You're Exactly Who You Are Supposed To Be

You’re exactly who you are supposed to be. I know this is a little different from the regular blog you may read someplace else, but I have something to say which needs to be said.

Today, someone close to me told of how he had turned in the paperwork to get assistance with his disability.

When asked, “What disability?”

He replied, “You know that I’m slow. I’ve been slow ever since I was in that wreck and had brain damage. I’m slow and feel like giving up”

When he said that, I went back in time, twenty years ago, to my mechanic’s shop. I was there to pick my Suburban and I was about to pay a lady I considered my friend. She had been there in the office to help me every time I had my cars serviced for ten years or more. We always had great talks and she was a great person.

As she gave me the receipt for the work done, I told her I would see her next week when I brought in my other vehicle.

She smiled sweetly and said, “I won’t be here next week. The new manager told me this Friday will be my last day.”

“Why?” I stupidly asked.

“He said I’m slow, you know mentally, slow.”

She saw the anguish in my face and said, “Its okay, Bille. I know I’m slow. I’ve always known it. Its okay he wants me to leave, too. I’ll spend more time with my kids. My kids ain’t slow, they’re smart.”

I started to say something stupid again but she cut me off.

“You know, in school everyone said I was stupid. When I got married and had my babies, I learned I wasn’t stupid. My husband never told me I was stupid, or slow. He just told me he loved me. I was pretty. I was the one he wanted to spend his life with. Then when my babies were born, they needed me and loved me just the way I am. They don’t think I’m slow. They think I’m Mom.”

We both laughed.

Live Life

The only way to live life is to start living. Here’s what I mean.

If you Google the exact phrase “live life”, there are over 8,650,000 results available. This is a subject on a lot of people’s minds. How do I live life?

Here is the answer. Are you ready?

Start living!

That’s it, start living. Today! Right now!

So many of us have a few favorite sayings, like:

“As soon as I _________ I’m going to get started.”

“One of these days, I’m going to travel.”

“Some day I’m going to __________.”

“When I get the bills paid off I’ll be able to do what I want.”

“When the kids grow up we can _________.”

“When my ship comes in I’ll be able to __________.”

“When I win the lottery I’m going to give __________ to charity.”

“As soon as I get the promotion I can __________.”

Let me go ahead and tell you:

You ARE NOT going to win the lottery!

Your ship IS HERE and has been here a long time; you’ve been looking in the wrong direction.

One of these days NEVER comes.

We will ALWAYS have bills.

The kids are your kids FOREVER.

You may get the promotion BUT then you’ll want to wait until the next one.

Some day IS today!

You Can Get Away, Anytime

Did you know you can get away without leaving town? OK, how about getting away without leaving your house? Or even getting away while you’re still at the office? You can do it! You should do it!

Here’s what I mean. We all have hectic schedules. We all have deadlines. We all face stress that was unheard of in past generations. No, we all aren’t facing death on the fields of Gettysburg, but we face an unmerited, fast paced stress our parents and grandparents would have believed unimaginable. Never before have we been “available” basically 24/7 like we are today.

We need to get away! Not like the “Calgon Bath”…although that’s cool if you’re a “bath” person…

or if you take a “bath” with the right person…just kidding.

We need to “mentally” get away. We need to unplug for a while, mentally. We need to take a mental break from all the stress and all the hectic schedules and all the deadlines.

So how do you do it?

I’m glad you asked!

If you buy this book you’ll find “21 Ways To Get Away”.

Just kidding again, sorry.

Here is one way to get away. I use this one and it really works. I like it because it is so easy and you can do it almost anytime.

Cats Are Finicky People

Cats are finicky people. Yes I know the definition of people is “group of humans” but don’t argue, just listen and you’ll agree; Cats are finicky people.

There’s this cat that lives in my house. It has several different names, Casey, K.C., CaseyJack, Fatso. It doesn’t really matter what you call him, and he answers to none of them. Notice I didn’t say “I have this cat”, or “My cat, K.C.”, or “Our family cat”, no, this cat simply resides in my house, rent free.

He’s like a bad boyfriend or girlfriend. He shows up for some attention and he’s off, never to be seen again, until he needs something, and the only “something” he ever needs and shows up for is food.

Food!

