Hope is a journey, not a destination

On this Friday, as we head into the weekend, I did some digging up of thoughts, ideas, remarks, reflections, sayings and quotes that capture what I have been feeling the past couple of weeks. 

This isn’t a post about a Republican, a Democrat, a President, or a politician at all, to be honest.

It’s a post about me and you.

Posting online about how you feel, the teeth you’re gnashing, the outrage you are feeling, frustration and sense of powerlessness that can sometimes be personally defeating is human.

Typing that post and hitting “Enter” on your keyboard or smart phone with emphasis can be cathartic!

I get it.

But, in all the years I have been involved in government, politics, public service or simply being an American citizen, I’ve never seen a post, a tweet, a text or a brilliantly conceived email change a thing.

The world changes, in whatever way we want it to change, when we actually….do something.

A friend of mine often said that the problem we face in America, all too often, is that people care so much about something that they almost do something about it.

Almost isn’t doing something.

Doing something is.

Believe in all of the things below?  Stop posting. Do something.

The village where we were all working together to raise the kids?
It’s still there.

The thousand points of light that were meant to shine a way forward to a kinder, gentler America?
They are still lit.

The bridge to a better future?
It’s waiting for us to cross it—together.

The call to “ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country”?
It’s still asking.

The dream that we all can sit together at the table of brotherhood?
It hasn’t faded.

The golden rule—treat others as you wish to be treated?
It’s still the foundation we can build upon.

The belief that “a house divided against itself cannot stand”?
It’s calling on us to stand together.

The promise of liberty and justice for all?
It’s waiting for us to fulfill it.

The reminder that we are all “created equal”?
It’s as true today as the day it was first spoken.

The words “love thy neighbor”?
They still apply, even if we don’t see eye to eye.

The idea that “we the people” hold the power to change things?
That power remains in our hands.

The hope that we leave this place better for the next generation?
It’s still possible if we choose to act.

The words “freedom is never more than one generation away from extinction”?
They’re a call to action, not a warning to ignore.

The belief that America’s greatness lies not in government but in its people?
That belief is alive, as long as we believe in ourselves.

The idea that “character counts” in the actions we take, not just the words we say?
It still counts—every day, in every decision.

The call to “walk humbly, act justly, and love mercy”?
It’s a timeless truth, not just a passage in scripture.

The principle that hard work and perseverance can build a better life?
It still works, if we do.

The idea that “we must dare to be great and realize that greatness is the fruit of toil and sacrifice”?
That greatness is within reach.

The words “let every nation know, whether it wishes us well or ill, that we shall pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship to ensure the survival and success of liberty”?
They’re a commitment we make together.

Shortly after I took on the role of Executive Director at SAVE-Suicide Awareness Voices of Education https://www.save.org/ I received a call from a longtime friend Dan Seeman, VP/Region Manager with Hubbard Broadcasting. Dan and I have done a lot of things together over the years including the Titanic Exhibition, the Melaleuca Freedom Celebration, Hope On The River and a lot of other projects in between.

Dan called to tell me that SAVE would be one of the four non-profit organizations for MyTalk 107.1 Project Down and Dirty event. I was ecstatic. Thrilled. Excited. And I thanked Dan for including us and we ended the call.

Then I had to google “Project Down and Dirty” because I was afraid that the name of the event itself might pose some problems for SAVE!

Then I had to google Lori and Julia because, while I had heard about them, and others had talked to me about them, I honestly have to admit I really didn’t know much about them at all!

Needless to say, it didn’t take very long for me to know who they were once we met and then spent hours together, along with Grant Wenkstern, talking about suicide on the radio.

Talking about suicide on the radio.

We said the word suicide on the radio. Not once. Not twice. About a thousand times. We talked about how suicide impacts lives. We talked about how suicide is preventable. We talked about suicide statistics, suicide numbers, suicide deaths and suicide causes and reasons and what we know and what we don’t know.

We talked about suicide loss survivors. We talked about the direct, personal loss they have felt from suicide in their own lives.

