It’s always important to consider the source of your advice.
The wisdom I’ll soon reveal came from a college friend and, when it comes to business savvy, I believe this story demonstrates his credibility.
During an intense round of interviews for a prestigious post-college position, the interviewer asked him to define himself in 3 adjectives.
“Hardworking, resourceful, and persistent,” was his pro forma response.
“What were you really thinking?” I asked.
He paused for a moment, then smiled wryly.
“To be honest,” he replied, “For a second, all I could think of to describe myself was ‘Tall, good looking, and well-connected.’”
Here’s the piece of advice that friend gave me, advice which unfortunately I’ve ignored for decades.
During that same bygone era, while lamenting a recent presidential election––one to which his family had direct ties––he shrugged and offered this.
“Thirty years of Christmas cards and thank you notes––that’s really all it takes to be elected president.”
Alas, I’ve now realized the last time I sent any Christmas Cards was exactly ten years ago, perhaps forever ruining my chances for a White House bid.
Before I dive further intomy (non-existent) political ambitions and strategy, I have two updates from the dog park.
(OK, really the baseball field we locals have commandeered into a dog park).
Here’s the first.
I’ve learned the combination of the padlocked outfield gate!
One morning this week, the woman who owns Sunny, an Australian Shepherd, announced it loudly to everyone within earshot.
(Sidebar: I wanted to confirm Sunny’s breed for the narrative and while she is that for sure, I also just learned that Australian Shepherds were developed in California in the 19th century, and were unknown in Australia at the time.)
(And––further sidebar––according to the American Kennel Club, they are “the cowboy’s herding dog of choice.”)
Anyway, now that I have the combo, it’s given me––and everyone I’ve shared it with––a heady, newfound sense of freedom.
I’m no longer at the mercy of the Groundskeeper, stalwart confederate though he is.
(More about that in a moment)
Truly, Knowledge IS power…or in this case, the means of admission.
As I say, the last time I really sent Christmas cards was exactly 10 years ago.
I was living briefly in San Francisco with Belle, staying in our great friend SARK’s Magic Cottage.
It was a vibrant, expansive––even explosive––time.
Although I’ve sent out a handful for subsequent holidays––always trying to remember the doormen in my future dwellings––this was the last time I did a proper mailing.
Since determining the list of 2022 recipients posed a daunting task, I was delighted to recall that I’d left a tag for my 2012 list in my personal database.
Like my own Ghost of Christmas Past, via that list, I could travel back a decade and retrace the remnants of my interrupted journey to the White House.
Not surprisingly, it was full of fascinating detours.
There were definitely moments of sorrow.
Three people on the list are no longer physically with us.
And they were all notable.
• My friend, yoga client, and inspirational role model Terrence McNally.
• My first creative client, a talented aspiring memoirist who’d successfully battled cancer before but passed away in 2016.
• And finally another brilliant woman, a friend who’d given great notes and even greater support for my work during rocky times.
None of these losses are fresh and yet, while it’s obviously absurd to think of sending them a card, it feels equally cold to just delete them from my database, erasing them completely.
For that, I might need another decade.
Amidst those losses, there are only 2 “break-ups” –– not romantic per se but dramatic nonetheless.
(I may be grading myself on a generous curve, that doesn’t seem too messy for a ten-year period.)
What’s actually most surprising, however, is that while I haven’t aged a day, other people apparently have.
Most specifically, there are a few 2012 high school seniors who are now married, some with toddlers.
The most sweeping adjustments I had to make, however, are the addresses.
In this digital age, people live in my phone with just their email and IG.
I’m aware they occupy space in the physical world…but beyond their city or hemisphere, other than for my local crew, I have no clue where that actually is.
Apparently, I’m not the only one with this problem.
I couldn’t help but recall this poem credited to the Sufi mystic Hafiz (but really by Daniel Ladinsky.)
Unlike Happiness (aka “The Universe / The Divine”) in these verses, I simply texted a bunch of people…yet still I can relate.
Here’s a section of it:
Several Times in the Last Week
Ever since Happiness heard your name
It has been running through the streets
Trying to find you.
And several times in the last week,
God Himself has even come to my door-
Asking me for your address!
Once I said,
‘God,
I thought You knew everything.
Why are You asking me
Where Your lovers live?’
And the Beloved replied,
Indeed, Hafiz, I do know Everything –
But it is fun playing dumb once in a while.”
Where were we…?
It’s barely worth mentioning but there are indeed several people from 2012’s list I honestly can’t remember.
Most of them are business contacts for projects that either evaporated or never materialized.
What’s vastly more interesting are all the new people I’ve met in the last decade.
Part of me often silently quotes the incredibly glamorous Audrey Hepburn in the first scene of Charade when Cary Grant tries to introduce himself:
“I already know an awful lot of people,
and until one of them dies
I couldn’t possibly meet anyone else.”
I am similarly always braced for “Stranger Danger,” yet I have nonetheless managed to make some amazing new friends.
Indeed, it’s truly a revelation to marvel about how many key people in my heart have only arrived within the last decade.
And once I’m completely bonded with someone and they’re fully intertwined in my life, while I’m cognizant they weren’t always around, it’s also odd that there are chapters they only know secondhand.
They’re practically newcomers yet at the same time fully (and I like to think permanently) settled into the emotional landscape.
I’m still mid-process in sending out my cards.
(So don’t be upset if yours hasn’t arrived yet.)
More and more great people keep flashing across my radar.
And while I’m of course hoping that my past negligence has not made it too late for a future presidential run, I feel like I’ve gained something more.
This unexpected processing of the decade’s losses and savoring its much greater gains has been fascinating and surprisingly moving.
And, I’m delighted to add,thatthere’s one new recipient of a card this year, one major new player, worth noting.
This card isn’t coming directly from me––I’m only Venmo-ing my contribution to it––but Matt the owner of the chocolate lab Woody (just FYI, the only dog/human name combo I know, thanks to Venmo) has a conversational relationship with the baseball field Groundskeeper.
Our morning crew has unanimously decided to bestow a collective $ gift of appreciation slipped into a group Christmas Card.
True, this card may not advance me to the White House, and the Groundskeeper isn’t even going into my database, yet it nonetheless perfectly encapsulates this moment in time.
It’s an utterly sincere Thank You.
And although I vow to take my “Tall, Good Looking, and Well-Connected” friend’s advice to heart, even if I lapse another decade with my Christmas correspondence, I’ll still remember the Groundskeeper in 2032.
He’s opened the doors to freedom and fun, and in some ways, as the Sufi mystics tell us, there really is no higher purpose.
Namaste for Now,
