"You Want Joy? Get Out of The Way!" - Dr. Dan Gottlieb

“…signing off, and I am happy.” I flipped the radio off and sat in my driveway, lost in those three little words. Funny how some words seem to swoop in the back door and push right back down in your seat, don’t they?


I am happy.They’re like an unexpected visit from a long-ago friend. So simple, yet so uncommon…so refreshing, yet so puzzling too.

I am happy. And yes, I think this it is the one statement that captivates the imagination in all of us, without exception, leaving a single thought in its wake.

Why is he so happy?I needed to know, of course. It was like a karmic calling card, inviting me to listen to his next show…and the one after that…and the one after that, until I was sure I had found the root of his bliss.

As he empathetically exchanged thoughts and advice with a caller, ironically on the topic of listening, my second favorite word behind joy, he slipped in a little known fact, to me at least, that most would not associate with happiness. “I’m not sure if you’re aware, but I am a quadriplegic.”

Now I not only need to know, but I needed to meet this man in person. I weighed the pros and cons all afternoon. Would he just say "buzz off" and hang up? Would he even take my call? But, then again, for a joy-seeker like myself, his optimism was irresistible. Finally, I took a deep breath in, slow breath out…and did the next best thing: email.

Message Sent: Hello, I’m a writer on a quest to find the root of joy. You seem like a very happy man. Could I possibly interview you? Send.

His reply: Yes, be happy to. My house or office?

As I’ve come to learn, this is the essence of Dan Gottlieb. No complications. No fan fair. No grand expectations….not a chance. With Dan, it’s just one human authentically connecting with another and, subsequently, changing the world.

Dan Gottlieb is an acclaimed psychologist, host of the popular talk show, Voices in The Family on WHYY, columnist for The Philadelphia Inquirer, lecturer, father, grandfather and best-selling author (Letters to Sam) – yet he most intensely identifies with the title he has printed on his business cards: Human. Thirty-three years ago while driving down the Schuylkill Expressway, contemplating his next career move, surrounded by the scent of a new car, and hoping he’d been doing well by his two young children… a tire from a passing 8-wheeler crashed straight through his roof, instigating an accident so tragic it would wipe his mind clear of any presumption, plan, philosophy or day dream - of nearly anything he had formerly known to be true.

When he awoke, he was paralyzed.

“I’ll give it two years, before I call it quits,” he told friends. But, two years came and went - in fact two decades came and went, and along with it a mixed bag of emotional and physical suffering from depression, sibling death and divorce to substance abuse, dwindling health and a grandchild with profound autism.

But, I repeat, Dan is a self-proclaimed happy person.

He graciously explained, “Why am I happy? I made a choice to stop. I stopped wishing it would change. That things would get better, be different, or be the same as before. I chose the life I had, not the one I could have had or wished I had; then I made the life I actually had, the best it could be. I think it’s about clarification. Once the choice is truly clarified, I think we always choose life.”

Could joy truly be bred from surrender?
Yes. It is now a total of 33 years later…and Dan Gotlieb is smiling as wide as the sun. He is open and friendly, with a razor-sharp wit, and his wheelchair has clearly become a mobilizer rather than a crutch. He has the most genuine curiosity about life, humans, what makes them tick - or not tick - inquiring about, of all things…my problems. He was insanely interested as to why I was on this quest for joy. I will admit, I was unnerved at a certain point, willfully refraining from leaping in the air and screaming, “truly I’m not really all that interesting…you are!” However, Dan doesn’t think that way. He has traveled to the raw edge of the human experience and back, and this journey is where his passion lies –not only for himself, but for everyone he meets.

After intensely listening, as I awkwardly fumbled through the details, he explained to me, in the most poetic of ways, how he’d witnessed a vine growing from outside of his house, to the inside, that very morning. For some reason, I reminded him of the vine. He further explained that the vine needed oxygen and how it naturally burrowed through the drywall - through the insulation - through the stucco... to find air.

“Like the vine, you don’t have to pursue anything. It happens naturally if we can stay out of the way. For example, the oxygen needed to heal a wound comes from your blood, not the air. Everything your wound needs is inside you. In fact, I think pursuing things outwardly can be harmful. So…you want joy? Stay out of your own way. Just let yourself move naturally toward the oxygen. You just need air, that’s all.”

