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navel-gazing < stargazing

Wait, what? (pulls out phone)

When reading the New York Times, this is common practice for me.

It happened tonight when reading an opinion piece. The term navel-gazing stopped me in my tracks. I’m ashamed to say, despite hours of flashcards prepping for the SAT’s, english classes and a robust humanities curriculum in college, I have never seen that word before. Maybe Netflix and Instagram have rotted my brain, but I am pretty sure I was today years old when I learned the meaning of navel-gazing.

Context clues revealed it to have a negative connotation and when googled, navel-gazinguseless or excessive self-contemplation

This new information challenged me.

Is my reflection and writing a form of navel-gazing, or does it have real meaning and value? This led me down a rabbit hole of self-investigation.

My preference for gazing is that of the stars.

Stargazing humbles me.

It inspires wonder and leaves me in awe.

As a child, I thought heaven was somewhere in the Milky Way, so when I looked up, I was a witness to the divine.

As an adult, I’ve realized I can witness heaven in the eyes of a loved one, the random act of kindness, or even the thoughtful critique.

In a digital world that tempts us to look into our devices, the last thing we need is navel-gazing.

Sometimes ideas hold us down; they become heavy anchors that hold the bark of identity fixated in shallow, dead water.

John O’Donohue

Excessive self-contemplation can be harmful because it can cement damaging ideas, and more importantly, it distracts us from focusing on what’s really important. It reminds me of when the angel appeared to Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of James in Matthew 28.

…suddenly there was a great earthquake; for an angel of the Lord, descending from heaven, came and rolled back the stone and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning, and his clothing white as snow. For fear of him the guards shook and became like dead men. But the angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid; I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. He is not here; for he has been raised, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay. 

There they were, two faithful disciples faithfully searching, and an angel invites them to raise their eyes to their savior, reminding them there is more to life than what we can see and more life in what we do see.

Sometimes the answers aren’t on the inside, they’re lost and found in the night, and if we have hope, even in broad daylight.

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nursery rhymes and reasons

We learned to play together.

We learned to get along with others.

We learned to paint.

We learned to put our things away.

We learned to work with clay.

We learned to sit and pay attention.

We learned to do things for ourselves.

How quickly I forgot.

My mother was an educator for most of her career and is the reason I still have the diploma pictured above. Molding young minds – mostly through play – she would patiently correct, teach and support the youth, like working with clay.

Caring, sharing, being kind, being helpful – these were the traits of a contributing member of the class. Cleaning up was praised, and focus was rewarded with experiences of wonder and laughter.

In the words of Anthony de Mello, we’ve all been programmed. Our experiences and interactions have shaped us, for better or worse. Over time, we have become deeply entrenched in our beliefs about the world, and often surround ourselves with people who affirm us. We think we have things figured out, and only are occasionally surprised by new ideas or happenings.

Something I’ve noticed recently is our tendency to ask about the future over the present.

The single being asked about meeting someone.

The dating asked about getting engaged.

The engaged asked about getting married.

The married about getting a house.

The homeowners about having kids.

You get where this is going, because it’s natural. I find myself doing it too. It wasn’t until recently when I was in a conversation with a friend, talking about education, when I realized the error in my programming.

I had developed a tendency to measure my worth by accomplishments or how I was progressing professionally and socially when compared with others. In the song Loosie, Thebe Kgositsile reflects,

Found a reason to live, doubt can be in abyss
Keep fallacies off your lips

Sometimes we forget the power of the words we say to others and ourselves.

When we convince ourselves we’re not doing enough, it can draw us down further.

Many commencement speeches mention the importance of taking risks and learning from failure. This is a positive trend, we’re moving away from the prosperity gospel optimism and embracing a world that requires grit. However, something that needs to be clarified is how we define failure.

To me, here are a few things that should not be defined as failure.

Being single.

Getting divorced.

Not owning a home.

Being an addict.

Not having kids.

Not having a lot of money.

You get where this is going, because it’s natural. I find myself doing it too. It wasn’t until recently when I was in a conversation with a friend, talking about education, when I realized my error in programming.

