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theliterateape · 4 years ago

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I Can't Drive 55 | Lessons Learned in the 55th Year

By Don Hall

In my thirty-second year I felt incredibly sorry for myself. I was getting my first divorce, was living in a one-room studio in Uptown, my theater company was imploding over ego-driven bullshit. I drank myself into a state of suicidal yearning. It was a rough year.

I called my mom. Mom is that voice of reason in good and bad times.

"This has been a really shitty year. Maybe I should move back to Kansas."

"How old are you?"

"Thirty-two."

"And in thirty-two years you've lived on the planet, how many of those years were bad?"

I thought about it for a moment. "Really bad? Two. No three. Three years. Why?"

"Well, three out of thirty-two is a pretty solid track record. Seems to me that you weathered those other bad years and had good years to spare. Maybe you decide to quit wallowing in how bad this year has been and get to work on next year because based on your experience you probably have another cluster of good years in store."

Some have the Dali Lama. Others have a priest or a shelf of self-help books. I have my mom.

My fifty-fifth year (or the specter of 2020) was a rough year for so many people in the world it's almost a joke. The whole year has been covered in shit—from the campaign to unseat the least capable and most destructive president in my lifetime to three months in a pandemic shutting down the planet and economic hardship most of us have only read about in Steinbeck novels—2020 looks like the toilet bowl moments after a morning constitutional from a night of White Castle and rum.

Sure, the act of comparing one's life with those around is a narcissistic self-loathing experiment best suited for recently jilted lesbians and Instagram junkies, but while the entire world has been burning down in both literal and figurative ways, fifty-five has been a damn good year for me.

In January, I was well into my year and a half managing a casino on the corner of I-15 and Tropicana. I had done my due diligence in training and had hit the sweet spot of knowing enough about the business to be an effective leader on the floor. I knew my high rollers and had figured out the best approach to dealing with the meth-addicts and prostitutes. I could fix 90 percent of the machines and could process a jackpot inside of four minutes consistently.

Then came the pandemic and the economic shutdown of Las Vegas in March. Most were laid off and in free fall but I had stumbled into working for one of two gambling corporations in Nevada that committed to keeping the payroll rolling despite losing millions per day.

The three months of closure saw me coming in to work every day, cleaning the bar and the machines, and hanging out to make sure no one ransacked the place while it was closed. I did a lot of writing in my office during that time.

In terms of personal tragedy, my nineteen year old nephew overdosed in a parking lot in April and, virus be damned, Dana and I flew out the next day to help my sister.

We re-opened the casino in June.

Seven months of balancing life in a pandemic with idiots motivated to gamble, arguing with people about the necessity to wear masks, and submitting essays to everyone. Getting paid to write (even in small increments) was a genuine drug.

Over the summer both Dana and I were asked to write for an anthology of essays. Las Vegas writers writing about Las Vegas. It was a boost, man. Don't get me wrong, the casino gig was solid and, for the most part, enjoyable. Getting paid to write words and sentences was fucking delicious.

The book came out in October launched with a Zoomesque gathering.

The casino gig, while solid and simple, was becoming dull. Rote. Combining the fact that my best (and meager) talents were not usable during a pandemic in a struggling casino, I told my General Manager that I needed more money for such routine grind and that I’d start looking aggressively for something more in tune with my skills that also paid a bit more on my year-and-a-half mark.

Six days after I started the search, I was hired by a Denver-based firm as a Senior Copywriter.

Turns out I’m pretty good at it. Getting a salary for writing words and sentences is sweet and working from home as the pandemic continues to rage on is smart and comfortable. No longer a slave to the swings shift, my schedule is my own.

I can, for the first time in my life when asked what I do for a living, answer “I am a writer.” In a career path marked by ten year gigs followed by "gotta pay the bills" gigs, it looks like Casino Manager is the latter and "Writer" is the former. Now it’s time to write some books, yeah?

It’s been a year, my friends.

Here are the lessons that landed in my 55th annum.

Always Leave ‘Em Wanting More

Over the course of my bizarre career as a “Writer. Teacher. Storyteller. Consultant.” to refer to my donhall.vegas website, I’ve had a tendency to overstay my welcome.

Instead of leaving circumstances on good terms, by the time I was ready to go, I was all Fuck these people! What a bunch of dickseeds! and at least a few of the people were Fuck him! What a dickseed!

I stayed one year longer than I should have as a public school teacher. I stayed at least a year too long in my second marriage and, despite some incredible shows toward the end of the WNEP Theater years, I stayed too long with that company. I should’ve left WBEZ at least a year earlier and I waited until things got weird in the storytelling scene before leaving Chicago.

With the casino, I left long before things become too rote or sour. I found the new gig, jumped on it, and was told if it didn’t work out, I always had a place to land. That I was a part of the Station Casinos “family.” My staff bought me booze and when I swung by just to see them, they are happy to be seen.

Hell, the GM even gave me one of the chairs from the Craps Table for my home office!

As I get older, recognizing the signs that perhaps it’s time to go is an essential skill. At fifty-five, maybe I’m finally into that.

Family is Always More Important Than Work

Last year, working the first 24/7/365 job in my life, I was told I had to work on Christmas. It was the first Christmas in decades I hadn’t spent with my family in Kansas. It wasn’t bad—Joe flew in from Chicago, he took Dana and I to see Penn Gillette at Rio, Kelli joined Dana and Joe on the casino floor while I worked.

This year, especially after the death of my nephew, it became obvious that family had to come first. Months before I landed the writing gig, I let my GM know I was taking the week of Christmas off, COVID be damned. I was clear that if the company couldn’t pay me for the time off I understood and if I was to be let go because of it, then that was fine, too.

The casino was incredibly cool about the request that wasn’t really a request. In fact, even though I gave my two week’s notice before the Christmas vacation pay would kick in, my GM allowed me to be paid for it anyway (see that first lesson again).

It was in every possible way the correct call. My sister needed me. I needed my mom and dad. We got to reconnect with a cousin I hadn’t seen in years. Turns out she’s a professional copywriter in Austin, TX. It was a soul-filling holiday and I’ll never miss Christmas in Kansas again.

It’s Pointless to Argue with Zealots

Maybe it’s in part due to my new-found desert surroundings or my distance from the increasingly Woke Chicago Arts scene but this last year of Trump and the ridiculous nature of angrier social media has pushed me closer to Left Center than Full-On Progressive.

As a younger man I decided that religion was simply not for me. Too emotionally charged without a sense of rationality. At the distance Nevada gives me I can see how irrational both the Extreme Right—the overtly white nationalist taint with the individualism bordering on sociopathy—and the Progressive Left—the quasi-religious circular logic of white privilege, erasure of women as a category, and focus on tribalism over all—have become. Or maybe they were always this way and it took some time away from a major urban center to see it.

Whichever the case, arguing with either side has become synonymous with filing my teeth with a dremel. Besides being as productive as screaming into an Amazon Box, taping it up, and shipping it to Congress, it’s fucking annoying.

If there is a resolution I’m attempting to adopt in the latter half of my fifties, it is this: find common ground with everyone and if I encounter someone so far into conspiracy territory that I cannot, walk away and don’t look back.

Social Media Enables the Very Worst in Us (and Me)

I can’t remember if I shed myself of Faceborg, Twitter, Instagram, and the host of social media this or last year but I’ve spent most (if not all) of my fifty-fifth year absent the noise and it was an excellent decision.

