_______________________

You felt her essence before seeing her. The atoms of the atmosphere danced. Fresh oxygen energized the air. Suddenly, laughter lilting through the room made sense of your senses: Mary had arrived.

While Mary’s effervescence enlivened any space she inhabited, it was never for show and never about her. She simply delighted in life and all the wondrous people in it. Joy sparkled in her eyes when she met someone, as if to remind each person of their own immeasurable worth and dignity.

I tell you her story because to me, she exemplifies how one ordinary person can live life at the highest level — and offer a truth you won’t find in a self-help book.

Along the way, the meaning and implications of incarnation emerge.

Mary was a family friend—the kind who becomes family. We crossed paths after she had emigrated from County Mayo, Ireland to Chicago and married Tom of County Galway, whom she’d met at one of the parish dances she loved so well.

Tom already owned an Irish music venue and pub when they met. His work schedule limited dating to Sundays after Mass. Two years into this ritual, Tom awkwardly proposed: “Well Mary, I’d say it’s time for your people to meet my people and make the arrangements.”

Five children later, Mary still laughed about their less than romantic moment. She found humor or redemption in any situation.

Mary likely absorbed that knack from her mother

…during the lean 1930s in County Mayo, Ireland. In certain ways, Mary’s mother reminded me of the father in the film “Life is Beautiful” who crafted brilliant stories to protect his son’s innocent spirit.

For when money woes led Mary’s father to take a job in England and the children lamented leaving their land and people, Mary’s mother framed the temporary move as a wonder-filled adventure granted only to a fortunate few.

In London, difficulty making ends meet meant taking in strangers as boarders. Again, Mary’s mother sold the bright side, describing how fascinating it would be to meet people with varied life stories and tales of travel! Each evening, she included the children in preparing and sharing a lovely table and meal with the boarders. Mary learned that diminished circumstances never diminish human dignity.

Even during the World War II London blackouts, their mother emboldened the family by telling Celtic hero stories in the dark. Mary learned to conquer fear.

Years later in Chicago…

I observed many ways Mary showed others what strength they could summon from within. When my priest brother and I set out to restore and reinvigorate an historic Chicago church, Mary not only volunteered and donated, but also quietly extended herself to the grieving, the lost, the lonely, the homeless, the hungry—and lifted them with companionship, resources and patient listening.

And when I was put through a major ordeal, Mary summoned me for tea. She caught me turning aside to hide tears, and insisted, “Look me in the eye. What is happening to you is unjust, intolerable and solvable. Don’t for one second allow it to dispirit you!” After our heart to heart, she’d send me messages, poems or prayer cards that were mystically spot on to the challenge before me that day.

Now, lest you picture Mary as pious and saintly, know that her mischievous nature inclined her more toward conducting “ministry” at her family pub, an Irish dance hall, or over a champagne brunch.

She was always fun!

No day could be squandered. Being alive was reason enough to celebrate.

When my father passed away too young, Mary began to kidnap my mother after Sunday Mass for a day of random adventure: perhaps “High Tea” downtown followed by a play or movie or shopping spree — much of it Mary’s treat. The escapades — accompanied by Mary’s rollicking laughter — were enough to make anyone forget their troubles.

Trouble landed on her own doorstep

…when her beloved Tom died suddenly. Mary defied death with gratitude. When I hugged her beside his casket she hushed my condolences with “Now didn’t he lead a grand life Mary Kay? And weren’t we so lucky to have had him?”

She wasn’t acting. She spoke from her unwavering certainty that death isn’t final. This was not the end of their story.

Florida antics

In the winters after Tom died, Mary would often accompany my mother to a family condo in Florida — out of friendship, and also to help my mother who was ten years her senior. Still, Mary always treated my Mom like her carefree wing-girl, driving her to the beach or seaside lunches — even for cosmetic counter makeovers!

One day, knowing my siblings were arriving for a week’s stay, my mother asked Mary to take her for new pajamas. The next morning, my mother appeared before everyone at the breakfast table in something resembling a 1930s Hollywood starlet’s full-length satin nightgown and robe. The glamorous get-up elicited wolf-whistles and laughter, with no one enjoying it more than my mother!

Quintessential Mary! Humor? Yes. But mostly an outrageously bold: Why Not??!

Why shouldn’t a beautiful nonagenarian with a good figure and a sense of fun look like a movie star? Was she supposed to give up glamour? Shuffle around in a hairnet and housecoat?

Mary didn’t believe in behaving, acting her age or giving up before you’re in the ground.

She believed in living vibrantly, loving extravagantly, and giving all you can till you breathe your last.

Music, dancing and laughter animated her soul. Family, friends and strangers opened her heart. And she felt awe before natural wonders: flowers, mountains, birds, stars — and most especially, the sea.

Perhaps it reminded her of Ireland.

One late afternoon in Florida, after chatting with the few people left on the beach, Mary decided there was time for one more swim before dinner.

And the sea took Mary home. . .

Mary expressed Incarnation by the way she lived: with the irrepressible joy of someone who understood that if God took on our humanity, then everything human is infused with divine possibility. That told her everything she needed to know about how to live, and about the immeasurable human capacity to be a gentle light of hope and a force of profound connection among people.

But even if you doubt the faith-based definition, Mary showed that when we incarnate our in-born talents and distinct attributes — fully inhabiting all we are — we offer love and inspiration to the world, and meet our moment in time.

Penumbral blends boundaries, engages the senses, imagines with our mind’s eye, and glimpses what is beyond the spotlight.

A word born in the stars, penumbral refers to the outer shadow cast by an opaque object—such as the Earth or Moon—where the light source is only partially obscured. In a penumbral lunar eclipse, the Moon passes through the edge of Earth’s shadow, only subtly dimming the Moon’s beam.

From that celestial start, penumbral evolved to describe anything shadowed, shaded or marginal — from physical space to lighting to concepts. It acknowledges nuance, even in U.S. law. Penumbral Guarantees refer to human rights that implicitly follow from major protections in the U.S. Constitution & Bill of Rights. For example, the courts presume a “freedom of association” because without the right to form groups, the major rights to free speech and assembly would be undermined.

Penumbral also has an artistic flair, expressing the hazy boundary where light and shade blend in painting or photography.

The connotation of penumbral as synonymous with shading, intrigue and mystery found application in other life contexts. It describes candlelight flattering faces in soft-focus, sparkling in eyes as shadows flicker on walls. Or the umbrageous shelter of a lush oak tree overhanging a hammock, inviting a nap or place to ponder.

Penumbral’s visual interplay with degrees of illumination taps into our associations with light and darkness. While lambent lighting or a shady refuge favor romance or rest, we link pure darkness with danger, gloom, and the unknown. Just as shifting planetary positions change what’s concealed and exposed, our human condition travels a spectrum of emotions:

Will a candlelit romance ignite the light of love? Can a hammock inspiration spark creative genius? Do colleagues deceive with hidden agendas? And especially in these confusing times—does the boogie man live in the dark, or in the limelight seeking my vote?

Ironically, intense light obscures vision and perception. How many of us have been bedazzled by a sparkling lure — only to find ourselves hooked and dangling like a large-mouthed bass!

Try as we might to determine true from false, authentic from fake, altruism from self-interest — we find that life is neither all light nor all darkness. Penumbral reminds us it’s in-between, both/and. Politicians can be ego-driven, but act in the public good. Misfortune can yield unexpected benefits. Good people sin, and horrible people sometimes do good things.

We know we are born with an inherent human dignity—meaning there’s much more to us than meets the eye. In fact, with our hearts we can even see and feel the invisible — yet most powerful — forces in the world: love, trust, compassion, hope, and the inspiration that leads to creativity.

Human creative brilliance has brought us from the murky penumbral light of

sea and cave to the present unprecedented moment of lightening-speed technological advancement. As we find our way in the dark again, navigating the mysterious, wondrous potential of an intelligence beyond our own, let’s eradicate evil, disease and hunger; establish economic justice; render war extinct — all while remembering, as Pope Leo recently wrote, “to lovingly safeguard the grandeur of our humanity.”

Lypophrenia: temporarily feeling sad, empty, overwhelmed for no particular reason; tired of one’s routine; lacking excitement. Greek: lypē (sadness/sorrow)+phrenia (referring to mind or soul)

Lypophrenia elicits criticism as a word concocted to lend gravity to, or even encourage, teenage melodrama. But it is meant to refer to the universal experience at any age of feeling temporarily gloomy, life-weary or discouraged .

In our sometimes overly psychoanalytic world, it’s both refreshing and important to acknowledge that not every “down” day reflects a serious condition. As columnist Hooray Rehan observed in her recent Medium column, lypophrenia is helpful in distinguishing brief episodes of “the blues” from a medical problem, pointing out that “not all sadness is a disorder…or having a negative mindset.”

Whether triggered by changing teenage hormones, or by factors that dampen peoples’ spirits regardless of age — sleep deprivation, family or financial stressors, our turbulent times or lack of enough time — most of us have weathered passing clouds of sadness, resignation, or feeling overwhelmed.

In fact, it happened to me just last week — ironically, as a prelude to something I was very happy about!

In a rare alignment of availability, all five of my young adult children, their spouses/significant others and my three wee grand-boys were free all afternoon on Mother’s Day (thank you traveling parents-in-law!) and insisted on making a fairly distant, heavily-trafficked drive north so I could stay home and bask in adoration.

Now that’s how loving young adult children think: seize the opportunity and spare Mom the bumper-to-bumper drive into the city, the overcrowded restaurants with overworked waiters serving lukewarm brunch, and everyone rushing to get to their mothers-in-law for well-deserved equal time.

I felt thrilled at the opportunity! Honored!

So why didn’t I have a blissful week?

A mother’s love in overdrive is partly to blame.

This is how many a mother’s brain thinks: While the kids offered to bring or make everything, I thought immediately of the hassle that would be for them, given their many job responsibilities, the babies and transporting food while fighting the holiday traffic. I insisted I’d just pull together a simple meal.

Already, I’d envisioned a blissful Hallmark-card scene with all of us gathered together relaxing over good food in my gleaming, comfortable home with the kiddies enjoying the most engaging, brain-stimulating toys I’d select with my exceptional child-rearing expertise.

But, I’d forgotten lesson one of motherhood: life is messy.

As my work week began, unexpected projects arose along with a couple of distant and extra-long meetings scheduled over several days. That must’ve been why my hot water tank decided to conk out the next morning, giving me a brisk, icy wake up call as I rushed to shower and leave the house. I drove to a meeting while playing “dial-a-plumber,” only to find that neither an installer nor the required tank were available for days.

What an ideal week for my main credit card to get compromised! Every life-function linked to it resulted in multiple time-sapping hassles and online journeys to the center of hell. When I finally got to the bank to obtain a replacement card, I feared my balance of time for party preparation was nearly overdrawn.

That’s when I caught a minor case of lypophrenia.

Symptomatic onset occurred as my Mother’s Day vision washed down the drain with more ice-cold shower water.

But God has a sense of humor.

First came the minor miracles:

A sainted plumber appeared.

Unseen forces canceled meetings.

A prophet foretold of heavenly carry-outs

An angel led me to dollar store toys

As the week’s challenges began to resolve, I acknowledged the error of my ways. I had aspired to create THE idealized family event, but real life intruded as it always does. I fought each setback as if it were a bully trying to steal my time to pull off perfection! When I finally stopped resisting time’s pressure, I fell into the present.

And it became a gift greater than I could’ve imagined.

On Mother’s Day, my 3-year-old grandson burst in to give me the tightest cheek-to-cheek hug and sweetest kiss. Next I swept his 6-month-old brother into my arms where his legs bicycled with excitement as his eyes danced with mine. Soon their 9-month-old cousin arrived, and after stealing more hugs and kisses, I released him to the floor where the trio of boys found freedom.

Of course, parents escorted these boys, and they arrived bearing more than just kids. They lavished me with bouquets, gifts, food & wine.

Not long ago, these young parents were my babies—a truth accompanied by a pronounced recognition of time’s swift and precious irreplaceability. My previous week’s fretting, now seen in rear-view, looked so small against the wonder before me.

