Why I Don’t Trust Most Billionaires

First, let me confess I’ve never met a billionaire, so I have very little to go on, in terms of their nature...absolutely nothing based on personal interaction.  But I have tried to grasp the concept of how much a billion is. I still am not able to fully understand the enormity of that amount.  But what I do understand makes me skeptical of those that are billionaires...because of what I believe about human nature. Billionaires really are in a class beyond my experience and even my imagination, honestly.

The easiest way for me to break down the enormity of a billion is to scale it down to something a bit more understandable. If we’re not careful, we might think a billion is kind of similar to a million...maybe because the words rhyme...and a billion follows a million...so really, how different could they be?  But that is a huge mistake to think of it so simply. However, most of us have at least some concept of how much a million is. So we’ll start there as a reference point. 

Just for fun, or really for context, divide one million by your annual salary. That will tell you how many years you’d have to work to earn a million dollars... not to acquire a million dollars...but just to earn that amount. For reference I’ll use $65,000 as an annual income. A person earning $65,000 annually would need 16 years to earn a million dollars. So, for that person to accumulate a million dollars over a  lifetime, they’d have to do some serious investing, or have other funds available. 

I think most people reading this can identify with a $65,000 annual income, maybe a combined annual income of $130,000. We either remember when we made that amount, or we hope to get there soon, or we know people in that income range. What I’m trying to say is, that’s a fairly reasonable working man’s wage, and identifiable for most of us. Even still...getting to a million is not an easy task. 

Probably the biggest investment most of us makes financially is our home. Again, for the sake of simplicity and an amount I think most of us can identify with, I’ll use a value of $200,000 as an average home value in the US.  We might not be there yet, or maybe it would be a step back for some of us. But again, I believe it’s at least identifiable for most of us. 

So, a couple of numbers for reference points: $65k ($130k if both work), and $200k. 

Now, simply put...a billion is a thousand millions. And that’s a big difference. That means...if it takes us a lifetime to acquire a million dollars, through saving and investing, it would take a thousand of us to get to a billion.

So, to scale things down, let’s pretend a single dollar bill represents a million dollars. Imagine a “million dollar” dollar bill. A billionaire would have a thousand such dollar bills... a thousand of those million dollar dollar bills. You and I? Not even close. That $65k annual income would be 6.5 cents compared to just one of those dollars. That $200k home...20 cents. Many of us work 30 years trying to accomplish home ownership. A drop in the bucket compared to the thousand bills a billionaire holds. 

And if someone has multiple billions then that’s multiple stacks of a thousand one dollar bills. Someone worth 10 billion...10 stacks of a thousand dollar bills. And most of us operate in the realm of 6 or 7 cents per year by comparison. 

I’m not trying to paint a picture of what’s right or what’s wrong...simply what is. 

Of course I love to conjecture when it comes to human nature, especially in regards to human worth. Are we really all equal in God’s eyes? I say yes. Are we all equal in each others’ eyes. I say...most probably not. 

People with the multiple stacks of a thousand dollar bills aren’t going to be very concerned about you as an individual. Unless they have a humanitarian streak in their nature, their interest in us will be but a human capital interest...not so you can get your 6.5 cents...but so they can get another stack of bills. That’s how they got there...by dealing to acquire more, not by being benevolent. Their stakes are higher, and as such, they play by different rules than most of us ever imagine. 

So, I admit, these thoughts go through my mind when I hear discussions on who is essential or who is expendable or even sacrificial. I’m not saying wealth is evil. But I’m suggesting that human nature, much like an appetite, can be bent on acquiring more and more, with less and less regard for the individuals that helped get them there.

So, the first link shows an individual wealth tracker over the last 20 years. I couldn’t look away. I love those trackers. 

And something I tend to trust less than people ...corporations ...especially if corporations receive huge bailouts and still lay-off their employees. The 2nd link shows a value tracker of the world’s most valuable companies.

