Judges Of The Truth

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It’s been a long week for Cam. He’s going to get paid one hundred dollars for two days of work that he is required by law to perform. He didn’t enjoy it but it wasn’t because of the low pay.

——

In grade school I never wanted to be the one to pick teams. I was afraid of hurting someone’s feelings. It’s ridiculous, I know. I like to get along. I like to see people succeed. I’ve never wanted to be the arbiter of someone’s else’s happiness. That responsibility scares me.

Monday morning, I was selected as a jury member for a federal trial. It was my first time doing this. I was one of eleven others who would decide the fate of the parties in front of me. And I was nervous. The judge told us that while his title was judge, we were being asked to be “judges of the truth.” I know myself and my flaws all too well. Amongst other things, I can be terribly gullible. I’m not sure I’m qualified to be a judge of the truth. However, by nine o’clock Monday morning, my fellow jurors and I were evaluating arguments.

What I saw didn’t help me become less nervous. The solemnity of the proceedings can most closely be related to a religious service. Lots of quiet. Lots of honorifics amongst staff and colleagues. Lots of silence as the parties gathered to whisper, like priests at an altar. Whenever my jury colleagues and I entered or exited the courtroom, everyone stood. It all signaled that this was serious stuff. And as the details of the case became clear, I realized that we, the jury, would render a decision that could eventually lead to the ruin of either of these parties.

Desperation appears in the courtroom. To get a win, both parties will bring up things from each other’s past that are deeply regrettable but clearly documented. Anything a witness had hoped was lost to time is now back, being wagged in front of the jury, attorneys painfully drawing out the story and the explanation. People at their weakest. If the judge felt the content was prudent, it was discussed. If not, he firmly shut it down. Embarrassment and shame were left out of his decision to let the content be aired or not. No one was berated but the questioning was, well, very thorough.

Fortunately for us the decision was an easy one and the jury was of one mind shortly after we began deliberating. Neither plaintiff nor defendant appeared surprised. We were thanked and dismissed. I don’t know what happened after that. Both parties stood as we walked out. No TV like celebrations or hugs and kisses between the victorious attorneys and their client. It was simply over. In a few weeks I’m to receive payment of one hundred dollars for two days of my time and a decision that may well lead to ruin of the losing party.

I did my service. I had to. I would have broken the law had I not. The verdict was easy, thankfully. But I was uncomfortable the whole time. Doing my best to track the arguments and be a “judge of the truth.” I’ve seen a trial now and I can honestly say I hope I never have to be the judge of someone else’s future ever again.

I’m Cam Marston and I’m just Trying to Keep it Real.

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Meaningless Conversations

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On this week’s Keepin It Real, Cam Marston shares what exhausts him and how a good conversation is hard to find.

—–

It was 1,000 one-minute conversations. A collection of people who all were within a degree, maybe a half a degree, of separation. Hardly a meaningful chat and as the event wore on, the meaningfulness of the chats dwindled further. For so little conversation, it was exhausting. I think maybe that conversations that skim along the veneer of content are more taxing than digging into content. I don’t know. But when I left, I was completely spent.

I’m like so many other people claiming that technology has impacted today’s youth’s ability to communicate. I bemoan their addicted behaviors when it comes to their phones. Technology has impacted their ability to talk, I say, or to hold a conversation, or to make eye contact. Today’s technology has made them only interested in what everyone else is doing or saying, unable to engage with what’s happening right here, right now, right in front of them. However, my own behavior at this event wasn’t much different than the complaints I make about them. I can imagine how I looked, flitting from person to person, hardly engaging anyone, only looking for what’s next and who else was there. The event was spectacular. I was the problem.

Not long ago I read about a couple who were invited to a dinner party. They normally decline these invitations because they abhor small talk; it wears them out. The host, however, insisted and the couple begrudgingly showed up, fake smiles pasted on their faces. Once the final guests arrived and all were seated for dinner, the host asked a bombshell question: “How do each of you deal with your marital conflicts?” After a moment of stunned silence, the couples began sharing their stories and their tactics and their lessons learned. There was no small talk to be had. It was an immediate deep dive into meaningful content. The reluctant couple had said to each other they’d stay until it was acceptable to leave. They had their departure excuse rehearsed. However, they ended up staying until well after midnight and left energized by the conversations, not depleted.