Mobs of imbeciles canceling professors, trolling J.K. Rowling, threatening violence to strangers, and organizing a breach of the Capitol all using tools for communication that should be extraordinary made me hate people I had never met. This cannot be a good ‘chicken soup for the soul’ arena to spend time in.

I’ll admit that I do feel left out of the mix some yet I’m happier for it. I jumped back recently with a new LinkedIn account (which is sortof like social media but with jobs) and the only good thing about that has been being able to message with Rob Kozlowski.

I’m a Social Distancing Jedi

Five years ago, Dana threw me a birthday party and there was a room full of friends in attendance. This year, I’ll be lucky if even Dana remembers my birthday.

The culling effect of both getting rid of social media and the pandemic has been like a hoarder finally ridding himself of boxes of empty Altoid tins and those square plastic bread ties. Always a bit of a misanthrope, this year has cleared out so much noise and my new gig at home has me isolated from the wash of the unwashed.

Turns out I’m good with this. My interactions with people are more intentional rather than surface level and while life has made me more cautious when it comes to whom I genuinely trust, those whom I do choose teach me things I wouldn’t know and enrich my dwindling time on the planet.

Your Reality is Dictated by Your Optimism

Optimism isn’t merely hope. It isn’t happiness or a cheery disposition.

Optimism is an act of resilience against the brutal harshness of living the existential crisis.

It’s darkest just before the dawn implies that there will be a dawn. What if there won’t be? What if it’s just more darkness? If the implacable timpani of human greed, a self correcting planetary environment, and the algorithm that defines our modern interaction has no end, should that result in giving in to the despair?

As optimism is a breeze when things are going your way, despair is the path of least resistance when things turn to shit. Seeing through the mist at a better future takes effort and commitment like a solid marriage or a massive novel you’ve committed to writing. It’s a project to be managed not a feeling to languish within.

One cannot truly call himself an optimist who refuses to see the horror. Pretending that people are essentially kind and generous is stuffing the ostrich head in the sand. People are apes with higher brain functions and follow the rules of the jungle. Tribalism, essentialism, war for resources, the history of brutality of all humanity goes far beyond Hannah Jones 1619 Project. Taken in whole, we aren’t a very enlightened and forgiving species.

Further, optimism is an individual choice. It’s not something that can be enforced but it is something that can be inspired. The American Experiment, despite its many missteps and flaws, is grounded in a belief that humans can govern themselves justly and effectively. Given the larger picture, belief in democracy is only slightly more delusional than the guy playing slots so he can pay his rent. The odds are astronomically against success and yet the choice to persevere is made.

When you see someone who has one of those death camp tattoos on their arm you are witnessing a genuine, tried and true, bona fide optimist.

Optimism is hardest when things turn to shit but it is then when it is most necessary.

Becoming Antique is a Journey

For the first time I see that more of my life has been lived than I have left to live.

I recognize that I wish I could give the years I have left to my nephew because I have done a lot in my five and a half decades and he didn't get the chance. I wonder, absent the obsessive drive to achieve I had in my younger days, what I have to offer in the next ten years? What value does my existence provide to others and how do I manifest that value in pragmatic terms?

Like an old car or a pair of worn-out shoes, we all must acknowledge a certain sense of obsolescence. The pandemic has up-ended so many of the fictions we lived with up until this point and finding North on the compass is a challenge these days. Becoming irrelevant is like that boiling frog—slowly and without even recognizing the boil—we all find ourselves as vintage.

Perhaps that's what I've become. Not the rusted Coca Cola sign in the corner but the "like new" vinyl Def Leppard album with slightly tattered and stained liner notes.

In my next ten years (if I have that much time in store or more) I'd like to read more. Write a lot more. Listen to more live music. Be a better husband. Become that cool old man on the block with good advise and a snort of rye in case it's a little chilly. Christ, I already smoke a pipe.

There is so much more to learn that, in order to avoid feeling useless, I need to learn more.

In a Pandemic, Look For the Simple Things to Keep You Sane

A really well-made sandwich

A cold beer in 115˚ weather

A road trip with your Soul Mate

A book by a new author

A slideshow of you and your Soul Mate doing things together

A long walk

Recognizing that you have a Soul Mate

Sometimes I wonder if there’s anything else. I wonder if I’d miss anything important if I simply ceased to breathe on the couch I bought back in Chicago as it sits in Nevada.

In those moments of melodramatic existentialism, I remind myself that the experience of living is this annual letter to you. A summation of the things I’ve learned and the life I’ve lived.

If I had finished this race last year, my mettle wouldn’t have been tested by a pandemic. I wouldn't have found my sister again. I wouldn’t have seen Trump slink away to Florida. I wouldn’t be sitting in a Craps Chair in a home office of my design.

I wouldn’t have learned anything at all (you know, because dead people stop moving forward).

Here’s to another year and what adventures I will have!

#Fifty-Fifth Birthday #Birthday Lessons

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cassiecantyousee · 7 years ago

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All I Really Need to Know I Learned on Summer Staff

If you can believe it, it’s been one month since Irma (it hit Barbuda on September 6th, and officially made landfall in the Keys the morning of September 10th). I’ve been back home for over two weeks, and things are nowhere near back to normal. So here’s another attempt at getting my thoughts down before too much time passes. Also, I spent two summers in college working on the ropes course at Saranac, a Young Life camp in the Adirondacks. That will become important later.

Just a heads up: I’m not going to post a lot of pictures, because I find it sort of weird. I’ll post some of my own house, but I felt uncomfortable sharing other people’s hardship. If you’re curious about the destruction in the Keys, there are a lot of photos and videos posted by or with the permission of the residents themselves. Feel free to do some Google searches, or you can message me privately and I can send you some links. Also, I’ve included some good donation links later, but they are not comprehensive! Feel free to find another organization you care about and donate there (but yes, there is a Mote link in there!). Okay, on with the show:

After quick stops in Orlando (to get my car) and Boca (to sleep!) I drove back into the Keys on the morning of Thursday, September 21st. The Keys had opened to residents on Sunday, and Wednesday had been the last day of the checkpoint so I could just drive right in. That in itself felt weird. It was one of those moments where I had trouble remembering that I am 26 years old and not 10; I kept waiting for someone to come to their senses and send me away. Clearly this unaccompanied child should not be allowed into a disaster zone! How irresponsible! Obviously that didn’t happen, because I AM 26, and a legal resident of the Keys, and therefore totally allowed to be there. So after that brief existential panic, the drive continued.

The first thing I noticed was the foliage: all the leaves were off the trees. It looked like New England in the winter (without the snow, obviously). Since there’s no foliage in the Keys that does this normally, it looked very odd. I could see into neighborhoods off the side of Route 1 that I had never been able to see before. There were also big piles of debris by the side of the road, but these were mostly vegetation. I know some places in Key Largo were hit very hard, and I don’t want to minimize that, but the beginning of the drive looked reasonably okay (part of this was also that Key Largo residents were allowed to return sooner, so they had already done a lot of clean-up).

As I continued south, things started to get worse. Entire trees were down, and more and more of the debris piles were made up of people’s personal belongings. Refrigerators, mattresses, shelves, coffee tables, and everything else were piled by the side of the road. In the upper Keys many of these piles had already started being consolidated, but as I drove they started spreading out. Every home and business had a similar pile, and the piles were often at least a full story tall.

