From self-defeat to self-leadership

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Think well. FEEL GOOD. Transform spaces.

“It is an obvious neurological fact that before you can experience any event, you must process it with your mind and give it meaning. You must understand what is happening to you before you can feel it.“

Feeling Good: The New Mood Therapy, David D. Burns M.D.

Feel good to do good. I thought about that as I stood in front of Lee’s Market on a sunny, December afternoon to reflect. I knew Mr. Lee only in passing and as a preteen, his store was a bookend staple, a generic outpost to buy the basics. Toiletries, meat, baseball caps, even pig’s feet if you indulged. I knew Mr. Lee in literal passing having sped past his store fleeing a knife-point confrontation. But I hadn’t seen Mr. Lee since the mid-1980s. He’s passed on since then and now his son runs the small all-purpose market that doubles as a Carniceria.

On the corner of 48th & Avalon, I contemplated how feeling good must have sustained Mr. Lee’s power to do good.

His son had to tell me how the community supported the store when civil unrest following the Rodney King riots threatened to tear Los Angeles apart. Now both grown men and slightly past middle age, the younger Mr. Lee (son of the original store owner) took a selfie with me as we talked about the neighborhood and how it’s changed. What I left the conversation with though was questions: What brought the Lee family to America from Korea? Did the elder Lee ever dream that his store would boast more than four decades of serving a community that did not resemble him? Could he have imagined how that community would come to love and protect his investment? How did Mr. Lee weather the storm of tensions between the Black and Korean communities? But the greatest question I have now is, “What did it mean to Mr. Lee to own a store in the heart of South Central Los Angeles?”

The store seemed to never close and though I do not remember witnessing any anti-Asian rhetoric or behavior, I am certain there were moments when he may have been disparaged. But what is it that subsumes anger, doubt, vengefulness, and fear? Whatever the Lee family possessed, I lack, and my own deficit is often revealed by life’s ambushes. As I give meaning to events, they often become monolithic, representative of one singular theme. Seeing an event one way can paralyze or limit the ability to respond.

Overcoming self-defeating emotions

An illustration might be useful here. I recently encountered a road rage episode in which a man was triggered by me honking my horn at him. He changed lanes into mine nearly hitting my car but my tap of the horn ignited a barrage of racial epithets, spitting, and profanity from him. We were at a stoplight initially but when the light turned green, the irate driver did not move. He impeded us until I changed lanes and then he serpentined cutting us off purposely every time we tried to get away from the scenario. Almost from the point of insult, I had begun shifting into a Fight mindset. I was preparing myself for the worst case, that he could be armed, intoxicated enough to ram us with his vehicle, or willing to call like-minded friends to assault me and my wife. Effectively, I was preparing to eliminate this man before he could harm us. Ultimately, the engagement ended when I listened a bit more to my wife and decided to run a red light so that we were not sitting at another traffic signal next to this guy.

It would be hard for the average person not to process my road rage event as a threat. But it’s the way one manages their thinking post-threat that determines whether adversity remains a moment or becomes a banner. Overgeneralizing is a cognitive distortion from which I suffer and in this dysfunctional way of thinking, the negative experience becomes the rule of your life. I have had my share of confrontations with racism but I am learning that “…the negative thoughts that flood [my] mind are the actual cause of [my] self-defeating emotions. These thoughts are what keep [me] lethargic and make [me] feel inadequate (Burns, 1981).”

One thing I’m leery of is when people discount the narratives of others. We never fully know the suffering of someone else. That said, Lee’s Market on 48th Street and Avalon Boulevard has become a point of curiosity in the understanding of self-leadership. We have to feel good where we live and work and that feeling begins with thinking. In the 1980s, Mr. Lee served the needs of people in a food desert, earned their trust and respect, and created a Legacy that his son would later continue. Likely motivated to make a better life for his family, he learned that being open seven days a week and providing essential products to people established a bond with his neighbors that was stronger than his opponents. There is something you endeavor to do today. Make sure you feel good enough to get it done.