That’s right, this FAT CAT shows up only when he wants to eat, and you darned well better feed him…immediately. If you don’t, he goes into this whole needy person bit, falling down on the floor, crying, flipping over in front of your feet.

He doesn’t even know how to meow. All he can get out is “MEH”.

That’s it! “MEH”.

What the crap is “MEH”? I mean really, “MEH”? What does it mean? Well, I know what it means. In this instance, “FEED ME!” But really, is that the best you can come up with? “MEH”?

If the falling down and crying part doesn’t work, he goes into “hyper-rubbing-my-face-on-you” mode. Just as the title describes, he follows you EVERYWHERE you go rubbing his face on your feet, ankles, legs, cabinets, doors, furniture, chairs, table legs, black dress-pants, anything he can get his fat, furry face on, as long as he’s sure you can see him do it.

Oh, and just in case he gets hungry in the middle of the night, he has this other neat trick. It’s called the “I’m-gonna-stick-my-paw-under-your-door-and-rattle-it-so-loud-you’ll-think-someone-is-breaking-in-so-you-can-get-up-and-feed-me-‘cause-I’m-hungry-now” trick. This is a really cool trick. My heart loves it.

OK, so the cat that lives in my house gets fed. He’s happy right? Since he’s well fed he really rubs on our legs now, right?

WRONG!

It’s at this point that he turns into a feline Mr. Hyde. He gets a crazy look in his eyes, runs in terror from the very legs and feet he mere moments before could not stop rubbing, bolts from hiding place to hiding place, finally slinking upstairs, never to be seen again until Fatso, his schizophrenic altar-ego shows up wanting food.

This is where the people part comes in.

K.C. reminds me of some of the people I’ve known in my life…finicky people. People who require ‘a little more handling’. Does he remind you of someone you know? Does he remind you of someone you work with? Does he remind you of a relative? Does he remind you of me? Does he remind you of you?

Finicky means requiring much care, precision, or attentive effort.

Cats are finicky people…and sometimes people are too.

I hope I’m not!

Did you see this? "AIR FORCE CALLS IN TWITTER AIR STRIKE"
http://adjix.com/cxw7

Will It Still Hurt In A Year

“Will it still hurt in a year?”

“That’s a weird question.” I answered

Then I started to think about it. Will it still hurt in a year? I was sitting in the hospital after breaking my ankle. I was getting married in just over 2 weeks. I just spent $10,000 for a honeymoon in Hawaii. A huge wedding was planned. Flowers were ordered. People were coming in from all over the country. Tuxedos were all arranged. Flights were booked. Photographers, food, cakes, minister, dresses, all of it was done.

I figured I could hobble through the ceremony, as unsightly as it would be, having a groom on crutches. But I didn’t see how I could still go on my honeymoon in Hawaii. So when the doctor gave me the news about my ankle, I asked “How am I supposed to go on a honeymoon with a hurt ankle?”

That’s when he asked “Will it still hurt in a year?”

Doctors are like that. They “cut to the chase” so to speak. I guess he had much more serious things to think about. A guy with a broken ankle was not a spectacular thing to him. So he asked me a very straightforward question, a question that got me thinking. It got me thinking about more than my ankle.

How many times are we consumed with fear, or grief, or worry about something we are facing right now, in the present? It seems like our whole world is falling apart. It seems like the darkest hour of our lives. It seems like there is no way we will ever recover from this. It seems like it hurts too much right now. It’s unbearable. How will we be able to survive this?

I want to ask you this question. Will it still hurt in a year? Think about it. Will it still hurt in a year?

I’ve been through some hard times. When you’re in the midst of the hard times it seems like your world is just about over.

Divorce.

Death of loved ones.

Business stolen.

Abused.

Lied about. Lied to.

Cheated on.

Financially broken.

Heartbroken.

Forsaken.

No job.

Kids in trouble.

Car repossessed.

Dumped.

I want you to know, this too shall pass. It is simply something you are going through. It’s not the end. You will make it. You will live. You will recover. You will love again. You will smile again. You will laugh again. You will be happy again. You will have money again. You will have peace again. You really will.

Will it still hurt in a year?

NO!

It won’t. I can boldly say that as someone who has gone through many of the same things I listed. In a year it won’t hurt. It won’t, if you get over it.

If you get over it?