I delighted in my 3-year-old grandson’s confidence as he opened the back door and introduced himself to neighboring triplets playing outside. Meanwhile, the crawling cousins explored each other and everything & anything in sight, prompting their parents, aunts and uncles to act as interceptors. My kids, close in age and relationship, possess a sibling symbiosis, allowing them to choreograph child supervision with nods and gestures while still carrying on adult conversation.

Given that my situation at their age had usually consisted of 5 on 1 (me) — with two or three babes in diapers at times — I marveled at their mutual support system. Yet my admiration never stops me from gratuitously indulging in (ok, maybe encouraging) theirs—soaking up empathy, compliments and especially basking in: “Mom, how did you do it??!”

Meanwhile, my Dollar Store finds were paying dividends. My daughter, one of the hovering “aunties,” had tipped me off to some crafting projects which mesmerized the 3 year-old, but left the adults weary of diving for small parts dropping near the rugrats.

For safety’s sake, we packed away the crafts and 3-year-old PJ followed his curiosity upstairs. The adults sat back and relaxed into easy conversation. Then PJ returned with something.

“Grandma, what’s this a key to?”

“I don’t know,” I said, “I found it in an old suitcase.”

“Hmmm…” he replied with a finger on his cheek, “Maybe…”

And with that, we all entered into his mystery. A 3-year-old’s imagination ignited ours.

We took turns following PJ around as he tried and eliminated conventional possibilities—doors, cabinets, cars. Now the key became potential entrée to imagined portals and secret chambers hidden somewhere in this old house. PJ could’ve explored all night, but the grown-ups grew game-weary.

Returning to the couch, I pretended to fall asleep. One of my kids said, “PJ, maybe it’s the key to grandma!”

Now PJ and my kids perked up, sensing a stunt. They egged him on: “Try it in her ear!”

That made me jump to my feet in a Frankenstein walk.

“Quick PJ, turn her off!” yelled the aunties.

PJ complied. I fell motionless. But now he had game.

The key went in my nose. I snored.

My knee. I kicked.

My shoulder. I bent like a Gumby.

Then one of my daughter’s said, “Try her mouth and maybe she’ll talk like Donald Duck.”

I did. My specialty! An odd talent I cultivated in their childhood, borne in desperation on a snow-bound day when even Mom went bonkers with cabin fever.

But now my grandson squealed in delight, begging “AGAIN!” till I’d comply —and the room grew raucous with laughter.

And in that laughter, I felt it.

The past, the present and the future were suspended in a moment—connecting all of us in the sheer joy of simply belonging to one another.

No family and no one is perfect.

People rise to the best of human possibility, but also fall short, hurt one another, or self-sabotage our best intentions. We worry—often needlessly—and allow everyday setbacks to undermine us. We try too hard to “make a moment” forgetting that serendipity is the heart of life’s most unforgettable days.

It’s enough to give a person lypophrenia!

But there is an alternative. A remedy.

PJ has the key.

If we use our imagination to envision ourselves as the more we truly are, perhaps we will treat ourselves and our lives with greater benevolence—and have more fun within our human predicament.

President John F. Kennedy once paraphrased wise words from a Hindu epic:

“Three things are real: God, human folly, and laughter. The first two are beyond our comprehension. So we must do what we can with the third.”

That joyful posture frees us for a life more wondrous than our wildest expectations — as expressed in this brief Irish verse:

I would like to live

Like a river flows

Carried by the surprise

Of its own unfolding

~John O’Donohue

Abdominal pain stabbed my mother awake at 4am and kept her writhing in bed past sunrise. My worried father alternately sat beside her or paced while half-heartedly dressing for work.

“What can I do hon’? What do you think it is?”

“I don’t know” she said, “but it’s as bad as labor pains.”

Well-past her child-bearing years, she struggled to even convey the intensity.

Finally, it stopped - as mysteriously as it had begun.

An hour later, we received a call that my older sister, who lived several states away, had just delivered her first child prematurely — by almost three months — but my parents’ 4 lb grandson was breathing well in an incubator.

We know more than we know.

My certainty of that truth has been solidly reinforced by stunning experiences like the one I just described, as well as by others within my family, and in my own life. One proved especially perplexing.

A dear friend’s brother-in-law was a U.S. Air Force Lieutenant General stationed in Germany with his family. His extended Chicago family spoke of Jim with great pride, but I didn’t meet him till he came home to the States briefly for a special occasion. We conversed for just a few minutes.

Flash forward 5-6 years. I saw the extended family less in the ensuing time and never once thought about the decorated military man. Until one morning, his name and face randomly popped into my head when I awoke—and it wouldn’t leave. Around noon, I received a call from my friend that her brother-in-law had passed away suddenly of a heart attack.

Lest you think I’m some kind of freaky cultist or psychic wannabe, let me assure you I am simply an ordinary Irish-American Catholic woman living in the midwest who is as mystified by these experiences as you might be. And there are dozens more I could share.

But they do have a perfectly legitimate explanation.

Intuition.

Neuroscientists confirm that it’s real. They define it as the human capacity to understand something — often quickly — without conscious reasoning. It’s experienced as instinct or a “gut feeling” that has a spacious quality. Your mind is pulling together a myriad of threads from your subconscious. You feel strangely aligned with some kind of certainty, as if something has clicked into place.

Some scientists regard intuition as a sixth sense that detects, among other things, social and emotional signals. It involves your subconscious mind operating at a much faster rate than conscious deliberation—rapidly analyzing current situations against past experiences, knowledge and patterns. Theoretically, data from long term memory and experiences are matched for similarities and enter your conscious mind in the form of a conclusion, feeling, or insight about a situation or person.

Are some people are more intuitive than others?

Many of you have heard the expression “women’s intuition.” In fact, evidence suggests women do have a heightened ability to rapidly read emotional cues, body language and nonverbal signals.

Neuroscientists attribute it to the fact that in women, the corpus callosum (white matter connecting the left & right brain spheres) is up to 25% larger than men’s and contains about 30% more nerve fibers. This more receptive connectivity facilitates faster integration between emotional/intuitive insights from the right sphere with logic and linguistic analysis from the left. Women are generally better at catching micro-expressions and correctly interpreting voice tones and body language.

Estrogen provides an additional advantage for women as it enhances perceptiveness and “gut feelings.” Of course, it cannot be discounted that historically, women have been conditioned to be more emotionally-attuned and expressive.

ADHD

Individuals with ADHD also exhibit strong intuition. It doesn’t surprise me at all to find that tests show the ADHD brain processes environmental, social and sensory data better than control groups. This superior ability often renders ADHD people quicker at making connections and engaging in creative problem-solving. Often, ADHD people easily tune in to the “vibe” of situations and immediately discern inauthenticity, motives or danger.

Strengthening Intuition

While certain people possess a higher aptitude for intuitive accuracy, every human being is born with an ancient capacity for inner knowing. It began as a survival mechanism, alerting our earliest ancestors to danger that required fast action. Now, ironically, slowing down improves our intuitive signal reception amidst the static and noise within our world and our brains. Quieting one’s mind through immersion in nature, long walks, deep breathing, meditation - even keeping a dream journal - are recommended to access the instinctive part of our human nature

Curiosity also brings forth insight as observing, noticing and wondering open intuitive flow. Creativity, whether through writing, painting, music or the visual arts, frees the intuitive mind to express its originality.

Intuition is a gift — forged by forces hidden in time, and flowing from portals of mystery.

It’s a body-knowing. A felt knowledge, enlightening our humanity on a level beyond intelligence alone.

At this moment in time, when increasingly sophisticated technology is poised to advance or destroy humanity, will we call upon our intuitive wisdom to guide our intellects with heart?

An especially brilliant mind with exceptionally creative vision once offered his view of what is indispensable to genuine human progress:

The only real valuable thing is intuition. The intellect has little to do on the road to discovery. ~Albert Einstein

Who knew that boredom could inspire such fascinating words to describe itself? Words that capture the subtle nuances distinguishing the listless torpor of ennui from the psychic inertia of malaise—or the insipid platitudes of saccharin speech from the banal observations of intellectual imposters.

Add to those intriguing terms still more synonyms for boring: tedious, dull, lackluster, uninteresting, flat, wearying, ho-hum, humdrum, monotonous and…jejune.

I chose jejune — partly because it’s fun to say and will make you sound smart if you work it into conversation. In fact, if you want to liven up a boring cocktail party (isn’t that a given?), just say, “This jejune soirée makes me hungry. Where’s the buffet?” Others might scratch their heads, but you’d be tossing in a double entendre—for jejune suggests boring, but originally meant “hungry, fasting, barren, meager” from the Latin jejunus. So jejune just nails that feeling of want when a conversation, film or other experience leaves us feeling empty or starving for intellectual, clever or creative nourishment.

What all the many descriptors of boredom lament is a lack of

stimulation

spirit

liveliness

character

At some level, our minds and souls seek the sustenance of vibrancy and enlightenment derived from

fresh perspectives

wondrous art

engaging conversation

and the smart humor that makes life sparkle!

A friend of mine had parents who were vivacious, quick-witted—even a little mischievous. His mother relegated pretentious people and events to life’s lowest bar: “Bores!!” His father likened dull conversationalists to “…playin’ wallball without a wall — Nothin’ comes back!”

We feed off each other’s energy and laughter as well as our exchange of ideas and insights. We are curious, creative beings who wander the earth carrying questions, seeking answers—hunting for a bounty of discovery to inspire invention, and driven by a desire to express our inner life through words, music and art.

Given our nature, many experts contend that the dullness of boredom naturally leads to creativity. I think that theory is misleading.

Of course, the restless discomfort of boredom prompts the brain to seek stimulation which can lead to daydreaming, wondering, concocting a game or sparking new ideas. All of that strengthens the imagination. So boredom presents a creative opportunity.

But being bored can also lead to negative behavior like crime, alcohol/drug abuse, idling life away, excessive gaming, or simply indulging in self-pity and the blame game.

More commonly today, the irritant of boredom triggers a default response to reach for a phone or other device—squandering the chance to engage our inventive potential.

In fact, according to brain imaging studies conducted by University of British Columbia cognitive neuroscientist Dr. Kalina Christoff, the minute we indulge in the ready visual and other stimulation from our personal technology, we override our mind’s “wandering mode,” short-circuiting the observation and wonder state that re-sets the brain and primes it for creativity.

So while boredom affords mental space for exploration, creativity requires the additional impetus of intentional action emanating from some higher intrinsic motivation. For example, Ringo Starr was introduced to a drum in a hospital when he was 13 and convalescing from tuberculosis. But to actually express himself through the singular style which would become his renown, he had to first become curious, learn to play, practice, and invent a form that favored his strengths.

Similarly, when film director Martin Scorcese was a child in New York’s Little Italy, severe asthma restricted him from playing on the streets. He chose to immerse himself in observing local gangster activity viewed discreetly from his apartment window. It sparked his imagination, refined his vision for framing, and inspired his aspiration for filmmaking.

Beyond taking action driven by an intrinsic motivation, there is another facilitator of creativity: Trust the process. Every scientist armed with research, every writer with a story, every artist with a vision, at some point…hits a wall, gets stuck, loses touch with the Muse.

The remedy? Step away awhile. Centuries of human experience—now supported by data—confirm that switching to some other activity requiring less concentration and more diffused thought will shift one’s brain into the wandering mode so integral to creativity.

There is something about disengaging from direct focus on creative outcome that unleashes a spontaneous generation of ideas. Dr. Christoff’s functional MRI brain imaging shows when we change focus, blood rushes through the default network, a vital support center in the limbic system where free consciousness sorts through our thoughts and experiences, forging new connections.

That is when stunning moments of crystal clarity can arise unbidden.

Dr. John Kounios, author of The Eureka Factor, describes the moment as multiple brain regions synchronizing in a burst of gamma activity—releasing an epiphany from the brain’s network-wide reboot. Its power is so real and strong, “It’s an insight you can feel.”

So many of you know that feeling well.

The unexpected, wondrous Aha!

An exhilarating breakthrough you must seize immediately

Before the tune skips down the street…

While the words hang in the air…

Before a fickle muse finds someone more attentive…

Award-winning composer/actor Lin Manuel-Miranda recalled when a burst of inspiration struck suddenly on a subway ride to his best friend’s birthday party. He arrived, hugged his friend and said, “Happy Birthday. I’m so sorry, but I’ve gotta go!”—and left. He wrote Hamilton’s “Wait for It” that very night.