Real success is what is listed on the pre-school diploma that hangs in the hallway of my apartment.

It’s a reminder of how my response to a life that seems to be so complex, should be very simple.

Play, help and care for others, express myself, be conscious of my impact, learn how to be malleable yet strong, stop and listen, not have to rely on someone else to fix my problems.

In many ways, everything I need to know, I’ve already learned.

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the case against cynicism

Timely breezes on evening walks, caps of graduates taking flight, a favorite pair of sunglasses making their debut – reasons to smile abound.

I live in a world full of narcissists.

Much of my adult life was dominated by this belief. In recent years, I’ve made amendments.

I live in a world full of narcissists, and I am one of them.

Now, through a lot of prayerful consideration, reading and listening, I’ve changed my tune.

Recently while scrolling through LinkedIn, I saw what seemed like the hundredth post of a graduate sharing how excited they were about finishing their respective degree. These posts are often filled with gratitude and responded to with words of support and admiration. I wasn’t the most positive about them until I saw one from a student who shared they are the first person of color to earn a specific honor he received upon completion of his PhD. I was profoundly moved by his honest reflection and unbridled joy.

What if, all this time, I’ve simply been a cynic?

Social media is now part of how we communicate. We post, we share, we support and at times, we hate.

Cynicism is a disease. It diminishes, erodes and dismisses. It’s not honorable, nor should it be accepted as the way of the intellectual.

Now, narcissism is alive and well but the way to combat it isn’t cynicism, it’s authenticity.

Next time I see someone post about celebrating a degree I’m going to reach out to them and ask them to lunch so I can hear all about their journey, not critique it from the sidelines.

I live in a world, full of people just trying to make something out of this life, and I am one of them.

Reasons to smile abound.

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Finding no escape.

Geometric proofs taught me about failure.

Up until encountering them, I had certainly failed before.

Failed to dunk.

Failed to learn a legitimate skateboard trick.

You know, things like that.

However, the freshness of this type of failure was that success was more of a mirage and less of a clear impossibility.

When riding skateboards it was obvious that in order to get better, I needed to ride more hours and take more risks. I simply didn’t do these things, so it wasn’t a surprise when I wiped out.

When writing proofs in Geometry class, no matter how much I studied and how much extra help I attended, the correct answers evaded me like sand between my fingers.

A few months ago I felt this feeling all over again when in an Escape Room in D.C.

Having experienced one before, I was confident of my critical thinking skills and even found myself sizing up the other people in the room before we began. I had visions of being the Rosetta Stone, the one calling out clear directions, the one untying the Gordian Knot.

Instead, I found myself right back in sophomore year – frustrated, dejected, defeated.

Just to be clear, I’ve failed countless times, but these two seemed to fit together perfectly.

For most of my life I’ve looked at solutions as the aha moment, when statements and reasons are clear and acceptable, when the door finally opens.

I love, but have always struggled with Matthew 7:7-8,

Ask, and it will be given you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you. For everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened.

Sure, problems can be solved, doors can be opened, it might just take a while I guess. Whether it’s in this life is not for me to know, and I’m okay with that.

I’m comfortable knowing there are those out there with superior intellects, more money, or exotic opportunities. Comfortable because it’s true, the only false belief is me thinking I have a handle on things.

The reality is, there’s no way out.

Now, instead of searching for proof or a way out, I’m getting more and more comfortable with being right here.

Our society is obsessed with the next best_________

thing

person

job

opportunity.

If I’ve put in the effort, there is nothing wrong with problems remaining unsolved.

My life is not something to be figured out.

My life is not something to be escaped.

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Club soda with a lime, please.

Last night, I gratefully ordered a club soda with lime for what seems to be the 10,000th time.

Twenty minutes later I watched as a Guinness was purposely poured.  Cascading over the spoon to create a swirling work of art. It was quickly but carefully brought to a patron waiting patiently at the end of the bar.