From October 11th through October 13th Lori and Julia performed revolutionary radio that saved lives by spending hours on the air talking about suicide.

Through the years I know, from what I have read, and what I have heard, and what I have learned, Lori and Julia have improved the lives of countless thousands of people. They have made people laugh, made them mad, and made them talk and giggle and gossip and gasp.

Sitting next to them during Project Down and Dirty and listening to them, and talking to them, I know they helped thousands of people better understand suicide and its impact and ways that we can all help save a life.

If you are reading this and you want to know how you can save a life, click on this link for our FREE One Step Ahead training you can take online in less than an hour: https://www.save.org/programs/education-and-training/one-step-ahead/

If you are reading this and you are in crisis and need to talk to someone, call or text 988.

If you were one of the thousands of people who listened to Project Down and Dirty October 11-13 2023 and heard us talking about suicide with two remarkable, brave, courageous and authentic people named Lori and Julia, be grateful.

You were part of a radio revolution.

Today, I turned 60 years old.

60 years old.  It’s nearly unfathomable to me to say that out loud. 

I look in the mirror and I know I look – older.  But, do I look old? 

What does old look like, exactly?  I’ve got wrinkles.  I have hair that is just white and gray.  My forehead juts out like a wall of skin daring the rest of my hair to stick around. 

I get out of the shower and avoid looking in the mirror until I put on a shirt because I know I’m chubby. I’ve given up contemplating a six-pack but I’m inclined to believe I might be able to get to a one-pack someday.  Hell, even a half of a pack would be just fine for me. 

I don’t feel 60 years old.  But, how old should I feel?  I just ran 8 miles this past Sunday.  I then walked 60 miles over the course of two days.  The next day I felt sore but I could function pretty well with a righteous dose of ibuprofen.  

A couple weeks ago I began to dig through the thousands of pictures we have in a hutch in our home. 

There are pictures of me as a baby – pictures of me with any one of my 5 brothers and 3 sisters – my Mom and my Dad – photos of me with friends – by myself through the years – pictures of me with a moustache – depictions of me looking skinny with lots of hair and not so much belly and forehead. 

There are the pictures of Mary-Helen and I in the beginning – of our wedding – of the days before Owen was born – photos of the day Maisie was born – and pictures of all of us together as a family.

Pictures of those who are here.  Pictures of those who are no longer here.  So many pictures.  So many memories.  Every one of these pictures are my favorite pictures.  Much like my Mom says that every one of her 9 children are her favorite children.  I can appreciate that sentiment better every passing year especially as I look at the photos of my life.

Yet, one picture captured my attention.  A picture that doesn’t have a face.  And, if not for the fact that I know the picture is of me wouldn’t draw anybody’s attention to it other than to think it was taken by mistake.

It’s the picture in the center of the photo collage in this post.  A picture of an arm.  My arm.  Tightly holding onto a strap.

The photo itself was taken while my wife and I and others flew through the Brooks Mountain Range on our way to the Artic National Wildlife Refuge some twenty-years ago. 

It was a small little plane that would dance up and down with the mountain currents. Thousands of feet up in the air yet so close that we could see animals and rocks and brush – and mountain! Doors that didn’t close completely and wind that would flow and hiss through the cracks between the door and the frame in which it was housed. Doors that would shake, rattle and creak and threaten to throw themselves open to the altitude exposing me to nothing but air and mountain and mortality. 

Terrified of heights and small planes and crashing –  I remember being strangely exhilarated and thrilled and excited and terrified all at the same time.  My wife, sitting next to me, and our friend Walter, sitting on the other side of her, laughed hysterically at our mutual fear and delight at being in this small single engine plane that seemed to be one propellor revolution and wind gust away from slamming into the mountains.

In those moments I held onto the strap for dear life. 

I looked at that picture and thought about that trip. 

And, I looked at the picture and thought about my life at 60 years old.