Remember my broken ankle? I had to let my ankle heal. But it did. It healed and on my 1st anniversary I had my honeymoon in Hawaii. It was great. It was wonderful. But I had to let my ankle heal. I had to get over my broken ankle. I had to give my body time to heal my ankle. I had to let it “not hurt anymore”.

You have to get over whatever it is you’re going through. If you keep living in the middle of whatever it is you’re going through, if you keep holding onto it, you’ll never get over it. You have to let it go. Get it behind you and never look back. Let the healing start.

If I kept re-breaking my ankle every day, it never would have healed. I had to stay off of my ankle. I had to leave the cast on and not open it every day. I couldn’t re-hurt myself everyday. I had to forget about it, let it go and let the healing begin.

Now, I can happily say it doesn’t hurt. My ankle doesn’t hurt.

What about you? Will it still hurt in a year? Do you want it to still hurt in a year? Can you get over it? Can you let it go? Can you let the healing begin?

Remember that question!

Will it still hurt in a year?

Make the answer…NO!

Keep Believing…

Bille Baty

300 Feet Up, Isn’t As Far As 300 Feet Down

I told some friends I was going to call this post “300 Feet Up, Isn’t As Far As 300 Feet Down” but the real name of this post is “When It’s Time To Go…Go!” Sorry for the confusion but I will now try to make everything a little more clear.

Mazatlan is a beautiful place. The mountains along the beautiful shore overlooking pristine blue waters and protected coves bring tourists from around the world. That’s how I got there. I was a tourist. I love being a tourist. One of my favorite things in the world is traveling. The only problem with traveling is, when you go some place beautiful, or exciting, or relaxing, sometimes you hate to leave. This is what got me into trouble, again, hating to leave.

We had a wonderful time in Mazatlan, shopping, exploring, looking at homes in the hills, strolling along the beach, going places where few get to go, thanks to our guide. But the time came to leave and we bid our guide “Adios” and headed down the beach to our awaiting ship.

That’s when it came into view, the brightly colored parachute reminiscent of all the colors and decorations on the streets of San Antonio during Fiesta. Instantly the child rose up inside of me and I stopped in my tracks and said, “I have got to ride that!”

My wife being the sane one of the two of us said, “I don’t know, Bille, these guys don’t look like professionals. If you want to parasail, why don’t we book it on the ship? It’s time to go.”

I’m not sure but I think I stomped my feet in the sand as I said “I want to ride this one!”

She shook her head as she asked me if I wanted her to hold my stuff – wallet, cell phone, Passport. I said, “Nah, he said we would take off from the beach and land back on the beach. I won’t get wet.”

As they strapped me into the harness and put the life jacket on me, the adrenaline was flowing through my body. Excitement was in the air. It was electric. I was pumped. Soon I would be, according to my new friends, floating happily 300-400 feet above all these terrestrial losers on the beach.

In my endorphin induced state of euphoria, the whole world stopped until I heard these faint words floating through the fog in my mind, “Bille, you have on a life jacket. Are you sure you don’t want me to hold your stuff?”

The giant smile faded from my face as I repeated, “Life jacket?”

Why would I need a life jacket? You take off from the beach. You land on the beach. What’s with the life jacket? Life jacket?

My wife is actually much more intelligent than I am. She also doesn’t read this blog so don’t tell her I wrote that.

I quickly handed her everything I was carrying and headed off into the clear blue skies, and to my eternal destiny. No, it wasn’t that bad, but it could have been.

Take off was uneventful. I was quickly floating as high as the rope would allow me to go. The view was beautiful with all the tiny little people on the beach below, the beautiful blue waters going off to the horizon, the majestic mountains behind the city. I felt the wind caressing my face as I floated carelessly out to sea. The boat pulling me, far below, looked so tiny and weak.

In fact, the boat didn’t even look like it was moving. It looks like the man in the boat is waving his arms. All the tiny people on the beach seem to be waving their arms. But why are they waving? Oh well, I waved back.

The wind stops caressing my face. I realize the boat isn’t moving and now I am headed down into the ocean, FAST. Concerning the parachute, all I can say is, when the boat isn’t pulling you, you go down a lot faster than you’re supposed to.

