Food for Thought: "It's not how you start"

Evening all,

I ran across an interesting article by ESPN's Rick Reilly detailing how it's not so important how we start in life, but rather how we finish.

For those of you who may not know, the Miami Dolphins GM asked arguably the best wide receiver in the NFL draft, Dez Bryant, if his mother was a prostitute. Now, for me personally, they probably would have had to pull me off of the guy. But Bryant kept his composure and answered "no" to the question posed to him.

But, as Reilly stated in his article, why should that even matter? That has nothing to do with how Bryant would perform for any football team. If anything, I would assume that if that were true those circumstances would have made him a stronger individual, not any type of liability.

I understand accountability, but you can only control what you can control, and your upbringing is one of those things.

Anyway, I encourage you to check out the full article here.

Cheers to finishing strong,

JIP

Food for Thought: The Man in the Arena

The more I find out about former President Teddy Roosevelt, the more I realize that he was a pretty tough guy; this list alone paints a picture of what he was able to accomplish during his 60 years of life (read the full article here, courtesy of Art of Manliness):

1. Work as state legislator, police commissioner, and governor in New York

2. Own and work a ranch in the Dakotas

3. Serve as Assistant Secretary of the Navy

4. Fight as a Rough Rider in the Spanish-American War

5. Serve as President for two terms, then run for an unprecedented third term

6. Become the first President to leave the country during his term in order to see the building of the Panama Canal

7. Write 35 books

8. Read tens of thousands of books-several a day in multiple languages

9. Explore the Amazonian rainforests

10. Discover, navigate, and be named after a completely uncharted Amazonian river over 625 miles long

11. Volunteer to lead a voluntary infantry unit into WWI at age 59.

Based on this, it's no surprise that he is the author of the famous speech, "The Man in the Arena". It speaks of the toughness that Roosevelt embodied and the same toughness that we should embrace and try to bring out of ourselves each and every day.

I would attempt to highlight key points from the speech, but honestly the entire thing is worth not only reading, but also committing to memory. I hope you enjoy this and pass it on to others who can benefit from it:

It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.

Cheers to all of us being our own man in the arena,

JIP

Food for Thought: A World Without Black People

This was written for kids, but I tend to think that we can all learn more about ourselves by reading this...it's not just pertinent to Black history, but the history of our entire country.

This is a story of a little boy name Theo, who woke up one morning and asked his mother, "Mom, what if there were no Black people in the world?" Well, his mother thought about that for a moment, and then said, "Son, follow me around today and let's just see what it would be like if there were no Black people in the world." Mom said, "Now go get dressed, and we will get started."

Theo ran to his room to put on his clothes and shoes. His mother took one look at him and said, "Theo, where are your shoes? And those clothes are all wrinkled, son. I must iron them." However, when she reached for the ironing board, it was no longer there.

You see Sarah Boone, a black woman, invented the ironing board, and Jan E. Matzelinger, a black man, invented the shoe lasting machine.

"Oh well," she said, "please go and do something to your hair." Theo ran in his room to comb his hair, but the comb was not there. You see, Walter Sammons, a black man, invented the comb.

Theo decided to just brush his hair, but the brush was gone. You see Lydia O. Newman, a black female, invented the brush.

Well, this was a sight: no shoes, wrinkled clothes, hair a mess. Even Mom's hair, without the hair care inventions of Madam C. Walker, well, you get the picture.

Mom told Theo, "Let's do our chores around the house and then take a trip to the grocery store." Theo's job was to sweep the floor. He swept and swept and swept. When he reached for the dustpan, it was not there. You see, Lloyd P. Ray, a black man, invented the dustpan.

So he swept his pile of dirt over in the corner and left it there. He then decided to mop the floor, but the mop was gone. You see, Thomas W. Stewart, a black man, invented the mop. Theo yelled to his Mom, "Mom, I'm not having any luck."

"Well, son," she said, "Let me finish washing these clothes, and we will prepare a list for the grocery store." When the wash finished, she went to place the clothes in the dryer, but it was not there. You see, George T. Samon, a black man, invented the clothes dryer.

Mom asked Theo to go get a pencil and some paper to prepare their list for the market. So, Theo ran for the paper and pencil but noticed the pencil lead was broken. Well, he was out of luck because John Love, a black man, invented the pencil sharpener.

Mom reached for a pen, but it was not there because William Purvis, a black man, invented the fountain pen.

As a matter of fact, Lee Burridge invented the typewriting machine and W. A. Lovette the advanced printing press. Theo and his mother decided just to head out to the market.