It’s been filled with things that have been strangely exhilarating and thrilling and exciting and terrifying all at the same time.  I’ve been filled with fear at times – fear so paralyzing I couldn’t move – and then by hope so intense that moving at all made me afraid it would all go away with the slightest shift of my weight.

I’ve fallen to the depths of despair so deep and dark that climbing out of it felt like so much work and so unnecessary that the possibility I couldn’t or wouldn’t get out scared me so completely I chose to fight and get back up on my feet. 

There’s been the failures and the successes and the losses and the wins and the sorrow and the joy.  Tears, deep and uncontrollable sobbing in the darkness and belly aching giggles and laughter in the light.

Which makes the photo of me holding onto that strap in that airplane something that is a metaphor for my life.  Those photos of my life would be nothing more than memories in pictures if I had let go of the strap that has been my life.

In all of the moments of my life – those that threatened it and those that sustained it – I have held on for dear life. 

My dear life. 

And, that, perhaps is the lesson I’ve come to embrace at 60 years old.  That the most profound thing about this moment is, indeed, my life.  I am alive.  I am so abundantly, radiantly, convincingly, gratefully alive. 

As a habitual overthinker who habitually acts when overthinking gets in the way of progress I’ve come to accept that there are things in life when less is more. 

Like appreciating the simple reality that holding on has given me exactly what I am most grateful for at 60 years old.

My dear life. 

It’s time to look in the mirror and face the enemy of America’s better future

The United States of America is the strongest, most powerful, important and necessary nation on Earth. Yet, one would think the way Americans treat our country it’s nothing more than a land of dissent, discord, division and descent. 

We deliberately go out of our way to be disagreeable to one another in our politics and government. Social media is literally a cesspool for our grievances real and imagined. We have abused our First Amendment, mangled the Second Amendment and have political consultants, politicians, media pundits and so many others undermining the 15th, 19th, 24th and 26th Amendments that our despotic enemies around the world rub their hands together in glee.

Our Fourth Estate, the nation’s “independent media” has abandoned its post to hold truth to power. It’s become simply another vessel for launching one’s opinion and ideology in the guise of “news.”

All of us, as Americans, have nobody to blame for any of this except for ourselves. We allowed it all to happen. We have fostered this era of intolerance towards one another. 

Nobody made America the way it is today other than Americans.

We, the People broke America.

We, the People need to fix it.

Of course it is always somebody else that is responsible for what ails America. 

It’s always easier to point the finger at somebody else rather than looking in the mirror and accepting the truth that we have met the enemy and they are us.

So, what to do about it? How do Americans who built America and now are destroying America rebuild it again?

That’s my hope with this platform is to share my ideas about how we can actually engage in deliberate efforts to fix America. 

Sometimes it will be my opinion. Sometimes I will share other people’s opinions. Other times I hope it is something based upon evidence of an idea, project or initiative that is actually showing promise of working. 

No matter what I write, though, it is rooted in this simple truth: I love the United States of America and the ideals upon which it was founded and the America it can become. 

The most incredible thing about this country is its ability to make itself better. 

And, the people who have the power to make it better aren’t in the White House, the U.S. Capitol, City Hall, State Capitols — they aren’t in a television, radio, or newspaper building — or online staring at a computer screen and waiting to write or respond to someone else who is starting at a computer screen and waiting to write or respond to someone else.

The people who have the power to make it better are each one of us who are We, the People.

It’s time we work together to fix what we have broken. 

I have been working at a job since I was 13 years old. My first job was running a Mobil gas station in Fairmount, North Dakota. A two-pump station that taught me a lot of things about the value of hard-work, sacrifice, resiliency, and self-reliance. 

Today, 45 years after my first job I continue to learn the value of hard-work, sacrifice, resiliency, and self-reliance.

But, in those 45 years I have learned a lot of other things about work, as well. I learned that without the support of one’s peers and colleagues you will only accomplish so much. That communication, cooperation and collaboration aren’t fancy words but fundamental elements of a successful and productive work environment. I learned that whatever work I performed, at whatever task I was assigned or whatever duties and responsibilities I was given, my labor built something more than whatever it was the company or organization was creating, selling, or marketing.