I had about 15 seconds to get right with GOD, ask that the parachute not cover me, and prepare for ditching. I’m not sure how long it was before a boat came all the way out to where I was and rescued me. I am pretty sure a shark or two had already given thanks for the bountiful blessing from above. But thankfully, I was rescued and only suffered a sore back for a few days,

When the boat returned me to shore, I literally fell out into the surf and was mobbed by Police, spectators, the boat crew, a whole crowd had gathered to see the man who fell to earth. There was my wife, calmly documenting the whole ordeal through video and pictures.

She walked up and asked two things. “Are you okay?” Are you ready to go, now?”

This brings me to a life lesson, When It’s Time To Go…Go.

Do you remember the guy who lived with the bears a few years ago? He made documentaries with the bears. He got pictures with the bears. He lived amongst the bears and survived. Then one year, he left the bears and was headed home but decided to return to live with the bears a little bit longer. He and his girlfriend were eaten by the bears. He should have known…

When It’s Time To Go…Go.

In investing or trading, it’s called pulling the trigger. When someone has a losing position and experiences significant loss, the hardest thing to do is “pulling the trigger” on the next trade. Experienced traders have all experienced this but know…

When It’s Time To Go…Go.

In marketing, there are things known as triggers. Marketing Gurus do surveys and research and spend all kinds of money to determine what the triggers are and what the triggers mean. They prepare to spend millions of dollars on marketing around these triggers. They know if a trigger is hit it means…

When It’s Time To Go…Go.

There are many more examples of this principle, you probably could give me a few of your own to add to the list, but I’ll leave you with this one. If you’re sailing around the world on a cruise ship and your spouse says, “It’s time to go.” Always remember…

When It’s Time To Go…Go.


Keep Believing…

Bille Baty

There Are 10 Things Not To Say To A Woman

Some things shouldn’t be said to a woman.

It’s true! I have my list and I will share it shortly, but first some startling facts.

If you Google “10 things not to say to a woman” there are 72,300,000 results. That’s insane! That number, just in case you’re not wearing your eyeglasses, is 72 million plus. Why is it so important to know what not to say to a woman? I decided to peruse a few of the lists online just to gauge them against my personal findings. I must have looked at a couple million sites, or at least a couple dozen, and let me tell you, they don’t even come close to the truth.

It’s like a computer decided on Saturday night it had nothing better to do, so it sent little bots scurrying across the web, crawling every site they could find pertaining to women, and came up with things that can best be described as “Artificial Intelligence”.

I went to my wife, who is a “woman” by the way, and said “What do you think about these things that can’t be said to a woman, that I found on the web?”

After a 10 minute “discussion” about “How can you categorize people?” and “No two women are alike!” and “This is so stereotypical.” and “I’m sure a man wrote this…” she started correcting the list. That brought me to the first point on my list.

1) Please don’t tell my wife I have a list!
That’s right. Don’t ever tell a woman you have a list. Of any kind. They love to correct lists. You’ll hear things like,
“This doesn’t even belong on this list.”
Or “Move this down to # 8.
Or “Don’t say 10 Things…Make it 12 Things”.
Or “What about…” Any list will be wrong and need correcting.

2) “Whatever”.
This one word has caused me more “near death experiences” than Indiana Jones and James Bond combined. I don’t know if it’s how I say it, or when I say it, or just saying it. I can tell you, I have removed the word from my conversational repertoire. I only use its written form. Unless I’m writing to…people…who…uh…don’t appreciate the word…then I don’t write it either.

3) “Relax”.
This word seems to have the opposite effect of its meaning. The word “relax” to me has grown into a pictogram. Any time I am about to say “relax” the picture of a guy sticking a chair into the face of a lion pops into my mind. I see the lion eat the chair…and the guy…and I refrain from saying it. This may not work for you but it does for me. Try your own methods to see what works.

4) “It’s up to you”.
I cannot tell you how much weight I’ve lost with this phrase. I still haven’t been able to beat this one but I’m working on it. It’s like my brain is in my little, happy place and I hear the question, “Where are we going to eat?” Before I think, the words come out of my mouth, “It’s up to you”. Once I utter this dreaded phrase, I silently scream the Homer Simpson great, “DOPE!” I know instantly what I’ve done and there is no going back. I’m in the middle of “Frigid River” and I have to make it to the other side without drowning or freezing to death. Luckily for me, I’m a good swimmer…but still losing weight.