Walking around the Milwaukee Art Museum last week, I was in awe of the eclectic collection and refreshing architectural design.

Often times I’m drawn to bright colors and vibrant pieces, but linger at simple ones, depressed in tone. They’re the ones that evoke my raw emotions.

At first, this was not one of them.

In fact, I walked past it and when I circled back I noticed something – it was in disguise.

I saw a chalkboard, hastily washed, with a small box and a line under it – etched like someone who was in a hurry.

When I got closer, I read the description and examined the canvas. It was an oil painting.

What a trip.

Immediately, my opinion was transformed. From nothing special to wow – just because I knew the ingredients.

As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, a saving grace of maintaining my sobriety in social situations has been ordering a club soda with a lime.

You might be thinking – what are you doing in a bar anyway? – and I get that. I do consider myself an alcoholic.

I’m also grateful that I’ve been able to be in social situations, sober for over seven years, and I haven’t felt an unmanageable desire to drink. Many of my friends, or people I know in recovery, do not share this level of comfort. It’s something I consider a luxury and work very hard at maintaining.

You might be thinking – didn’t he begin by saying he was in awe of a Guinness being poured, I don’t know how comfortable he really is? – I get that too.

The desire is there, sure.

I mean, I went to Ireland, was in Dublin and people in the bar even thought I was Conor McGregor, and wanted to buy me a drink.

That’s one of the lighter moments where I had to decline, despite wanting to take them up on their offer. There have been some really tough times too.

I’d much rather not have to manage my time at happy hours, depending on how comfortable I’m feeling.

It would be nice to be part of champagne toasts at weddings.

However, if someone told me I could go back – I wouldn’t.

I wouldn’t because before, my life had many moments of chaos, confusion, uneasiness, regret, and despair. Not to belabor a point but, like I’ve said in previous entries – most people would have never known.

Our culture is pretty accepting of alcohol abuse. But I knew.

Deep in my soul. I wanted more out of life.

Maybe that explains my taste in art. I appreciate and am drawn to color but I’m in awe of the simple, the honest and the raw. I’m in awe of interior struggle and I’m committed to maintaining the level of quiet peace that sobriety has given my soul.

The club soda with a lime isn’t flashy and doesn’t grab attention. It could even be seen as deception, but upon further investigation – it shouldn’t be a surprise.

It’s simple and if I give it a chance, it’s exactly the right ingredients.

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On Drinking

Before I begin I need to acknowledge a few things:

#1. I’m in recovery and have been sober since 2011. If you are reading this and you are not, that is a blessing! Rest assured that the following story is helpful (at least I hope it is) for anyone, really.

#2. I know that being sober doesn’t make me an authority on addiction or make me better than anyone.

#3. I do not claim to understand what it is like for all people who are fighting for freedom from whatever drug or alcohol that controls them. What I do understand is how powerful we are and what it feels like to be powerless.

All my life I’ve been a follower. I give way too much credit to people, build others up to mythical status, and defer to others’ opinions rather than trusting my own. This became really clear when I started drinking. I was the stereotypical spineless teenager that cared more about being accepted than doing what was right.

Despite having a childhood and a family filled with love and direction, the only way for me was wherever my friends were going. Mix in some bad skin, poor hand-eye coordination, a mediocre intellect and the recipe was complete.

To the outsider, I probably seemed like I was relatively happy. Yes, I had bad skin but it wasn’t so bad. Poor hand-eye coordination, sure but I still made the freshman lacrosse team. A mediocre intellect, but I earned B’s and kept it moving.

My issues were never to the point where I’d ask anyone to feel sorry for me. But see, the thing with issues is when they are yours, they are all you can see.

I must have been such an enigma as a kid because I had such low self-worth despite being showered with love and attention.

enigm

When I looked in the mirror I would only see my imperfections, not my cool blonde hair and blue eyes. I only talked about the times I was cut, not the teams I made. When I reviewed my report card I only saw the D’s not the A’s.

I also rarely acknowledged the faults in my friends and constantly deferred to their opinion. When I started drinking it was because my friends were, and I had no idea who I was, so I followed. Now, please don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t a victim.