I had lunch with a guy a while back. I had shared a book I enjoyed with him weeks before. When he and I sat down, I asked him what he felt his purpose in life were, which was a major element of the book. When his tone changed and he began subtly mocking me thinking I didn’t notice, I realized I had rushed things. It was too soon for that question. Was it too soon in our lunch? Too soon in our friendship? I don’t know. We both hurried the lunch to a close and he’s avoided me ever since. I was searching for meaningful content and assumed he’d join me. He was having none of it and none of me. It’s too bad, too. He’s an interesting guy.

Like most people my age, I’m old enough now that I know a good number of people. I wanted that at one point and, well, here I am. However, at my age, I’m old enough now to realize that I want to know, truly know, many, many fewer.

I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to Keep It Real.

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Happiness

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On today’s Keeping It Real, Cam recounts his birthday week which has some unexpected surges of happiness. 

—–

Happiness is fleeting. It never lasts and I’m not sure it’s supposed to. It’s different than joy and contentment and pleasantness. Happiness bubbles up from an unexpected place and last such a short time. And when it arrives, it sometimes brings tears. Living in constant happiness would render us nearly helpless. It immobilizes you. Living in joy and contentment is great with, hopefully, unexpected surges of happiness from time to time that render us speechless.

For my fifty-sixth birthday earlier this week, the good Lord sent me several surges of happiness. I’m old enough now, and wise enough, to know what they are when I feel them and to do my best to live in them for the moments they’re with me. To document them in my head, to let them imprint on my brain, and to know that they’ll end and to cherish their memories.

The first one came when a small team of which I was a member successfully executed the opening an event. It was better, I think, than what we had expected. I looked over a large crowd who acknowledged our efforts with a celebratory cheer that lasted and lasted as some of the people we had worked to recognize where indeed recognized the way my team and I had hoped. I looked at my teammate and our grins were, well, enormous. Our celebratory hug was spontaneous, genuine, and heartfelt.

Then I watched as one of my children entertained her friends from Oxford who had never seen a Mardi Gras parade or a Mardi Gras ball. They were overwhelmed. My daughter took such great pride in introducing her friends to her traditions and her roots and her friends soaked it all in. They ate it all up. They showed immense gratitude to my daughter in all the experiences they had and all the memories they received. I was happy when I saw my daughter beaming with pride. Her friends had seen and truly appreciated what she was so proud of.

And then there’s the moment that brought the tears. It was a friend of my late mother’s who looked at my daughter and immediately saw her. Saw my mother. She said it was in her face and her joyfulness. I confess I had never seen it. My daughter’s only ever looked like my daughter but when I looked through my mother’s friend’s eyes, I saw it. As I stood with my mother’s friend, she began tearing up at the memory of my mother which had suddenly surged back. When I saw the tears and looked at my daughter through her eyes, I felt a surge of sadness, of ache, and, there in it all, was happiness. Happiness that my mother was so loved. My mother died three years ago on Wednesday. And for my birthday I was reminded that my mother was gone only if I let her be. I was reminded that I can keep her with me. Her memory is one I have access to. One I can control. One I can choose. And rather than feel sadness at her untimely loss, I can choose happiness that I remember her. And I did. And I felt it.

I’m Cam Marston, just trying to keep it real.

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The Ft. Lauderdale Accord

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On this week’s Keepin’ It Real, Cam explains the Ft Lauderdale accord and how it’s telling him that it’s time to move on.

—–

My wife and I will be empty nesters in eighteen months. If all goes according to plan, in that time our youngest two will graduate and head to college and if looking back is anything like looking ahead, these next eighteen months will fly by.

If you’re a regular listener, you know that my wife and I have four kids. We purchased this house with a family of six in mind. With only two kids left at home, it’s already a lot of space and in eighteen months it will be much larger than we need. So today, just now, in fact, a realtor left. We wanted her to tell us what buying and selling a home looks like today since we’ve not done it in nearly twenty years. What part of our house will new buyers like and how can we accent it. What parts will buyers not like and how can we shore them up. We got from her a list of ten documents we need to find that will help in the sale of the house. And we have eighteen months or so to get all this done.

This all stems from my wife and I drawing up a Reverse Bucket List in a Ft Lauderdale hotel room in December. It’s an idea I got from Arthur Brooks’ book called From Strength to Strength. A bucket list is what you want to do and what you want to get that will excite you; that’ll make you happy. A Reverse Bucket List is what you want to get rid of or what you will never do again that will make you happy. At the top of my Reverse Bucket List was yardwork. It also included paying for homeowner’s insurance on rooms and bathrooms and spaces now infrequently used with two children gone. My Reverse Bucket List included clutter and stuff.

