Nudges from Nature

About a month ago I was invited to join a program designed for creative individuals with "entrepreneurial and spiritual tendencies." I tend to avoid organized groups like this. I don't really know why. I think by default I'm a very private person, and I tend to find value in reflection, writing, and one-on-one conversations. Sharing with groups is just not my thing. But something about this one seemed different. The invitation was subtle in its wording, but it was unique in its appeal to three important aspects of my identity: professional, creative, and spiritual.  So I agreed to participate.  I didn't expect results quite this fast, and I'm disoriented, in a way. Disoriented, yet also feeling like I'm able to hold strong and fast to a sort of steering rudder.  It's like I'm suddenly gaining speed, and accelerating at a rate that ignites a bit of nervousness inside me, but also realizing that I'm not floating around in a dingy anymore. I'm

I read the other day that now only 12 people control half of the world's wealth. I also read that the U.S. Department of Energy now concludes that an unintentional lab leak resulted in the Covid pandemic, albeit with a "low level of confidence", whatever that means. Other recent news includes a $400,000 missile being used to shoot down a Chinese spy balloon over the U.S. What is wrong with us? I've long struggled to understand the hoarding of wealth. Look, I'm all for having financial security. It certainly seems like a nice position to be in to have no mortgage, all your basic expenses paid for and beyond, and the freedom to travel or purchase just about anything you want.  And I suppose the ship has sailed on spending money to find better ways to kill each other. That's a sickness that seems unlikely to fade away anytime soon. But when does enough become enough?   When I walk along the California coast, in all its incredible beauty, you know two things that

Can you really "Think and Grow Rich", as Napolean Hill wrote 86 years ago? I'm a skeptic when it comes to these things, but lately, I've been starting to wonder. Or perhaps my expectations have just been wrong all along. I began a 21 day meditation, visualization, and surrender program a few weeks ago. I'm coming to the end of it, and I wonder if, perhaps, it really has made a difference. If it has, it's likely to change my life. Significantly. The program has all the hallmarks of a typical mindfulness program. There's nothing all that unique about it. It involves some common tools: goal-setting, mind movies, visualizations of ideal outcomes, surrendering limiting beliefs, and expressing gratitude and appreciation. Little weird things have been happening. I called home the other day from the road to offer to swing by and take the kids out for frozen yoghurt. My wife relayed the message to the room and my daughter yelled out, "I was just  texting dad t

The mountains around the Monterey Bay reach 4 or 5,000 feet. Snow in the area fell as low as 1200 feet last night. Snow is unusual in this part of the state and to get eight inches of it is a rarity. The landscape is dramatically changed with all visible peaks and ridges covered in white. It’s shocking in a way. On a regular day, the mountains, in all their beauty, tend to dissolve into the background of the sand and ocean. Today they pop out as if to declare their presence with boldness and courage. Nature is so striking at times. All the time, if we care to look. A month ago our coast was pounded with high tides and extreme waves. Businesses along the coast were flooded. The beaches are still covered with enormous piles of driftwood. They are quite a sight to be seen. And yet today, the mountains declare their moment in the spotlight. The Monterey Bay area is truly a feast for the eyes.

The rule is simple: Write today. There is a trick to it --  insist on keeping it simple, and follow the rule again tomorrow. Ignore all temptation to add more layers to it. Don't complicate it. Write today. No other qualifiers needed. More rules on top of this rule just complicate things. They're unnecessary and only make room for an increased risk of failure. You don't need to write every day for a week , or write every day for 365 consecutive days.  You don't need to write 1000 words today or write for an hour today. Just write today. Every day you have an opportunity here for success. An easy one, really. As I mentioned in a past post , just writing two words satisfies the criteria. And of course, you're likely to write much more. Which is great, but not a requirement to claim success for the day. Give it a try. Write. Today.  And begin again tomorrow. 