After a night of drinking in New York City, my father picked me up from the train station and I reeked of booze. Knowing I needed an excuse, I told him that a drunk guy bumped into me and spilled his beer. He didn’t hesitate. “What’d he spill it down your throat?” Point taken. Like I said, I wasn’t a victim.

So often I tried to deflect blame for things for which I was clearly in the wrong. I’d come home from school with a bad grade, “Everyone did poorly!” or come home from a night out drinking with friends, “Well maybe if you didn’t get in my business so much I wouldn’t feel the need to go out with my friends!” Granted, sometimes excuses are valid, but most of the time I was just trying to avoid blame and responsibility.

It’s an extremely detrimental way to go through life and I fell into the habit of making excuses for my behavior. Why did I drink? “Well, do you see my skin? I’m so insecure. It’s the only way I can fit in!” Why did I lie? “Come on Mom, all the guys were there!” It’s really depressing.

As an adult, now when I see students fall into this trap, I can’t help but feel sorry for them. At the time, to them, it really seems like it’s the way to go. Deflect the blame and get through to the next day. The problem with this way of proceeding is that we never really leave those disappointing moments. They stay with us because they are unresolved.

I remember a couple years ago when I was talking to my parents about how I behaved in high school and my mother revealed to me that she knew all the times I was drinking. All the times I lied, she knew. All the times I used my insecurity or depression as an excuse for my behavior, she saw right through me.

The fact that she redirected me, without complete embarrassment, is magic. I was so lost and vulnerable and my parents did just the right amount of correcting. I had plenty of room to find out who I was, but not enough room to feel like I was alone or unchecked. This middle road served me well, especially when encountering the tough issues associated with addition, the toughest for me – telling the truth.

A colleague of mine once said, “See the thing about drinking when you’re young, is that you have to be a liar.” Even as adults, any time we have an agreement with someone – avoiding smoking, gambling, or talking to an ex, whatever it is, if we aren’t going to fulfill our half of the agreement, then we need to become comfortable with being liars.

As an underage drinker, in order to continue, I had to keep up the lying. I wasn’t of age, I didn’t pay the mortgage and I was dependent on staying in good graces with my parents. Unfortunately, the real person I was lying to was myself. I always had fun when I went out, but if I did something wrong, I would feel an extreme sense of guilt that was more vivid than any crazy night.

So many people would tell my parents that I was a “good kid” and talk about how proud they should be, except my behavior was not reflecting what they thought about me. I was being sneaky, doing whatever was popular, and ignoring a lot of the great advice I’d been given.

unfinished

Throughout my life, I have always viewed myself as a moral and just person, but it wasn’t until my mid-twenties that I learned in order to be seen as moral and just all of the time, acting that way most of the time doesn’t cut it.

It pains me to this day that there are people out there who only knew me as a drinking buddy or in that context that think I’m a jerk or worse.

We don’t get free passes because we’re stressed, drunk, high or angry at someone else.

We don’t, because the people on the other end of those interactions have a hard time unseeing or forgetting our actions.

Now, yes we all need to practice forgiveness, but no matter what the circumstances or conversation afterward, words can’t be unsaid, feelings can’t be unhurt.

I’ve been working with middle and high school students since 2007. For the first part of my career I was drinking and it interfered with my job. Not in the way that I was drinking before work or was drunk while teaching, but because having it as a part of my life held me back from being the best role model I could be for the students.

Over time I have found the easiest way to connect with someone is by being authentic, no one likes a hypocrite. So when I was teaching Theology classes speaking about how we need to live the Good News and treat one another with respect, I can imagine some students saw through me. I had issues that needed attention before I could practice what I was preaching.

A turning point in my relationship with drinking was when I realized I was sacrificing what I really cared about for something that gave me nothing but fleeting satisfaction. I had attempted to cut back a few times to no avail.

My Sunday mornings were filled with apologies and anxiety.