Wealthiest People in the World Tracker
Most Valuable Companies in the World Tracker

Why I Ate Dumpster Food

I knowingly ate dumpster food 1.5 times. I’m not proud of it. I’m not ashamed of it. It is what it is. So I’ll give the details up front. The first time I knowingly ate dumpster food I was already halfway through the meal before it was revealed to me where the food came from (thus the .5). It was not a prank. There was no hidden camera to capture my response. I was with a family that had a common practice of dumpster diving dining. And I pretty much stumbled into what turned into a two year deal with dumpster food being available and offered to me on a regular basis. 

I know this doesn’t make sense, so let me set the table, so to speak. 

After high school I made what might seem like a rash decision to change my college plans. Instead of studying architecture at a university in my home state, I instead went to a Bible college and prepared to teach math in Christian schools. All I was equipped to do when I finished was teach in Christian schools. I know...kind of limiting in terms of earnings potential...this I know very well now. But then... I was all about serving God, and waiting on Him to provide. You could say I had a lot to learn, and you’d be right. No argument here from me now. Let’s just say I had a lot of lessons crammed into my 20’s on this very subject. 

So...upon graduating college I took a teaching position in an inner city Christian school. The school advertised itself as having a 98% minority population. Turns out, I was the only white person in my classroom every day I taught there. 

If you think public school teachers aren’t paid much, it may not be a surprise that Christian school teachers were paid even less. And in the days I took this position, the school I chose was the lowest paying Christian school in the metro area. I knew this because I was canvassing all the schools for openings. Not surprisingly, my new place of employment started all their teachers with a two year contract...perhaps to make sure they could retain them at least two years. 

So,..as you may conclude..my table was pretty bare from the start. I heard about a retired couple who was renting out space in their home just off Independence Ave not far from downtown KC. They said they offered a discount to people in ministry, so I certainly qualified and arranged for a meeting with my prospective landlords. When that meeting came about, lunch was provided. And that’s the way Mrs Johnston (not their real name) described the food..halfway through the meal. I had learned that her husband was retired and spent his retirement recycling cardboard and using that money to support missionaries. Back in those days one could collect a little cash rummaging and recycling, and I respected that he busied himself and was so generous. I continued to eat while listening to this unique tale. Sure, I noticed the brown outline around some of the salad...the toughness of the meat... some residue on some of the salad dressing bottles...but I didn’t want to complain or come across unappreciative. And keep in mind...this was still during the first half of the meal. I was not yet aware of the whole story. So I just put some of the peculiarities out of mind and continued to listen to how God provided for the missionaries in this way...through Mr Johnston’s dedication to recycling. I found I could only nod in approval...chew, and swallow, sip my iced tea..repeat. . But then Mrs Johnston mentioned that the cardboard was not the only way God provided. She continued by saying that in fact...everything we were having for lunch had been provided in that same way...through Mr Johnston’s dumpster runs...including the whole turkey. 

Gulp. 

Now...I’ve never had my life pass before my eyes, but I’ve heard of others who have. I can say though, that in an instant my entire lunch passed before my very eyes...the brown lettuce..the lids of the jars..the consistency of the turkey...all of it, like a flash. 

I’m guessing I consciously decided to start chewing again. I was only halfway through the meal...and all things considered, I really needed this place to stay. It was my only prospect in an affordable price range. And I was sure I could avoid ever so politely any future offers of free dumpster food. So I cleaned my plate like my momma taught me, and we went on to discuss terms of my living there. There... now you know the .5 part.

Things were pretty simple back then. Rent was more affordable than anything else I’d come across.  I agreed I had to stay in ministry during my stay there, or I’d be asked to leave. Ok. Also, since they had a constant flow of dumpster food they needed all the fridge space they could find. So, the fridge in our apartment would be partially used for dumpster food. We could have any of it that we wanted, we just had to clear it with the landlords first. I agreed to that as well. 

Well...I thought that would be no problem, but it proved to be more difficult than I originally thought. One of the “perks” of working at the school was that I could eat a free school lunch during the week. So, I didn’t have to worry about that meal. But evenings and weekends would sometimes prove to be a little hard on my income. 