Such creative genius is the sacred, animating spark of human creativity ignited in our subconscious, illuminating what our imagination already knew.

That’s nourishing soul sustenance, and anything but jejune.

You heard it here first folks: vituperative is having a moment. While it emerged in English back in the 1700s, the tenor of our times portend its comeback.

Increasingly, vituperative is appearing across multiple media to describe the tone of our political discourse, online commentary, and interactions that go beyond argumentative to become personally demeaning and cruel.

Vituperative conveys not only the harshness of certain language and actions, but also the charged emotion fueling them. A disparaging tone or exploitative action escalates situations, provoking others to resist by responding in kind —especially when civil discourse or temperate behavior fails.

Sometimes the intensity of vituperative public conflict wears down opponents till both agree to negotiation. After four brutal years of Civil War, General Lee’s crushing defeat at Appomattox prompted his note to General Grant, asking to discuss terms of surrender.

A century later, violent attacks on Civil Rights activists - especially on what came to be known as Selma’s “Bloody Sunday” - led to national outrage and passage of the 1965 Civil Rights Act.

Anti-war protests, particularly the 1970 killing of four college student protestors by the National Guard, pressured President Nixon to withdraw U.S. troops from Vietnam.

Still, physical and emotional violence take a terrible toll on societies and individuals. In the U.S., who among us is not deeply troubled and saddened by current circumstances?

But this is not a political piece. My focus and concern is on human dignity, and the insidious emotional and physical damage exacted by bombastic language, rage, and unbridled violence — whether in the public arena or the privacy of domestic settings. It sickens our body politic as well as our bodies.

It is significant that vituperative is defined specifically as abusive language and behavior. Abusive is defined as physical, emotional, economic or psychological actions or verbal assaults that intimidate, terrorize, manipulate, humiliate or wound.

Medical science provides abundant evidence that exposure to abusive language and behavior affects genes that regulate physical and emotional well-being. Neuroscientist Dr. Andrew B. Newberg’s studies show that disparaging words or actions activate the amygdala to release cortisol, impairing the frontal lobe’s logical thinking and increasing anxiety. The resulting stress drains energy. Prolonged exposure to negative criticism creates a chronic “fight or flight” mode impacting emotions, appetite, sleep patterns and eventually, damaging the heart and other organs.

The body and psyche don’t distinguish between physical and psychological abuse. Both types emerge from perpetrators’ need or desire to dominate, control and diminish others. Both invade and harm our bodies and minds without our consent.

No one has the right to commit that heinous, soul-lacerating crime.

Unfortunately, neither the public nor private arena will ever eradicate those who torment, bully and belittle others to make themselves feel powerful.

As the late, great John Prine wrote, they “come on big when they’re feelin’ small.”

There’s no cure for malignant insecurity.

Fortunately, we are resilient beings.

We can heal, restore, renew and emerge stronger, wiser and ready to recreate our lives and our world.

But how?

Together.

I recently came upon the longest, most comprehensive study of adult development ever conducted in the United States. Dr. Robert Waldinger and his Harvard colleagues began with one question: what constitutes human thriving and happiness?

From 1938 through today, the study has followed individuals and their families, from young adulthood on, through interviews, observation and testing with the most advanced biological and brain technology.

Not surprisingly, their results reconfirm that association with toxic people correlates with unhappiness, heart disease, diabetes and faster brain decline.

But what is the single, most important predictor of human thriving and abiding happiness?

Good relationships.

Connection to family and faithful friends correlates with better health, effective emotional regulation, less stress, and even sharper, younger brains.

With that wisdom in mind, allow me a boomer indulgence as I offer the song lyrics below — a timeless reminder of our potential as hope-filled, uplifting companions on the shared road forward.

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

Love is but a song we sing
Fear's the way we die
You can make the mountains ring
Or make the angels cry
Though the bird is on the wing
And you may not know why

Come on, people now
Smile on your brother
Everybody get together
Try to love one another right now

Some may come and some may go
He will surely pass
When the one that left us here
Returns for us at last
We are but a moment's sunlight
Fading in the grass

Come on, people now
Smile on your brother
Everybody get together
Try to love one another right now

If you hear the song I sing
You will understand, listen
You hold the key to love and fear
All in your trembling hand
Just one key unlocks them both
It's there at your command

I said, come on, people now
Smile on your brother
Everybody get together
Try to love one another right now

Right now
Right now

(For those who’d like to listen to the song, here’s the 4:41 audio):

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Do you admit your obsession and elation to anyone who isn’t a writer or other creative?

Creators of every ilk can identify with the obsessive insistence that whatever you want to say, paint, photograph or play is available in the abundant universe, and you simply must find it. The passion to express is a marvel, an act of hope that your creation can connect and move the mind and soul of another being.

Words matter.

In Beyond Words, I usually feature one word and explore beyond its definition to its depths of layered meaning, especially how it expresses something particular about what it means to be human. But in this inflection point in time—looking back at one year while beginning another—I am thinking about words themselves, and their power to elevate and inspire, or undermine and dispirit.

We inhabit words and they inhabit us. Bad words swear. Good words seal promises. Sacred words are saved for love and the divine.

Words possess a wondrous power to evoke emotion. The right combination of meaning, rhythm and sound can create poetry, unite nations, embolden causes, give hope to the despondent.

But words can also get in the way—as they have in our social discourse of late. “Charged” words are the common parlance. Volume has risen. Anger has intensified. Friends and colleagues fear political discussion—something those of us who enjoy politics used to relish.

Beyond staying in our own news silos, we’ve split into language lanes. Certain terms preferred by one faction are heard as “dog whistles” by others. And like secret societies, adherents of the same philosophy signal loyalty through a proscribed vocabulary.

Complicating matters are the ever-shifting standards of “political correctness.” Innocent words risk tsk-tsk from someone. Meanwhile, “politically correct” labels are often disavowed by the very people they describe, adding insult to theft of proprietary rights.

Words are causing a ruckus.

Intensifying the confusion, we find ourselves still grappling with the relatively recent phenomenon of word power in the palm of our hands. While we wish it always transmitted the truth, its messages often cross-wire with political ideologies, media biases, religious righteousness, perfection-marketing or personal attacks.

The attacks are especially troubling when it comes to young people. The well-chronicled connections between social media use and teen depression—even suicide—show the terrorizing impact of vicious words sent to private devices, shared with peers in public forums. The 2025 Netflix series, Adolescence, confronts parents with the horrors of online shaming—an abuse often hidden in a code adults can barely crack.

Growing awareness of cyberbullying is leading to protective measures on social media. But what about real life? In communities (as well as in cyberspace), people continue to engage in rancorous debate and hostile behavior. The deleterious effects of antagonistic language are unavoidable. Dr. Andrew Newberg, a renowned neuroscientist and pioneer in Neurotheology (the study of the brain and spirituality), finds that the brain’s thalamus and amygdala react to virtual threats as if they were real. In contrast, he noted, “positive words and thoughts propel the motivational centers of the brain into action and help us build resilience when we are faced with problems.”

Ironically, most Americans consider themselves civil, but 53% describe America as increasingly uncivil according to a September 2025 Business Wire survey. Respondents point to digital aggression and political polarization as key drivers, leading to negative mental health issues, with two-thirds feeling distress from incivility. Yet 63% consider it the responsibility of individuals—not government or other institutions—to become and remain civil. The numbers add up to good news: a widespread self-perception of civility and the belief that people can and should cultivate it in themselves. It isn’t too far of a stretch then, for people to believe that others also aspire to civility and that its re-establishment is within reach.

We can start by elevating language. While words alone will not restore civility or respect for human dignity, they can lift our sights to what’s possible.

American history attests to the impact of compelling words. Eloquent rhetoric spurred the American Revolution. Lincoln urged a post-war nation to re-unite with “malice toward none, charity for all.”

Liberating language advanced human rights. JFK’s soaring speech put man on the moon.

Words possess power.

They rise to summon the better angels of our nature, or descend to breed alienation.

But words are also the stuff of poetry and songs, blessings and prayers, whispered love and lifelong promises.

Human inspiration turns words into art.

Art recreates the world.

Seekers of transformative words — words that ring with right meaning — find them flourishing in the abundant universe, awaiting expression.

Such words possess an awesome power to move yearning hearts, enlighten minds, stir souls…

And write tomorrow’s history.

I’ll bet you’re an autodidact.

If you’re a reader, writer or other creative on Substack, you’re a thinker who’s curious and exhilarated by discovery.

You love to learn.

You’re self-motivated.

Your time has come.

There’s never been a better time to be an autodidact, and the world has never needed you more.

Good Timing

Today of course, there’s an unprecedented opportunity for self-education offered by the internet. Maybe you’re someone who enjoys the thrill of finding something fascinating on your way to researching something else. That was me in the pre-digital era, lingering in the college library stacks, distracted by the book next to the one I needed for an assignment. Now, rabbit-holing tempts us at the touch of a button—and sometimes, like in life, the detours take us to a better place than we imagined.

It’s also wondrous that we now have more affordable, widespread, 24-hour access to enriching courses taught by renowned scholars, and even opportunities to earn a degree on our own schedule, no matter our age or proximity to a university.

When you indulge your autodidactic drive, you’re channeling Leonardo daVinci. Denied a formal education, he learned from observation and experimentation recorded with methodical note-taking and sketches. Intense curiosity led him to explore engineering, astronomy, botany and anatomy. Centuries before they became realities, daVinci conceptualized and drew mathematically-detailed diagrams of airplanes, armored vehicles and solar power! In his one lifetime, daVinci also created some of the greatest art of the Renaissance—most famously The Last Supper and Mona Lisa.

To be fair, daVinci was also an ingenious polymath (a master of many disciplines and a creative problem-solver). But exceptional examples at least point to what’s possible. If you aspire to write, sing, learn a new language or instrument, you’re rubbing shoulders with David Bowie who taught himself

piano, electric and acoustic guitar, percussion, mime, painting and sculpture. Or Jane Austen who mastered language, prose and narrative style by reading her father’s extensive, eclectic library.

Today, many people find themselves practical autodidacts. The warp speed of technology’s takeover has shifted the workplace paradigm. Ongoing learning and adaptability are required as AI replaces many jobs. In a bit of a retro twist, formal education isn’t even a factor in the wild, wild AI frontier. Companies dangle exorbitant bonuses to lasso AI engineers — no parchment required!

While impressive, all this is a bit unsettling. Sometimes it feels like being trampled by the race toward technological advancement as we struggle to keep pace with change.

All this in a world already made dizzying by the sheer volume of information from ubiquitous sources, delivering various versions of the truth. Discernment fatigue drains our brains as they whiplash from crisis to crisis: violence, natural disasters, global upheaval, political division, and unrelenting incursions on human dignity itself.

Now what?

Two timeless words uttered by every befuddled being from Adam & Eve to Hamlet to Holden Caufield — to us.

How do we get out of this mess?

There’s only one option: find a way.

But where do we start? Where can we find answers, ideas — even wisdom??

Well, as should come as a surprise to no one, humankind has been down this road before. Or worse.

And survived.

That truth neither minimizes the gravity of today’s problems, nor underestimates the challenge to solve them.

But it reminds us of a wisdom repository we must mine for inspiration and strength. Collectively referred to as “the Classics,” they express human struggle, defeat, death and victorious defiance while exploring human nature, folly, evil, goodness, redemption and more.

It’s our story — told through literature, poetry and art.

These troubled times invite aspiring and veteran autodidacts to an immersion in the Classics.

They offer soul-nurturing solace for our aching spirits through depictions of grace, selflessness and generosity. They restore hope by celebrating ingenuity, brilliance and creativity.

Epic hero odysseys dramatize the valiance of our quests and inspire us to withstand trials along the journey. Enduring fables caution against pride, arrogance and greed.

For art acknowledges our brokenness and falls from grace.

But at its best, art expands the human capacity for love and compassion while igniting a passion for dignity and justice.

That is what it calls us to today.