My wife and I agreed to the gist of the list and we agreed we’d begin slowly working through the list. We’ve termed the list and our agreement to work through it the Ft Lauderdale Accord. Since then, we’ve reference how any decisions we need to make jibe with the Ft Lauderdale Accord. The result has been a slow-moving process of beginning to downsize, to throw stuff away, and the most recent aspect of the Ft Lauderdale Accord was today’s meeting with the realtor.  

In a very short amount of time, the house downsizing idea has taken hold for me. I walk through the house looking at cabinets and closets and drawers wondering what’s in ’em and how much of it can we get rid of. Should I put a coat of paint on anything? Should suck it up and get the yard show-ready and drop sod on the places I know it will eventually die because its died four or five times already?

My mind is fixed on what’s next. I’m already gone. And I’m now wondering if staying here another eighteen months is too long.

Regardless, my inner knower is erasing all doubt that it’s definitely time to move on.

I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to Keep It Real.

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Paraty

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On today’s Keepin It Real, Cam reports back about his most memorable event on his recent trip to Brazil. He traveled a long way to come back with this…

——

Cachaca is a Brazilian alcohol that was first made by the slaves the Portuguese brought to Brazil. It’s sugar cane based. Very sweet. And like gumbo, red beans and rice, jazz music, and the Mississippi delta blues among other things, it was what the poor people created due to a lack of resources and that the wealthy people eventually wanted. Crazy how that works so predictably. It’s like clockwork. 

Anyway, my wife and I were enjoying our first cocktail made of cachaca by the pool last week in a small coastal community north of Sao Paulo called Paraty. However, we struggled to enjoy the drink.

And I’m certain you can relate to what happened. It’s become a meme – There was someone in an environment too small for their voice, talking too loudly. It was loud people having private conversations on the phone in small spaces. Loud Zoom calls in coffee shops. You’ve witnessed this. In our case it was a British couple lying in lounge chairs by the pool on speakerphone with their daughter talking about finding her an apartment in London. The father, to be heard, raised his voice to nearly a yell so the phone would hear him from three feet away. Well, my wife and I heard him, neighbors living next to the hotel heard him, the birds in the trees on the coast heard him, the shop owner across town, people in the next city over and the Uruguayans 1000 miles to the south also heard him. We didn’t want to, but we learned a lot about this family and their dysfunctional and helpless daughter. Our relaxing drink tasted like cachaca, lime, and disgust.

Around the pool were two other couples. We met and stood talking in the pool. They were really nice. One couple had been traveling since January 1^st. They were recently retired and described retirement as having three distinct phases – Go Time, Slow Time, and then, No Time. Go Time is travel. Slow Time too old to travel and now you sit around the house. No Time is travel back and forth to your final doctor appointments. They retired early to have a longer Go Time and were doing it up right.

They were telling us about how they planned their extensive trips then, and I promise I’m not making this up, the British man got into the pool and began swimming laps right through middle of us three couples and another guy who had joined us. We stood there in water up to our waists in disbelief. He kicked right through us, splashing us, no more than a foot or two away as he came by. I’d never seen anything like it. Was it aggressive? Or was it just plain clueless?

Anyway, the three different couples plus the one guy decided not to move. And he kept swimming. We’d pause our chat as he swam through. It’s sad that after traveling about 18 hours to get to a place way off my radar and another 18 hours to get back home, the only story I have from my trip is about a British man in our pool.

Which makes me want to drink lots of cachaca.

I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to Keep It Real.

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Procrastinating Like a Champion

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Today on Keepin’ It Real, Cam looses focus and finds his mind wandering about an upcoming trip instead of focusing on what need to be done.

—–

My day today will be spent studying Brazilian demographics. And I know what you’re thinking: How did I get so lucky? I mean, come on, most of us have to work but you get to spend your day studying Brazilian demographics. How is that fair?

Friday, my wife and I leave for a week in Brazil. I’ve been invited to speak at a conference next week in Sao Paulo. These types of invitations are rare for me.  While at a conference in November, a young man approached me and said, “Can you do that same speech in February in Brazil?” “Sure,” I said. “No problem. Easy.” Well, it’s not easy. Which leads me to today, carefully studying and incorporating the Brazilian data to replace my US data that I used in November.

Much of the data is very similar. Young women are outperforming young men in education. Women are having first babies older and having babies into older age. People are getting married at older ages. Household sizes are falling. Life-spans are increasing, meaning Brazilians will be in retirement longer. There are worrying trends in whether the Brazilian federal system will be able to support retirees long-term, much like there are new rumblings here about whether our social security system will be able to fund payments in the future. All familiar stuff.