So one weekend, I was standing in the kitchen with the freezer door open...eyeballing the frozen dumpster pizza bread...searching for expiration dates, broken packaging, or anything else that might give it away in terms of ...was it ok or not ok to eat. Expiration date...passed. Who are we kidding. All this stuff was expired. Plastic wrap seemed to be intact, but the label appeared to be sun bleached. K...pass on that one. I scrummaged around until I found one with a normal looking label...normal for dumpster food, that is. And took it out of the freezer, heated it up and ate it. I was hungry. And yes...I remembered I was supposed to clear it with the landlords first. I just didn’t want to. I didn’t want to admit to the fact that I was hungry and their dumpster pizza bread looked better than my meager rations that my budget would allow. 

And yes...I heard about it later and was reprimanded and reminded of the agreement. So...that was the other time I knowingly ate dumpster food. 1.5 times in total. Long story. But there you have it. 

Ok wait...that’s more. As thankful as I was for those school lunches they always seemed a little on the small side...portioned for school kids. But I purposed to be polite. Each time I returned my lunch tray to the kitchen workers I would thank them. I just thought that was a good thing to do. Probably a thankless job, I thought. And I wanted to be polite. 

So one day, as was my habit, I was returning my tray to the lunch lady when I noticed Mr Johnston’s truck pulling around behind the  school. I politely asked the gal if she knew if that was Mr Johnston’s truck. She smiled widely and exclaimed..”oh yes, that’s Mr Johnston. He’s the kindest man. He drops off food every week. We wouldn’t be able to have a lunch program without his donations.”

Yes...I continued to eat the free lunches. I don’t know how to do the math on it...so it’s not really 1.5 times. Hard to say what the number turned out to be. And no, I did not tell anyone what I suspected. I guessed they probably knew as much as I did anyway. And yes, I fulfilled my two year contract at the school...and yes... was then asked to leave the Johnston’s apartment. So I did. Pretty much that simple...I moved on to my next chapter ...figure out how to get state certified so I could make the big bucks in the public schools. Hah!!! That story is for another time. 

I Wonder

I wonder how things will change this year; how mindsets might change. 

I wonder who all we’ll acknowledge as essential workers. 

I wonder about our food supply staying safe and available. 

I wonder if some undocumented workers will be considered essential workers. 

I wonder if we’ll look at classes of people, not as potential murderers and rapists, but more so as potentially essential.

I pray about the things I wonder about. 

I wonder if undocumented workers pray too. 

I wonder what they pray about. 

I wonder if some of them might be the answer to our prayers. 

I wonder if pride is our greatest sickness. 

I wonder if humility is the cure. 

I wonder. 

Know Thyself

One of the writing projects I’ve been putting off for well over a year now has to do with the idea of knowing oneself, and how that affects personal relationships. I’d personalize and rephrase an old saying by stating it this way: “the examined life is worth living and sharing with others”.

The timing now seems to be rather fitting. The idea is...we are beings that long for connection, even intimacy on a deep level... knowing and being known by another person. I believe that is at the base of some of our most compelling desires. For some maybe that desire is stronger than for others. But I believe it resides in all of us to some extent. And really, how can we expect someone to know us when we don’t even know ourselves?

Here we find ourselves in isolation. At least I hope those reading this are practicing social distancing. Many of us, if not alone, are in contact with one...maybe two or three other people. Small circles. Ready or not we’ll be in a position to know and be known by our partner or others we’re with. Things will come up. Triggers will trip. Reactions and responses will occur. Questions will be asked. Like, maybe “where did that come from?”. Sometimes “I don’t know” might not cut it. And if we don’t know, how can we expect someone else to know for us? And do we really want someone else diagnosing our behavior without our input?

I don’t know about you, but if my partner is going to be diagnosing me I’d probably rather have some input than just leave them to their own conclusions... if the relationship is important to me, anyway. 

So that’s why I think knowing oneself is important. And, if it hasn’t happened by now, it’s about time. It’s not selfish to know yourself. It’s not self absorption. It’s self knowledge. And it’s actually a gift you can give your loved ones...your intimate one. Really, it’s a gift of yourself. 