Having developed a habit of meditation has been a gift. Habits are hard to give up. Good habits have a unique sense of reward.  One of the ironies of a meditation or mindfulness habit is that it somewhat runs on auto-pilot. I wake now and just do it. I don’t think about it. Although, that’s not true — it’s like a light switch — I wake and I am drawn to meditation in an automated way, and yet the practice I immediately settle into is one of mindfulness. I’m a spiritual skeptic. Despite having some inexplicable and surreal experiences both during formal meditation sessions and without, there’s just some kind of thought-barrier I can’t quite get past. And yet, I don’t think it impedes me at all from extraordinary benefits of a regular spiritual practice. I think it’s my curiosity that fuels the habit. On the most modest of days, I know that the daily practice of training my mind to be aware — aware of thoughts, aware of feelings, aware of my body, aware of what, by direct observation, rea

To my 15-year-old self, Write every day. That's it. That's my advice to you. Don't wait until a better day, a better time. Don't wait until the day when you think you have enough experience to write. Or until inspiration takes you over. Just start writing. Don't give a care to who will read it, who might like it, and certainly, certainly not who will buy it. The money may come, or may not, but this isn't about a career. It may become one, but it's not about that, at its core. Your writing is about you. Your writing is about understanding yourself, and your place in the world. By writing every day, you're building the invaluable practice of discipline, and you're doing one small thing to serve that insatiable curiosity of yours. It's a healthy habit for you to meander through your thoughts about the meaning of things, the unfairness you witness in life, the wonder you have about the size of the universe, the love you have for so many, the hatred y

I just started working with a new client, and they are phenomenal. I've been client-side and agency-side, and I've even helped a large Fortune 100 company work better with their roster of agencies. If you're working with a creative agency or consultant, here are a few common traits to cement your position as a top client: Show a desire to learn from your agency . You know your business, your organization is filled with talented people, and you appreciate that outside help will provide a different point of view. You show a willingness to learn from it. Treat your agency like an extension of the team . If an outsider were to shadow a meeting and be unsure about who was internal and who was external, you're doing something right. Provide actionable feedback . Good agencies tend to try harder. They know they have to work to keep your business. When they're missing the mark, the best way to help them is avoid vague comments, like "This email just doesn't feel ri

One of the best benefits to skipping alcohol on Friday and Saturday nights is the early morning rise on Sunday. Like many across America, my hometown is gearing up for Opening Day of Little League baseball season. With more teams than baseball diamonds, practice times need to be scheduled and allocated so each team has space available for practice. This year my son drew the 8 am slot on Sunday morning.  This morning, I loved it. But I haven't always. I'm an early riser by nature. However, my not atypical path through life had me drinking on weekends in high school, then drinking even more frequently during college, and then drinking at a myriad of opportunities presented by the alcohol-loving culture of the Silicon Valley high tech industry (this is changing, but that's another blog post). Waking in the early morning hours is innate in me. I don't know if it's genetic or learned, but boozy nights never quell my internal clock from cranking my eyelids open before the

My friends in the agency world certainly have their ears pricked up with the recent typhoon of news around the topic of ChatGPT, OpenAI, and sudden acceleration of the race to release previously secretive now urgent projects from Google and Microsoft. The initial reactions range from the heart skipping a beat to a casual dismissal of the whole thing.  The heart-beat-skipper now proclaims "bring on the monsters!"  She's ready for battle. The casual-dismisser is now more afraid, triggered by Microsoft Bing's, or rather Sydney's, quick regression into a clawing, needy, English-is-my-second-language-sounding, love-seeking...well, who knows what the objective is there (see the recent February 16, 2023 NY Times article by Kevin Roose.) I am not afraid.  I think artificial intelligence has potential as a massively useful tool to accelerate research, assist in the development of effective content, and help the human mind to more efficiently find clarity amongst the never-

