impact and how to properly dispose of waste can make our communities better and cleaner. Yes, it takes a bit of effort, but if EVERYONE put forth a little more effort, the results could be astounding.

The Bullet - Part Two

            Timmy woke up to the sound of chirping, but it wasn’t that annoying killdeer.  His sense of smell returned with a sharp odor, but it wasn’t expended nitrocellulose; it was rubbing alcohol.  He turned toward the direction of the chirping and was captivated by the green illuminated line that peaked in sync with the chirping.  He felt a hand, but it wasn’t Mom’s - Dad!  He retracted as he turned to face him, but Dad gripped tighter and pulled Timmy closer.  Dad’s eyes were red and puffy. 

      Dad turned away and quietly spoke, “He’s waking up, go get the nurse, Sandy.”    When Timmy realized Dad was talking to Mom, he turned his gaze toward her.  She indulged for a moment, smiling through her tears at Timmy before she floated out of the room.

      “Mom is pretty, even when she is crying,” Timmy thought. 

      Breaking the silence, Dad spoke through sobs, “We… thought you weren’t… gonna make it.” 

      “I’m sorry I’ve been so harsh at times… I figured it was for your own good,” he continued. 

      Dad’s eyes locked with Timmy’s, “I love you, son.”  He gripped Timmy’s hand a little tighter, “forgive me?”

      Timmy nodded and felt tears welling in his own eyes and briskly blotted them with his bandaged arm.  It was like somebody else speaking as Timmy blurted, “I’m sorry I got into your drawer!”

      Dad’s face went pale.  Timmy felt Dad’s hand get clammy and he loosened his grip.  The wicker chair crackled and creaked under Dad’s full weight as he fell back into it and stared blankly at the medical instruments, wiping sweat from his mouth.  He realized Timmy had discovered his secrets. 

      Timmy fidgeted, hoping that Mom or a doctor or the nurse would step into the room to break the sickening tension that filled the air.  As Dad’s nostrils flared, Timmy had a sinking feeling, as though Dad were about to reach for his pocket knife… yet deep inside Timmy felt another emotion stirring - giddiness.

      Dad avoided eye contact, which made Timmy wonder what other secrets he was hiding.  As he contemplated treasures he had yet to discover, Timmy trembled like a dry alcoholic walking past the open door of a tavern; being blasted by an unanticipated waft of spirits.

The Bullet - Part One

This is part one of a two-part short story that I wrote for Creative Writing. In order to view part two, go to that page on the blog.

         The Rural Idaho soil burned his knees through the flimsy iron-on patches of his K-Mart specials as he knelt, stunned… still clutching the rock he had just used to smash the rifle cartridge that blew up in his face.  He mentally inventoried every part of his body from the top of his head to the tips of his toes and from what he could ascertain (aside from being deafened), he felt unscathed. He could still hear the “kee-ew… kee-ew!” of an obnoxious killdeer off in the distance over the persistent ringing in his right ear, so he knew he wasn’t completely deaf.  It was a close call.

            One of Dad’s repetitious admonishments came fresh to his mind; in fact it was just yesterday that he regurgitated the hollow warning over some relatively benign activity (well, compared to pounding a bullet with a rock, anyway), “Timmy, if you don’t be careful, you’ll never make it ‘til your ninth birthday!”  But he couldn’t help the way he was.  Curiosity was in his blood, but maybe this was the turning point.  Perhaps this was the lesson he needed to cure him.  This time, he felt the desire for the thrill of satisfying his curiosity flowing out of him. 

            He no longer had the desire to sneak into Dad’s sock drawer, seeking forbidden treasures, which seemed more bizarre, the deeper he excavated. Behind a mysterious cardboard box labeled: Lubricated Condoms was a smaller box, heavy for its size.  On the top was labeled 50 Rimfire Cartridges, but what attracted his attention most was the warning: “Keep out of the reach of children.”  There are few things that pique the curiosity of a little boy with an overactive mind more than a suggestion of danger.  “He’ll never notice one missing,” Timmy rationalized.  After pocketing one, he shook the box a little to fill in the empty spot and carefully replaced it before stealthily sliding the stubborn drawer shut.

            The shiny brass shell lost more of its luster with each blow.  It was satisfying, yet frustrating as the lethal instrument approached paper-thin.  It was getting to the point where it there wouldn’t be anything left to pour out the contents, if it ever came apart.  “Nothing is happening!” was his final thought before it instantly vanished, accompanied by a rude shock wave. 

Once he realized all his body parts were intact, a raucous giggle escaped his lips – partially from an adrenaline release, but also from fear.  Mom once declared to him in a philosophical manner, yet in a way a little boy could comprehend, that we ultimately gravitate towards that which we fear the most. Timmy contemplated the deep meaning of this concept and with a shrug, chuckled a little to himself, thinking that he could get used to loud noises that he once feared like rock music, motorcycles, jet planes and even explosions… provided they could give him the dose of adrenaline that he had just experienced.  It was a new sensation, but there was also another sensation that he didn’t find comfortable.  He couldn’t wrap his juvenile mind around it.