Well, when Theo opened the door, he noticed the grass was as high as he was tall. You see, John Burr, a black man, invented the lawn mower. They made their way over to the car and found that it just wouldn't go. You see, Richard Spikes, a black man, invented the automatic gearshift, and Joseph Gammel invented the supercharge system for internal combustion engines. They also noticed that the few cars that were moving were running into each other and having wrecks because there were no traffic signals. You see, Garrett A. Morgan, a black man invented the traffic light.

Well, it was getting late, so they walked to the market, got their groceries, and returned home. Just when they were about to put away the milk, eggs, and butter, they noticed the refrigerator was gone. You see John Standard, a black man, invented the refrigerator. So, they just left the food on the counter.

By this time, Theo noticed he was getting mighty cold. Mom went to turn up the heat, and what do you know? Alice Parker, a black female, invented the heating furnace. Even in the summertime, they would have been out of luck because Frederick Jones, a black man, invented the air conditioner.

It was almost time for Theo's father to arrive home. He usually takes the bus, but there was no bus, because its precursor was the electric trolley, invented by another black man, Elbert R. Robinson.

He usually takes the elevator from his office on the 20th floor, but there was no elevator because Alexander Miles, a black man, invented the elevator.

He also usually dropped off the office mail at a near by mailbox, but it was no longer there because Philip Downing, a black man, invented the letter drop mailbox, and William Barry invented the postmarking and canceling machine.

Theo and his mother sat at the kitchen table with their heads in their hands. When the father arrived, he asked, "Why are you sitting in the dark?" Why? Because Lewis Howard Latimer, a black man, invented the filament within the light bulb.

Theo quickly learned more about what it would be like if there were no black people in the world, especially if he were ever sick and needed blood. Dr. Charles Drew, a black scientist, found a way to preserve and store blood, which led to his starting the world's first blood bank.

Well, what if a family member had to have heart surgery? This would not have been possible without Dr. Daniel Hale Williams, a black doctor, who performed the first open-heart surgery.

So, if you ever wonder, like Theo, where would we be without black people? Well, it's pretty plain to see. We would still be in the DARK!

Food for Thought: Definition of a Man (courtesy of Esquire)

Greetings All,

I'm sure that at one point or another we have all tried to define what a man is. I'm also sure that after this attempt, we have all concluded that it's an almost impossible task.

Well, according to the good folks at Esquire, the true definition of a man is contained in the essay below (check out the article here). Even if you don't agree with all of it, I don't expect anyone to, you have to admit that it raises some solid points. It's kind of lengthy (hence the word essay) but well worth your time.

A man carries cash. A man looks out for those around him — woman, friend, stranger. A man can cook eggs. A man can always find something good to watch on television. A man makes things — a rock wall, a table, the tuition money. Or he rebuilds —engines, watches, fortunes. He passes along expertise, one man to the next. Know-how survives him. This is immortality. A man can speak to dogs. A man fantasizes that kung fu lives deep inside him somewhere. A man knows how to sneak a look at cleavage and doesn't care if he gets busted once in a while. A man is good at his job. Not his work, not his avocation, not his hobby. Not his career. His job. It doesn't matter what his job is, because if a man doesn't like his job, he gets a new one.

A man can look you up and down and figure some things out. Before you say a word, he makes you. From your suitcase, from your watch, from your posture. A man infers.

A man owns up. That's why Mark McGwire is not a man. A man grasps his mistakes. He lays claim to who he is, and what he was, whether he likes them or not.

Some mistakes, though, he lets pass if no one notices. Like dropping the steak in the dirt.

A man loves the human body, the revelation of nakedness. He loves the sight of the pale breast, the physics of the human skeleton, the alternating current of the flesh. He is thrilled by the snatch, by the wrist, the sight of a bare shoulder. He likes the
crease of a bent knee. When his woman bends to pick up her underwear, he feels
that thrum that only a man can feel.

A man doesn't point out that he did the dishes.

A man looks out for children. Makes them stand behind him.

A man knows how to bust balls.

A man has had liquor enough in his life that he can order a drink without sounding breathless, clueless, or obtuse. When he doesn't want to think, he orders bourbon or something on tap.

Never the sauvignon blanc.

A man welcomes the coming of age. It frees him. It allows him to assume the upper hand and teaches him when to step aside.

Maybe he never has, and maybe he never will, but a man figures he can knock someone, somewhere, on his ass.