When I was learning to meditate, I was intrigued by the instruction to turn attention to my body when I felt an emotion. It seems obvious now. Definitely some 20/20 hindsight going on, but I want to say that I lived my life up until then believing that emotions were in my head. That thoughts and feelings occurred in that same place. One of the reasons this seems so obviously wrong to me now is how pervasive the feeling actually is in the body. It's so clear now, especially with emotions like fear and anxiety, that they live almost entirely in the body. Indeed, they take over the body in its entirety. The only explanation for my misunderstanding that I can come up with is that I found these feelings so unpleasant and unacceptable, that I ran from them. I did everything I could to turn away from them. Meditation taught me to embrace them. To step into them. To feel them fully. And it's made all the difference. I had heard cliches that also now in hindsight seem like good, practic

I watched a documentary recently on Banksy, a UK-based...well, wikipedia calls him a graffiti artist, political activist, and film director. I really enjoyed it. There's something about Banksy that makes him stand out to me. I think he has some real talent. I came across a piece of his in New Orleans. It caught my eye in some way and a quick Google search confirmed it was his. I'm not a fan. I don't follow him, or even know much about his activities beyond what I saw in the short documentary. But the guy makes a point. He has a purpose. I can't say the same for any of the graffiti I find in the area where I live. It's only blight. It's ugly, meaningless, and selfish. Purposeless beyond marking, in the crudest way, "I was here."  When I go on a regular morning walk, I've developed a talent for spotting new instances of graffiti. It's not art. Maybe what Banksy does is art. But then, it's not graffiti, I would argue. And tagging, which is the

I've received a few thoughtful gifts to support me in my writing and I thought I'd share them here in case anyone is looking for some original gift ideas for writers. There are no affiliate links on this blog. I've included search terms below in bold, so you can locate them easily for yourself. If I've included brands it's because those are the ones I use and I like them, though there are likely other comparable products that will come up in the search that you might like better. I see a lot of lists with writer gifts that are typical, like notebooks, or things that someone who knows a writer thinks they might like, but the writer has no use for. Of course a really nice writing pen (reommended!), or notebook with a meaningful design are great choices, and I would't dissuade anyone from going that route. The list below includes things that I don't normally come across when searching, but have proven useful to me. Narwhal Co. Pocket Pens These are 3.35" l

Is absolutely everything monetized these days? It's a real question. Does anyone write, or more pointedly, does anyone write and  publish a blog simply for self-expression?  Or is everyone chasing money for the effort? Views and followers can signify interest and a connection with readers. It's exciting and rewarding to get and build more views, claps on Medium, and followers; and it's perhaps universal for the writer to appreciate those positive indications that the content they produced has had some appeal. But increasingly I'm wondering if nowadays it's also universal that those views are only a means to and end: more ad dollars, more conversions to subscribers, more clicks on affiliate links, more conversions on upsell offers. Does anyone today write and publish a blog just to write and publish a blog?   My favorite feature is on Medium where any reader can highlight text in an article. It's awesome. I don't have many followers, but I treasure the reader

During my junior year in High School, we were required to see a guidance counselor. We had two of the best. She was a former nun. He had dropped out of the monastery. She was six feet tall. He didn't break five feet. They were married. True story. I got the ex-nun. And she was fabulous.  I don't remember much of what we talked about. I didn't have a lot of issues. Good grades. Varsity sports. Generally got along with it all.  What I do remember well is her opening the door to her office and beaming at me "Mr. Patience!". The kid who had the slot before me did have a lot of issues, so she ran late with him a lot. I was glad to give the time. I liked her a lot and valued our conversations, but the kid before me needed her more. And I could tell she liked serving others. She was really in it for the right reasons.  I also didn't mind waiting because this was a required session, and at least I wasn't sitting bored in class or in the pool tortured by water pol