It was building an economy and along the way it was strengthening a nation.

We are at an interesting inflection point in America and, in particular, the economic system that has made this nation the most powerful force for good on the planet at any time in human civilization. The idea has taken hold in many corners of society that work is an undertow that causes pain, discomfort, and dissatisfaction in our day-to-day lives. 

The stories abound that companies can’t find workers. That workers are quitting their jobs in droves. That droves of employees have embarked upon something called “The Great Resignation.” 

There’s an increasing notion that human “self-care” is more fundamental to living one’s best life than having to shoulder the worry, stress, and discomfort of working for a living. That all of us have been spending far too much time caring about work and not enough time caring about ourselves.

Conversations with friends have put forward any number of reasons and theories behind where we stand at the current point in America’s economic history and the perplexing state of affairs as it relates to the dearth of people willing or available to fill empty jobs. Or what we are told is a massive evacuation from jobs in favor of a new life of reflection, leisure and focusing on “what matters most in my life.”

I don’t think it’s all that complicated. 

We are losing our respect for the concept of the dignity of one’s labor. 

I think we have forgotten that a job isn’t solely about making money to buy things that we want, or we need. It’s learning skills one needs to be successful in life or one might want to do something else that creates opportunity and a sense of harmony and balance along the way. Work, and one’s labor, puts each of us in places to learn from one another and about one another. It gives us the chance to find wonder in what it takes to make things. 

Most of all, labor is what built America. Labor is what made, and makes, America great.

Then. Now. And again. 

My life path has given me the option to provide my labor for others, as well as myself.  But, in the end every job I have ever had has contributed to the America I live in today that has given me, my family and others freedom, liberty and opportunity.

I have had jobs that have been horrible. Jobs that paid me far less than I deserved and sometimes exactly what I deserved. I’ve pumped gas, used a blowtorch to take apart railroad tracks, sold pillows on the phone, cleaned toilets, packed luggage, stocked shelves, lobbied politicians, begged for money, and a lot of things in between. 

Not a single job I have ever had hasn’t made me a better person – a better American – and a better citizen. 

Along the way I have had a remarkable life. I have an amazing family. I live in a decent house. I’ve gone on vacation to places near and far. I have given back to my community. I put a few bucks in the bank for a day when I may not be able to work the same way I have since the first job I had when I was 13-years old.

The worst job I ever had was the best job someone else who wanted the life I have had would have gladly taken. I never forget that. No matter how much I feel overwhelmed by the day-to-day responsibilities of the job I have today – or any other job I have ever had in my life.

The dignity of labor is something we’ve lost respect for. We haven’t paid people who work the jobs that make America work enough. Not by a long shot. By not doing so we not only rob them of a wage that can allow them to elevate them from their economic station in life, but we insult and sully the dignity of their labor. 

But Americans themselves have lost an appreciation for the dignity of their own labor. They view it as something untoward, unnecessary, and unproductive.

In doing so we lose sight in the long game of life. 

Our labor isn’t something we do as human beings.

It’s something we have as human beings. 

What we do with it doesn’t just make a difference to ourselves. It makes a difference to the world.  

A few weeks ago, the murmurs began.  They were quiet, at first, but over time they increased in volume and frequency.

“You’re out of shape!”

“You look old and run down!”

“You are on the cusp of moving from chubby to fat!”

“That’s not an adorable Dad Bod that’s just plump!”

The voices were judgmental, sometimes pretty harsh, and rarely were they understanding of the situation.

After all, I am 57, soon to be 58, and except for the two months I spent on a raft on the Mississippi River, I have been stuck at home like the rest of the world.

I tried to be active.  Early in the pandemic my son, Owen, and I, trained for a marathon in Ireland that was, sadly, cancelled due to COVID-19.  I have, off and on, tried a variety of efforts to reduce my increasing body mass. 

I tried to eat less.  I tried to eat at different times.  I tried to not eat carbs.  I tried to fast. We bought a treadmill and I have tried to maintain a pattern of using it.  I have done better than I hope but not nearly as well as I should.