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Savior faire (sa-vwah-fer): the ability to choose the right course of action; a polished social smoothness; having varied knowledge and skills; confident in any situation. Early 19th c. French, “to know how to do”

It’s the ever-charming, debonair and clever Cary Grant in “To Catch a Thief” (1955) with his stunning, sophisticated co-star, Grace Kelly.

Or Grace in “Rear Window” (1954) when she confidently glides into Jimmy Stewart’s apartment like a luminescent vision.

Savoir faire conjures up those scenes and stars for me — people with charisma and effortless style who are masterful at handling even the diciest, most delicate situations with poise and finesse.

Other enchanting individuals with savoir faire include Audrey Hepburn, Sidney Poitier, President John Kennedy and his wife Jacqueline; Ingrid Bergman, Kate Middleton, Princess of Wales, and Dick Schmaedeke.

Dick Schmaedeke? My brother-in-law, Richard Storz Schmaedeke, passed away just a month ago. He was naturally handsome, graceful, talented, and, given his elegant persona and sartorial sophistication, surprisingly adept at a wide variety of practical pursuits.

I mention him today for two reasons: he vividly exemplified savoir faire, and he merits what he never sought in life: recognition. For savoir faire encompasses so much more than glamour. Those who possess it always know the right course of action. They walk into a room— or a problem—and quickly understand the dynamics, personalities and how to navigate them. They lead with confidence, but humbly and without fanfare.

That describes Dick when he showed up at my door on the day I was moving from one apartment to another. It was a difficult time in my life and his presence meant the world. He was dressed atypically in jeans and a work shirt (okay, they were pressed), and had rented a truck for the occasion. It saved us multiple, traffic-snarled car trips across the city. But Dick still spent hours helping me move out, only to reverse the process at the other end—with a dozen service elevator trips up and down to my 14th floor studio.

Then he disappeared.

Thirty minutes later, he reappeared behind a big bouquet of flowers in a lovely vase. Shyly, he said, “Be sure to fill this with fresh flowers for yourself every week.” Without words he said, You will rise above this moment.

The power of impeccable manners

Perhaps gallant, courtly gestures are part of what we find alluring about savoir faire. We feel seen, understood, elevated. Thoughtful demonstrations acknowledge our human dignity. They are other-centric and humbly deferential, reflecting refined manners—a constituent element of savoir faire.

Contrary to what some believe, the purpose of manners is not to trip us up, but to make people around us feel comfortable and honored.

Some years ago in a wide-ranging interview about life, a 102-year-old Maine woman articulated the power of gracious hospitality:

“My mother always said, when someone

comes to call on you Ursula, you see to it

that they feel better when they leave

than when they came.”

Lately, the concept of impeccable manners bristles some individuals who are wary of old-fashioned, restrictive rules or a return to formality. But essentially, manners and etiquette evolve simply from what works best in a communal society. Their purpose is to make life easier, encourage mutual respect—and police boorishness.

A case in point:

A colleague of mine flying business class had the misfortune to pair with a seat mate who boarded holding a greasy paper bag containing a very smelly lunch. The seat mate proceeded to intensify the aroma by spreading his loaded hot dog and unidentifiable sides on his tray table, then chewed them with his mouth open. Did I mention that said eater’s girth had already encroached upon my colleague’s space, indicating that this meal was not an aberrant binge in an otherwise spartan diet? Sufficiently satiated, the guy placed his head where his bag had rested—on the tray table—and fell asleep, facing my colleague who sat downwind of the seat mate’s snores with a direct view of hot dog fragments tangled in his beard.

Now, I don’t want to go all Emily Post(-al), but that guy’s bad behavior—uncensored by the airline for the price of a ticket—is sign enough for me of the end of civilization. Incidents of random rudeness, coarse language and offensive behavior are too prevalent. There’s a compelling case to be made for the urgency of holding ourselves and others to higher standards of kindness and respect.

Grace is good

Meanwhile, scientific evidence indicates that well-mannered behavior is good for us. In 2024, the American Psychiatric Association reported that treating others well increases our own happiness by raising levels of brain-boosting neurotransmitters: serotonin, dopamine and endorphins. When we act in other-centric ways, it strengthens our self-esteem and reduces symptoms of anxiety and depression. It deepens our social connections and our sense of well-being, more than cognitive behavioral therapy.

Even better, according to a 2025 Harvard Medical School study, kindness is contagious. People on the receiving end are more likely to pass it on “creating a chain reaction of generosity and goodwill.”

The somewhat controversial “broken window theory” posits the same impact on communities. When a neighborhood is neglected and marked by housing deterioration and loitering, it breeds apathy and more serious crime. But that trend is forestalled by efforts to beautify with flowers, greenery, improved housing and other enhancements that foster connection and inspire pride.

A boat adrift

To most people, collaboration and cooperation in a spirit of mutual respect instinctively feels right and optimal for human thriving. When the natural balance of give and take is disturbed, we feel off-kilter, insecure, or even stuck—like passengers on a boat manned by rowers working against one another.

We are all circling aimlessly in that same boat right now.

How do we get back on course, row together in the right direction — or set sail for something better than we now imagine?

My aforementioned late brother-in-law Dick loved to sail. Like many sailors, he could read the sea and the sky, feel a wind shift coming, and adjust the sails accordingly.

He could do that with many things, fulfilling the literal translation of savoir faire from the French: to know how to do. His instincts were highly honed and his perception was truly exceptional. He could sense or quickly assess how things should fit or work together—furniture in a room, paintings on a wall, sound piped through a system, the design of a home, an event or a gadget, and the proper tailoring of a suit.

Once, he noticed that a woodsy country spot with a spectacular view needed seating so people could relax and behold it. Within days, he installed something unobtrusive that fit the environs, positioned it at the ideal viewpoint — and no one knew where or from whom it came.

Then there was the weekend he observed that older or physically limited people couldn’t easily navigate sand, limiting their enjoyment of a particular beach. So he designed and paid for a tasteful white deck and walkway close to the water.

His acutely observant, big-hearted nature always led him to look around and ask himself: What does it need? An adjustment, addition, subtraction? To be raised up, lowered, or lighted to give it center stage? What would make it better?

Most importantly, Dick could read what people needed—always offering respect, good conversation, sincere questions, quiet compassion — and the most intuitively chosen, perfect gifts you didn’t know you needed!

I always thought the motto of renowned watchmaker Georges-Édouard Piaget could’ve been Dick’s: “Always do more than necessary.”

Perhaps we can channel a bit of Dick’s heartfelt ingenuity and the tenacious motto above as we seek a vision for how to reverse the coarseness, negativity and violence so prevalent in the world today. Something as simple as adhering to a code of civility won’t fix it, but it can be a basis for asking core questions of ourselves and our society: What do people need? What is misaligned? Who needs raising up, or to be seen from a new angle? Are we willing to make it better?

Can we become the gift to one another we never knew we needed?

Endangered species: hand-written letters and diaries

Yet many of our favorite or best literary works are based on this intimate voice such as The Color Purple (1982) by Alice Walker. The classic novel credited with popularizing the epistolary form is Samuel Richardson’s Clarissa (1748), while a sampling of others includes: Anne Frank: Diary of a Young Girl (1942/1952); Frankenstein by Mary Shelley (1818); Dracula by Bram Stoker (1897); The Perks of Being a Wallflower (1999) by Stephen Chbosky; Bridget Jones’s Diary (2001) by Helen Fielding; Gilead (2004) by Marilynne Robinson.

The genre is inviting because it provides readers unfiltered access to the thoughts, emotions & experiences of the characters. It demands an especially versatile creativity from an author to weave time, memories and perspective into a narrative.

The waning ritual of hand-written letters has compelled authors to substitute emails and texts in newer novels…

“Take a look when you get home,” she said a bit mysteriously while handing me a bag through my car window as I started to back down her driveway.

We had just luxuriated over a long overdue dinner and an even longer conversation during my first visit to her new home in our old neighborhood. She’d grown weary of the downtown scene and surprised herself by selling her lakefront condo to move back to the Southwest Side of Chicago where we’d grown up and become best friends.

As I drove past our all-girls Catholic high school and toward the northbound expressway for my hour-long drive home, I thought about our walks to school, teenage antics, urban adventures, old boyfriends, and most of all, about how much we talked and entrusted each other with our deepest secrets.

Our lives diverged a bit after high school. I headed east to college and only came home twice a year. She remained in Chicago for school. But through the decades, we’ve remained as intertwined as family, serving as bridesmaids in each other’s weddings and counting on each other through life’s highs, lows, and everything in between.

I presumed the package she handed me contained old photos, perhaps of our younger selves or our deceased parents.

But upon opening the bag, it took me more than a moment to absorb what I found:

Every single letter I had sent her from college — in consecutive order!

The full magnitude of her gift hit me in waves as I sampled a few. Soon I realized she had preserved my then fresh, now frozen-in-time impressions, experiences and hopes expressed during four pivotal years of my life.

What possessed her to save them? Admittedly, like me she’s sentimental and a saver. My kids will kill me when I die for the paper trail I’ll leave! But it takes an especially generous spirit to keep four years of letters for four decades.

I believe she did it because this dear woman possesses an abundance of grace and confidence that made her genuinely happy for my opportunity. She understood that going a thousand miles away to a respected East Coast college was not only my personal dream come true, but highly unusual in our neighborhood. Out of our high school graduating class of over 500 women, I was the only one who did so, while another classmate ventured to California.

The earliest letters reflect my fascination with the very different world I encountered. I describe the quite pronounced accents (common before American voices became more homogenized), singling out Boston’s by sketching a “translation” chart into Chicago-ese.

Partial replication of pronunciation and vocabulary chart:

faather - farther hahd - hard clossah - closer

sistah - sister hahhf - half dawm - dorm

ovah theya - over there sodah - pop down cellah - in the basement

bubbla - drinking fountain packie - liquor store

Meanwhile, I express my enchantment with the gorgeous campus of high spires and steep hills, and I offer not one complaint about my spartan room with no closet—a vestige of the college’s nearly century and a half as an all male school. I note being one of only two women in my history class.

It felt wistful to read my praise for the dynamic, brilliant professors, knowing they’re now either old men—or gone.

Perhaps the most wondrous, surreal feeling came from reading my first impressions of people I was just meeting who have become my lifelong friends. How could I know that several would pass away too young!

Subsequent letters offer vignettes of working in the college newspaper office till midnight; visiting Yale for a game and marveling at a sparkling, snowy campus;

volunteering for Sen. Ted Kennedy’s campaign and meeting the Senator’s nephews, Joe and ironically — a young Robert F. Kennedy, Jr.

In my third year, I wax sentimental about missing close friends who had left to study in Europe.

But soon I report from Washington during my U.S. Senate internship with Ted Kennedy and I’m surprised to be regularly riding the Capitol Subway System alongside Senators John Glenn, Frank Church, Adlai Stevenson and others.

By senior year, I’m sharing the what’s next questions: grad school in English to become a professor? Journalism? Writing? Law School? Return to Chicago? An apartment with friends in Boston?

Reading these diary-like confidences written decades ago to my friend, I’m acutely aware of how very fortunate I felt—and of all we could not foretell about life. Like us, these letters have survived marriages, divorces, deaths and over a dozen moves between us.

And like our friendship, they’ve stood the test of time.

Today, there are abundant modes of communication.

We hold in our palms a sophisticated network of ways to get and stay in touch — instantly and across the globe.

But we hold in our hands something else that’s incomparable: the power of a pen to craft sentences that paint scenes, conjure experiences and transport emotions from our soul to another.

The process of hand writing a letter fosters self-reflection and mines the meaning and personal significance of experiences as we relate them to someone else. In fact, studies provide strong evidence that writing by hand enhances cognition, memory, focus, creativity and mindfulness (Scientific American, Feb. 21, 2024 ). As a bonus, a person’s distinctive handwriting adds a recognizable identity and human touch.

As evidenced by this essay, people tend to save, re-read and treasure letters. The late historian and Pulitzer Prize winning biographer David McCullough was asked how he managed to write compelling, intimate stories about historic figures like John Adams or the Wright Brothers.

“Bless their hearts,” he replied. “In those days, people wrote letters and diaries.” McCullough pored over 1000 letters between Adams and his wife, Abigail.