I've been keeping a "Nudges from Nature" journal for a while. When I went into my folder this morning to see the date of my first entry, I was surprised to see it dated back to May 8, 2020. So I'm coming up on three years. I've been keeping it inconsistently. It's been an easy pleasure. I had received a nice new writing pen from my wife, and I was up early, before the sun, writing my morning pages -- three pages of stream-of-consciousness writing ala Julia Cameron and The Artist's Way. As the sun came up over the ridge behind my house, its first rays hit my pen and cast an unbelievably long shadow across the table. It's beauty made an immediate impression on me, how the silver casing of my pen came to life, and of the love and care that was behind the gift. So, I wrote about it, and whenever inspiration strikes, whenever I get a nudge from nature , whenever an unsolicited thought of a certain magnitude of interest pops into my head, I go ahead and writ

Is having the soul of an artist rare? Or does everyone have one? Is it a spark that exists in everyone? Something to be kindled to its fulfillment? Or ignored to its peril? Music producer Rick Rubin claims to have discovered that creativity is “a way of being” rather than a characteristic of those making great art.  His point of view suggests that we all have the capability to be artists. We just have to show up in the right way. Creative energy is everywhere. We just have to slow down, open up, and receive it. The more I study the topics of meditation, philosophy, creativity, enlightenment, religion, personal development, and artistic pursuit, it seems to me these all point to the same thing: live in the now. Embrace the present moment to the absolute exclusion of all else. Surprisingly simple to comprehend. Perhaps less simple to achieve. Then again, Rubin makes it even simpler. In “The Creative Act: A Way of Being” he writes: When we’re making things we love, our mission is accompli

A vivid and early memory I have of my dad is of him offering help to a little girl at a school picnic. She must have been a 1st grader, or maybe even younger. Perhaps a sister of one of my grammar school classmates. She had curly blond hair just touching her shoulders, wore a flowery blue summer dress just past her knees, and was sitting on a folding chair next to my dad. My family stuck together at these things. So, me, my mom, my two sisters, and my dad were all seated around a large circular table. And then there was this girl. My dad got along with everybody. Literally everybody. I don't recall a single instance of my Dad having any sort of friction with the people he interacted with, whether they were friends or strangers. He was Paul Newman handsome and had the relaxed confidence of a former Navy flying ace with an exactly right amount of modesty. Not gregarious. But instead exuded some sort of invisible and mysterious attraction. People were drawn to him. He was a really nic

I developed a habit waking up early while in high school. Swim workouts in the winter and water polo practice in the spring required us to be in the weight room by 6 am.  Another two hours of practice in the afternoon, plus the disciplined and demanding academic schedule of a Jesuit curriculum, didn't leave much room for insomnia. However, as unbelievable as it sounds after hours of intense exercise, a full day of classes, and a demanding volume of homework, I would sometimes wake up before my 5:30 am alarm. Talk about painful. A single minute of sleep was precious. I quickly came to appreciate and savor an extra minute or two of sleep.  It felt like an eternity to be able to hit snooze and give my brain a little more time to replenish itself.  The door to the weight room on the exterior of the gym radiated like a portal to another world. It closed at 6 a.m. sharp and God help the athlete who arrived a moment too late. The only grace period was the time it took for the propped open

I think I might be killing my career.  I'm drawn to new and different things now. No...not different. Not new. No, I'm honoring a part of me that's been on the back burner. No, wait. That's painting the picture a little too nicely.  Neglect says it better. Ignored. Maybe even abused. Like a child locked away in a remote, dilapidated cabin only lightly and occasionally provisioned with the most meager of supplies: a can of tuna, stale crackers, a few dusty bottles of warm beer, an undisturbed bottle of re-corked red wine. He favors the corners and follows the sun. Malnourished. Underfed. Yet, surprisingly strong and alert. But I'm not here to talk about him. Not yet. He's still too easy to ignore. Although, someone appears to be feeding him.  But now. Right now. In this moment. As I strive to live in the miracle of the present, the all-powerful  now , my career is front and center. In the open. Breathing the fresh air. It's my identity. How people know me. Wh