I’ll never forget finally dropping down to my knees in my bedroom, distraught and defeated.

That evening, I walked into an AA meeting and with the help of God, my friends and loved ones, I’m free.

Now I have no excuse for the things I say or actions I take, there’s nowhere to hide and no place to run. This is a raw and intimidating way to go through life but it’s also fulfilling.

I no longer need to give alcohol any credit for my courage or creativity.

I can no longer blame something else for how I am.

I now own everything I do.

If you are reading this, are of age, and can casually drink without it getting in the way, please don’t think I’m speaking down to you. It’s not something I’ve been able to do. However, I think regardless of where we are on the spectrum of use, we all need a thorough evaluation of any substance, emotion or person that has power over us.

Things, thoughts, and people should add value, not cause destruction.

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On Love

Movies and television make relationships out to be full of extremes. Amazing or broken. Beautiful passion or deceitful destruction. I think this is why we are all so fascinated with marriage. Two people making the decision that even with the possibility of potential tragedy they see on display in movies, television or even some of their friends’ lives, the possible amazing is worth the risk. For a long time I thought this assessment was pretty spot on, but boy was I wrong. Love doesn’t live in extremes, it might visit, but it spends most of its time in the middle of the give and take that’s necessary to sustain something truly beautiful. These are the marks of true love – mutual respect, selfless support, boundless belief. I know what you’re thinking. What do I know, right? Not much, but have I paid attention. Believe it or not, I had a third row seat.

mom and I
Always my biggest fan.

Years ago I was at a wedding where the bride and groom wrote their own vows. Not only were they heartfelt and personal but they both mentioned the importance of building each other up, never tearing the other person down, and they meant it. She spoke about how much she admired him and with a purposeful smile on his face, he looked right into her eyes and said he would always be there for her. In that moment, I remember thinking, “THEY are in love.” They spoke with calm, but excited, conviction.

The focus on mutual respect and support is something I witness with my own mother and father. No matter what is going on, something that isn’t tolerated is breaking down the other person. There are stressful arguments at times, but it never devolves to personal attacks. Before it gets to that point it is almost as if they look at each other and know. Arguing is one thing, but desecration is another. Devolution to disrespect is off the table. They teach me that we don’t need to worship the person we are with, but we need to cherish them, at all times.

bob n i
Always putting people before him.

My father works with contractors and knows a lot about the intricacies of how things are built. Once he told me about a building in NYC – 432 Park Ave – that is extremely tall (425.5m) but has a base the size of a postage stamp (comparably to what it could be). The building has a 19:1 ratio of height to width and because of this, there needs to be built in floors that are open in order to let air flow. If architects didn’t include those, then the building would not be able to stay standing if there were strong winds. They also have a humongous suspended weight at the top of the building that in order to maintain balance, moves as the building sways. In order to create something so awe-inspiring, a great deal of effort needed to go into creating an intricate design that would stay standing in a storm, just like my parents’ marriage.

432 Park
432 Park Ave.

In the grand scheme of this world, they occupy a postage stamp. Neither has interest in notoriety, nor do they feel the need to take more than they need. In raising my sister and me, they give their time, effort, emotion, resources and most importantly, they share their foundation. Their values influence the way they live their lives each day. When my mother was a teacher she emphasized the importance of empathy and respect. Whether the students were four or fourteen, she made sure they knew how important they were to her and that if they focused on the golden rule, their life journey would be filled with meaning.  She brings that same attitude home and always makes sure my father feels loved. He does the same. Thoughtful gestures, kind words and relentless support are hallmarks of his love. Together they spend time on making sure there are those built in spaces that allow the both of them to be their own person. They sway and at times it takes the great weight (their faith) to keep them balanced, but because they have dedicated their lives to building one another up, it’s going to take a lot more than some wind to bring them down. This allows them to stand tall, together.

Out of the way

The paradox that has dominated my recent thoughts:

To occupy more space, get out of the way.

The dirty table had yet to be cleared, which was to be expected on a busy afternoon in Boston. This didn’t stop a group from claiming the territory in their name, jumping others on the list that was being curated by the maître d’ who initially missed the land grab.