When I hit Marathon, it started getting hard. The upper Keys I essentially just drive through, but Marathon I’ve actually spent a lot of time in. It was also the beginning of the worst of the destruction. Businesses that I’d been to in the past were completely flattened, telephone poles were snapped in half, and many side streets were completely impassable due to debris. But even that wasn’t as bad as when I hit Big Pine Key.

While I don’t live on Big Pine, I’m very close. It’s where I go to church, go to the library, shop for groceries, and pick up Chinese food. Many dear friends live on Big Pine, and it was decimated. There’s so much destruction it’s a bit hard to describe, but believe me when I say it’s hard to see. Entire streets were reduced to piles of rubble. The next few islands (including mine) looked much the same. My usual gas station had been literally knocked over. The entire roof that was over the pumps was bent over and lying on its side. By the time I was turning down my street, I thought there was no way my house could be in as good shape as my roommates said it was. I had seen all these newer, better quality homes completely destroyed, how could ours have survived? So I braced myself as I prepared to see how the Gulf side of Ramrod Key had fared.

As it turns out (and as you probably already saw on Facebook) hurricanes are extremely random and we live in a miracle house on a miracle street. Our house had a roof, all four walls, and had only gotten about a foot of water inside. The Atlantic side of Ramrod (where we used to live!) had seen multiple streets completely flattened. A house two blocks closer to the water than us got an eight-foot storm surge (we know because the owner stayed and took pictures). I think that part of what saved us is an extremely lucky location: between our street and the Gulf is the largest area of preserved hardwood hammock habitat in the Keys (our version of a climax forest), and that absorbed a lot of the surge. But we could just as easily have been hit by the pockets of extreme wind or tornados. We truly got very lucky. And since I didn’t get back until Thursday, I never even had to live without power, AC, and running water.

That being said, there’s a lot of work to do. When I first got back the entire lower Keys had a weird swampy smell from all of the flooding (TCI friends: it smelled like the salinas!). So being outside to do yard work wasn’t super pleasant. And while most of our house has cement walls and tile floors, we have to rip out anything that might be growing mold. This includes any and all drywall up to a certain height, the one room with wood flooring, all of our doors, and most of our living room furniture (those of you who have visited: we saved the tall bar chairs! I was so glad). The dishwasher, microwave, and washer and dryer all work, but the stove is broken. Also somehow the grill, which was outside the whole time, is fine. Our sheds were largely reduced to kindling, and we lost most of the little fruit trees in our back yard. Personally, I had to throw out my futon mattress (old to begin with) and two empty bookshelves (very cheap from Kmart). So no huge losses there, and all of my actual personal stuff is fine. We’re making a lot of progress, and some wonderful friends have come to help us. I’m learning so many life skills!

But it’s been a couple weeks of this now, and the fatigue is starting to set in. I know people always say this, but it’s really true: surviving a disaster is one thing, recovering afterwards is entirely another. Every time we complete one task, there are suddenly five more that we hadn’t even thought of yet. Have you ever seen that Tom Hanks movie The Money Pit? It’s like that. I don’t think I’ll ever find that movie entertaining again. Our house is livable, but it’s not like it’s back to normal. One bedroom is completely under construction, our counters are still covered with hurricane rations, and we haven’t replaced the doors yet so they keep sliding across the floor in a manner that makes it sound like the house is haunted. Plus, after a few more torrential rainstorms, the roof started leaking. We’re getting one of those blue roofs from the Army Corps of Engineers, but they have a lot of houses to get to (don’t worry, we’ve patched it for now). And since it’s so hard to dispose of waste in the Keys (not a lot of land), there are still piles of debris everywhere. They’re starting to consolidate them, so there are these giant walls made up of essentially people’s entire lives lining the highway. They’re honestly about three stories tall.

The biggest thing though, is that we’re all just so TIRED. It’s hard to go to work all day, where you’re probably cleaning up from the hurricane, to then go back home and have to keep cleaning up from the hurricane until you go to bed. You can’t escape it. I catch myself getting irritable, and fed up, and impatient. You start feeling desperate for just one part of your life to be how it was before the storm, but that’s impossible. It’s not an exaggeration to say that people’s lives will never be the same. Some may argue that it’s just stuff, but that’s not really true. It’s your home. It’s where you made a life, made memories, maybe where you raised your family. For me, it’s the first place that felt like home after I graduated college. It’s been destroyed, and the work it’s going to take to fix it looks endless right now. Your emotional “home base” is gone, which is exhausting enough even before you factor in all the physical labor needed to bring it back. There is no home base anymore; there are only piles of trash and drywall. I just really want to stress how tired we all are, especially because we’re actually doing really well (I promise!). So if those of us who were comparatively lucky feel like this, imagine how everyone else feels. Imagine the tragedy in Puerto Rico. Donald Trump can go suck an egg, everyone is working their butts off.

To finally bring all of this back to the title of the post, I never thought two summers at camp would prove so useful years later. The skills I learned on Summer Staff have been invaluable. After safely seeing hundreds of teenagers through a high ropes course I feel pretty prepared for a variety of disasters. The obvious skills, like experience with landscaping and power tools (#ropescapenance4eva) have obviously been helpful, but also the ability to work long hours, keep a good attitude (hopefully), and work as a team with people I just met. Also, I’m pretty good at cleaning bathrooms. There hasn’t been any call for safe belaying techniques yet, but if that comes up I’ll be ready.

But the most important thing I learned is the result of one specific Bible study. Without getting too theological or technical, we were talking about the importance God gives rest and also about how in the Jewish tradition (so also in the Old Testament) the day starts at sundown. That means the day starts with rest, and ends with work. After some more Biblical digging, we finally crystallized an idea that changed how I think about rest forever: you should rest FOR your work, not FROM your work. In other words: rest first, work later. So often we use our rest time, be it actual sleep or something else, as a time to obsess about the previous day when what we SHOULD be using it for is storing up energy for the tasks that lie ahead tomorrow. Put yesterday behind you, rest up, and move forward. It’s purely a mental game; I’m not saying my sleep pattern changed drastically or something. But this shift in mentality (when I remember it) really helps me not get burnt out. To be honest, I had totally forgotten this little piece of wisdom until I came across a quote I had put in my planner a month earlier. It’s by Robert Louis Stevenson, and he said: “Don’t judge each day by the harvest you reap, but by the seeds that you plant.” So that’s all I’m really trying to say to my fellow hurricane people. Rest for the work ahead, and don’t worry, you’ve been planting a whole forest. We’ll see it grow eventually.

And there really are a lot of bright spots in all of this. Neighbors helping neighbors and so on. Various Facebook groups have actually done a great job distributing key recovery information, and even in returning personal property to their rightful owners. Despite some sensationalist reports (helped along by some paranoia), we’ve barely seen any looting. Volunteers have been coming down from the mainland, and we were sent so much bottled water and non-perishable food we now have too much. If you want to help, and you’re close, we can always use more work teams. If you want to help, and you’re farther away, find a local organization to support and just send money. They’ll get it to where it needs to go.

And please PLEASE help Puerto Rico. They are in much worse shape than we are, and the government didn’t move to help them nearly as quickly as it moved to help us. They are fellow Americans (which really shouldn’t be the point, but it needs to be said), and they need help. Send some.

Before I go: eternal thanks to everyone who has reached out, offered help, checked up on me, or even just sent me funny YouTube videos. Your support and compassion truly means the world to me. And ESPECIALLY thank you to the friends and family I stayed with throughout this whole ordeal! I will be forever grateful. Rest up, everybody.