Sure, that can sound like a positive, and really, it all is. But sometimes it may start off down a negative path. For instance, let’s say while you’re on a walk with your partner you come upon something sudden or unexpected physically, conversationally, or emotionally ..and it triggers an undesirable behavior. You know it. Your partner knows it. And you’re looking at each other silently asking the same question, “what was that about?”. If you don’t know, you probably won’t ask the question out loud. But your partner might, if it’s important enough. They’ll want to know. Knowing is at the root of intimacy. A healthy relationship involves growing knowledge of each other. 

If you do know what triggered you, you’ll be able to discuss it and move forward if you’re in a safe place emotionally with your partner to do so. If you don’t know, well, no time like the present to do some soul searching. And if you don’t have a safe environment, well, I feel for you. These must be extremely difficult times. 

I believe the concept of self control is rooted in self knowledge. How can you control yourself if you don’t know yourself? Or maybe we overdo it with with control intercessions. Here’s a silly example. For some reason ice cream is fairly safe around me. I like it. I’ll eat it. But I’m pretty controlled with ice cream. Other desserts, not so much. I can wipe out banana bread without warning. But for some reason a carton of ice cream can last. I don’t need to implement a “no desserts” policy. But banana bread might warrant its own set of rules. I know that about myself. So, if there’s banana bread around, I’ll tell my loved ones to take what they want before I devour the rest. Well...that’s if I’m self controlled. If I’m not self controlled they may not even realize banana bread was ever in the house. 

But my point is...self knowledge helps in getting along with others. It also helps when it comes to apologizing..which again, helps in getting along with others. I believe apologies in a long term relationship include some kind of action plan or resolution. Not just an “oops...I did it again...” 

So...let’s say I made some banana bread disappear without alerting others. And I get called on it...again. And I’m asked...”what is with you and banana bread???”.

Well...it could go a number of ways, depending on how important it is to others. And how important others are to me. I could just say that all banana bread in the house is mine, but that’s not likely acceptable. Now if you think this is silly, I can tell on myself some more. I once bought a Costco snack I knew others would want...but I’d also want mostly for myself. So I bought two... One was a “decoy” that I shared openly..the other was my hidden stash. Silly. Conniving. Deceitful. Maybe not so silly. Depends on the issue. 

You know, honesty and open communication about this kind of stuff is not easy, and depending on the issue..can result in really hurtful exchanges. That’s why we need to know ourselves, so we can control ourselves for the benefit of getting along with others. Maybe the solution is to have your own bag of snacks..that nobody else touches. Or maybe it’s open communication about fairness, allowing for others’ preferences to matter equally. And working on it together, even after failures. 

Here’s another thing I’ve learned about myself. If I’ve been triggered by something, I need a cool down period. If I have 20 minutes to cool down on my own, that can potentially save damage done in the heat of the moment. And people close to me not only know that, they honor or respect it. And that is for the benefit of all. And I honor and respect other people’s space in that context as well. You have to if it’s meaningful to you to get along long term. 

Another practicality to knowing yourself is to prevent yourself from being taken advantage of, or even enabled...basically allowing yourself to be controlled by someone else in an unhealthy manner. If you know yourself well enough to know where your weaknesses are, then you are more likely to self coach yourself through manipulative situations. It’s not someone else’s job to control you. Know yourself, and take control of yourself. 

I heard a guest on a talk show recently encourage social distancing, but not emotional distancing. That made me pause. Yes, we’re in close quarters with a very small number of people, but I think we all have learned to be distant at times, even with others nearby...sometimes as a way to protect ourselves. But maybe it’s time to take a risk. Maybe it’s time to be more vulnerable. More trusting. And to make it a safe place for others to be that way as well. And if we’re dealing with isolation alone, learn to get along with yourself. Cut yourself some slack. But also allow yourself to doubt. To question. To explore. To change. To grow. Maybe even to play. Who knows, we may all come out of this better individually and better as a whole. Let’s hope so. 

A Personal Plea for Intentional Kindness

Things you might be better off not hearing:

1. “You should be fine.”
2. “He’s going to really screw him up.”