Up until recently, I would have said their political climate was very volatile with their in and out of favor populist president Jair Bolsonaro but, his ascendance and the turmoil it created looks very similar to what we’re seeing here. Even his presidential portrait is of him in some combination of a scowl and a frown, much like Trump’s presidential portrait that was released a few weeks ago.

My comments will be translated into Portuguese as I speak, meaning I need to go slow so the translators can keep up. I find it difficult to pace myself like this. My words will need to be carefully chosen. When normally I can explain something well-enough with a paragraph, I need to now do it in a sentence. Writing these commentaries each week have helped me as a speaker – writing has taught me to be more precise in speaking.

And as much as I’m excited to work with my Brazilian client, my wife and I are leaving for Brazil early to enjoy a short trip to a seaside community that will include a drive to a bunch of waterfalls and a tour of the coastline by water. Beaches, waterfalls, plus a trip a distillery that makes something like rum but is not rum. And, truth be told, I’ve spent more time looking into the waterfalls, the coastline, and rum but not rum than I have looking into Brazilian demographics. Focused preparation has been a problem. I’m even looking repeatedly at the weather forecasts for the seaside community – all poor uses of time considering the prep work that is still needed. I’m a champion at finding things to do that are not urgent and finding ways to justify doing them. Like this commentary.

And, with that truth-bomb announced, I will now put this away and get back to Brazilian demographics.

I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to keep it real.

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Unconditional Positive Regard

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On this week’s Keepin It Real, Cam reacts to a text from a friend about the hopelessness she feels today as a result of the new presidential administration. There are two sides to this, Cam says. And the healing must begin within. But it won’t be easy.

—–

There are those of you listening right now filled with anxiety and rage. You can’t believe our nation is full of people who care so little for truth, honesty, and compassion. You can’t believe that you know people, lots of people, who are willing to abandon truth, honesty, and compassion to win. This is not how you were taught to live as a child. These are not the lessons of Aesop’s fables. There is nothing in the New Testament that says this is Ok.

However, there are others of you out there equally mystified. “How can you not want this?” you’re asking. How can you not see that our future, both each of us individually and as a nation, will be better? We’re returning to dominance. We’re getting rid of the cheaters and the thieves who have slipped in and are stealing opportunity from you and me. We’re making them pay. We’re righting wrongs. This is what this nation is about. This is who we are. We’ve strayed and we’re now, finally, returning to who we should be. How can you not see this?

No argument from either of you will win. No data will convince either of you of anything. No clever wording. No quoting the constitution. No biblical chapter or verse. Deadlocked. Both sides deadlocked. Anxiety and rage. Both sides.

Dr Carl Rogers was an American Psychologist who, in 1982, was listed as the most influential psychotherapist in history. Of his many accomplishments, there is one practice of his that I’m using – well, that I’m trying to use – in my interactions with others. It’s called Unconditional Positive Regard. It’s a framework for listening and helping even with those whose opinions are diametrically opposite our own. It’s a learned discipline and it’s not easy.

Unconditional Positive Regard assumes that this person in front of each of us has worth, this person in front of us can grow, they can change, they’re eager to learn, they’re curious, they are a person of value. Unconditional Positive Regard. You can see how this powerful outlook can benefit a therapist in their interactions with patients. You can see how someone hoping to pull the best out of another person, who still has hope for the other person, could and perhaps SHOULD engage them with a mindset of unconditional positive regard.

It’s hard, though. It’s very hard. Especially when what some of you have seen of others brings this quote to mind: “When you worship power, compassion and mercy will look like sins.” To many of you that’s what it looks like out there today. It’s obvious to say, but compassion is not a sin. Mercy is not a sin. None of us should ever hold back on either. And perhaps for all of you listening right now filled with anxiety and rage, holding each other in unconditional positive regard might be step one in healing…ourselves.

I’m Cam Marston, just trying to keep it real.

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Snow Day

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Tuesday, Cam watched as a 130 year old weather record was shattered. He took it all in, savoring it as best as he could.

—–

It’s strange looking out there right now. Maybe even eerie. I keep looking again to make sure my eyes aren’t fooling me. The top of the neighbor’s magnolia tree is getting small touches of early sunlight and those big, deep green leaves are holding snow. It’s beautiful. And I can’t stop turning to look again and again.