He does not rely on rationalizations or explanations. He doesn't winnow, winnow, winnow until truths can be humbly categorized, or intellectualized, until behavior can be written off with an explanation. He doesn't see himself lost in some great maw of humanity, some grand sweep. That's the liberal thread; it's why men won't line up as liberals.

A man gets the door. Without thinking.

He stops traffic when he must.

A man resists formulations, questions belief, embraces ambiguity without making a fetish out of it. A man revisits his beliefs. Continually. That's why men won't forever line up with conservatives, either.

A man knows his tools and how to use them — just the ones he needs. Knows which saw is for what, how to find the stud, when to use galvanized nails.

A miter saw, incidentally, is the kind that sits on a table, has a circular blade, and is used for cutting at precise angles. Very satisfying saw.

A man knows how to lose an afternoon. Drinking, playing Grand Theft Auto, driving aimlessly, shooting pool.

He knows how to lose a month, also.

A man listens, and that's how he argues. He crafts opinions. He can pound the table, take the floor. It's not that he must. It's that he can.

A man is comfortable being alone. Loves being alone, actually. He sleeps.

Or he stands watch. He interrupts trouble. This is the state policeman. This is the poet. Men, both of them.

A man loves driving alone most of all.

Style — a man has that. No matter how eccentric that style is, it is uncontrived. It's a set of rules.

He understands the basic mechanics of the planet. Or he can close one eye, look up at the sun, and tell you what time of day it is. Or where north is. He can tell you where you might find something to eat or where the fish run. He understands electricity or the internal-combustion engine, the mechanics of flight or how to figure a pitcher's
ERA.

A man does not know everything. He doesn't try. He likes what other men know.

A man can tell you he was wrong. That he did wrong. That he planned to. He can tell you when he is lost. He can apologize, even if sometimes it's just to put an end to the bickering.

A man does not wither at the thought of dancing. But it is generally to be avoided.

A man watches. Sometimes he goes and sits at an auction knowing he won't spend a dime, witnessing the temptation and the maneuvering of others. Sometimes he stands on the street corner watching stuff. This is not about quietude so much as collection. It is not about meditation so much as considering. A man refracts his vision and gains acuity. This serves him in every way. No one taught him this — to be quiet, to cipher, to watch. In this way, in these moments, the man is like a zoo animal: both
captive and free. You cannot take your eyes off a man when he is like that. You shouldn't. The hell if you know what he is thinking, who he is, or what he will do next.

Let's all be better men (and women) in 2010.

Cheers to self-improvement,

JIP

Food for Thought: "We'll See..."

I was watching Charlie Wilson's War the other night (good movie by the way), and Phillip Seymour Hoffman's character made reference to a story involving a zen master called "We'll See". Check it out below:

We'll See...

There is a Taoist story of an old farmer who had worked his crops for many years. One day his horse ran away. Upon hearing the news, his neighbors came to visit.

"Such bad luck," they said sympathetically.

"We'll see," the farmer replied.

The next morning the horse returned, bringing with it three other wild horses.

"How wonderful," the neighbors exclaimed.

"We'll see," replied the old man.

The following day, his son tried to ride one of the untamed horses, was thrown, and broke his leg. The neighbors again came to offer their sympathy on his misfortune.

"We'll see," answered the farmer.

The day after, military officials came to the village to draft young men into the army. Seeing that the son's leg was broken, they passed him by. The neighbors congratulated the farmer on how well things had turned out.

"We'll see" said the farmer.

I take from this that you have to take life as it comes...you never know how things are going to play out. Control what you can control, and let the rest unfold as it will...you gotta let God work.

Cheers to food for thought,

JIP

Food for Thought: "All the World's A Stage..."

Good evening, lovely people.

I'm sure that most of you have at one point or another heard the expression that draws a parallel between life and a theatrical performance. If you haven't it basically states that in life, as in theatre, when you're on stage you have to perform.

Anyhow, awhile back I ran across a monologue from one of Shakespeare's plays, "As You Like It" (read more about it here) that expounds on this topic; check it out below:

"All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms;
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lin'd,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well sav'd, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything." — Jaques (Act II, Scene VII, lines 139-166)

I like this passage because for me it puts our mortality in perspective. True enough, life is a stage, and we will ultimately be critiqued (or judged) based on our performance.

No matter how many of these 7 stages that we are blessed enough to see, we decide what type of character we want to be during our time here and the impact that we will have on the world. We can exit as quietly as we entered, or we can do something worth mentioning during our time here.

That being said, enjoy your time on stage...that's what life is for. Do good works, be true to yourself, and be mindful of your performance...the world is watching.

Cheers to the world,

JIP