I have a soft spot in my heart for educators and people in general really, who are involved in the betterment of mental health for young people (counselors, teachers, coaches, youth group leaders, parents...). We’ve come a long way. We have a long way to go. But we have come a long way.

I heard that first line above (you should be fine) upon returning to school after my father’s funeral. The principal stopped me in the hall...to check up on me, I suppose. I can’t conclude that he knew what he was doing, or what I was going through. He concluded by saying “you didn’t really know your dad, so you should be fine”...and with that... walked away. 

I was 11.

I didn’t have the wherewithal to be able to process what was going on in my life. And I certainly did not know how to process those words. The school, as good as it was in so many ways, didn’t have the resources for situations like I had gone through. Even so...that guy failed miserably. He did not belong in education, in my opinion,  and fortunately was replaced before the next school year. 

But there’s a darker side to my story. One that won’t be fully disclosed here, because it can be depressing if dwelt upon. But my primary emotion after my dad’s passing was not grief. It was relief. Yes, he had been mostly absent from my life, but not completely absent. After he passed away there were certain things I would never have to experience again. So, while losing a father is difficult, my situation had its own set of complexities. And I was ill equipped to handle them. 

So, while I won’t go into detail, I will acknowledge the 2nd statement (he’s going to really screw him up) was said by an onlooker after my father did something to me in public as opposed to other private occurrences. It was witnessed by onlookers this time (no..it wasn’t a spanking).  And that’s when I overheard an older gentleman utter those words. After the incident I was sitting... sulking...confused by what I had experienced, only slightly aware of others’ reaction to it. Again..I had no idea how to process the events or the words...and others who could have helped were not readily available to me at the time. That just wasn’t the focus in those days. 

Maybe I can take solace that today I’m somewhere between fine and really screwed up. (Disclaimer...if you know me, you know me saying something like this IS fine...AND perhaps at least partially screwed up. Alright, I have a weird sense of humor, which often helps. What I’m saying is...this is not a call for help. Not a “pity me” statement. I hope it doesn’t come across that way.  I’m not admitting some crisis in progress. This part is just an acknowledgement, a little bit tongue in cheek, that I made it out ok.) But life can be hard at times. And sometimes recovery is a longer journey than we wish...and longer than others might wish for us...and perhaps longer than other’s patience may allow us. 

But most of all, this is a call to be kind, and intentional in our kindness. Kindness goes further than we can imagine. Intentional kindness, even further. 

So yes...we hear talks... we see posts...encouraging us to be kind, because no one knows what others have gone through. This resonates with me because it is part of my story.  I don’t want it to be. I’ve daydreamed of having a different story. And I’m still not comfortable with some of my history. But I can tell you from experience what ill-advised words and actions can do to a young heart. There’s not a quick easy fix. And some of us get a late start before we face those beasts head on. We’re all a work in progress. 

So I respect and support the efforts of those involved in promoting positive mental health, on any level. I’m proud to know, and be friends with so many who are involved in the betterment of others’ mental health...of any age group. If that’s you... thank you. I sincerely mean it.

We’ve all seen the statements: “Kindness is free” or “It doesn’t cost a thing to be kind”. How true. I’m just hoping kindness becomes a little more readily available...in bodily form. We need more of that. 

Thank you for reading. 

The False Narrative Very Few of Us Actually Believe

I saw this clip a couple of years ago where fans had the opportunity to vent their frustrations towards a giant poster of a player they felt betrayed them by signing with another team. The people in the clip said some pretty harsh things about the player...to the poster. But what they didn’t know was he was behind the poster listening to everything ...then came out from behind to greet them.

And greet them he did. And boy were they surprised. And their tone changed immediately.  We could dwell on the hypocrisy ...but what’s the fun of that? Seriously. That doesn’t get us anywhere. What I see is that there’s this false sense of security (bravado) we as humans shield ourselves with when we think we’re protected by either anonymity or distance. Thing is...I don’t believe we truly believe much of what we say when we’re spewing or venting. And most of us, when confronted with the opportunity, find a way to be respectful...because that’s what good humans do. 