The energy suck is constant. So, if I am to live majestically (beautifully),… I have to remember that the most majestic moments in my life have been times where I ventured out with a sense of competency, calling, and honesty.

Norman A. Coulter Jr., Bloods crips, and starship

@normanleadsself

#racism #racismawareness #racismneedstostop #humanity #humanityforward #selfimprovement #tiktokauthor #selfleadership in REAL LIFE!

♬ original sound – Norman Anthony

Lead Yourself 1st!

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See, I be catchin’ you starin’, be careful

The idle mind is a dangerous place to be left in

But keep your eyes on me…”

Anderson Paak, Heart Don’t Stand a Chance, Malibu Album

“Heart Don’t Stand a Chance.” so you may as well lead yourself first in this world. Do you know who Anderson Paak is? It doesn’t matter. The reference is poetic for my purposes so if the Spirit moves you while in the altered social reality of COVID-19, click the title. Truth for me though is that my heart never did stand a chance of being safe. To risk it is both gambit and liability.

My Heart was Tampered With (majorly)

I deal in leadership as a researcher but it’s the leadership of self that arrested my attention around 2009. I was in my ‘feels” ruminating on my own journey through basketball, namely the lessons it taught me. If I’m being real, I was brooding over a lot related to hoop. There was some bitterness, some regret for leaving the game too soon. And I left it twice, once in 1999 to attend seminary and then again in 2005 to get married. Coincidentally, I wrote a bathroom-reading length mini journal about the lessons I learned from NOT playing basketball and the lessons became my CORE 12 matrix of life principles.

I discovered a process, a rising downward into humility and away from bullshit. I reflected on things that forced me to admit cowardice and great bravery. We have all those moments truthfully. And it was both fun and painful to reflect on how sports took hold of me or I of it. You know what the coldest piece of this reflection was though? It was that 10-12 years ago was preparing for the ultimate bout with self.

How I came to Lead Self

I wrote these nightly reflections just before bed, each chapter taking me back in time to various periods between 9-years old and my 30th birthday. But the 12 leadership lessons I landed on…things like “Submit to truths that are inconvenient but lead to victory,” “Respect yourself, your superiors, your subordinates and your peers,” and “Mind your own business” were merely preparation for the real opportunity to lead self. How do I know?…

…Because I published the book in 2011 but by 2014 I was a father, by 2015 my marriage was disintegrating, by 2016 I was separated, by 2017 I was slowly settling a divorce, by 2018 I was actually divorced and by the Fall of 2019, I was remarried, co-parenting my son and beginning a new journey as a stepfather.

I grew up in Inglewood/South Central Los Angeles, two extremely dangerous urban centers. I lost friends to gang violence before I was out of high school and saw/heard my share of fatal incidents. But the last six years was like 1-part woodshed ass -whipping and liberation simultaneously and it was worse than any “Hood” scuffle or tragedy. The heart never stood a chance in this space. The undulating elation and sorrow from personal bouts with disappointment, opportunity, failure, hope, bewilderment and love were juxtaposed with the collective horror of the media-streamed murders of Black men by police and retaliation toward law enforcement officers.

From 2012 to the present my heart felt like the images I saw as a child when the Space Shuttle Challenger exploded as my classmates and I watched all those years back. See, the heart effervesces, it breaks and it bleeds. Political divides, racism, divorce, split-custody, isolation, my own violations of personal ethics all led me to the conclusion that leading self had to be a thing.

Self Leadership vs. “Follow me @”

What kind of thing is it? Turns out, Self-Leadership is a researched field, a discipline, the unsung study of why we do and what we do. It is about intrinsic motivation and it is about constructive thinking. It is what allows us to create conversations where they don’t exist. And it is what silences the voices of rebuke and accusation that come from your conscience, religious tribes and Facebook/IG/Twitter/TikTok communities.