#Irma #hurricane irma #Florida Keys #recovery

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jacewilliams1 · 5 years ago

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If only… The friends I’ve lost in airplane accidents

I’ve struggled with writing about this tragedy for a long time. I wanted so much to give other pilots a glance at this image, hoping a few might take a moment before a flight to see if there were any gotchas they missed amid their haste and distractions. But I recoiled against the prospect of telling a very personal, painful, and graphic story about a good pilot buddy. Finally I decided to just start writing rather than let this opportunity die along with him, though I must protect his anonymity. I’m certainly not a writer, nor have I ever written anything for public consumption. I may never again. This is straight from the heart.

Hundreds and hundreds of people. Family, friends, business associates, and employees. Every seat in the large church sanctuary filled. Others standing along the walls. The foyer and hallways so crowded that more stand around outside, roasting in the sun, straining to hear the memorial service being broadcast on speakers. All the parking lots filled, with illegally parked cars choking the roadway for hundreds of yards in both directions. No dry eyes. So many lives so profoundly impacted. So many futures changed forever. If only…

My friend and his passenger died in an airplane crash.

“This has become a far too frequent occurrence for me.”

I’ve seen turnouts like this before, when young men die suddenly and violently while living life to the fullest. These gentlemen were well known and respected in their community and businesses, and served others for most of their time on this earth. They were humorous, articulate, and responsible. They loved and provided well for their families, friends, and employees. In our busy age it’s a great tribute that so many have made the effort to pay their respects and offer comfort and condolences to the suffering families as they start dealing with their own grief.

This has become a far too frequent occurrence for me, and I’m getting a little tired of it. I’ve lost sixteen friends and numerous acquaintances in aircraft mishaps. So far. Of my friends, four died in military training and combat, and all the rest in general aviation. Nearly all were highly skilled, with decades of experience in all sorts of aircraft and conditions. And I miss these good men and women every single day.

Oddly enough, I don’t personally know anyone who survived a GA crash where others died. This might be due to the nature of flying in a part of the country with very challenging terrain and weather. But records show that terrible, life-altering injuries are frequent. A common trait among pilots is a highly developed sense of responsibility for protecting our passengers. I can’t begin to imagine the lifelong load of guilt a pilot must have to carry after killing or maiming people who trusted their lives to them.

So how do qualified, well-trained pilots lose their lives? My friends perished due to various causes: continued VFR into IMC, midair collision, severe turbulence in mountains, flight control malfunction, low altitude stall/spin, descending below approach minimums in IMC, flying up blind canyons, attempting a go-around from a one-way strip, and catastrophic engine failure. There was no hotdogging, buzzing, or overt recklessness involved. These all should’ve just been normal flights.

Come to think of it, I’ve only known one person who died in a traffic accident, and he was on a motorcycle. Anyone who tells you that flying is safer than driving is probably talking about airline flying. Either that or they’re misinformed. And in this instance at least, the old flying adage holds true: “… if you crash because of weather, your funeral will be held on a sunny day.”

Please don’t get the wrong impression. I love aviation. I’ve been completely passionate about it since I was a toddler. In fact, the first thing I want to do after coming home from work (if you can call it “work” — I fly for a living) is go flying in little airplanes. Hey, I’m sick! I need help!

But these losses have changed me. I find myself double checking so many mundane things, and kicking myself if I discover anything I’ve missed. Much of the time that I used to take to enjoy the view is now crowded out by going over the “what ifs.” I experienced an engine failure a few years ago, and now I hear my inner monologue saying things like, “There’s a good place to deadstick it in! There’s another! And another!” But I know that I can’t possibly account for everything that could bring me down.

Accident reports rarely convey just how awful an airplane crash really is.

This nagging understanding makes me refuse to take the chances that I might have in the past, like taking more than one grandchild up in my airplane at a time, or trusting that the destination weather will improve by arrival time. It also makes me less willing to fly hard IFR when I’m not at work. That’s too much like work, anyway, and I bought my airplane for blue skies and beautiful days. Most of all it makes me realize that I’m not invincible. But if this risk aversion makes me a safer pilot, then it’s all worth it.

We’ve all read the accident reports, full of terms like “high degree of energy dissipation upon impact” and “rapid descent into terrain.” But this kind of cold, clinical language disguises the real aftermath: the disrupted, often destroyed lives of loved ones, the hardship and loss experienced by those left behind, and the horrors they can never forget. These reports seldom let us see through that veil, but we MUST look beyond and understand the massive consequences our actions or omissions might bring.

We’ve all seen or heard of bad examples of airmanship, ranging from ignorance to foolishness to false bravado. But in dealing with all my personal aviation tragedies, I’ve found some things common to most: complacency, overconfidence, inadequate planning, lack of qualification or competence, and lack of preparation. But the biggest contributor to my buddy’s fatal crash: very poor judgment.

This is a difficult thing for me to say about my pal, especially since I had been something of a mentor to him. But I have to put it right out there in the hope that it might save a life someday. Besides, who among us hasn’t displayed poor judgment at one time or another, especially when acting as a pilot?

Get-home-itis was the biggest link to the faulty judgment in this tragedy. It is a powerful force, so powerful that both men aboard were willing to risk single-engine flying over unlit mountainous terrain. In the middle of the night. Without a discernible horizon or an instrument rating. In smoke, clouds, and turbulence. With the moon adding all sorts of visual illusions. And with embedded thunderstorms along their route.

This combination of factors produced very unsurprising results: classic spatial disorientation followed by the inevitable graveyard spiral and final dive, terminating with high-speed vertical descent into terrain under full power. There was no in-flight breakup. The impact was so powerful that body parts were scattered up into surrounding trees, according to the sheriff’s report. This ghastly image haunts me still, and I wasn’t even one of the poor souls who had to clean up the mess. Human remains were so fragmented that no one could determine what belonged to whom. Even the credit cards in their wallets were shattered. And undoubtedly those who responded to this disaster will never be able to unsee what was laid out before them.

What haunts me even more is imagining what those last moments in the cockpit were like. I can hear the shrieking of the air rushing over the airframe at well over 200 knots, feel the disorienting g-loading, and sense the overwhelming terror that they must have experienced in the eternity of the last few seconds of their lives as they plunged into the blackness. I can only imagine how the thought of this must sicken their loved ones. The only upside? It didn’t hurt for long.

Even celebrities aren’t immune to VFR-into-IMC accidents, as Kobe Bryant tragically learned.

Disasters like this are far too common in general aviation. Some 40% of GA accidents are caused by spatial disorientation, yet it is not commonly understood. Remember JFK Jr? Ever hear of “The Day the Music Died?” What about Patsy Cline? Kobe Bryant?

As a matter of fact, my friend did call other pilot friends that night to get their advice, which he quickly disregarded. They begged him to spend the night and come home at first light. Now they will be forever plagued by thinking that they could have done more to convince him. But obviously he had his mind made up, and was only looking for affirmation. After all, both victims had nonrefundable reservations for their families’ vacation together starting the following day. If only…

Calling a “knock-it-off” would have cost them this vacation. Well, so did pressing on.

If only my buddy could have been given even a tiny glimpse into the future, he could have avoided the horrible results of his decision.

The real tragedy is that he did have the opportunity for that glimpse.

This outcome was foreseeable. His actions under these conditions had predictable results. But here’s the worst thing: He had just come through these conditions on the same route as his ill-fated return flight, and he KNEW what was ahead!