We seek connection.

We need one another to navigate the adventure of life from birth to death, and to carry our spirit over the threshold to the next life.

And so, we tell our story.

That’s what I was trying to do with my letters: share my excitement, gratitude, and aspirations for a new chapter of my life.

But by saving and returning my words to me, my friend made the far more profound and loving statement:

“Then and now, your story matters.”

And so does yours.

Many of us avoid “know-it-alls” and “wise guys.” We gravitate toward those who actually know; we seek out the truly wise.

We need perspicacious people. The perspicacious are astute observers who see and understand life, people and circumstances. They grasp what is complex or simply not evident to others. They perceive deeper meaning, central causes, hidden motives. Their clear-headed analysis results in sage counsel, informed decisions.

They get it.

A perspicacious person walks into a room—and reads it—distinguishing power brokers from power posers, decision makers from influence fakers. Scoping more of the scene, they find a path to the engaging conversationalist — avoiding intersections clogged with idle chatter.

It is part gift and part practice. There’s some evidence of perspicacious savants, born with a knack for navigating life well and analyzing complicated problems. But it is also true that with practice and experience, most of us can hone our observational powers to achieve greater situational awareness, heightened perceptiveness and more reliable “gut feelings.”

Some of you might recall an unlikely but experience-bred perspicacious TV character named Lt. Columbo. Despite his rumpled, head-scratching, seemingly distracted demeanor, he had a nose for the nefarious. Encounters with hundreds of criminal minds had fine-tuned his inner detectors to flash at lies and light up hidden plots.

Beyond experience, sometimes limitation leads to unconsciously achieving higher consciousness. For example, dyslexics’ difficulty with reading and traditional teaching methods often prompts them to observe more closely, looking for their own way to learn. They notice patterns and connections others overlook. They interpret, improvise and invent. Dyslexic individuals often excel in creativity.

That certainly holds true for a good friend of mine. Undiagnosed as a child, he later discovered that dyslexia explained his reading and attention problems. It also diverted him to lots of daydreaming, watching, and wondering how and why people interact the way they do. He questioned the mindless repetition of time-wasting, self-sabotaging or unfulfilling rote behaviors, and discovered that book learning was but one way to become smart.

His “big picture” vision led first to high-level success as a hockey player — a sport which rewards those who fully see the ice. He moved on to become a creative force who rose with unprecedented speed in network television and filmmaking.

It’s all due to perspicacity. He might’ve been born with a disposition inclined to it, but he certainly strengthened it in response to limitation. It led to inventiveness, penetrating observational skills, and an ability to interpret the forces below the surface of any life dynamic. He’s the go-to person his family and friends consult, knowing that his human nature expertise and logical, uncluttered mind will yield good counsel. And I just shake my head at his high accuracy rate in character assessment and almost primal instinct for perfect timing.

I could cite a variety of other people I know who are perspicacious due to some combination of intelligence, old world wisdom, powerful intuition, street smarts, failure and resilience.

In essence, we are all born with a capacity for perspicacity. It’s just a matter of degree. And it can be nurtured and deepened, freeing us from many fears that diminish joy.

Wouldn’t it be empowering to navigate life with greater confidence and clarity? To know we can find an answer to a problem? To stop second guessing our decisions? To peel back layers of deception from those hiding the truth?

Most of all, wouldn’t we all love to better understand and appreciate the people and experiences of this one life we all share, relishing our time with peace of mind?

I would. So I’ll glean and share some of what I’ve learned from the most perspicacious people I know—noting the attitudes, practices and disciplines that enhance their lives:

• Be childish

Children’s fearless questions -“how, what, where & why”- provoke us to explain what we may never have thought about. Why do birds fly, but squirrels can’t? They challenge what we take for granted and remind us to always WONDER

• Look out!

Self-examination is healthy and promotes emotional growth. But excessive inward replaying of mistakes, regrets, or the fear of repeating them risks squandering the present and future. Stoic philosopher Seneca recommended mental discipline to overcome fear. Look backward just long enough to accept the lesson. Move forward, newly fortified.

• What’s this about?

Ask the above question of any situation, conversation, conflict, problem, decision, message…Be honest & precise in your answer. We are all susceptible to defensiveness, complaining, circling around the point, but missing the mark. What is the truth? Identifying what it’s about often surfaces insight, inspiration or an answer (even though we may not like the answer).

• Lead yourself away from the Noise…

…to accommodate honest self-reflection and build confidence. Noise interference includes: deferring your decision to a louder outside voice; unsolicited advice from people who caution you away from your goals/dreams or push alternatives in their self-interest; guilt trips; social pressure -or- the lure of easy distractions; preoccupation with past mistakes; even the cacophony of your own self-doubt.

We value, admire and seek perspicacity within those we entrust with our world and our lives: scientists & healers, judges & government officials; educators & religious leaders; creators & communicators.

But each of our individual lives, and the lives of those we love, are also entrusted to our care. They provide our one chance to understand and exalt in the mystery of human life. If we broach that mystery, with the gifts of perception, the more consciously we live, the more deeply we love.

And the more vibrantly we light the way for those awaiting the privilege of being alive.

Paraskevidekatriaphobia: (par- skɛv- dek -tri-phobia) Fear of Friday the 13th; Anc.Greek.: Paraskevi (Friday), dekatri (thirteen), phóbus (fear)

Triskaidekaphobia: (/ˌtrɪskaɪˌdɛkəˈfoʊbiə/ ) Fear of number 13; Anc. Greek.: treiskaídeka (13), phóbus (fear). ————————————————————————-

How and why did Friday the 13th—or even just the number 13—meet the unlucky fate to become associated with misfortune? The backstory will unravel superstition and enlighten your understanding of human nature—but only if you’re lucky enough to keep reading.

And you’ll hit the jackpot when I reveal how and why 13 became my lucky number—long before Taylor Swift claimed it, partly due to her birthdate - which was, by the way, after mine.

Some background

Western world superstition surrounding the number 13 is so widespread that it has become common practice to skip from 12 to 14 in numbering building floors, elevator buttons, airplane rows and seats. The number is also often avoided on NASA missions (more on that ahead), addresses, license plates—and even wedding dates.

One explanation links 13’s bad rap to the belief that when Jesus and his disciples assembled for the Last Supper, his betrayer, Judas, was the thirteenth seated. Jesus’ subsequent execution on Friday rendered ‘Friday the 13th’ doubly ominous.

But no record of the Last Supper association exists until the 17th century, leading scholars to attribute the superstition to a gradual, centuries-long melding of ancient folklore, religious beliefs and cultural experiences. Eventually, a consensus of fear built around a day, a number and other seemingly logical explanations for inexplicable misfortunes.

Of course, events and coincidences continued to provide ostensible confirmation of superstitions. British submarine HMS K13 sunk in 1917, drowning 32 trapped sailors. Those whose fingers pointed at 13, failed to point out that the crew had neglected to close the hatch and several vents before diving! Still, when the sub was repaired and renumbered, it continued to malfunction. So thereafter, no British L-class subs were numbered 13.

A famous U.S. Apollo mission shook even the skeptically unsuspicious. On April 11, 1970, the moon-bound Apollo 13 rocket launched at 13:30. Three days later, its oxygen tank exploded—on April 13th. After four harrowing days (recounted in a 1995 docudrama starring Tom Hanks), the crew returned safely to earth.

Yet the fortuitous outcome did not diminish persistent triskaidekaphobic (fear of 13) theories. So how much of our suspicious natures, and other illogical conjectures, are attributable to confirmation bias? People notice and remember information that aligns with their viewpoints. In each of the aforementioned examples, those who looked at the crises through a superstitious lens minimized human error or amazingly positive outcomes. Similarly, those who sourced scripture to vilify 13 never cited the positive Bible passage describing God’s thirteen merciful attributes (Exodus 34:6-7).

Primal origins

Our primal roots are partly to blame. Superstitions arose out of the earliest human needs to understand the world and causality. When certain events followed particular actions, humans inferred a connection. Repetition became ritual, and with it, the fear of cosmic retribution if not performed.

But there’s good news. While some fears related to superstition can decline into anxiety and phobias, evidence suggests that moderate superstitious behavior often provides a psychological boost that improves performance.

Hold on to your lucky socks!

It’s true. Saying ’Break a leg,’ not shaving during playoffs, repeating certain patterns of preparation in the same order — all these and similar practices somehow alleviate anxiety, or even lift confidence and solidify the positive mindset required for peak performance.

So go ahead and indulge. I do it myself: toss spilled salt over my left shoulder; never gift a purse without a penny; will not gift sharp objects (or risk severing the friendship)…and, in this increasingly plastic world, I ‘knock wood’ on my noggin.

Aren’t we human beings funny? We fear certain numbers, carry lucky tokens, perform pre-game routines and more — to settle our psyches, rev’ our engines or comfort our souls.

To avoid taking ourselves too seriously and to put all this in perspective, it’s good to know that superstitions are relative, malleable and cultural. Greeks are fine with Friday, but tremble over Tuesday. Nine unnerves the Japanese. China fears 4.

What portends bad to some, promises good to another.

To Italians, 13 is lucky! They associate it with luck, good fortune and fertility. Even their colloquial expression—fare 13!—means “to hit the jackpot.”

Maybe that’s another reason I feel such connection to Italian culture, even though I’m Irish-American. Thirteen is coincidentally my lucky number too!

How do we determine such things? In my case, I couldn’t help but notice that a series of fortunate events started happening right after my thirteenth birthday.

Nothing really big happened. But in retrospect, I realize that small things had linked together to give me a coming of age understanding of my own individuality—and that I wanted an extraordinary life.

It started with a growth spurt— in height first—but also in confidence and a desire for independence.

Maybe that led me to the next small (albeit silly & superficial) thing that loomed large in teenville. My braces came off, my hair got long. And I — who had heretofore gladly ceded my clothing choices to my older sister — enjoyed a brief moment in the fashion spotlight when, after deciding to shop alone, I happened to pick out, purchase and begin wearing the same simple top that Carole King would soon make famous on the Tapestry album cover. BUT - I had it four months before the album’s release anywhere! It was a first moment of being “ahead of the game”, a trailblazer.

The stretchy top doesn’t look like much in the photo, but it became almost as popular as her album. Hey, former teenage women of a certain age—back me up: is that not enough to make 13 my forever lucky number??

That year also marked my first writing recognition outside of school when I won three essay contests. Meanwhile, I’d become very interested in genealogy, and in reading Irish literature and history late at night. I longed to go to Ireland and began selling the idea to my mother (ok, in her words, “pestering the hell out of me!”) So the highlight of the year became a surprise graduation trip with my mother and oldest brother when they found three drastically reduced last-minute tickets. The dream-come-true trip freed my spirit and imagination while infecting me with incurable wanderlust.

I suppose all that triggered something primal within that endeared me to 13.

Flash forward…

From my teens on, the number continued to show up in life’s best moments. I know it sounds whacky and every bit as irrational as a superstitious phobia. But the consistency of correlation between 13 and good fortune could not be denied.

And, as the expression goes, “I ain’t seen nothin’ yet!”

For as if to dispel any doubt about 13’s inexplicable connection to great joy in my life, something absolutely wondrous and unbelievably stunning happened:

I gave birth to my first child!

A girl!

On Friday the 13th!

Catherine Mary, known as “Cate” — born a wonder and gift — is now a grown-up marvel & joy. She’s loving, vibrantly enthusiastic, and abundantly generous with her time, care and talents. She’s also blessed with exceptional intelligence that she devotes to good work in the world.

Given Cate’s natal date, it’s not surprising that she subscribes to the ‘lucky 13’ philosophy. In fact, the number shows up in her life—like mine—in uncanny ways. Though I never noticed till she started kindergarten, her full name has exactly 13 letters. Her best childhood friend lived at 1301. Her month/year of birth are 9/13 and she graduated with the high school class of ’09 and the college class of ’13. Countless other random, funny coincidences make 13 a solid, steady presence—one of many things connecting us as mother and daughter.