Eventually the group was politely asked to move (a request that was not well received) and not only wait for the table to be cleaned, but for it to be their turn. The rightful group had been quietly and calmly biding their time and was eventually rewarded and served with attention and gratitude for their small, but far from insignificant signal of respect – listening, following directions, and getting out of the way.

Now, you might be reading this and like my first reaction, come to the defense of the group that was in the wrong or even say, “what’s the big deal?” Well, to provide further context: It was a restaurant. It was busy. The maître d’ had left her post for no more than one minute to help seat another table and the group did not wait, did not even pause to consider the other people clearly waiting to be seated. Instead, they saw an opportunity, a table, clearly dirty but empty, and pounced.

If you’ve ever worked in the service industry, there is little worse than someone who makes it a point to occupy space.

When I use the word space in this context, my intention is for it to represent a concept, one with a positive and negative interpretation. In this type of space, I’m not just speaking of physical space but also attention, time, and effort that takes away from oneself or others.

Examples being: asking for tables to be pushed together when they clearly should not be, speaking very loudly in a big group and being overly disruptive of other groups, making demands of the kitchen that aren’t reasonable and the list goes on, very simply – unnecessary special treatment and accommodations.

This next part is where this turns from a rant to a reflection.

The other night I attended Reflecting on Experiences of Racism in the Catholic Church – A Listening Session. It was an evening filled with prayer and reflection, which included unforgettable storytelling, particularly from Deacon Seigfried Presberry who has dedicated his life towards serving others through prison ministry and countless hours in his home parish. He shared about how he has experienced rejection for being a black catholic deacon. His story was one of perseverance and relentless compassion. Ultimately he was able to minister to a man who, in their first interaction, met him with words of hate. Despite this initial rejection, they went on to build a relationship and Deacon Presberry even presided at his funeral.

Listening to Deacon Presberry speak about not being welcomed and not feeling worthy, challenged me to reflect on my behaviors, how I’ve taken or not taken steps to be welcoming, to invite others into space – personal or shared. Personal being my experience, shared being a group experience i.e. my faith community, circle of friends.

The Deacon was pushed to the brink, he even thought about quitting his ministry – leaving what he loved, all of the sacred spaces in which he was a part of – the pain was that severe. What brought him back to earth was turning to God, focusing on Him and getting out of the way. Through his constant humble service, he modeled what it meant to be saintly, what it truly meant to be a disciple. Even if he never got the validation from the man who initially hurt him, even if there was no conversion of heart, I know he would have continued his ministry recognizing that the scope of his work was so much greater than he could imagine. The problem with this story is that it does not need to be this way. Racism does not need to be accepted as an inevitable part of our way of proceeding, as just another painful reality that needs to be overcome in order to fully live.

His reflection made me think about all the times I’ve sat down at the proverbial dirty table, not thinking about how I might be occupying space in a way that burdened others, even in small ways. It’s nice to think that I’ll always wait in line, get out of the way, be cognizant of people and my surroundings, but it is not a guarantee.

My privilege tempts me to occupy space, the wrong space. I’m aware of that and am currently concerning myself with making room. More space for God, love, positivity, truth and growth.

Beyond this, doing my part to see, value, and celebrate each person I meet, making it clear that they are welcome.

Maybe my paradox needs an addendum:

To occupy more space (in heaven) get out of the way.

I’m bad with names.

My name – I didn’t choose it, but I hold it close like the Christmas gift I didn’t think I’d receive.

When I die, I’ll be fine with people saying a lot of things about me – everyone is entitled to their opinion. One thing I won’t be fine with is being remembered as a hypocrite.

Why this is so important to me goes all the way back to the Gospel of John 8:7

When they kept on questioning him, he straightened up and said to them, “Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.”

Recently I’ve realized one of my major faults is relying on the excuse, “I’m bad with names.”

I have a coworker who often says my full name when I see them on campus. “Good morning, Brendan O’Kane!”