5) “We both need to join The Biggest Loser”.
I plead insanity on this one.
First of all it was a joke, but I still plead insanity. Also, I was heavily medicated and didn’t really know what I was saying. Lastly, it had been a really long time since I had eaten and my blood-sugar was low and I kind of like the way it feels when an iron skillet accidentally bumps into the side of my face. ‘Nuf said.

6) “Is it okay if I dance with (insert name here)?”
This is the same as asking, “Is it okay if I shoot myself in the foot?”
“Is it okay if I sleep on the couch for two weeks?”
“Is it okay if I watch Hell freeze over?”
“Is it okay if I take a long walk off of a short pier?”
“Is it okay if I bang my head against the wall?” I think you understand this one.

7) “What is wrong with you?”
Even if nothing was wrong before I asked the question…IT IS NOW. This is the same as waving a red flag in front of a bull. Although I understand a bull is color-blind, my wife can see the darned thing…and that it’s red…and that it’s waving in her face. I mean, really, this is the kind of question/innuendo you just don’t wave in front of anyone. Especially if you ever want to eat solid food again.

8) “How long until you’re ready?”
Now this one is difficult for some people (men) to comprehend. It’s a simple question regarding time. It should merit a simple answer…again regarding time. I have, however, found that time is the farthest thing from my wife’s mind when I pose this question. I mean the answers I get are really off subject as far as I’m concerned.
What does “Forget it, I’m not going” have to do with time?
How does “Do you want me to look good or not” relate to time?
Why would you say “You’re in front of the TV” when asked this question?
I have removed this question from the play list. I now simply make a loud noise with the keys for a few minutes and then head to the car. I usually don’t have to wait too long in the car. I have a nice library of CD’s to choose from, so the time goes quickly.

9) “Do you have to yell?”
Never, and I repeat never ask this question unless you want to raise the volume 20 decibels. It’s like having a remote control for my wife.
Loud conversation…ask this question…+20 decibels…
”You think I’m loud”, etc., etc., etc…ask this question…+20 decibels…
”Oh I’m not yelling yet”, etc., etc., etc…ask this question…+20 decibels…
”I’m about to start yelling”, etc., etc., etc…ask this question…+20 decibels…
”Now I’m yelling!”
Actually, this one is my fault. Well, actually all of them are my fault, but I do this one on purpose. I mean…I used to.

10) “You look…fine.”
First of all, never say you look fine. It’s almost like saying “You’ll do”. You need to put some meaning into this answer.
Yes, it is an answer. To one of the most dreaded questions in a man’s life.“How do I look?”
Have some answers that you’ve worked out in advance to use for this one. The planning is well worth it. It could save your night, your week, your life. Here are a few to consider.
“That color looks great on you.”Notice the reference to color. My wife loves it when I notice she wears colors.
“Wow, you really look beautiful with your hair like that.”PLEASE make sure she is wearing a NEW hairstyle when using this one.
“You look wonderful, tonight.” Make sure it’s night, otherwise use “today”.
Above all be honest.
Secondly, I want to call your attention to the three dots in the “You look…fine.” Answer. This indicates a pause. NEVER pause during this answer. It denotes dishonesty and a woman can tell if Santa Claus is lying. Don’t do it. As I said earlier, be honest…it matters.

Well, there you have my 10 list.

It isn’t real. It’s not about my wife. It’s not about women. It’s not about men. It’s about all of us. All of us want honesty. All of us deserve honesty. The reason there are 72,300,000 pages with lists about what not to say to women, or what to say to women, is because communication is so very important to us as human beings.

Communication can build a relationship or destroy a relationship. Communication can build a family or destroy a family. It can build a community or destroy a community. It can build a nation or destroy a nation.

The next time you don’t know what to say to someone, don’t Google it to find out what the "experts" say. Take a moment, look inside yourself, be honest and communicate…honestly.

It matters...honestly.

Keep Believing…

Bille

I'm An Ex-Hummus Bigot

I'm an Ex-Hummus Bigot It's true! I was. I really was.

Okay now, part of my "12 Step Program" is promptly admitting I was wrong! I'm not trying to make light of anything, especially something as successful as the "12 Step Program".

Anyway here's my story. All my life I hated Hummus. I don't mean I didn't like Hummus. I mean I HATED Hummus. I didn't want it near me. Not on my plate. Not on my table. Not even at the same salad bar. Keep that stinking, horrible Hummus away from me. It's not even American! How can it be any good? It's foreign. Nothing foreign can be any good!