For as much as we make a science of gaining followers, my incidental reflection about basketball turned into arguably the most significant reprised discovery of our age – SELF LEADERSHIP. And it doesn’t mean attaining perfection. Self Leadership is something else. Humility, empathy, deference, dialogue… are among the tools to enter this space and I’m learning that America never prioritized any of these. But she will need humility just to admit that… And that I am learning starts individually. #Leadself1st

Expendable

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Barely Known

So many people feel unimportant. The Vietnamese student lives every day knowing no one really cares to learn the correct pronunciation of his last name, Nguyen. A biracial man in his early twenties is African American and Tongan but people keep asking him if Tongan is basically Hawaiian. The Guamanian teen’s friends want her to do a Haka – not her tradition.

I try not to fetishize the month of May but I bring attention to Asian & Pacific Islander Heritage Month. It isn’t much but I draw from the light of unsung contributors. Bring to the light the wisdom forced into the recesses of society. I try to incorporate quotes, short stories, anecdotes, and organic discussions to see if my students can grasp what it feels like to be generalized. It’s ambitious but it’s become a vibe. Humanize everyone. And with the year ending, maybe I thought it was working…a little…to broaden conscience.

When Fear Echoes…

But Saturday something trended on Twitter about Buffalo, New York. It was the 198th mass shooting in 2022 and it took the lives of 10 Black people. The victims were shot because they were Black. There were 13 wounded and the assailant had every intention of playing some kind of macabre equalizer. He was not unique or uncharacteristic in that he traveled from out of town to scout and execute his psychopathic mission. This malignant 18-year-old expressed rapacious ideation and once again animated what violent human ranking looks like. Tiered human caste predates the colonies that eventually became the United States. But I can’t help but feel that we keep missing the outcomes to which human hierarchy leads.

The following day, a primarily Taiwanese congregation in Laguna Woods, California experienced a similar episode. It was the Christian day of worship, the time when vulnerability and inner prostration are at the center of the gathering. One person was killed and five injured, four of them critically. It was hate’s version of a double-header. In two days, routine activities were interrupted by maniacal cowardice fueled by radicalized influence.

I can hear the disbelief in students’ comments when they say, “I just can’t understand how someone would do something so monstrous.” I don’t have answers to their implicit “Whys” but I assume that if they can’t fathom this horror, they must have unlearned something. I’ve had to unlearn prejudice so some of them have as well. I was taught well how to discriminate. How could I not be instructed on who to trust and which people to keep at arm’s length? I am a child of southern-born, segregation-era Black elders. Of course, I was taught NOT to wholly trust Whites. But how did I unlearn it? How did I separate loving my family from blindly accepting counter-intuitive ideas about other humans? How did I avoid treating others the way they treated my people? I was forced into proximity with THEM, their good humans and asshole variety. I was forced to sift, to separate the wheat from the chaff.

There was simply too much inconsistency in the notion that “THEY” were all bad. I had to be taught by White teachers. A White doctor spearheaded the medical treatment that caught my Spinal Meningitis and saved my life. I was coached by White men who treated athletes like they owned them. But I was also heralded by White professors. Proximity made hate a million times more complex and hard to universalize. But again, I was forced into a rhythm with White folks whether I wanted it or not.

No Rhythm to Dance

There is no rhythm in this country for Black people. That’s why it’s so easy to hate us. So few non-blacks live rhythmically in the vicinity of our norms, cultures, spirituality, etc. I believe the same is true for Asians, Pacific Islanders, and Latinx, particularly those who hail from less known countries in those groups. Proximity is everything in this era of Replacement ideology. We fail to see self in the other and simultaneously, somehow we act appalled at cold-blooded murder. But when doing life with Black people, for example, is optional, it can’t help but be a recreational indulgence. More often than not, those who don’t have to be bothered with Black folks will choose not to be. This is the harder work, engaging when nothing societally forces integration.

I didn’t have a choice so it was easy to see humans when they presented themselves. And it was easy to see the demons who refused to accept me as an actual person. Eventually, I spat out the bones and chewed the meat. I ain’t got time for bullshit people. But if the first thought about Buffalo’s atrocity last Saturday was to run counter-narratives about mass shootings involving non-Blacks, to find equivalents to offset this horrific and strategic decimation, then these hate crimes won’t subside. Racially motivated assaults are not one-offs. But that offends so many in this country thus stunting the spiritual awakening Christians claim is available on our soil. How about human reckoning, one that acknowledges that some people are viewed as collectively worthless on the American index. To deny this is to germinate killers. Period. Lead SELF; submit to truth. It’s all we got.