Much of airmanship is managing risk. Of course, awful things just happen sometimes (i.e., catastrophic structural failures), but this disaster was caused by easily avoidable and well-known risk factors.

I plead with any of you who face the host of decisions that comprise every flight to take one moment and play the pessimist. I know we all hate to think about this, but how high will the cost be if not everything goes your way? Look at how all your people would be affected if something life changing, or life ending, were to happen on your flight. Think about how overall risk jumps when a few bad little things happen at about the same time. Have an escape plan for when things do go wrong. Can you divert? Is there landable terrain below you if you have to put it down? Are you properly equipped to survive the aftermath of a remote landing? Can you see well enough to land there? Can you flip a “U-ey” in time to get out of a bad situation? Where are the rocks? What about going tomorrow (or next week) instead? Always leave yourself an out.

Better yet, leave yourself lots of outs. Here are some examples: before you push up the power, take an extra minute to consider the worst case. Double check weather and NOTAMS. Consider your gross weight and performance. Ask for advice. Know where your possible divert fields are. Think about the true priorities. Learn about spatial disorientation and how insidious it is. Beware of overconfidence and complacency. Assess and manage your risk. Take your solemn responsibility for your passengers seriously. Realize that even if you’re solo, you are risking the lives of your loved ones. Don’t get in a rush. And never let yourself start thinking that you’re bulletproof.

There’s already plenty of risk in this life. Aviation brings more, whether we like to admit it or not. Manage it well and you can enjoy a lifetime of fun sharing this great gift of flight!

The post If only… The friends I’ve lost in airplane accidents appeared first on Air Facts Journal.

from Engineering Blog https://airfactsjournal.com/2020/05/if-only-the-friends-ive-lost-in-airplane-accidents/

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damonbation · 5 years ago

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The Medicine of Mustachianism (a guest post from Marla)

Camp Mustache Seattle, one of Chancellor Taner’s ongoing assignments.

Foreword from Mr. Money Mustache : Marla is a long-time friend who I met on one the very first of the Ecuador Chautauqua trips. Since then, she has served as the Chancellor of Fun in the MMM organization, which is an informal and haphazard group of entirely volunteer planners who sometimes create interesting events. Marla wrote this on March 18th, which makes her optimistic perspective from that moment in time even more appropriate today as we emerge from the chaos.

The Medicine of Mustachianism By Marla Taner

I love face punches. I love the shockingly simple math of early retirement. I love that we all enjoy debating the merits of financial independence versus retiring early. And I love that in the end, this blog is not really about money.

And it’s not because my portfolio just lost more than 30% and it’s not because my friends and family are enjoying their moment of schadenfreude. I wrote this blog post because when the rest of the world is going crazy all around you and you suddenly realize with clarity what the whole point of Mustachianism is, you want to share it with everyone you care about as soon as possible.

Yes, it’s true. After nearly seven years of “retirement”, and watching When Harry Met Sally* for the 1000th time while self-isolating, it took the Corona Virus to inspire my first blog post.

First, a dose of confession. I don’t always follow MMM’s advice. In particular, I love politics and I watch way too much of the 24 hour news cycle on TV. I justify it with all the usual excuses: it’s important, I want to be informed, this is an incredible time in history. But, as with much of MMM’s sage advice, while I’m doing what he recommends against, his voice is in my head (or his virtual fist is in my face) reminding me why this is a bad idea. I am still a work in progress.

Since the news cycle shifted from those ubiquitous tweets from you-know-who to worldwide calamity, it has become abundantly clear that I need to turn off the news. My palms are sweating, my pulse is racing, it’s hard to sleep. You just might feel this way too. Here’s some medicine for that: The Low Information Diet

Second, take a a dose from the optimism gun by reading The Practical Benefits of Outrageous Optimism.

Finally, learn what to do (and not to do) in times like these by figuring out How Big Is Your Circle of Control.

We are the lucky ones. What I earned during my career was far greater than the average world income of $5000 per annum. By being frugal and running against the herd, I saved more than 50% of my income over a 15 year career.

My expenses are low. I can make my expenses lower if I really need to. I have the luxury of staying home and gathering my loved ones close during these difficult times. And even though my net worth is suddenly, shockingly lower; I have time on my side. Let’s remind ourselves of the stock market chart throughout history.

Inflation adjusted S&P500 price, (not even including dividends!) Image source Macrotrends.net

Yes, I realize that being lucky does not insulate us against hardship. We are not immune to sickness or loss, disability or discrimination, tragedy can still strike. But, let’s be grateful for what we have, and remind ourselves of our resilience. After all, even if the worst happens, we’ll still be okay. In fact, my favorite post was this one that inspired me to pull the trigger on FIRE in 2013:

If I Woke Up Broke

Finally, a dose of what’s really important. Yes, the whole point of Mustachianism. MMM retired at just 30 years old because he wanted to be the best Dad he could be. He didn’t “retire” to write this blog, start a movement and change the world. He realized his needs and his wants were small. Being a great Dad didn’t mean constantly travelling the world, or competing for the best private schools or private equestrian leagues. It was taking his son on adventures in the neighborhood, teaching him to ride a bike, building forts, playing games, giving him the gift of his time.

And, when you ask MMM now what he’s figured out about happiness, he tells us that to have a great life, you just need to put together a string of enough great days. While everyone’s great day is different, Pete’s includes time outside, exercise, time with family, socializing with friends and some hard work.

And so, as we all face this global pandemic together, let’s think about what makes our own great day. Chances are, it doesn’t cost much. The ones you want to spend it with might be locked inside with you right now. The great outdoors still beckons with singing birds and the first signs of spring. There are great meals to cook, books to read, movies to watch, and chores to catch up on. Our homes have never been this clean. And if we can’t meet up with friends in person, let’s call, text or video chat with each other.

On a final note, let’s thank our amazing health care professionals on the front lines, those that are making sure our shelves are stocked with necessary food and supplies and all the “caremongerers”.

Mustachianism really is the best medicine.**

*thanks Nora Ephron.

**with all due respect to laughter.

My thanks to Mr. Money Mustache for providing his favorite stalker with this platform to share my thoughts. Marla Taner met MMM in Ecuador at the first Chautauqua and has continued to stalk him at Mustachian and FIRE events ever since. You may or may not be able to find her on Facebook.

MMM here again: I am going to try to invite Marla back here to respond to any questions here in the comments. What would you like to ask a 40-something Canadian early retiree who has been at it for so many years, and lives a totally different lifestyle than me? No kids, travels the world freely, not a hardcore bicycle nazi like I am?

from Money 101 https://www.mrmoneymustache.com/2020/04/14/the-medicine-of-mustachianism-a-guest-post-from-marla/ via http://www.rssmix.com/

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andrewdburton · 5 years ago

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The Medicine of Mustachianism (a guest post from Marla)

Camp Mustache Seattle, one of Chancellor Taner’s ongoing assignments.

The Medicine of Mustachianism By Marla Taner

Yes, it’s true. After nearly seven years of “retirement”, and watching When Harry Met Sally* for the 1000th time while self-isolating, it took the Corona Virus to inspire my first blog post.

Second, take a a dose from the optimism gun by reading The Practical Benefits of Outrageous Optimism.

Finally, learn what to do (and not to do) in times like these by figuring out How Big Is Your Circle of Control.