It seems like there's an easy fix for everything these days.  If you believe my Facebook feed, and increasingly the InMail invitations in my LinkIn account, I'm only two weeks away from writing a book and making $200,000 a year. I'm one community meeting away from being stacked with fractional CMO work. And mere days from a calendar full of ideal prospect bookings for my consulting business. If Jesus was the sheriff and I was the priest If my lady was an heiress and my Mama was a thief And Papa rode shotgun on the Fargo line There's still too many bad boys Tryin' to work the same line                     - "If I Was A Priest", Bruce Springsteen It feels like everyone's working the same line these days. So many people have discovered the secret -- this method, that method. How am I to trust someone who claims to have just had a $50M exit and yet has a virtual background with a white couch and minimalist paintings on the wall? It comes across like a Je

A small pleasure I've come to appreciate more deeply lately is the experience of having a pen run dry while in the midst of the act of writing. As a lifelong yet inconsistent devotee of journaling, I started running through my pen refills more regularly and more frequently when in short order my wife gifted me a nice new writing pen for my birthday, and when I re-read Julia Cameron's The Artist's Way   around the time of its 35th Anniversary. If you are, or you suspect you might be, a writer or any other form of artist or creator, and you have not yet read The Artist's Way , you might give some consideration to making it a priority to secure a copy and put yourself through what is essentially a self-guided journey to creative recovery and discovery.  The book holds legendary status in the creative community and as such, the title now carries with it a loaded set of expectations: a path to a life of deeper meaning and a connection with your purpose in the universe.  Drop

Just to set the record straight right out of the gate, I LOVE when it rains. The title of the blog refers to a gem of a song by Willis that I've adopted as a bit of a ritual to play on mornings when I wake up when the rain is falling. This blog is titled in a small tribute to that talented group. I've always liked when it rains, and I appreciate it much more deeply and intensely now that drought conditions in California appear to be permanent.  Like the rain, I love reading, too. Growing up, the rain was an excuse to stay inside. When the rainy seasons came, which were reliable events when Silicon Valley was still mostly orchards, the rain would largely eliminate the option to go outside and play, or go to baseball practice, or "go find something to do" when mom had tired of the kids bickering or otherwise disturbing the peace of the suburban ranch style home she kept meticulously neat and organized. It was just a little break. It took away some options and decisions

I started meditating because I felt like my brain was a muscle that was never "not flexed". I was always thinking, always lost in thought about the goals and deadlines I had to meet as a high tech executive, achieving my priorities as a husband and father, or ruminating on past decisions and whether or not I had done the right thing.  Days, nights, mornings, evenings. It was exhausting and debilitating and led to a period of burnout that quite directly forced me into meditation. I started with the Headspace app, because it was the only app I found that allowed me to set a two minute meditation session.  Just two minutes. Andy Puddicombe taught me about noting -- a simple concept of becoming aware of thoughts and emotions, and naming them as such. This is a thought. This is an emotion. This was something I could do.  I could take 2 minutes, often not even sitting, but instead lying down in a regular state of exhaustion, and identifying and distinguishing thoughts and emotions.

I wake this morning at 5:05, without an alarm. I've been doing this frequently lately, sometimes quite a bit earlier. I'm alert. No grogginess. Not feeling rested and raring to go, but not feeling the urge to roll over and go back to sleep either. I get up to meditate, which I've been doing daily for about 5 years now. My practice has changed me in ways that are not always obvious. Often subtle, yet I suspect powerfully. Today, I don't go into a deep state at all. I've learned not to care. Thirty minutes later I'm out the door for an hour's walk, then back home. I read for a bit -- about writing, about creativity, about meditation. I have a habit of meandering through several books at once. A friend recently told me that "books talk to each other." It makes sense to me. The house comes to life. My wife's alarm goes off. The dogs circle the bed for attention. The kids in the next room stay quiet. We wake them. Gently. Then they're off to sch