“Thou Shalt Not Be a Victim. Thou shalt not be a perpetrator. But above all else, thou shalt not be bystander.”

– Yehuda Bauer, Israeli Historian

WHO ARE THE HUMANS?

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WHO ARE THE SUB-HUMANS & NON-HUMANS?

900 DAYS Courtesy of LAUSD

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Norman Anthony, 7th Grade (1988), Parkman Junior High School (now Woodland Hills Academy)

“For 900 days, I teleported through a portal and somehow managed to reinvent myself not knowing that the access was neither universal nor timeless.”

(excerpt of “900 days” from Forthcoming Book by Norman A. coulter jr.)

From 1984 to 1989 I commuted from 482 E. 48th Street and 700 E. 101st Street in South Los Angeles to Woodland Hills, Los Angeles, an upscale neighborhood against the Santa Monica Mountains. Woodland Hills serves as the threshold to more unapologetically wealthy cities like Calabasas and Agoura. At a glance, it boasts hiking-friendly topography and makes you reconsider the time you swore you would never sleep in a tent or “rough it” in the great outdoors. Every day was nothing short of a field trip for me as I left the undesirables save one…me. It was three hours roundtrip and what we poor Black folk would have called a “hellified” way to get an education paid for by California taxpayers like my mom. 

In the 33 years since I stopped waking up before dawn to catch a city bus to a school bus which then drove me 34 miles to the promised land, I have only recently processed the significance of the 900 days I spent hunting down equity. The “e-word” gets a lot of publicity in the education sphere, namely the public because it distinguishes itself as an issue of access instead of one centered on uniform treatment and equality. Equity in education is supposed to be the augmentation that evens the playing field as if comparing education to a sports competition is even appropriate. When I arrived in Woodland Hills in the fall of 1984, I was ignorant of the voluntary integrative guise that euphemized failed Federal Legislation from the early 1970s. Back then, the United States government chose busing as the method to desegregate public schools from Boston, Massachusetts to Inglewood, California. And when it crashed and burned, what remained were voluntary one-way “privileges” for inner-city students. I benefited from the consolation prize of realization by my home state (California) that integration is an issue of conscience and not transportation. Mandated busing of students to the inner-city never stood a chance but the complexity of Brown vs. Board of Education revealed itself as racial disparity continued tracking along lines of social class. 

I had heard the stories my mom told me of being part of the inaugural integrative efforts in Arkansas during the early-to-mid 1960s. She described how the teachers at White schools resented the audacious enforcement of Brown vs. Board of Education, infringing on the de facto segregation that was as Southern as hot water cornbread. The recalcitrance manifested itself through the mispronouncing of Black students’ names during roll call and purposeful emphasis of the word Nigger in texts that used the term. But during my elementary and junior high school years, the peculiar juxtaposition of a Crack Cocaine epidemic in the inner city along with meteoric rises in gang violence shrouded a confused Los Angeles Unified School District. There was no simple short-term solution to the one-way street of opportunity through public education. And whatever people thought about busing when they voted Proposition 1 down in 1979, LAUSD had to at least leave a conduit open to students like myself looking for more than the ‘hood could offer. 

When Federal courts mandated desegregation, the unimaginable happened and White kids were forced to go to the other sides of the tracks to school. For all of the mythology associated with inner-city youth, their hyperbolized propensity for drug use, drug sale, fighting, and fatherlessness, the early 1970s literally threatened to transport White students into Hell. It was a rare moment in American history when privilege was revealed by proximity to its antonym. And it brought to bear the question, “What does integration really mean?” Is it when a poor Black male travels 34 miles for 900 days of his K-12 experience and is benevolently allowed to learn among rich Whites? Or does integration entail other intangible features like embracing fear because the unknown person learning next to you is a personified opportunity for growth? Is the end game of integration simply policy and forced mixing? Is integration a code word for sharing privilege with the hapless have-nots who are believed to have created their own plight? Or is it when empathy moves, say, the people of California to look so closely at the neighborhoods to which they would never send their own children for school that they exhaust themselves to right the ship for everyone. For 900 days, I teleported through a portal and somehow managed to reinvent myself not knowing that the access I had was neither universal nor timeless.