Inflation adjusted S&P500 price, (not even including dividends!) Image source Macrotrends.net

If I Woke Up Broke

Mustachianism really is the best medicine.**

*thanks Nora Ephron.

**with all due respect to laughter.

from Finance https://www.mrmoneymustache.com/2020/04/14/the-medicine-of-mustachianism-a-guest-post-from-marla/ via http://www.rssmix.com/

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sharionpage · 6 years ago

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Understanding How PTSD Can Become Post-Traumatic Growth: Part 1

The Self Improvement Blog | Self Esteem | Self Confidence

We hear a lot these days about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), especially related to the military but also in relation to anyone who has experienced severe trauma. It is important that we understand what these individuals are suffering and I would like to tell you my story.

In the early 1980’s, my Monday evenings were spent as co-leader of an open-ended therapy and support group for Vietnam veterans at the Memphis Vet Center, a storefront clinic and service center housed in downtown Memphis. The Vet Centers were the VA’s program to make services more intimate and available to veterans separate from the larger VA hospitals

Group sizes ranged from 3 to 20 participants, homeless vets alongside retired officers. Most attendees came to only a couple of sessions, but there was a sizable block who were “regulars” attending dozens of sessions in the 3 years I was involved in leading the group.

Most group participants had psychological and behavioral problems associated with Post-traumatic Stress Disorder. But as I listened to them talk about themselves and to each other, the most valuable lessons I learned from these veterans had more to do with their strengths than their weaknesses. First, one of the biggest tragedies of their military experience was not necessarily the PTSD symptoms of heightened anxiety, moodiness, nightmares, flashbacks, shame and/or horror of having witnessed or committed horrible acts. For many, the worst outcome of serving in that war was being robbed of the value system they believed prior to their service.

Most Vietnam veterans volunteered in order to contribute to a cause they thought noble and worth their sacrifice: to protect a democratic way of life by providing a check on Communism. Unfortunately, after serving, many vets concluded that their sacrifice had been wasted by politicized leadership agendas and military tactics that made little sense. The veterans were disillusioned because they began to see they were being used by their country, rather than serving their country.

Moreover, when those combatants returned home, their patriotism was attacked and shamed by the process of citizens involved a war-protest movement. Home was a place in which the vets no longer fit. They were hurting, alone and bitter about what they had seen and done. The ideals upon which they had decided to serve had been shattered. In the resulting “values vacuum,” only the misery of powerful PTSD symptoms was left. Additionally, they were rarely taught how to replace or renew the compromised values system.

A second thing I learned from those Vietnam Veterans was the importance of the “platoon”, usually a squad of 10 or 12 men. Even though together for only 13 months, the bond that quickly developed among the platoon was very powerful and motivating. It was not uncommon in the group sessions to hear men talk about how much they cared for the others in their basic small unit. In fact, often it was only other vets these men felt comfortable with and/or trusted.

I came to realize the healing power in those small groups. The Memphis Vet Center Monday Night Therapy and Support group became a “platoon” where vets could work with each other to rediscover or replace their lost values. Once they accomplished this values clarification, many found more strength to cope with the symptoms of PTSD because they became more receptive to learning the cognitive and behavioral skills helpful in rebuilding life after trauma.

Traumatic Experiences Change What Victims Consider Valuable/Important in Life

Since those days at the Vet Center, I have been honored to be involved in the treatment of many other folks who had traumatic events in their lives, including Childhood Sexual Abuse, motor vehicle accidents, crime victimization, natural disasters, and sexual assault. A common feature of these trauma survivors is this loss of belief in previously-held values. Values can be defined as life activities or behavioral outcomes considered important, even vital, in a healthy life. A partial list of values considered essential to healthy living would include but not be limited to perseverance, respect, honor, love, sacrifice, truth, freedom, compassion, bravery, kindness, wisdom, safety and trust. Clarity about what is important in life is often changed for trauma victims. Like the combat veterans’ loss of guiding patriotic values, survivors of Childhood Sexual Abuse (CSA) spend the first 8–10 years of life learning trust, only to find that it was no more authentic than a politician’s promise. Many battered spouses go through life in fear for their physical safety, only to have such fears confirmed by violence, thus eliminating a valuable sense of security. A vacuum is formed where once there was a strongly-held belief about an important feature of life. Without a sense of knowing what is important in life, trauma victims find less motivation to engage in the hard work of facing unpleasant symptoms. Avoiding the constant negative symptoms becomes their main focus of life.

Even a brief examination of the history of humans shows an incredible capacity to cope with the most dire of circumstances when focused on values meaningful to the culture or social group at large. In the absence of those values, coping with hardship is greatly reduced, maybe even non-existent. Individuals have sacrificed much, even their own lives, when pursuing the “higher good.” But when not clear about that great good, victims tend to remain stuck in self-preoccupation. The values vacuum must be addressed to find increased motivation and strength in coping post-trauma. Since the main method by which we learn values in the first place is through social interaction with important people in our lives, group process is a powerful mechanism by which victims can examine changed values systems and begin to renew and replace them.

Rates of Trauma and Overcoming It

A recent study (Kilpatrick, et al, 2013) reveals that over 80% of 3000 people surveyed report having experienced a major trauma. 80%! These traumas include physical or sexual abuse-53%; death of a family member due to violence-51%; natural disaster-50%; accident/fire-48%; witnessing physical or sexual assault-33%; and combat or warzone exposure-8%.

Most victims of trauma (including most veterans of military combat) “get over it” in 12-18 months. But 20% don’t. They develop PTSD. What is the difference between the 80% who adjust and the 20 % who can’t “get over it”?

An entire article can and should be devoted to the complicated concept of “getting over it.” For starters, even if victims can get past the trauma, their life narrative is forever changed. Plus, somewhere between 40-60% of folks who have a life trauma end up eventually saying that their life is better for it: an outcome called post-traumatic growth (Calhoun and Tedeschi, 2103).

In fact, if one thinks about it, a good question to consider is WHY IS THERE NOT MORE PTSD, if over 80% of people report having had trauma in life? My experience with Vietnam veterans and other trauma survivors has led me to the conclusion that folks who “get over it” address the destruction of their values system in some kind of group interaction, formal or otherwise.

Changes to One’s Life Narrative

PTSD is a disorder of “being stuck” in a never-ending cycle of avoiding the unpleasant experiences, believing and/or trusting in nothing once-valued and a lack of belief that something can be done to change this cycle (self-efficacy).

In order to overcome the effects of trauma, a victim can’t just learn new skills to cope. The altered values system must be addressed. The sad fact of the matter is that traumatic experience drastically changes one’s life narrative. The purpose and meaning of the life traumatized are shaken to the core.

The narrative of a life can be going along great, maybe even according to one’s life plan, and then WHAM!—a trauma happens, and the narrative changes. Before trauma, a glimpse of the internal dialogue might be summarized as “Everything is okay/I’m in charge/I like my life/ I have hope/this is fun, if not hard.” After trauma, however, it becomes “The hurt is unbearable/I can see no end to it/I can’t do anything to stop this pain/others don’t understand/nothing matters anyway/my life is awful/I’m awful/HELP/leave me alone.”

That changed narrative must be re-written to include a new story line, one that rediscovers or replaces the lost value system. The second half of this two-part article examines the process of how one’s internal dialogue creates a life narrative and how that life narrative can be changed so that post-trauma reactions can become post-trauma growth.