I know, how stupid.

I said this is part of my "admitting I was wrong" step.

People would offer me Hummus. No thank you, I don't EEEATTT Hummus.

"But it's so good." I said I don't EEEATTT Hummus!

"Just smell it. It's so good. Here taste it." I would fend them off with the expertise of a Hummus martial arts expert. Counter-blocking every Hummus assault. Head-bobbing to miss the Hummus jabs. Dancing around the table to tire-out the Hummus attacks. Bruce Lee would have been proud of how I ducked to miss the flying, Hummus-laced pita chips hurled my way by a Hummus-loving mob. Try as they may, they could not get that awful Hummus near my mouth.

My whole life I had successfully avoided the horrific stuff and I was not about to give in, no matter the amount of pressure from the Hummus Lobby.

Now, Garbanzo Beans, that’s another story. I can't get enough of them. I just love Garbanzo Beans. I love them in every way. They're the right size, just right to get several in a bite. They're the right color. They smell right. They even sound right...GAR BAN ZO BEENZ. How could they be any better?

I wanted Garbanzo Beans in my salad. I wanted Garbanzo Beans on my plate. I wanted Garbanzo Beans for every meal. Okay, maybe not every meal but it's hard to express the depth of my love for Garbanzo Beans. I really love Garbanzo Beans.

No one had to force me to buy Garbanzo Beans...I love them.

No one had to force me to eat Garbanzo Beans...I love them.

No one had to force me to want Garbanzo Beans...I love them.

No one tried to shove Garbanzo Beans down my throat…except me.

Fast forward 25 years. I'm in my pantry and my wife asks me to get the can of Chick Peas while I'm in there. I pick-up the Chick Peas on my way out and begin reading the can as I walk to the island counter.

My eyes scanned the label. Blah, blah, blah, Chick Peas. Blah, blah, blah, recipe. Blah, blah, blah, Garbanzo Beans. Blah, blah, blah, Hummus. Blah, blah, blah, HUH?

Chick Peas? Garbanzo Beans? Recipe? Hummus?

What the…

My pulse began escalating. My breathing became more difficult. My vision began narrowing down to a small strip of focus the size of the label on the can.

“Concentrate!” “You must concentrate!” “What does that say?”

Blah, blah, blah, Chick Peas. Blah, blah, blah, recipe. Blah, blah, blah, Garbanzo Beans. Blah, blah, blah, Hummus.

Oh crap!

My wife asked what was wrong.

I began fumbling and stuttering and muttering some incoherent words about wasting my whole life and why didn’t I know and how could this be.

She said, “What are you talking about?”

As I collapsed into the barstool I said, “This…this…this can says Chick Peas are Garbanzo Beans.”

“Yes”.

“…And it has a recipe for…” I swallowed hard, “Hummus”.

“Yes”.

“What…what…what does it mean?”

“Well Idiot”, that’s her cute little term of endearment for me, “it means Chick Peas and Garbanzo Beans are the same thing! AND” she paused for great dramatic effect,

“THAT’S WHAT HUMMUS IS MADE OF!”

I sat on that barstool in stunned silence, contemplating the meaning of life relative to this new revelation for what must have been months… or at least ten minutes.

I didn’t know what to do. I was confused. I went to the nearest store and began tearing through the Hummus section, reading every label, scanning the ingredients and there it was.

Hummus is made from Garbanzo Beans!

I went and got a basket and quickly filled it with unneeded groceries just to hide the one container of Hummus I was going to buy.

Outside now, I ran to the car as fast as the filled basket would go. I quickly threw the groceries in the back and sat down in the front seat with the Hummus and a pita chip.

“Here goes” I thought as I lifted the Hummus to my mouth, apprehensive but strangely anxious.

The moment it hit the tiny taste buds covering my tongue, my car became filled with a warm, glowing light and I knew my life would never be the same.

The warm, glowing light faded as the car parked in front of me pulled away, but I still knew my life would never be the same. I was no longer a Hummus bigot. I had experienced an epiphany. You can’t be sure if you hate a food…if you haven’t tried it!