Regrets Made Me Lead Self #Facts

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THIS crumb led me to lead self. Regret is like Kryptonite to the soul. It weakens you despite being eerily familiar. Is the familiarity why pieces of Superman’s home planet weakened him? Wasn’t he only super because Earth’s properties differed so much from Krypton? Enlighten me in the comments if Comicon is your jam. Regret has always been destructively and exhaustively home to me.

Regret is the second-most common emotion people mention in daily life, some studies show. And it’s the most common negative emotion. 

Bruce Grierson
The Carpe Diem Project
Psychology today
Much of who I thought I was hinged on false perfection. But regret can ground you like nothing else. Superman should be self-aware. I was not.
Super Me circa 2008 in London, England

The road to focusing on leading self started with losing my grip on self in the first place. By this I mean that I was taught to ensure that you stay worthy of people’s respect. Don’t betray your followers by failing them. If you’re like me, you grew up believing in the preservation of your reputation. But then, also if you’re like me, you realized that triggers are real. No one is immune to cataclysmic errors and certain scenarios, human dynamics, and life catastrophes can bring both the best and worst right out of you. That’s why so many friendships ended in 2020 due to COVID and the election.

As harrowing as it sounds, none of us are exactly who we think we are. I was no different and I viewed leadership as a pinnacle. There was a time where I thought you needed to be damned near perfect or wholly distant from the sources of regret in your life. Because then you could be super. If you could just get far enough away from Krypton, you could lead.

What changed about how I viewed leadership?

The only thing that changed permanently to shift my gaze from others to self was my rhythmic failures. The regrettable mistakes, the missed opportunities, the cowardly episodes revealed what and who I was at times but more importantly, they revealed my patterns. I started noticing that I was a people pleaser, someone who takes on the extra because no one else will. I was like that as a basketball player. The best shooters on the team didn’t want to rebound and dive on the hardwood floor to get loose balls. So I did and my pattern became accepting the roles others gave me and living in the compartments others constructed for me. It followed me into nearly every relationship.

I was dependable and a good guy, somebody who others would never expect to leave a job, cuss someone out, fist fight or allow the disintegration of a relationship. The power of regret ate at me all the time as I blamed myself for not being rich, for not being a professional athlete, for responding to provocation with force. I stewed in my anger from childhood to adulthood and then one day I was out of “Fs” to give. Straight up! And then began my cycle of trying to commandeer life so I wouldn’t regret being human Charmin.

You can’t cheat the design

I still remember the day I confronted some of my closest family members about things I harbored as a child. I was a bitter brotha and may still be on some levels. But I broke the “Nice Norm” archetype on those days. It felt powerful to refrain from takin’ shit even one more day. There is a breaking point in us all. But reaching this point always damages and aggrandizes. It energizes but also wrecks, particularly if you imbibe on the exhilaration of standing tall for a change.

I remember resigning from two jobs in Christian ministry service because pastors threatened to arbitrarily play “god” with their powers of employment. In both cases I took control of the situation and shook the dust from my sandals as I managed to not have the door hit me in the cheeks on the way out. I made sure the “bounce-out” was my choice. But I didn’t deal with the resentment, anger, disgust and host of negative emotions coursing through me toward those whom I had challenged. And this is where leading self became necessary. If I didn’t turn my leadership inward I was bound to destroy myself and others from a locus of pain.

Which YOU will lead others?