Now Swiftly to Taylor

Just for the record, though we were first, Taylor Swift became a more famous 13 dream believer (and deservedly, a more famous everything else)! Born on December 13, 1989, she turned 13 on Friday the 13th. Her first album went gold 13 weeks after its release. For good luck, she writes 13 on her hand before concerts and insists upon the thirteenth seat or row at awards events.

What Really Counts

In truth, neither superstitions nor lucky charms determine our lives.

What matters is how each of us navigates the vicissitudes of life with as much courage, hope, resilience and character as we can muster. Greeting our failures with forgiveness and our foibles with humor helps too.

Most of us are valiant, endearing beings. We strive to create the best circumstances for our lives and loved ones—knowing that good luck and misfortune will still visit all of us in varying degrees.

But if we accompany one another,

treasuring the time,

and grateful for the privilege,

We’re the luckiest.

And we ran.

Abruptly, he’d pick up speed, and our grasp would break. But each time, I’d run harder to catch up, and know the relief of reconnection.

When we reached a clearing, he spotted it: an elephant that beckoned with a smile. With a running leap, he jumped on its back. I walked along beside them as the elephant moved to music sent from above.

No, it wasn’t some nonsensical fever dream. He is my two-year old grandson, and we were spending 2025’s first sunny Spring day at the zoo.

The elephant circled on a Merry-Go-Round, a swirling spiral of wooden animals that my grandson preferred to their lolling, live counterparts. The carousel drew throngs of toddlers and their grown-ups, but in a refreshing surprise, no one jostled or cut off others to claim a favorite animal. Fascination absorbed the young. Nostalgia gripped the grown. Mutual exchanges of sentiment were answered by cooperative boosting and safe-guarding of one another’s kids.

The same atmosphere prevailed along the walkways to habitats. People smiled, even beamed at one another—a language needing no translation, even though we came from places as varied and numerous as the stripes, spots and sounds of the animals peering back at us.

We shared the joy of freedom from our human cages — work, winter, fear of the other — to see the world through the eyes of a child…

We saw Wonder.

Delight.

Curiosity.

It looked Magical…

…to watch animosity, divisiveness and prejudice vanish—

because children do not see them.

In this human-animal garden, the newest creations were showing us the way.

And I felt the undeniable, irrepressible presence of Hope.

Hope is bold and provocative. It is a posture that insists — despite current circumstances — that we can envision and create a more desirable future.

The birth of a child expresses that hope. Each one is a brand new chance to live a more inspired life.

The children at the zoo — with their unfiltered joy, unfettered by politics —reminded myopic adults of a grander vision: Life is an invitation.

…to connect, discover, marvel.

…to play, try, fail. And try again.

…to know gratitude, possibility, love.

Hope holds these dimensions together in a dream, that better lives and a better world are attainable, and we have the capacity to build both.

Hope has muscle. It is a powerful disposition of mind and will that transforms uncertainty into faith, and aspiration into promise.

Psychologist Charles Snyder studies the effect of hope in human endeavor and finds that it motivates us to imagine what else is possible. He calls hope the “life-sustaining human strength.”

Hope is the impetus behind medical breakthroughs, cutting-edge invention, social advancement, prolific creativity and fruitful collaboration.

Of course, we can all point to atrocities, tragedies and disappointments that persist despite high hopes. But even in the midst of loss and evil, hope abides. It gives us resilience and determination to keep forging ahead. All positive change is effected through a steadfast, unrelenting hope that becomes self-fulfilling prophecy.

Often, unyielding yearning and its accompanying actions bring things long-hoped for to fruition — over time. Abolitionists, suffragettes, civil rights workers and Vietnam War protestors know the value of long-suffering perseverance.

The late Irish poet John O’Donoghue captured the enduring nature of hope:

When the ages of ice came

And sealed the Earth inside

An endless coma of cold,

The heart of the Earth held hope,

Storing fragments of memory,

Ready for the return of the sun.

On an individual level, being hopeful is strongly associated with overall well-being. People who nurture inner hope have fewer health problems, experience less stress and anxiety, and live longer.

To cultivate hope, experts advise committing to a meaningful, enriching goal that gives you joy. Look ahead with excitement about every step that moves you closer to it. Adopt a “solution mode” attitude to overcome inevitable obstacles.

Most of all, practice gratitude. And ignore those who say, “Don’t get your hopes up!” A mind elevated by optimism is robustly generative and resourceful. Dr. David Feldman of Santa Clara University says imagination is “the instrument of hope” leading us toward a promising future. Hope strengthens our resolve to find a way or make one.

Perhaps the current international upheaval and political discord have dashed your hope. It’s understandable. But the great thing about hope is that it’s full of surprises. It shows up to show you up — in the most gracious ways.

The recent death of Pope Francis united a divided world in mourning. For in life, he exemplified an inclusive and profound truth, that hope vivifies and emboldens the human heart to dare more than seems humanly possible.

In Pope Francis’ own words:

The future does have a name
and its name is Hope.

To hope does not mean being optimistically naive.

Hope is a virtue of a heart
that does not lock itself in darkness,
does not dwell in the past,
does not simply get by in the present

But is able to see tomorrow.

Hope is the door that opens into the future.

Hope is a humble, hidden seed of life
that, with time, will develop
into a large tree.

And it can do so much.

A tiny flicker of light
that feeds on hope
is enough to shatter the shield of darkness.

A single individual
is enough
for hope to exist.

And that individual 
can be you.

Accismus abounds.

• A politician foreswears aspirations to higher office “unless of course, the people prevail upon me and I feel a duty to serve.”

• A host accepts a long-overdue gift of wine from the perennially empty-handed guest: “Oh you shouldn’t have!”

• A cheapskate reaches for the dinner check— a moment too late to fool anyone

Recently, comedian Stephen Colbert called out a grandstander’s false modesty, comparing him to “that guy” who brings his guitar to a campfire, and feigns reluctance when asked to play.

Accismus is considered a rhetorical device using irony when someone frames self-serving motives as magnanimous. It’s also a literary device exemplified by the fox and sour grapes of Aesop fable fame.

But essentially, accismus is an everyday affectation — and usually quite recognizable as such. Aren’t we all aware that the demurring politician, the party host, the check-avoidant diner and the guitar player are faking? And if we’re all in on the ploy, why do we tacitly agree to be complicit?

I suppose it all comes down to manners and social norms. Most of us respect those codes, and I’m willing to let people’s white lies slide when it isn’t worth social disruption or embarrassing others. After all, sometimes accismus is virtuous, like a parent pretending not to be hungry so children have enough to eat.

But often, accismus is a vice. It’s an attempt to manipulate emotions to one’s advantage, paint oneself in a better light, or disguise base motivation as noble calling. And its transparently deceptive intentions insult the intelligence of its audience.

Secondly, accismus is counterintuitive. Thinly-veiled attempts to project strength or propriety actually signal weakness and insecurity. There is no need for pretense if someone feels confident, or if their motivations are genuinely admirable.

Accismus is not evil, but resorting to it can stunt emotional growth. If a freshman athlete gets cut from a college team, but claims to have quit, there’s a missed opportunity to turn pain into strength and resilience. When adults masquerade as someone other than ourselves, we miss finding genuine, fallible, true-blue friends.

It’s a tricky predicament, a human comedy of manners.

Actually, maybe laughter offers a good way around the predicament. A well-known American president used humor to great effect, deflating pomposity while maintaining civility and candor. President John F. Kennedy famously jousted with the media, enjoying questions and taking on challengers, but often with a quick wit, self-deprecation and good-natured ribbing.

It was well-known for example, that as a young Navy lieutenant in World War II, Kennedy had rescued his entire crew after an enemy ship jammed into his smaller vessel. But when a reporter asked, “How do you think you rose to heroism?” Kennedy quipped, “It was involuntary. They sunk my boat.”

On another occasion, a network journalist tried to scoop Kennedy’s announcement to run for re-election, coyly asking if he enjoyed the office and would he recommend it. Kennedy smiled and said, “Yes, I enjoy being President very much. And no, no, I don’t recommend it to others at all.”

As laughter exploded, Kennedy had disclosed the truth of his ambition while avoiding a trap.

The secret to Kennedy’s humor was its endearing graciousness. Graciousness is a generosity of the heart that instills trust and minimizes human flaws to amplify human possibility.

Graciousness toward yourself is beneficial too. There’s nothing selfish, arrogant or pathetic about internally noting “well done” when you’ve excelled.

The same applies to accepting compliments. Someone once inverted my thinking, pointing out that it’s impolite to dismiss compliments because it’s hurtful to the giver.

One caveat: it’s important not to need praise. A praise-dependency tangles with originality, self-motivation and core confidence.

A Case in Point

A friend and colleague of mine was recruited with unprecedented speed from a local TV news outlet to a national network—a notoriously cut-throat competitive, ego-driven environment. Many veteran correspondents vie for attention, jockey for air time and crave kudos from the honchos. My friend arrived as a features correspondent with little experience, but abundant creativity. Soon top network brass were effusively praising his feature stories on a daily basis.

Until they didn’t. One day, when he received no feedback after his story aired, he wondered if it had flopped. He’d never needed praise before, but the absence of his now daily dose left him feeling a bit uneasy.

Soon he learned that his bosses had not yet seen the piece, and loved it when they did. But my friend had already made a decision: he asked to receive no praise—no feedback whatsoever—unless he did something wrong.

His rationale for the stoic stance? Freeing himself from wondering what others thought set him free for wonder—the kind that fuels creativity and great storytelling.

Performance, confidence, talent and passion speak for themselves.

Over the Top

Yet in this age of excessive self-promotion, self-appointed influencers, and manic marketing, the pervasive message is: showing off is in.

It’s especially evident in athletics where each sport’s version of a “touchdown dance” is becoming a ritual. Of course, such celebrations spring from the elation of achieving “personal bests,” and I marvel at phenomenal physical mastery.

But there’s something that bothers me about peak performers lingering too long in the spotlight when their outstanding feats already beam their light to the world. It’s a letdown to witness a spectacle of superhuman proportion reduced to all too-human indulgence.

More importantly, solo celebrations disregard team. For every superstar’s stellar performance, there are dozens of pivotal players who set up the opportunity for greatness. A showboating scorer screams more “me” than “we” — and the sports metaphor holds true for every collaboration.

NYC First Responders

A stunning example of humility and teamwork shone through in a 2014 interview with a New York City fireman and 9/11 first responder. My filmmaking partner and I met Kenny Ruane in Arizona where he was visiting a mutual friend whom we were there to interview for an unrelated public TV story. After learning of Kenny’s 9/11 service, we asked to capture his reflections on camera. He first declined, redirecting attention to the victims and atrocities. But during a hike up Squaw Peak, we assured him of our best intentions. Here is a brief excerpt of his remarks (1 min, 23 sec):

Ken Ruane exemplifies the strength of a man who does what his character compels him to do, and the humility to know his strength is his team — a stalwart band giving their all, while all they could do would not be enough.

That’s facing the truth.

Truth. Authenticity.

That’s what is violated when we affect a stance to glorify, edit, suppress or manipulate who we are — not so much in minor matters finessed with proper manners, but in every moment that really matters with those who mean the most.

Authenticity is rare. But isn’t it what we all seek — in ourselves, our relationships, our life’s work? The mental gymnastics we perform in pretending strengthen nothing but our insecurity. Remember what Jackson Brown exhorted:

Are you there?

Say a prayer for the pretender

Who started out so young and strong

Only to surrender.

Nothing and no one in this life is perfect or perfectly consistent. But in the brief span we have to share life on this planet, let’s try to keep it real.

I believe the most unfathomable wonder is within all you truly are.

Epiphany is more than inspiration—yet it certainly inspires. It is an overwhelming sensation of stunning illumination about the meaning, significance or nature of something. It often occurs suddenly, creates an emotional response, and can redirect one’s thinking and very purpose.

While epiphanies can arise amidst quite ordinary circumstances, they are often preceded by periods of deep rumination. The ancient Greek mathematician Archimedes for example, pondered and calculated for a long time before finally realizing how to determine volume when he simply observed the water displacement as he stepped into his bath. Such flashes of deep insight seem to come from a confluence of study, experience, memory—and a moment.