About the Author

Dr. Jaremko has taught clinical psychology at the University level for almost 20 years. This academic activity has been balanced by the operation of an independent practice of clinical psychology for over 25 years. He estimates having taught over 2000 students through the years and delivered over 35000 hours of psychological services to around 10,000 clients. He has over 30 publications and nearly a hundred presentations at professional meetings on stress and trauma. In addition, chemical dependency and dual diagnosis has been a point of focus in his clinical practice. He, along with Beth Felhbaum-a trauma survivor, have written Trauma Recovery: Sessions with Dr. Matt: Narratives of Hope and resilience for Victims with PTSD which is available for pre-order and will be launched in December, 2018.

There’s More

We hope you begin to investigate this approach to trauma recovery through rearranging social interaction in healthy and progressive ways. Our new book, Trauma Recovery: Sessions with Dr. Matt is one way to visualize such a journey in that it describes in detail the narratives of seven trauma victims whose interactions with a therapist and each other achieved the needed changes to recover from trauma. While the book is on sale at Amazon and other booksellers, both Matt and Beth are committed to making a copy of the book available to anyone who is not able to afford its purchase. We can be contacted through our website, drmattbook.com. Please visit the Matt E. Jaremko author page on Facebook for more trauma recovery information.

Understanding How PTSD Can Become Post-Traumatic Growth: Part 1 published first on https://bitspiritspace.tumblr.com/

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xanderversion19-blog · 8 years ago

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Reading Log

Alexander V. Gutierrez Nature of Reading MTH: 1:00-2:30

Book Title: The Girl Who Played With Fire by Steig Larsson March 7, 2017

Part 1:

I understand Salander's actions in the story. These were caused by all of the bad things she went through as she was growing up. She had seen her mother got beaten up by her father which we later know in the story as Zala. The she was put in a mental facility where she was diagnosed as psychotic and she was even raped by her foster father. So all of those experiences in life, made Salander a rebellious mad person. I can somehow connect with the situation of Salander's mother in the hands of her father. She was badly abused and beaten up by him. I can sympathize with her because i know someone who has the same situation as hers. I just won't name her but I know her well. Her husband is a drunkard and beats her everytime he's drunk. I saw the hardships the she went through but she never had the courage to complain or even make a stand about it. It is sad to know but that's just how it is. I know Salander is still very young since she was in her biological father's custody. But why didn't she recognize Zala as her real father all along. It even has to be through a police record for her to remember that. I also wonder what happened to her mother in the story. Can we sympathize or empathize with the villains in the novel? Are they naturally bad or they have depth as characters? Just like Ronald Niederman, the half-brother of Salander, is he a pure villain or is he just a victim of their father Zala. The story is a sequel of a trilogy and I haven't read the other two parts but i think her fortune is still going to be the same but it will also face harder obstacles in life. She will face more enemies that are more evil than Zala and experience more pain and agony as the story transpires.

Part 2: #10: Describe your favorite part. Make a prediction of what will happen next. My favorite part of the story is when Salander finally recognizes Zala as her in father through a police report. Salander hates Zala so much and her hatred only got bigger when he remembered all the bad experiences that she went through on the hands of her father. This only made her want to avenge more than ever. Now that I already know what's going to happen, I'll just make my own predictions as what I want it to happen perhaps a little different from what really happened in the story. So I predict that Salander is going to plot a plan to get or abduct Zala a take him in a remote place where no one can help him. There she will confess all of her sentiments towards her father - this is probably going to be the most emotional part of the story. After that she punish Zala by torturing him the worst possible way we could think of. And for her ultimate goal, she's going to put the tortured and almost dying Zala inside car and burn it just like what she did to him when she was just twelve years old. This time she will make sure that she will get him killed. And finally, Salander will pay all her dues because the police have known her plans. They're going to put her beyond bars for life. After years in prison, Salander is going to realize all the bad things she did and knows that she finally executed her revenge, she's going to commit suicide by hanging herself in her cell.

Alexander V. Gutierrez 09976848610 Mindanao State University

March 7, 2017

Dear Salander, I have read the story of your life and I can say that it's tragic and full of adventures. Starting from your childhood, you've experienced the dark side of life already. You've seen your mothers abused by your father and because of that you've learned to fight back and make your own stand. You even had the guts to put your father into fire attempting to kill him to take revenge for your mother. You were just twelve years t that time! That's the baddest thing I've ever heard a twelve year old girl has done. How in the world made you decide to do that?

From that day forward, you've went through a lot more hardships and traumatic experiences in life just like being raped by our foster parent among the others. It all carved the kind of person that you are right now. A strong, wise, bad and vengeful woman. And I sympathize you knowing all you've went through. I just wanted you to know that whatever you do in life, I support you as long as you're standing for the right. I just don't want you to do crazy stuffs as i know how you're living your life right now. What if you get into a trouble where you may never fin a way out. It's time for you to think and give importance to life. Can't you just forget about all the bad things and the hatred in your heart and move towards righteousness?

What I'm saying is, don't resort into evil things just to satisfy your desire to avenge to the people who have hurt you before. Why don't you let God enter your life, in that way you will learn to forgive and just forget and live your life according to his will without hurting anyone anymore. There are people who loves you. You can divert and put all your attention to the ones who really cared.

We are not getting any younger, we shall start thinking about ourselves, people and things that really mattered. I really hope that you find peace in your life.

sincerely yours;

Alexander V. Gutierrez

Book Title: My Sister's Keeper by Jodi Picoult March 7, 2017

Part 1:

The decision that Anna made to sue her parents is not a good idea for me. I understand her feelings about the treatment that she gets from her parents, she is often left out for her older sick sister and she is being used to help Kate's medication. But she should've talked to her parents about her concerns and probably they would've sorted things up as a family without getting into legal altercations. I also understand why Anna's older brother Jesse resorted into doing bad activities and habits, not because you think it's good but just because of the fact that she cannot help Kate with her medications and his feelings if being ignored by his parents. All of their attention is focused exclusively on the ill Kate, every child would feel bad about that, even me personally. But I don't think I'll be doing the things that Jesse did in the story such as being alcoholic and burning down buildings, etc. I remember when was seven years old, I was diagnosed with dengue which almost took my life. It was a very serious stage of the disease that the chance of surviving is very low. I needed to be supplemented by new blood every time. But none from my relatives matched my blood type so my parents have to find the appropriate type. Luckily, we found one and I was able to recover and get through that scary moment of my life. I wonder if the patents only gave a little more attention to their two other children? What if they gave importance to her just like how they do with Anna? I suppose things wouldn't have been that way. What if Anna didn't allow things to get into court. What if they gave importance to Jesse? He should've not been a bad person. And what if Anna didn't consult a lawyer and sue her parents? It is still a big question for me why Alexander Campbell chose to help the thirteen-year-old Anna with legal actions. There's got to be a deeper reason why? Its true that Sara and Brian love their other two children but they fail to let them know that. So is it morally righteous for them to conceive another child just to have a genetic match for Kate? Anna died with hatred in her heart. And I believe that if only she didn't let things go to court and have a gap to her parents, that accident wouldn't have happened or she wouldn't have died with that kind of feeling.