I feel that fraud alert every time I open my mouth to teach or lecture. Regret has a way of whispering my worst iterations on a loop and I always recognize the voice. Krypton again, telling me I failed myself and countless others. And if I’m not watchful, I take that bait and start trying to convince the public that I’m worthy of their followership. But the true self that I’m becoming acquainted with resolves to recognize my regrets, release them and redeem them. To lead self is to influence self and I would add that this has to be done first. When I was young and “perfect,” I rode my reputation into every town. The new me ain’t so prim but he fakes zero moves. Authenticity always leads me to the best questions and the core. Then the residuals of my true self can flow to those in proximity. What’s more super than that?

Enter the Dark Night

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(Part 2: Lead Yourself First!)

KIDS ARE TOO DAMNED HONEST

“Why should we go to his game; he ain’t gon’ play.” DAYUUUUUUUM Sis! These were the words of a friend of the family, probably about 12 or 13 years-old at the time. I was fuming at that little kid and all she was doing was speaking the truth as she saw it. There was more to my playing time woes than she understood but the facts she spit were indisputable. I sat on the bench the first two years that I played college basketball at Chapman University and I remember how embarrassed I was that kids didn’t even want to come support me because I was a benchwarmer. I felt like a fraud.

I came to lead self first, in part, because of bouts like that where true self collides with false self. There are always context, correlations and key factors that explain your story more fully. I knew this as 17-19 year-old college athlete. But the world moves too fast for you to beat critics, enemies, spectators and family friends to the public narrative.

LE (CONTROL) FREAK C’EST CHIC

In America, the desire to control is elegantly fashionable. Maybe it’s not an American thing. As the world turns, we must lead self because leadership of others depends too much on relationships you do not have time to create with strangers or the estranged. I want so badly to control the belief of others and make them my fans. I truly think my pros outweigh my cons. Despite the negative connotations, I’m sure I am still religious, bound to what is reverent and sacred. But better men and women than me failed majorly in scripture and history. And even when they or I don’t fail, at any minute someone can beat you to the public to tell them you did.

Consider how the formative years, pre-teen-to-adolescence and into young adulthood are either a time of self-serving hedonism, a quest for moral perfection (by religious folk) or a Pavlovian pursuit of success however society defines it. It was the third that opened my eyes to leadership of self. I was plenty churched but familiar with hypocrisy as clergy leaders sometimes lied and men evaded emotions other than anger and lust. So I determined to be anything but the non-examples – the bad men.

In college, I pulled-up to the party for about 15 minutes thinking I’d just show my face and “bounce”(leave). But my friend’s girlfriend wanted to prove she could drink 40 ounces of Malt Liquor in front of a bunch of horny athletes. So I took her car keys from her and forced her to walk home so she didn’t get raped or killed in her own car. I commonly tried to play the hero back then, then went to the gym to workout for that team that wasn’t allowing me to see the light of day. Nevertheless, I felt purposed and secure in my anti-septic lifestyle despite the real fact that I really just wanted to be good at basketball.

Let Go and Lead Self First

It’s hard to have a Dark Night of the Soul experience when you’re saving girls who don’t want saving. I was ready to fight “F-boys” for preying on women but I wasn’t leading self. I was avoiding being a bad guy and thus not living from true self. I couldn’t see my illusions, my fears and my addiction to attempting to control the levels of decency in my space. Please…I’ve learned that I can’t even always control my own decency or that of those sworn to love me. But that’s a different blog post “fr” (for real). Leading self acknowledges this profound statement:

“No one oversees his or her own demise willingly, even when it is the false self that is dying. God has to undo our illusions secretly, as it were, when we are not watching and not in perfect control…”

Friar Richard Rohr, Center for action and contemplation

In real-life, I meet my true self via the Dark Night of the Soul., the upheaval of life that works to rid me of my illusions about people. Real life has come to me in the form of strange jobs, layoffs, death, arguments with God, critique of my country and community, divorce, parenting, uncomfortable emotions & expressions and defamation of my character from more sources than I can name. Nothing was as I once thought it was. Tangible rewards do not necessarily follow hard work. People’s memories of whatever good you’ve done often vanish in the tumult of politics and social confusion. Yet, my mistakes and the darkness of loss followed by gracious redemption serve as pure agents. They move me toward a leadership of self that releases the truest, most loving version of myself to my family and my future.