            Something wasn’t right.  The world spun around and the rock slipped from his weakening hand, landing on the ground with a dull thud.  This was the first time in his life that Timmy could not taste anything.  His inquisitive mind found it intriguing, yet disconcerting.  He could feel the gritty sand between his tongue and teeth but he couldn’t taste it, nor could he smell anything.  He longed to have his sense of smell back.  He longed to imbibe in the aroma of the perfumed cakes that Grandma sends Mom for Christmas every year; that she squirrels away in her dresser drawers.  Nothing in Mom’s territory was nearly as appealing as Dad’s sock drawer, though even hint of those cakes’ aroma would remind him of his kind and generous grandmother, which was the only compelling reason to keep coming back.  Odors had a most profound effect of triggering vivid memories in Timmy’s short life, so those perfumed cakes were most precious to him – those… and mothballs.  Those aromas provided an instant link to Grandma’s metal-clad singlewide.

Dad also had something in his sock drawer with a pleasant aroma, but the odor was not linked to any memory other than those associated with the item itself.  It was a vintage cedar cigar box with a cracked lid where Dad kept a stack of photographs. Those photos were not the kinds in the family album where Timmy recognized all the faces.  They were young women… probably Dad’s former girlfriends.  Timmy had been there many times before, delicately shuffling through the black and white photos; each time making sure to put them back exactly as he found them. 

Mom was prettier than most of the girls, but Timmy imagined what it would be like to have one of these women as his mom.  He was most infatuated by the Japanese girl.  At times, Timmy had wished he had the Japanese mom.  “If she were my mom,” Timmy thought, “at least I would know karate and I could defend myself against the bullies at school… and from Dad.”  Timmy’s unbridled thoughts took him on a wild journey.  “Would life be different if we had a different mom?” Timmy mused.  “Would she be as intelligent?” “Would Dad still be as strict and angry all the time?”  “Would I have to speak Japanese?”  “If I were never born, Mom and Dad would probably be happier and not fight so much.” 

Timmy ached to feel the love of his father.  Deep inside, he had tender feelings for Dad, like the time a chunky pair of pliers fell on his toes.  And he also felt compassion for him when he came in the door with a broken countenance.  He overheard Mom in hushed tones as they embraced, “I’m sorry you had to sell the MG,” to which Dad perked up a bit as he replied, “well, we were able to finish paying to have the baby.”  Dad reciprocated tender feelings… rarely, but Mom had enough love for everyone.

Mom was Timmy’s confidante.  She overlooked most of Timmy’s mishaps and indiscretions but Dad seemed to always find out where Timmy had been and what he had done and would yell at Mom and whip Timmy with a switch from the colossal weeping willow tree in the front yard.  Dad’s tactics were calculated for the most memorably excruciating punishments allowed by the laws of the State of Idaho.  He would send Timmy out to cut the switch.  That was one of the only times that Dad would let him use a pocket knife.  Timmy could never find the right one though.  It seemed he could never do anything right, not even pick out his own instrument of torture.  Timmy’s choice was invariably either too thick or too skimpy.  This infuriated Dad even further, so he would tromp out and carefully select the willow switch that inflicted the most pain. 

Pain… that is what Timmy was feeling.  The hot summer sun seared his scalp through his wispy platinum hair and his left wrist was throbbing, waking him up from his fallen stupor.  He grappled to get on his feet but he stumbled and fell back down.  Though it was a scorching summer day, he shivered from the cold.  The tepid liquid that spewed forth from the tender skin on his left wrist contrasted against his frigid, clammy hand.  Much of it had crusted over, caked with earthen elements but there was still a trickle seeping down and tickling his fingertips. 

Timmy felt queasy but luckily he had developed an aversion to vomiting ever since he was little, after waking up in a pile of puke.  The smell of dried barf was bad enough, but having to peel the pillow off his face in the morning was enough to dread ever going through with it again.  This is also the reason Timmy can’t eat goulash anymore. 

He swallowed hard to keep nausea in check. In a weird way this peculiar sensation was also comforting.  He was wrapped in the blanket of minimal awareness – in his own tunnel - insulated from the buffetings of the cruel world that surrounded him.  Even Dad’s willow switch couldn’t penetrate this bubble of security.  The shrill chirps from the killdeer that was once his annoying nemesis were disconnected and distant… almost pleasant, like a songbird.

The distance between the bloodied patch in the back yard where he awoke was miles from the back door where he needed to be; yet he had traveled many miles already.  His feet dangled like a dancing marionette as though they were controlled by an unseen puppeteer, guiding him in the path that he had half-consciously ventured thousands of times before – between the sheltered haven indoors, and the unpredictable world of adventure outdoors, but always safely back inside again. 

As Timmy staggered up the steps and used every ounce of strength he could muster to turn the knob, he fell into the arms of his loving mother who had sensed something wrong. 

With an ashen look on her face, she trembled as she shrieked, “What happened?” while she whisked her little man off to the bathroom to rinse the sand and mud off and to assess his injury. 

“I dunno,” Timmy muttered.

“I can’t let Dad see this,” was all he could think, “He’ll kill me!” 

He closed his eyes, knowing that Mom would take care of him.  She always did. “I’ll be all right, Mom. I just need a Band-Aid,” Timmy whispered before drifting off to sleep with his head cradled in his mother’s lap.