Irish writer James Joyce was the first to connect the religious understanding and imagery of the Epiphany feast to his own experiences of great intuitive enlightenment. He described his luminous, visionary episodes as “radiant” and “the most delicate of evanescent moments.” Joyce’s early Catholic formation resonated with the powerful shining light/revelation symbolism of the Epiphany story. While he later rejected the institutional Church, he remained fascinated with its philosophy and rituals. It makes sense that he paralleled his artistic insights to wise men following a bright star leading them to the stirring revelation that God had sent his light to the world. When Joyce recorded 70 of his own transformative experiences in a notebook, he entitled it “Epiphany,” giving a new and nuanced definition to the word and concept, applicable to literature and life.

Joyce attributed the development of his aesthetic theory to a heightened poetic perception brought on by his many epiphanic experiences. He then used those epiphanies as character-revealing devices throughout his fiction. His innovation influenced many subsequent novelists including Virginia Woolf, Marcel Proust, Ezra Pound and Katherine Mansfield.

But where do epiphanies come from? From what source does their wisdom emanate? Are they conjured by the combined queries and wondering of generations? Is the capacity to experience them a rare trait? A function of exceptional intuition? Enhanced perceptors?

The answers remain a mystery.

I often say that the most important things in life are invisible: love, truth, inner beauty, faith, forgiveness and hope…to name a few. We cannot see them, but we know them by their undeniable power. And we are all capable of receiving and expressing them.

Perhaps epiphanies are like that.

They cannot be seen or forced, but they can be nurtured and invited, if we

Open our minds.

Overcome skepticism.

Engage our imaginations.

Believe in possibility.

Trust our muses.

Notice. Everything.

Ask questions.

Think deeply.

Expect breakthroughs.

Hope.

Create.

Faithful to that pursuit and practice, we are still not assured of experiencing an epiphany, developing an aesthetic theory, making a world-changing discovery, or producing a masterpiece. But we will keep our creative spirit vibrantly alive and ever-seeking evanescent insights into what Edna St. Vincent Millay called “the how and why of all things.”

In humble tribute to that noble purpose, I close with the words of an everyman artist—the late singer-songwriter John Prine. In the interview clip below, Prine talks about attempting to unclog his writer’s block with a silly exercise: writing lyrics about every little thing he thought about that ordinary day. The experiment not only unblocked him, it resulted in a hit song and oft-requested concert crowd-pleaser. The bonus? A common sense epiphany reminding him to write what he viscerally understood and bonded him to his followers: the everyday dignity and humor of the human condition.

Sidenotes: In 2015, I had the honor of spending a couple of days with Prine while co-creating a film for public television. But the film clip posted below my photo is from a 1986 interview conducted by my esteemed colleague, Mike Leonard, for NBC News.

The full song is below the interview. For optimal benefit, listen to a minute of the song before watching the interview. And you can always enjoy the whole song after hearing Prine’s back story.

You are a transformative storyteller.

It’s not just because you are writing on or reading Substack. Or anywhere.

It’s because every day, you tell stories to yourself and others that can become life-defining narratives.

More than a mirror held up to the self-perceptions of a given moment, personal stories look ahead, envisioning our future possibilities with hope and resolve.

But aspirations are often curtailed by self-doubt, reducing our inner narrative to a cautionary tale of fear and insecurity leading to edited ambition. Sometimes our second-guessing is instigated by a well-meaning friend, advisor or family member who critiques our imagined life storyline to ‘protect’ us from disappointment, embarrassment— or what they regard as the ignominy of failure.

But what if you stick to your story, holding on to the belief that it emanates from your deepest truth? And what if your gifts, passion and effort are noticed and reinforced by someone with the wisdom to know you have what it takes? Not only does your confidence rise, but your now unwavering commitment keeps you faithful to fulfilling your life story.

It’s difficult to overstate the power of having your individuality, gifts or mission recognized by someone you trust. You never forget it.

And it doesn’t have to pertain to the pursuit of a career or some seemingly impossible dream. It may intercede at a time of decision, dilemma, suffering—or just as you turn the page to a new chapter of life. The emotional invigoration derives from being seen—just as you are—and deemed worthy, valuable, even admirable.

The grace of it expands your heart to a reciprocal generosity.

It renders you kinder, humbler, more magnanimous. You become more attuned to the inner lives of others.

Perhaps that’s because the only gracious way to respond to the honor of being truly seen is to see and honor others. When we deepen our awareness and mine our personal experience, we better detect clues revealed by another person that point to their envisioned life story.

Are they drafting a viable, credible plot? Is this a character we can root for? What’s their internal monologue? What will they need to advance through the rising and falling action of life’s vicissitudes?

I’m not talking about looking for people to counsel, or offering a self-appointed expert’s critique. Nor am I advocating false encouragement or shallow pep talks.

I’m talking about sensing rich possibility within someone whom you believe will fulfill all they are if you help them uncover and tap into the depth and power of their own spirit. Your role might play out in their life mission or a life moment. Sometimes both.

I’ve been fortunate enough to be on the giving and receiving end of this sacred exchange. Once, I unwittingly became the messenger.

During my college years in Massachusetts, I mentioned to an older Jesuit priest that over Christmas break, I’d be having dinner with a mutual friend who was a seminarian studying in Chicago. The Jesuit said, “Tell him there is only one God.”

I found it peculiar, but I relayed the message.

Some years later, I was again having dinner in Chicago with the younger man when he told me, “It’s because of you that I’m a priest.”

Incredulous, I asked what on earth he meant!

He referred back to the message I’d relayed, and explained that at the time, he had been driving himself excessively — in just a few years, writing a celebrated doctoral dissertation while earning a Harvard PhD, becoming a college professor, an author, an academic advisor — and beginning rigorous studies for the priesthood. But his spiritual life and discernment process suffered in the swirl of dizzying busy-ness and over-achievement.

My message was a spiritual wake-up call. He realized he was not an omnipotent being.

I emphatically reminded him that I was JUST a messenger! It was his older, wiser mentor who sensed his heart was overburdened.

“Yes,” he replied. “But you delivered the most important message of my life.”

He went on to become a happy and beloved priest, an approachable counselor to college students, and a brilliant professor/resident historian who died too young from cancer.

Life!

A subject no smaller than that confronted my daughter during her first months as an ICU nurse. During her night shift, she was adjusting some tubes and monitors attached to an elderly man being treated for multiple issues. She had been caring for him over two weeks.

In the semi-darkness, he looked up and asked, “Bridget, could I talk to you about something?”

“Of course,” she replied.

“I have all these machines supporting me,” he started, “My wife is dead, and I’m an old man. Do you think I should keep going?

Nothing like this had come up in her Nursing Master’s program, but she went with her heart.

“Well, what I see is your family here every day—a few generations. They rush in and are so eager to see your face. You make each other laugh. You seem to be the most important person in the family. You’re very loved. And…you can get better. And go home with them. So yes, absolutely, I think you should keep going.”

That’s the power of telling someone the truth of all they are. Seeing them, and telling them what their life means.

In our darkest days, or in the bloom of youthful optimism, we all need reminders of the leading role we play in life. When we’re knocked down, forget our character or even humiliate ourselves on the stage of public opinion, we’re redeemed by someone who assures us it’s only a plot twist. For after a fall, the budding hero within us summons strength, and rises to fulfill his or her destiny—lifting all.

To be human is to tell stories. From cave dweller sketches to ancient, cathartic Greek tales, from prophets, evangelists, religious figures, political and military leaders to writers, poets and more — stories have inspired, frightened, converted, rallied, deceived, comforted, edified, unified, and moved us to tears.

I’m sure you can point to a novel, film, song or play that cracked you open, infused you with insight, and still resides in your soul.

Each of us possesses that meaning-making power—just like a Celtic seanchaí: to weave our story into the truth of life—to be remembered, to give light and life to the world, and to magnify the spirit of others.

Be a seanchai of the soul.

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________________

Desultory suggests disconnection, randomness, superficiality. It is exemplified by talking aimlessly with someone, skipping around trivial topics in an abomination of conversation.

When was the last time you had a great conversation? Even if you can’t define it, you know what it is when you have one.

The late Irish philosopher-poet John O’Donohue emphasized that it’s more than “just two intersecting monologues”:

It’s when you heard yourself receiving from somebody words that absolutely found places within you that you thought you had lost, and a sense of an event of a conversation that brought the two of you on to a different plain, and…a conversation that continued to sing in your mind for weeks afterwards.

I believe we’ve all had such conversations. The circle of trust and self-disclosure involved reserves them for our dearest friends, or soulmates who become life partners.

Good conversation cannot be contrived, but sometimes early signals of a shared perspective, comfortable vulnerability, or indefinable energy can foretell a close friendship. Some years ago, when searching for a rental, I visited a property without an appointment, but noticed it had a lock box. Impulsively, I dialed the realtor’s number, knowing it was highly unlikely I’d be allowed to view the place. But after explaining my situation to realtor “Kiki”— who was 30 miles away — she gave me the lock combination, invited me to solo tour, then simply lock it up. Her attitude struck me as very “Mediterranean chill.”

After follow-up emails over a few weeks, I signed a lease and Kiki and I finally met in the kitchen of the unit for the requisite “home inspection.” Somehow we both felt like we already knew one another and found ourselves conversing with the easy familiarity of old friends. Her parents were born in Greece (aha!), where she spent many summers, and she appreciated my fascination with the country and how much I wanted to see it. We also aligned in attitude, hopes, and mutual empathy for our respective challenges. We never did get around to the home inspection. It was moot given the trust developed in that kitchen conversation. Soon I met her boyfriend, her brother—and her mother made homemade Greek yogurt for me! Kiki and I will be lifelong friends.

What accounts for effortless connection and rapport? Curiosity is key. Whether meeting someone for the first time, or in time-tested relationships, asking questions and being interested in the answers breaks through our respective aloneness and acknowledges the ever-evolving inner life of every person.

Of course, I’ve also had failed but humorous encounters when my introductory overtures -“Hi, how are you? Where are you from?” - were met with, “Who are you, the FBI?!” (It’s best to check one’s curiosity around the suspicious).

But when conversing among fearless friends, poet David White suggests asking “beautiful questions” — those we don’t necessarily have answers to, but which bring forth the deepest and most meaningful discussion—even when the question is something we’d prefer to duck. In my own experience, taking on the beautiful, pointed and daring questions with a dear friend leads to “salon-like” conversations of such richness and profound depth that we both walk away amazed and inspired.

Why are stirring conversations so rare? I won’t bother bemoaning the obvious intrusion of cell phones. Actually, much of what prevents us from plumbing to deeper conversational depths is within us. We fear questions that might expose our self-perceived unworthiness, or mar the image of ourselves we’ve cultivated for public display.

Typical “meet & greet” cocktail parties, designed to exchange just enough to quantify as “networking”, might prove valuable in future ventures, but rarely venture deep. Yet in the busy-ness of our lives, and given our myriad roles (parent, neighbor, professional, volunteer, etc.,) there’s a danger that most of our conversations will be reduced to superficial discussions of the slot we share.

More satisfying and memorable social conversations usually emerge from a combination of intention and attention. My friend Dick Harrigan offers both in abundance. He’s a superb connector. Dick hosts a regular breakfast gathering at his restaurant, inviting between 4 to 10 people of disparate backgrounds, ages and neighborhoods to sit down together with no agenda but good food and good conversation. The result is delicious—a feast of ideas, stories, wisdom, books — and lots of laughter. Each ensemble holds the makings of future friendships.

In the arena of public discourse and service, perhaps no one instigated difficult discussions more brilliantly and presciently than the late Newton Minow. As President Kennedy’s Federal Communications Commissioner, Minow confronted “the vast wasteland” of early television, led the effort to engage children with “Sesame Street,” connected the world through the first communications satellite, and brought candidates in conversation with the public through televised Presidential Debates. World leaders, U.S. presidents, Eleanor Roosevelt, Chief Justices and corporate chieftains counted on him to talk them through complex problems, and he always stepped aside to let them take credit for solutions.

I was lucky enough to call Newt a friend. Dining with him meant participating in his “gen con” — a general conversation question posed to connect guests on one topic. Given that his guests (other than me!) were often erudite experts in their fields, the table talk yielded brilliant insights and inspired answers to society’s most vexing questions.