Anger, Apologies & Me

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Confession time. I got heated yesterday over something that’s been brewin’ for decades. The title of this post is the spoiler. If I’m being “100” (honest), apologies are in short supply in this world and I had gotten into a mental space where I was just over it. How long will people add insult to injury, ignoring the harm they’ve caused. It was personal and I was done in a real way. Long story short, I got reflecting on childhood, adulthood and life in the ‘hood. I noted how my theology, intellectual disposition and social rearing worked against me giving vent to my anger throughout life. If Norman showed signs of discontent, it was rare and met with “big eyes” and astonishment. Then add that I’m a 6’5″, African American, male, former athlete from the inner city. I’ve always felt like I don’t get to be angry in public. Trust me; this is not the stuff of myths. There is a price for being black, male, athletic and enraged. Stay focused I will though. I became mild mannered at some point in life and well…that attracts predators. But you grow up and realize predators prey and give very few “Fs” about anything they’ve taken be-it time, money or opportunity. The problem is, the world spins and the predators keep coming. I guess this post is about that reality.

I love and hate apologies. In one respect I can drop the names of countless people who owe me one and can craft just as long a list of those to whom I ought to remit such payment. I’d like to believe I’m pretty transparent, acknowledging shortcomings, righting wrongs I’ve made, owning my shit as they say. But what I find is that for every misdeed I cop to, I probably configure excuses and defenses for them all. And there’s the tricky part. There is a context for every offense, a cause for every harmful effect. The longer I live the more I believe that no act stands alone in isolation. And we don’t like that reality. Pardon the aside.

Franciscan Priest and Contemplative Richard Rohr says this about the reality that disappoints us so often:

“Either we align ourselves with reality and prepare to be let down, or we block out the always muddy real world and bring on so much more suffering in the long run. This is spiritual common sense, which unfortunately is not so common.”


R. Rohr, Center for Action and Contemplation.

I am common sense dumb, illiterate and/or deficient. Please believe it and I may not be alone. I expect apologies from people who will never give them and I say I am sorry when I shouldn’t. Sound familiar? Furthermore, and here’s the hate part, I know that apologies unaccompanied by change actions lose power. Feeling sorry for what one has done must be reflected in responses of empathy to have any sincerity. Apologies are overrated but not inconsequential. They are the embodiment of what is best in humanity when they mean something. But their meaning is housed in a response to a prompting within us, a compulsion to ascribe value to harm and to the perception of it. To apologize with an intent to improve a situation or make amends is self leadership. Apology and empathetic actions cannot be demanded, only rendered. That said, my mom asked me this morning over coffee what I needed from her. I had gotten angry about something and was able to admit hurt along with the truth that I linked that hurt to another action unrelated to hers. Coolest piece was that in the space of honest conversation with a lot of opportunity to make it worse, apology materialized followed by a couple of practical solutions.

In the end, leading self in the space of relationships is a truth exercise and most of us are out of shape. It’s like Zumba after Chili and a milkshake. BRUH! For real though. Apology is hard and ironically we want it when we’re the victim but avoid it when we’re the culprit of harm. And anger is never far from unmet expectations. “…Anger is synonymous with displeasure. When it surfaces, it aggressively attempts to interrupt or punish the source of the displeasure” (Coulter, The 6ixth Man…). So the victim today can turn punisher tomorrow. I know from experience. And the apology seeker will spray people they love because of the past.

At day’s end, “…Anger in its truest sense must prompt one to actively improve him/herself and his/her environment”
(Coulter, The 6ixth Man…). Byproducts of anger linked to disappointment include resentment, apathy and diminished concentration. Anger seldom serves any good purpose unless it’s a bridge to something. Source the anger and why it exists, and you’ll touch the deepest recesses of self. It’s a work in progress for me. I stay angry and constantly have to swerve on these vibes immersing me in past offenses. Lead self, source anger, apologize sincerely… ’tis the season. The “bombest” model of rightly directed anger is Jesus Christ.