How could this week’s commentary be about anything but the weather? So often the meteorologists in my part of the world hype of the incoming storm that turns out to be a big nothing-burger. I panic and put the family in the duck-and-cover position in the bathtub and nothing ends up happening. “Abundance of caution” they always say. This storm they got right. In fact, one of the TV weathermen kept saying the storm “outperformed” – that it did more than they predicted which is opposite of what usually happens.

Mobile, Alabama officially received seven and a half inches of snow yesterday. What in many parts of the world would equate to a “so, what?” moment was a record-breaking snowfall, breaking a 130-year-old record. Yesterday I tended to the fire and kept turning to look outside. I had two client Zoom calls and both interrupted to ask if that was rain outside the window behind me. “No,” I said, “It’s snow. And we here in Mobile, Alabama hardly know how to behave.”

And we don’t. The roads were largely empty. It reminded me of the teeth of the pandemic when we all stayed home for days. My wife and I finally went outside late in the afternoon and walked down the middle of the busy street not far from our house. Our dog stepped outside and immediately turned around and dove back under the couch – she would have none of the snow. And the birdfeeder seemed extra active as little birds who live comfortably in our warm sub-tropical climate had to keep eating more and more to fuel themselves and stay warm.

I learned that being snowed-in lends itself to grazing all day long. Just a little snack here and there and then here again and maybe a little bit more of this and just one more bite of that. I had to make myself stop. And the temptation to open a thick, bold bottle of red wine was overwhelming. Had I made eye contact with a bottle of red-wine I would have caved, but I maintained my Dry January discipline and had a couple of NA beers, instead.

I’ve read recently about savoring. Savoring is wanting to know something. To experience it. There is no time pressure to savoring. No pressure for more. No greed. Savoring is an attitude of spirit. It’s a life of spirit. And it’s the opposite of craving, which is an attitude of greed, control and sensation.

Yesterday’s snowfall and this morning’s sunrise is an experience I’ll savor. I’ll likely never see anything like this again here on the upper lip of the Gulf Coast. I’ll stay sitting here in my coffee chair and taking it in, as the magnolia tree is mottled with brilliant white and deep green and is now ablaze in the sun.

I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to Keep it Real.

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Retro Learning

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On this week’s Keepin’ it Real, Cam Marston’s new effort has been a year in the making and it’s finally ready. It’s learning delivered the way it used to be and he’s very excited for it.

—–

Here’s a story for you:

An old man lowered his clay jug every day at the well. He did it by hand with the jug attached to a rope. He was very careful to not let the jug bump the edge of the well which was made of stone or else the jug may break. A young man saw all this and proposed a wheel built over the center of the well with a rope that would lower the jug straight down every time. It would be easier and faster. All he had to do was crank the wheel up and down. The old man listened to the young man’s idea and said, “No, thank you. Without the work of lowering and raising the jug, I’m not sure the water would taste as good.”

Over one year ago I begin surveying clients and colleagues and having lunches and Zoom meetings with them to discuss a new two and half day workshop I was developing on communication skills. Their reply was unanimous: these skills a desperately needed in our workplace. I asked a lot of questions, have written, rewritten and rewritten the course over and over again and the program launched this past Wednesday.

Could the program be delivered remotely? Yes. Could it be pre-recorded and done online at the leisure of the participant? Yes, I think so. Could it be shorted to one day? Or maybe half a day? After all, people are busy. Probably. But none of that’s going to happen.

There is a saying in the addict recovery world: What do you do when the very thing that is destroying you is what gets you through the day. For the addict it is drugs. For many of us today, though, it’s urgency. It’s more and more. It’s busyness. Its Fear of Missing Out. It’s the dopamine hit of the flashing or buzzing phone. And I’m as guilty of it as the next guy. 

So in an effort to make a difference with the people who began with me Wednesday, I’ve created a program that slows the pace of learning. It’s not cramming. It’s learning. It’s savoring new knowledge. It’s dialogue, discussion, eye-contact, and thoughtful progression through learning and relearning skills that, per my colleagues, are desperately needed in their workplace.

No PowerPoint. No Audio or Video. Instead it will be flip charts, instruction, dialogue, and practice. Even pencils and not pens. It’s the hard, slow, deliberate work that creates results and will lead to a more fulfilling and successful workplace for my participants. It’s in a sense, retro learning the way it used to be done back in the day before all these tools we’ve created made things, what, quicker, better, easier? Maybe all of those but what I’ve created will be – memorable and transformational.

To many of my participants, what’s old will be new again. It’s been a year in the making. And we could get to end of the program much quicker than two-and-a-half days but, like the old man lowering the jug by hand every day, the water simply wouldn’t taste as good.

I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to Keep It Real.

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