I had put on a fair amount of weight before I took my trip down the river for Hope on the River.  I lost a lot of that weight by the time I arrived in Baton Rouge.

Today, truth be told, all that weight, and probably a bit more, has returned to my middle-age frame.

Those murmurs? 

They weren’t from people being mean or cruel to me.

They came from my own head.

They were my voices and they have gotten louder every single day.

I don’t write or post this to get sympathy from anybody.  I have eaten well.  That’s more that can be said for billions of people on this planet. 

That I worry about my belly, my butt, my waist and my moobs is clearly a 1^st world problem.  I know that.  So, don’t anybody interpret this as a cry for help or need for pity or understanding. 

It is, however, the reality of my life right now that at 57 I feel older than I have ever felt, and I absolutely hate that feeling.

Up until the time I was 39 I punished my body terribly.  Not from exercise or sports.  But from smoking, drinking, eating and generally acting as though my physical being would be immune from my bad choices.

From 39 until today I have tried, with mixed but determined success, to be better to my chassis.

I’ve run 7, maybe 8 (I can’t remember) marathons….a bunch of half marathons….smaller races…biked others…skied others…quit smoking….and at a minimum be mindful of my need to care and tend for myself better than I once did.

To be honest, it hasn’t been until COVID-19 locked down the world that it has become so much more challenging for me to grab control of my physical fitness.

I know I should be less hard on myself.  Or at least I tell myself I should be less hard on myself.

Yet, there’s a price one pays for being too lenient on themselves at my age.

If anybody body shames me, it is me.  I don’t really care whether other people thing I am chubby, plump, fat or otherwise.

Nor do I care whether they think I look awesome with my shirt off, my jeans snug on my butt, or a rough-hewn chin.  (Please note: I do not.  If they are snug they are just too tight because they are too small for me.  And it is hard to be rough-hewn when you have more than one chin!)

I want to be physically better because I want to do all the things I want to do as long as I am able to do them.

I hate running.  But I love that I am still able to run. 

I am thrilled with the capacity to move.  To bend over.  To stretch.  To have balance.  To pick things up.  To exert myself and recover.

And, really, at the end of the day, that is really all I hope to be able to do at 58, 68, 78, 88, 98 and 100.

I just want to be able to do.

To live.

As spring creeps up on us, and as the world begins to re-open as COVID-19 slowly begins to recede as an existential threat to humanity, I have to find ways to regain the hold on my physical being.

Maybe there’s another marathon in me.  A long bike ride.  A crazy endurance race of some kind.  A mountain to climb.  Perhaps something else I haven’t yet quite put my finger on.

But, to all those middle-age men – and women – who have heard those same voices in their heads as I have heard over the last several months, I want you to know that you’re not alone. 

I don’t have a magic pill.  A quick weight loss plan.  Or, for that matter, some exercise that you can do that suddenly tightens up your butt, tones your abs, makes your clothes not feel like they’re pinching you where you don’t want them to pinch, or a tighten up a face that looks like you may or may not have encountered some uncomfortably high G-forces.

I do have empathy.  Because I am right there with you. 

And, just like you, I intend to find my way back to a place where I can feel good about how I feel so I can do the things I want to do whenever and wherever it is I want to do them.

And to be able to tell those voices in my head to go to Hell because I like wearing sweatpants all the time, thank you very much!

Since 2013 today would be the day that Spare Key staff would begin the process of moving our operations from our office to wherever it was we would be holding our annual Groove Gala.

From 2013 to 2015 it would have been at Aria in Minneapolis. 

From 2016 until last year it would have been at The Depot in Minneapolis.

Today, there is no moving truck. 

There are no weeks of silent auction items piling up in our office, bottles upon bottles of wine and liquor, décor and party supplies, and boxes upon boxes of other things ready to be loaded into an elevator to be brought to the ground floor of our office building.