I can’t tell you how that makes me feel.

Ego? Maybe.

Narcissism? Possible.

Or it could be sometime much deeper – the fact that someone sees me, and put in the effort to call me by my name.

Something I didn’t choose, but I cherish.

In John 8, the crowd wanted to charge a woman “caught in adultery” and they wanted the approval of Jesus.

In rereading this passage I was struck by the lack of name for the woman.

Maybe it is intentional – to highlight the fact that it’s easier to demean someone without using their name, avoiding the name can dehumanize the subject.

Assuming Jesus doesn’t know her name either, he too omits her name. However, in his response, he treats her as if he knew her.

Walking down the street the other day, I saw a former student who graciously pulled me aside to say hello.

I blanked on his name.

We were eating at the same restaurant and after a few minutes of talking, we went our separate ways.

Frustrated with myself, I took to the internet and tried remembering some of his interests to see if I could google an old sports roster from around the years I knew him.

And then it hit me, I remembered.

A few minutes later, he passed by my table and I acknowledged him by name.

He proceeded to sit down next to me.

Fifteen minutes later we parted ways.

Our initial conversation was surface level, but then it seemed as if once called by his name, his true identity was revealed – we started catching up about life, God and the future.

Maybe remembering his name didn’t make a difference, but I’d like to think it did.

Often times I get nervous when meeting people or approaching a larger group that requires remembering names. In the past, I’ve brushed this off and been comforted to know it’s a common flaw. However, now I am seeing this challenge with new eyes, a new level of importance.

So many times I pass people on campus or on the street and do not call them by name. Now I know that just because I might not know their name or am struggling to remember it, like the woman in John 8, does not mean they are nameless. I must do what I can to learn, or to at least make them feel special, feel noticed.

If I don’t, well then I’m a hypocrite.

“Good morning, Brendan O’Kane!”

What a gift to give, a stone not thrown.

Begin With the End User in Mind

Don’t throw liquids in the trash.

It’s taken me a while to fully comprehend the depth of this request.

When working at a YMCA in Winter Park, Colorado, my lifeguarding responsibilities were not limited to saving over ambitious swimmers or helping the youth get comfortable putting their heads underwater for the first time. Part of my “other duties as assigned” included cleaning the bathrooms and taking out the trash.

One night, after a long day of swinging my whistle, and guarding lives, I made a trip to the dumpster with a large trash bag filled that was lined with someone’s discarded Big Gulp. Due to a rip in the bag, my leg ended up caked in ketchup and Dr. Pepper.

I remember being so mad.

Disproportionately mad.

Looking back, it was probably just a kid who got bored of his beverage and rather than leaving it at his table, threw it in the trash like they were taught to do.

In all the jobs I’ve held since the YMCA I’ve taken out trash at some point. Some jobs more than others. One common theme that rings true is you don’t throw liquids in the trash. It’s just rude. I think it happens because we often don’t know the end user.


About seven years ago I took a graduate school class on the educational planning tool, Understanding by Design, affectionately referred to as UbD. At least once a class my professor would remind us to begin with the end in mind. It’s simple and brilliant. Where do you want your students to end up – what skills and outcomes should they be able to have and produce? Start with that, work backwards to make sure all areas are covered. It builds a greater sense of buy-in and ensures these outcomes are at the forefront of all planning.

The other day when I had a cup of coffee that had gone cold, I was about to toss it in the trash, but then I remembered that in a few hours, someone would be tying up that bag and carrying it to the dumpster. That person does not deserve to have the result of my selfishness all over their shoes.

Lesson: If I begin with the end user in mind, the people who will be the beneficiaries of my actions, it provides a great check on even the seemingly insignificant decisions like holding on to that cup of cold coffee and pouring it down a drain before tossing it. Like my experience with taking out the trash, cleaning bathrooms at some of my past jobs is part of the reason I take a few extra minutes to ensure the person after me has a cleaner and more pleasant experience than I did.

In the end, who knows, maybe Jesus Christ is on trash and bathroom duty.