Now, there are great conversations—and then there are GREAT CONVERSATIONS. And I’m not equating edifying group discussion with the profound, unfiltered honesty shared between friends, nor to the highest-level intimate conversations between two people in love. Those are the most cherished and tender connections.

They are life-changing.

And life is flying by.

Each of us is born with a singular individuality never before bestowed upon anyone else. Yet we share a common yearning: to know and be known—to reveal the life force within us, and to be granted the privilege of encountering the soul of another.

For we are all made of fear and valiance, wisdom and folly, wonder and woe, solitude and a longing to belong to one another.

Can we muster the courage to present our truth, to show up to one another as ourselves, confident that each of us is an incomparable gift to the world?

Now that’s something to talk about!

___________________

Semaphore: 1. A system of sending messages by holding the arms or two flags on poles in positions symbolizing an alphabetic code. Flags are usually square with diagonal red/yellow shapes. From Greek sēma (sign) and -phoros (to bear; carrier). 2. computer programming construct controlling access to a common resource (e.g., documents to a printer).

Given France’s reputation for design, it is not surprising that Frenchman Claude Chappe developed a mime-like system for signaling messages without words in 1791. The French Revolution demanded quick communication among troops, commanders and the government. The first message:

“If you succeed, you will soon bask in glory.”

Inspiration flagged with flattery.

Of course, the Ancient Greeks—always ahead of the game—originated an early version of the concept, Phyrctoriaen flame signaling across successive stone towers. Later, 9th century Byzantines sent news through beacons across 450 miles of Asia Minor in one hour—almost as fast as gossip!

But 18th century semaphores revolutionized maritime communication in a lasting way, with semaphoric systems still used in ship emergencies, in the railway industry, and throughout modern signage.

Signs

Ever since primitive humans painted cave walls with ocher to describe, warn, artistically express or simply mark their existence, people have communicated through signs. Egyptian hieroglyphics lay the foundation of alphabets. Writing itself consists of symbols. (It’s apropos that we study the meaning of words through semantics and the meaning of signs through semiology.)

The ancient endures. Indigenous people’s semaphoric smoke signals inspired the figure of speech, “Don’t send me smoke signals” as a demand for clarity, frankness. And during papal transitions, the whole world still watches for the white smoke that symbolizes a new pope’s election.

Meanwhile, military medals, the sign of the cross, braille, logos, universal signage, traffic lights (semaforo in Italian), and the color-coded and cartooned signs that guide us through daily life—all are rooted in ancient semaphores.

Indeed, in a retro-primitive, telling sign of the times, emojis now express emotions without rending our hearts.

Nonverbal Communication

Then there’s body language: do you read the subtle signs others send? What do you convey without words? There’s an adage, “watch what a person does, not what they say.” It’s sage advice in work and life.

A raised eyebrow reflects skepticism. But two raised with a smile can mean enthusiasm , approval, delight. Finger tapping the side of one’s nose can signal understanding, but between clever criminals in The Sting (1973), it flashed the con is on.

Rolling the eyes conveys ridicule, and I know at least one parent who sentences teenage offenders to solitary confinement on grounds of disrespect aggravated by cheap melodrama.

Living Semaphores

But what about the better angels of our nature, or the unlikely, but profoundly significant occurrences encountered in life? Can people and places appear as semaphores offering signals and messages we need to hear?

I believe so.

In the predawn darkness, I walked into an empty Amerigo Vespucci Aeroporto in Florence to await a flight to Paris, then back to America. Not even airline personnel had yet arrived.

The solitude suited me as I struggled with an ache that had kept me awake all night. Part of it stemmed from the sentimental realization that I’d never again luxuriate in suspended time with my oldest daughter who was studying in Italy. Part of it mourned the end of my first trip alone in over 20 years (other than to a reunion overnight), and I had reveled in solo time in Tuscany, wandering away from tourists to test my clumsy Italian among locals.

But most of my angst came from facing the return to my marriage.

I tried shifting my focus to the anticipation and excitement of soon seeing the rest of my kids whom I’d missed so much! Still, when a tiny old woman shuffled in and sat across from me, I’d hoped she wouldn’t engage.

She did.

“ ‘Giorno, I’m Ann.”

I returned the greeting, she took the floor. A native Italian, she spoke English with a Sicilian-Brooklyn accent, and an attitude to match.

She skipped past the pleasantries quickly, and dove into her life story like a pro—building up from bio to conflicts and resolutions she‘d managed with take-charge confidence: Her Sicilian birth, marriage & motherhood—a hard life, no money—pushed for emigration— New York opportunities—language and job struggles—sacrifices and saving sent kids to college—diplomas, weddings, grandchildren—widowhood.

“Oh my kids wrung their hands and worried, started running my life, insisted I move in with one of them! So I moved to Florence.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Why not? I’d always loved it. And I wasn’t gonna back down and let them control me. Forget about it!”

Despite her Brooklynese declaration of independence, she assured me she loved her family and flew back to visit every six months. But the feistiness of this diminutive dame would not be diminished by anyone.

Engrossed in more stories of life, we over-talked the airport’s awakening. Ann looked at her watch and insisted we walk quickly toward the tarmac. Yet she struggled to keep pace till I took the hint—and her arm. This persistent messenger found a way to secure and accept help while fiercely protecting her dignity.

Though our ages and circumstances were quite different, I experienced Ann as a valiant woman with an important life message. A human semaphore, she flashed a red light reminder to stop any violation of our God-given spirits, and a green light to go toward hope with a clearer vision of a better direction.

She unknowingly lifted some dread from my mind, and I resolved to return home determined and optimistic.

But long after my return, time passed without progress, and with every exponential second chance exhausted, I filed.

One night, in the midst of a grueling divorce, related family challenges and important work projects, I had to stop on my way home for groceries, despite a driving rain. Exiting with an overfull cart, I struggled to get it over the curb without toppling its contents when a tall African American woman rushed over and began lifting the cart’s front end.

“Oh no!!” I protested, “you’ll hurt yourself!! You’re getting soaked!!”

Staring intently at me, she scolded, “Girl! Don’t block your blessing!!”

Yes, living semaphores exist. Acknowledge their apparitions in your hours of need, and recognize signs of miracles at work before your very eyes.

Don’t block your blessings!

____________________

Any word meaning “meant to be” is going to enter popular culture through a love story, right? While kismet appears in the English language around 1800, it became common parlance after the 1877 publication of Kismet, a novel about romance blossoming among tourists traveling down the Nile. This original “Love Boat” tale is credited to George Fleming, but the love actually flowed from Julia Constance Fletcher writing under a pen name. Perhaps Julia was subtly suggesting that giving men credit pushes their love button.

Popular Culture

Through the 20th century, kismet became the theme of many films, plays, a Tony Award-winning Broadway musical—even a Marvel comics heroine. Elvis got into the act in 1965 with a song for the movie “Harum Scarum”: when you meet by chance, it’s not by chance, it’s kismet…

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Love is grand, but kismet actually has broader application, often viewed as synonymous with destiny, fate, providence, serendipity and coincidence. Why did English adopt another word for the concept? Apparently, 18th-19th century fascination with “Orientalism” led the West to find the new term more mystical and intriguing.

Even more telling is that for millennia, in countless cultures, peoples’ lived experience has convinced them that a force beyond themselves is at work in the world. When something happens that is unlikely, nearly missed, against the odds, favorably serendipitous or stunningly unfortunate—or when someone finds the person Plato’s Symposium described as our missing other half—there’s an undeniable sense of being touched by mystery.

Skeptics explain away such occurrences, attributing them to odds or logical formulas. But skeptics cannot dismiss people’s certainty that something surreal happened. Witnesses to the wonder stand in awe, believing that extraordinary power has intervened in their ordinary lives.

Is that possibility so preposterous? If so, perhaps it’s because we’ve grown unaccustomed to mystery. In an age of easy answers—via Siri, Google, AI and more—we’ve become uncomfortable with the unanswerable.

But if we dismiss mystery, how do we account for—or receive—inspiration, creative flow, or true love? How do we explain a Paul McCartney dreaming the melody for “Yesterday”?

Or Beethoven hearing a knock at his door as the “door of fate,” transforming it into the opening and repeated motif of his Fifth Symphony evoking people’s ongoing struggle with fate.

Many of us can also recount experiences that felt disarmingly beyond our control, either in their wondrous beneficence or cruel misfortune.

• My daughter vehemently objected when her friends proposed “just one more stop” on the way home. But that’s where she met the man who proposed just one year later

• My friend felt angry and frustrated when expressway traffic made him miss his American Flight 191 to Los Angeles. The plane crashed on take-off from Chicago, killing all aboard.

• An Ireland vacation spared a father and son from being in their top floor World Trade Center offices on 9/11.

A fairy-tale come true, and fortunate near-misses. But what about those who perished on 9/11, or haven’t found love, or boarded Flight 191 to their demise? Such existential conundrums have long vexed philosophers, theologians and everyday people. Even the various words we ascribe to life’s variable fortunes reflect nuanced differences in perspective.

“Fate” for example, is more frequently associated with inescapable predetermination. In Greek myths and Shakespearean plays, characters often struggle, yet fail to free themselves of a fatal flaw or elude an ignominious death (think Macbeth!).

“Destiny” also suggests a known future, sharing the same Latin root as destination (destinare meaning to hold firm, bind or determine). However, destiny often refers to a grander purpose. Franklin Roosevelt’s “rendezvous with destiny” speech famously summoned a generation to honor, duty and patriotism amidst threats to the world order.

One’s destiny is viewed as a calling. Singer-songwriter Bob Dylan said, “It’s a feeling that you know something about yourself that nobody else does” and “…..destiny was about to manifest itself. I felt like it was looking right at me and no one else.”

Perhaps the concept of “providence” offers the most affirming perspective on the unknown future. It puts God at the center of life as a timeless and caring guide, protector, and provider to all human beings. Every person is accorded free will in the confidence that God’s loving purpose will ultimately come to fruition without interference in the natural course of human events. At the same time, everyone is endowed with talents that point to their providential path of personal fulfillment as a gift to the world.

Religious beliefs offer insight, inspiration, strength and purpose. Yet the problem of suffering remains a quandary. Most religions attribute much of it to man’s evil acts such as in war, abuse, economic injustice. But that doesn’t account for random misfortune.

While fewer people today participate in organized religion, many more are spiritually searching. They’re looking for answers to profound questions and, as philosopher Michael Meade said, “to know which of the many things calling out in the world is calling to us.”

Many of us feel called into something sacred when stunned by an unlikely, heart-stirring, inexplicable—and sometimes exuberantly joyous—experience. We sense an abiding presence around us, within us, and for us—in a mysterious way.

Perhaps the invitation is not to resolve the mystery, but to gratefully, graciously encounter it, like other minor and major miracles in life: creative inspiration and invention, music and art, literature and poetry, cinema and photography, laughter and love.

And you.

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The origin of Christmas traces to the festive pagan celebrations of winter solstice (sun stands still) when the longest night gives way to lengthening daylight. But pagans did more than party. They sensed the mystical wonder of celestial cycles and marked their patterns.

Newgrange monument in Ireland provides proof. Five thousand years ago, the ancient Celts constructed a stone burial mound with a roof-box opening perfectly aligned to catch the first beam of the rising sun at solstice. As the sun rises higher, it illumines the entire entombment chamber in a stunning display that draws curious and reverent witnesses from around the world.

The human spirit longs for light. Many religions explore the concept of light overcoming darkness and all of its rich symbolism. In Judaism for example, Hanukkah celebrates liberty over oppression by lighting candles in the Menorah for eight nights.

Candlelight remains our most intimate, evocative and reverent illumination. Perhaps because it blends darkness and light into a mystery. We are that mystery. So is Christmas.

It’s a child formed in the sacred darkness of a womb, born on a starlit night made holy, to be a great light to the world. A light of Hope. Joy. Promise.

My favorite song of the season never mentions the word, yet it exquisitely expresses the gift of hope and the miracle that is Christmas—that is every child born. Listening to it always moves me to tears. I hope it touches your heart as well (song below).

Thank you for being a light to me on this journey of life. Merry Christmas & Happy Holidays!

When a Child is Born