There’s no Anchor Paper truck outside the front doors, or John, the driver, loading our precious cargo onto pallets and lovingly and patiently securing them and loading them into his truck for delivery to The Depot.

There’s none of that today.

Instead, all the silent auction items are sitting in the homes of Abby and Alexia.  The bottles upon bottles of wine and liquor will have to wait until next year and the boxes upon boxes of other things have been delivered to people’s homes, near and far, over the past several days.

No Anchor Paper truck will arrive, no John driving it, and no pallets will be loaded into his truck.

This year there is no Groove Gala because COVID-19 makes it impossible for the 750 to 900 guests we have had in the past to gather safely.

Instead, we have built a virtual event that we call Hope Across America and it will be held on Saturday, February 27^th at7:00 p.m. CST. 

There will be a Silent Auction, a Live Auction, an Appeal, a speed raffle and more.  A lot more.  We have worked hard to give our Hope Across America event the same excitement, surprises and enthusiasm we have had at our Groove Gala. 

We’ve condensed the entire program to a little more than 50 minutes.  You can stay in your pajamas, make your own drink, use your own bathroom and talk as much as you want without being given a dirty look by other guests for being too loud.

It’s an interesting thing this transition from a Live Groove Gala to a Virtual Hope Across America Celebration.

It’s not any less work.  In fact, it may be even more work.  It takes an entire Team of staff, vendors, friends, videographers, editors, technicians and others to imagine the program, develop the program, prepare the program and produce the program.

We still need to find Sponsors – beg for Silent Auction items – curate Live Auction items – and do it and get it all done as soon as possible.

And nothing happens as fast as it should.  Timelines are set and missed and set and missed again and then again. 

Staff gets stressed and from time to time gets on one another’s nerves and the closer we get to the event perhaps even on that one last nerve that each of us has. 

Yet, there’s never a moment that goes by when we don’t realize that we’re all in this together.

There are emails to send – Board Members to wrangle – and people to register.

It’s a big transition to go from something we’ve been doing for nearly a decade to suddenly having to do something we’ve never done before.

What will the night hold for this event?  How much will we raise? 

I can’t answer the latter, but I do have a pretty idea of the former.

We’ve done all we can to present an entertaining 50 minutes of celebrating Spare Key to those who have registered already, and those who will want to register, for free, at: https://bit.ly/HopeAcrossAmerica

I am confident that those who attend will be entertained.  There will be laughter.  There will be some shocked surprises.  And, yes, there will be tears.

But there will also be Hope. 

Because that is what this event is all about:  Hope.

Hope for Spare Key to raise the funds we need to bring Hope to families facing a medical crisis.

I’d rather be preparing to gather with hundreds of our friends and supporter’s tomorrow night at 7:00 p.m. CST at The Depot in Minneapolis.

But what I want and what Spare Key needs right now are not exactly on the same page.

What Spare Key needs is your financial support.  We spent 2020 fighting the good fight and emerged from a world scarred by a global pandemic ready to keep fighting in 2021. 

We are fighting because we know that the work we started three years ago to create a technology platform to aid families facing a medical crisis avoid adding a financial crisis to their lives is worth every minute of the fight – no matter how hard and difficult and overwhelming it can seem at times.

That we are now able to help families anywhere in the country truly is about bringing Hope Across America.  It’s now our DNA.  Our raison d’etre. The simple purpose for our existence.

I hope you will join us on Saturday, February 27^th at 7:00 p.m. CST.  It will be less than an hour of your time.  An hour of your time where you can learn more about Spare Key – who we serve – why we serve – and a lot of everything in between.

Abby, Sarah, Alexia, Kristi and Ashley have worked hard to put this program together and the care and attention to detail will show.  So, too, will the power of the purpose behind the mission of our Help Me Bounce platform.

I promise you that when it’s done it will be the best hour you spent in front of a screen this week and maybe even this month.

Put on your slippers.  Grab your favorite beverage.  Make sure you have your wallet and a credit card and a box of Kleenex. 

Most of all, help us bring Hope Across America to families across America.