So, here’s what I think is more true than the false narrative:

1. We really don’t believe some of the disrespectful things we say about others. 
2. Spewing doesn’t really make us feel better or make the situation better. 
3. We’re nicer than we might let on. 
4. Others spewing disrespectful thoughts about us or our beliefs...might not actually fully believe it...and might actually be nicer to us in person, given the chance. 

Maybe...just maybe..there’s a false narrative that has picked up an energy all it’s own. But it’s more false than true. And... maybe I’m not as bad as someone makes me out to be. And deep down ...maybe they’re not as bad as they seem when they spew. Just maybe.

Jimmy Fallon Robinson Cano vid

For the Love of Fiber

Does anyone remember Ted Popson? If you do, you’re probably a fan of either the San Fransisco 49ers or the Kansas City Chiefs, or you’re a medical provider on some level, or you buy or sell real estate in California. Ted took the advice of his doctors and retired from football because of head injuries he sustained over his years as a tight end. He was known for taking some pretty ferocious hits after catching the ball. I remember one hit in particular where he appeared to have been knocked unconscious. It was pretty horrifying to watch. The cameras focused on his still body on the turf...still clutching the football...hand on one point of the ball, the other end of the ball tucked between his bicep, elbow, and torso. Pretty much textbook form, especially for someone knocked unconscious. Carl Peterson, then GM of the Chiefs, said of the play “That was about the most vicious hit I’ve ever seen in the NFL, but he held onto the ball.″

That’s the kind of player Ted Popson was, and he gave up the game he loved based on his doctors’ advice to do so. I saw an interview he gave years later with retired QB Steve Bono, and I enjoyed hearing about Ted’s life after football, selling real estate in CA.

As inspirational as Ted Popson’s story is, it is not my story. Not even close. I’m about the furthest thing from a pro football player, including kickers. I just wasn’t cut out to be a physical specimen on that level. And I’ve known this for some time. Sure, I had dreams and aspirations as a boy to be some kind of sports hero, but those dissipated early on and were replaced by other thoughts like “I should probably exercise more” or “how does anyone drink 8 glasses of water a day” or “how am I going to get more fiber in my diet”.

Ah...the aging process...sneaks up on you from behind and tackles you violently to the ground. Sure, there are some things that can be done to adjust and try to lessen the blow. So, at the age of 50, I decided it was time to act a little more maturely and make some healthier choices. The water consumption thing still has me perplexed, but I tried. I’ve started and stopped many exercise regimens. But I hadn’t given much thought to the fiber concept. I mean, you hear it all over the place...increase your fiber...fiber this fiber that. So I had to give it a try.

Well, you start looking at foods high in fiber, and honestly, some are plain distasteful. Certainly not fun foods. So, I looked for an easier way out...fiber supplements. And it’s not like I wasn’t being careful in my approach to being lazy when it came to getting my fiber. I was doing at least a little homework. I found natural fiber supplements in capsule form at a health food store. And because I knew what fiber can do to your system, I started off with half the recommended dosage ...because I’m cautious and careful.

Well, I’m also stupid, but we’re getting to that.

Initially the introduction to this new level of fiber was a jolt to my system. But I was fairly dedicated, and thought my body needed time to adjust. I thought when my body did adjust, then I’d work on getting up to the recommended daily amount, according to whoever was printing the labels, I guess. I never figured out who decided those specifics. Like I said...I was stupid. And yes, I’m getting to that...well, right now.

Please don’t make me explain the shock to the system that increased fiber induces. You all know, so I won’t have to spell it out. But man, I was always aware of where the nearest bathroom was, in case I was hit with an episode. My system was really putting up a fight. And I would basically coach myself through each time. Don’t be such a wimp. Take control of yourself. No pain no gain. You got this. Whatever.

Now, if you’re asking yourself how there can be pain associated with increasing fiber to your diet, Just please suspend those thoughts for a few moments longer. I actually got light headed at times, the episodes were so strong. But I kept on cuz...momma didn’t raise no quitter. Or something like that. But come on...it was fiber. Fiber is natural. Fiber is good for you. Fiber is your friend. “Just stick with it” is what I told myself.