If I didn’t really hate Hummus, but only thought I did, maybe there were other foods I was falsely prejudiced against. Maybe Cranberry Sauce isn’t nasty after all. Maybe Sushi won’t kill you. Maybe Caviar is worth the money.

I soon fell in love with Artichoke Hearts. I had a weekend encounter with Oysters Rockefeller. I am head-over-heels for Lamb with mint jelly. Now, turkey without Cranberry Sauce is like…peanut butter without fried bananas…yeah I tried that too.

I found out just because I always “thought something” didn’t necessarily make it true. Life is like that. So many times we have preconceived notions about this or that, but if we would take the time to experience life, we would find out sometimes we’re wrong about the way we think.

This isn’t just true about food. It’s the same with jobs, and things, and people, and relationships. We need to set our preconceived notions aside and look for the truth. Sometimes we have the wrong information. It doesn’t matter how we got the wrong information. It doesn’t matter how long we’ve believed it. It doesn’t matter why we started believing it. What matters is the truth. That’s all, the truth.

So now I have a list. “Things I Thought I Hate.” I’m going through the list one-by-one trying to find out what other great things I’ve been missing. I'm determined to live life to the fullest, and smell all the Hummus along the way.

Life is great...experience it!

On a recent trip to Mexico City I did confirm I was right about Pancitas.

YUK!

Keep Believing...

Bille

Size Matters!

Yeah, I know what you've been told but I'm here to tell you size matters, it really does. Let me give you an example.

Years ago, I was walking an average of 20 miles per day for my job. No, I couldn't do that today! No, I wouldn't do that today! I said it was years ago...and I was stupid. Back to the story. Any way, my feet were killing me every day. I mean really hurting with blisters and everything. It was getting pretty bad and I just thought it's because I'm walking 20 miles per day.

One day I was talking to my mom on the phone (don't you just love moms) and I asked her what I could buy for the blisters on my feet. She told me some stuff to buy which would help to bare them but as she was saying good-bye she asked a profound question. "Bille, are you wearing the right size shoes?"

Am I wearing the right size shoes? Do I look like an idiot? What's wrong with you Mom? Of course I'm wearing the right size shoes. I'm wearing the same size shoes I've always worn. Where's the maternal wisdom I've come to expect...and need? Am I wearing the right size shoes! Come on! What else do you have in your bag of omniescience? This is the size of shoes I've worn since I was 16 years old. Please!

"All I'm saying, Bille, is go have your size checked. See if you're wearing the right size shoes."

Yeah, okay Mom. Right away. I'll do that. Thanks. Goodbye.

Boy was that a stupid question!

So I went right on working and walking 20 miles per day and having blisters and having hurting feet. The size of my pride was beating the size of the blisters on my feet in the war for common sense. Mom was wrong. I wasn't going to admit anything else.

Finally, one day I was really tired, so my pride didn't have the strength to fight the blisters anymore. I hobbled into a shoe store to find some better shoes for walking. That was the problem, inferior shoes. I could feel my pride starting to grow again.

I sent the sales person into the back to find a pair of those in 10 1/2 regular, "My size". As soon as they went through the door into the stockroom, I limped as quickly as my now nearly, useless feet would carry me, to the little shoe-size measuring thingy on the floor. I sat down and slid my foot into the guide and was just about to read it when the sales person returned with the shoes I had asked for.

He leaned over and looked at my foot in the size thing and said "You can't wear these shoes, they're the wrong size. You need a 12 wide."

But, I've been wearing a 10 1/2 regular for years and years. I'm not a 12 wide. I'm a 10 1/2 regular. I've been wering that size forever!

He then said something I'll never forget, "Well, you can probably get your feet into these 10 1/2 regulars, but you're gonna get blisters. Son, don't you know that size matters?"

That was it! Size matters. It really does. It matters in a lot of things, not just shoes. Things bigger than shoes.

Things like pride. Things like compassion. Things like love. Things like life.

The size of your life matters. How big is your life? How many people are affected by your life? How big have you lived? Not how rich are you? What all have you done? How big have you lived? How many lives have you touched?

What size lifeprint will you leave on this world? If you're gone tomorrow, will anyone miss you? In a day...a week...a month...a year? Will we know you were here?

Size matters. It really does. How big you live. How big you help others live. Start living life wearing the right size shoes. It feels much better.

Keep Believing...

Bille