Part 2

Alexander V. Gutierrez 09976848610 Mindanao State University

March 4, 2017

Dear Mr & Mrs Fitzgerald, I just wanted to let you know about my sentiments on how you treat your two other children, Anna and Jesse. With all due respect, you have failed to give them the right attention, love and care that they desperately needed from both of you. I understand why all your attention is poured exclusively to your daughter Kate for she is suffering from a serious illness and that she needed your care for her to survive. But don't you realize you’re hurting your two other children? Don't you know that they need your care and guidance too? They are your flesh and blood, they need to be loved and taken care of as every child deserve. Are you that numb not to notice that they have been neglected by you? Just try to look at they have become. They are rebellious, stubborn and bad! Jesse resorted to doing bad thing; Anna chose to get legal actions just to let you see what she felt about your relationship. Just look at how your rejection made your children like that. It's a good idea for you to conceive another daughter, Anna, to get a perfect match to be Kate's donor and help her with her medications. But you didn't think about how would Anna feel about it. She’s been exploited not just with care but to her own health and welfare too. You could've paid more attention to her as she was growing up perhaps things didn't get to that unfortunate tragedy wherein she died with do much hatred in her heart. There’s a lot to learn from this sad experience, Jesse is still alive. It’s never too late for you to reconcile to him. This is the right time to get everything right. Let him know that he's important to you and that you live him too. Maybe he'll turn away from the evil things that he's into and get back to you to fix your family.

Sincerely yours,

Alexander V. Gutierrez

By The River Piedra I Sat Down And Wept by Paulo Coelho Part 1 Pilar has met a friend from her childhood who is now in the seminary. He invited her to attend a conference to be with her and finally confess his love to her. By this, I can already see that there is something wrong. A seminarian confessing love to a woman and wanting to pursue his love? I don’t think so! If someone decides to be in a seminary, he should set aside all of his desire and affection to a woman. For me, one of the biggest things to consider is that he is not just an ordinary seminarian, he has a gift, the blesses Mother Mary comes to her and he is given a gift to heal people. He has great responsibility in other words. I believe that this is the major reason why Pilar is reluctant getting into a relationship whit him even though she is in love with him too. She doesn’t want him to depart and forget his devotion and his gift. I think it would make her guilty if ever. But I can see that there’s great desire in her that’s just waiting to explode, a desire that is wanting to be with this man without any restraints. That desire finally broke off one night after a couple of days if being together. But just as the girl is willing to accept the baggages that the seminarian has. She’s now found her way back to spirituality so they didn’t really need to worry about anything because they can pursue their love without sacrificing the his duty. But this is also the time when he has decided to choose her over his duty. This is where I think everything became worse and it lead to them being separated from each other. And after all the obstacles that came their way, they still fell into each others arms in the end and their love had flourished. I can connect to the story not with the love aspect of it but with the spiritual side of it. Just like Pilar in the story, I also have been away to my faith and right now I’m trying to restore my spirituality because I know this will guide not just me but everyone I loved with our lives. I’m doing this through getting a bit active in school ministries, attending masses and praying all the time. So that’s the only thing I could connect myself to the novel. A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini Part 1 This novel is undoubtedly the most heartbreaking story I’ve ever read. This shows the oppression that the two main protagonists, Mariam and Laila experienced throughout their lives. In the first chapter of the novel, it revolves around the life of Mariam. In reading the initial part of the story, I can somehow foreshadow the kind of life Mariam is going to have because of the emphasis that is given being a harami or an illegitimate child. There’s a great sense of rejection to a harami especially in their culture so what she experienced as a child without having a father on her side all the time to guide her is very difficult. With this, she already has gotten my sympathy. I didn’t know how exactly it would feel to not have one of my parents with me growing up, but I didn’t really have to in order to understand her. As what I’ve said, she is a bastard so she has this great desire to be with her father, come to his place and live with him. She did that, ignoring the advice’s and warnings that her mother told her. She escaped, came to the city where her father lived. But as soon as she arrived at her father’s mansion, she was ignored, she wasn’t even allowed to come in. She waited outside for the rest of the night but still no one from the family entertained her. So she decided to come back home. But as soon as she gets there, she found her mother hanging dead with a rope on her neck. She committed suicide because she can’t take that her daughter has abandoned her. This is really the start of Mariam’s struggle in life. Now that her mother is dead, she doesn’t really have anyone to turn to, her father has to take custody if her now. Just as I thought her life is going to be fine, I was saddened by the treatment that she’s gotten from her father’s family, especially his three wives. Not that they were mistreating her, but they doesn’t seem to like her presence at their house. Things got even worse when they decided to let her marry a man who is much older than her. He is Rasheed, a shoemaker who is abusive and a control freak. Mariam’s life with him is miserable especially when she had miscarriage. His treatment toward Marian is not bad before that. It is sad to think that a husband, when his wants or expectations are not met, he turns his anger toward his wife. From that moment on, he became very abusive to her and that her miseries went to the highest point. In the second part of the novel, a new character is introduced, Laila, woman who has also experienced hardships and suffering in life. She and Mariam got intertwined when she became Rasheed’s second wife after her parents and two brothers have been killed because of war. She became the apple of the eye is Rasheed. It seems as if his enthusiasm has been revived. This made Mariam feel mad and jealous. But just like Mariam, Rasheed’s treatment to her became ill. She and Mariam share the same sufferings, that makes them feel sympathetic toward each other. They became good friends. This is the time when war was waging in their country. Women where prohibited to do a lot of things, their freedom has basically been taken away from them and Rasheed’s abusiveness became seriously bad. This resulted to Mariam having killed him during one altercation. Here I believe that Mariam could not take it anymore. As a punishment, she was beheaded by the Taliban’s for committing the crime. It was not a useless sacrifice because it has given Laila chance to escape with her two children and start a new life. And when the war was over, Laila got reunited with the man she truly loved and lived a peaceful life finally. Part 2 Dear Mariam; I have known everything that has happened to your life and I sympathize you for that. You're such a strong person. You and Laila are and of the strongest persons I've ever known about. Through all the things you've been through, you stayed brave and resilient. It would be my pleasure to ask you a couple if things that are concerning me. Let me start with your childhood, the time you ran away from your mother to find your father in a city you've never been before. I understand that you were still very young to know the consequences of your actions and I know you were so much drawn to be with your father. But you would've taken your mother's words more seriously! her warning, and probably you could've stayed together longer. Not that I'm mocking you but I feel so bad she died that way. How couldn't you trust your own mother? The one that has beeb there since the beginning, the one who raised you, the one who cares no matter what. So you still remember the day you moved in with Raheed after your wedding? The times when he was still treating you like a princess and how he caresaviut your values as a woman. Although you were not the happiest woman because your married to an older man whom you don't really love! But you feel better and secure with the way he handles you. But that was before he had shown his real personality, he's brutal and oppressive nature. Since the day you lost your first child to him. That's the time your life turned upside down, he became mad and always raging. He hurts you physically, he called you names, he cursed you, he took away all your freedom but you remained faithful to him despite all that. How? How could you take all of those things? If I were you, I would've left him long ago! But you endured all of the sufferings and everyone knows it's not easy at all. I commend you for your courage and resiliency, all your sacrifices and hardships. I know that what you've done has been a great inspiration for me and the people who've read your story. I believe that your sacrifices are not worthless. Respectfully yours; Alexander V. Gutierrez

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sharionpage · 6 years ago

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Understanding How PTSD Can Become Post-Traumatic Growth: Part 1

The Self Improvement Blog | Self Esteem | Self Confidence

Traumatic Experiences Change What Victims Consider Valuable/Important in Life

Rates of Trauma and Overcoming It

Changes to One’s Life Narrative

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