Well, I thought I had a workable system in place. Kind of. I mean, if you consider suddenly cutting off conversations and being gone unexpectedly for periods of time was a system. Then yeah...my system was working. Kind of.

But then there was that one day...the day I skipped breakfast. Well, not entirely skipped. I had coffee. And of course I washed down my fiber supplement capsules with that coffee. I guess I had gotten cocky. But life has a way of throwing you down when you get too cocky.

Later that morning I went to the grocery store. I knew I had to plan on a quick trip, in case an episode came on suddenly. And let me just say this as delicately as I can...I prefer the comfort of my own home in those situations. Nuff said? So yes, I had gotten pretty good at managing these situations, and getting home on time. But today was different. Today was coffee induced fiber supplement blowout day.

You remember the faux commercials Saturday Night Live would do? I remember one on a high fiber cereal they called Colon Blow. Well, they could’ve used my picture on the box.

Yeah. This was my blowout day. At the grocery store. It started out well and good. But then the all out attack set in. Comedian Brian Regan explained his similar experience as “everything on my inside wanted to be on my outside”. Yes. That’s what happened to me. I immediately headed to the checkout line hoping I could quickly exit and make it home. I did not. I did make it through the checkout line, but as I pushed my cart through the automated doors the ground started spinning. After what seemed like one rotation the pavement appeared to be getting closer and closer and bam. Darkness.

There I was. In the grocery store parking lot. Down for the count. Taken down by...fiber...and my system’s inability to handle my fiber intake, I guess. Anyway...I was out. I was awakened by a very concerned young lady saying something. Kind of frantic, if you ask me. I didn’t understand what she was saying at first, but I do remember thinking...hey...aren’t you the gal that was bagging my groceries that one time?

Well, it only took a couple seconds for me to understand her frantic words “Sir, Sir!!! Don’t leave us Sir!! Oh SIR!! Thank god you didn’t leave us!!! I thought we lost you Sir!!”

Sheesh. Talk about drama.

I think I preferred not understanding what she was saying. But I was waking up to the fact that I had just passed out in the parking lot..and there was now a crowd of people gathered around. And that I was probably not going to make it home anytime soon.

Ok, what follows is a series of events that are probably just wrong, but it all turned out ok. Ok? This is not a script of what to do in this situation. But it is what happened. And really, it turned out fine.

With some help, I sat up, and was ushered back into the store. Well, not entirely in the store, but to the little park bench next to the shopping carts, just inside the first set of automated doors. I was informed that a response team was called and on its way. I was asked if there was anything I needed.

At this point you just make your needs known. I stated simply and emphatically...I really really need to find a restroom. Could someone please take me to the restroom?

I must have been very convincing. The assistant manager thought quickly on this one. And I wasn’t about to argue. Beggars can’t be choosy. I knew I couldn’t walk on my own without the risk of passing out again. So when he showed up with an office chair, I crawled on, and away we went.

The restroom was in the back of the store. So of course we had to first pass all the checkout lines.... the incredibly quiet checkout lines. I sensed no movement by anyone within my line of sight. But I wasn’t really looking. I determined to make no eye contact with anyone at this point.

We took a quick left towards the produce aisle. Good call, I thought. Wide space. Plenty of room for the assistant manager to push me down the produce aisle...in an office chair.

Nice picture, isn’t it? Here I was, trying to do one of the most basic things to improve my health, and instead I pass out and am being wheeled down the produce aisle in an office chair. Not how I envisioned things. Funny how life works. Funny how it doesn’t.

I was still adhering to my self imposed no eye contact rule. I remember the rush of the air, as we sped along. It actually felt good for a moment. I had broke into a sweat, and this brisk ride proved to be a little calm before the storm.

Well, we made it to the restroom. I’m really not one for bathroom humor, so I’ll try to spare you the details, or at least be as delicate as I can. But I’m not sure how to explain the purge that followed. For some reason several “E” words come to mind.

Emphatic
Exclamatory
Expulsion
Excruciating
Excommunication
Exorcism

I don’t know..words can’t really describe it ...everything nasty, but also necessary. It was like a 24 hour flu compressed into 24 minutes.

Well, the assistant manager checked on me a couple of times, and I assured him I was ok...”be out in a minute”...maybe more than a couple of times.

You know the assistant manager really stepped up and shined that day. He told me the medical response team was waiting for me and directed me to them when I was ready. Finally I was ready. The responders checked me out, but I let them know I wasn’t going anywhere with them. So, I was dismissed. Free to go. So I left.

I headed back towards the front of the store, walking on my own this time. Yes it was crowded. It was Saturday morning. But it was strangely quiet. I started wondering how I would get my cart, or even how I would explain that I was the guy that already paid..and ask...”where’s my cart”...as discretely as possible. Turned out, I didn’t need to ask anything. Just follow the stares. As I approached the checkout area everything got deathly quiet. No register beeps, no rustling of items being bagged. No kids crying or asking for candy. Just quiet. And stares. So much for slipping out unnoticed. All eyes on me. Then all eyes shifted to my cart. In unison. Then all eyes back on me again. It was an unplanned signal, but they all gave it. And it was clear to me exactly where my cart was. Didn’t have to ask. Just follow the stares.

I’m only guessing they were all thinking the same thing too. Something like “oh good, he’s ok...” quickly changing to “oh god...please don’t tell me he’s going to drive himself home.” But yes. Yes I was. That’s exactly what I set out to do.

But there was a slight problem. I couldn’t for the life of me remember where I parked. Yes, I had my usual parking space at that store. I was a regular. I had a system. But this was Saturday, and I had to take whatever space was available. And I couldn’t remember where that space was. A lot had happened since I first entered that day. It’s like I even had a nap. So, I didn’t think it was that unusual that I couldn’t find my car. But I’m sure it looked really bod to some onlookers.

Eventually I found my car, after testing many areas with my key fob extended in front of me, hoping to connect with that familiar “you found me” sound my car has often given me in the past. Wandering. Pointing aimlessly. Wandering some more. But eventually finding the lost treasure.

And I drove home, safely. And I unloaded my groceries, including the crushed cereal boxes and broken eggs. But I was home.

The following weeks included multiple trips to the doctor, tests and a colonoscopy. Yes, I was due one anyway. But everything turned out really good. The only bad thing about good results was, we didn’t decisively know what happened. The doc told me he thought that the activity in my digestive system was so intense that my blood pressure dropped dangerously low to the point of passing out.

Yes, I told him about the fiber supplement capsules, and how I was taking them to increase fiber in my diet...probably looking for affirmation points. I’ll never forget what he said. Simple yet profound. He said “stop doing that”.

In the history of medical advice, or really any area of advice, I can’t think of better advice to counter destructive behavior. Stop doing that. The thing that’s not working. Stop doing that. The thing that causes harm for you or your loved ones. Stop doing that. Simple. And what do you know...it worked. I stopped the fiber supplement capsules, and not only did I not pass out again, I stopped having any of those nasty digestive episodes. I know. I’m lucky. I have friends not so lucky. And I feel for you. I really do. And if any of you are squeamish about getting a colonoscopy...please don’t be. Just do it, more simple yet profound advice. I know...you’re concerned about the prep work the night before. Well, I did mine after my episode at the grocery store, and all I can say is, the colonoscopy prep work is kindergarten by comparison. Do yourself a favor and get it done. You’ll survive. I did. Please don’t put it off.

One more thing. Remember Ted Popson? Well, here’s the connection to that inspirational story. Ready??

I too did not fumble the football.

There’s no way I’d be telling this story if I fumbled the football in that parking lot. No way. My ego just wouldn’t allow it. But my ego is ever in search of finding something to be at least slightly proud of, or finding some kind of a silver lining. And that is it. I didn’t give up the football until I was safely in the end zone. Then it was another “E” word: exuberance. Index fingers pointed skyward, head tilted back, mouthing the words silently “thank you”...”thank you!!”

And thank you, Ted Popson. You are a true inspiration not only in how to compete, but also in knowing when to quit. And knowing how to adjust moving forward.