{You can find more on Dr. Dan Gottlieb at http://www.drdangottlieb.com/. Check back for part two of my day with Dan in upcoming weeks.}

Peace,
Mo

The Art (and Joy) of Non-Conformity

So I was Googling the word “happy,” the other day (what can I say, it’s an obsession)…and you know what? I came across some people who are pretty jazzed-up about their lives! Not about what they wanted to do, but about what they were actually able to accomplish. It was a random mix and match of artists, business owners, authors…even a few soul searchers on the road to self-improvement. I combed through their blogs, their sites, their articles, their videos - their happy lives were all so “in sync” …surely they had all been given the same coveted keys to castle of joy. But it wasn’t long before I’d found their secret weapon: Chris Guillebeau, author of The Art of Non-Conformity - a highly practical, personal and powerful guide to setting your own rules and living the life you want–oh!...and playing a supporting role along the way in a little production called…world domination.

In brief, Chris is the new face of wisdom…a brilliant, generous and pioneering spirit, ingeniously maximizing the age of technology. Now, don’t get me wrong, without Deepak we may have never learned to be present - and Oprah, hats off dear lady…we certainly needed a platform too. And might I add a nod to Dr. Wayne – as we are absolutely nowhere without peace and positivity. But now, we need something even more…

We need a plan...and Chris Guillebeau has it.
But he’s not keeping secrets…he’s spreading the word and as evidenced by his readers, MSNBC, The New York Times and LA Presse, he is in fact, changing the world. His intelligent optimism and unconventional nature has led him on an epic voyage (literally traveling to 125 countries and counting); sharing, listening, and leading thousands of people on the journey least traveled, yet most desired…

the road to authenticity.

In addition to his new book, he has developed refreshingly practical, yet monumentally resourceful, how-to guides, including Building an Empire, Breaking out of the 9-5 and Art and Money…Yes It’s Possible. How does he know his formula works? He’s walking, traveling, writing, world-dominating, non-conforming, living proof. His work, books and postcards from his remarkably “unconventional” book tour can be found at www.chrisguillebeau.com/3x5. This week I had the great privilege of sharing a few moments of his time:

Q.Chris,have you always known you were a non-conformist and that you would most likely work for yourself?

A."I've always done things my own way, but the details and specifics came through experience. My motivation for self-employment in the beginning was simply, "I don't want to work for someone else." Years later I began to develop an appreciation for the power of entrepreneurship as a force for good, but it took a while to get there."

Q. What was your motivation behind sharing your wealth of entrepreneurship and unconventional know-how?

A."I felt like I had done a broad variety of things in my life, but I had no convergence point. I wanted to pull everything together, to create one platform that tied together a range of different interests -- hopefully in a theme like non-conformity that would provide inspiration and practical help to those who were interested."

Q. You’d mentioned that even some failures catapulted you forward on your journey to mastering the art of non-conformity. Any particular dark moment stand out in your mind, a sort of “blessing in disguise.”

A. "I was rejected by a graduate program in 2004. At the time it was crushing, but if I had gone then, my life would be much different now -- and I don't think I would have taken the time to build my legacy project which has ultimately been much more important and meaningful than graduate school for me."

Q. It seems like you’ve inspired many people, the world over, to stick with their vision and “build their empire” especially in the midst of near collapses. Are there any particularly powerful stories or quotes, from someone you’ve helped, you’d like to share?

A. "The goal of the project is to help people live unconventional, remarkable lives. But I think it's good to point out that we can only help people who want our help, so people tend to gravitate toward my work after something has happened to cause them to be more open to change.
It's hard for me to pick one story because so many people are doing amazing things." (For examples of your choosing, just ask Google or Twitter.)

Q. If there was only one piece of advice you could give to other non-conformists trying to make their own way in the world today….what would it be?

A. "You don't have to live your life the way other people expect you to. And here's an optional, second one: you can do good things for yourself and for others at the same time."

Take aways for the week:
Be yourself. Be a seriously good guy...
and watch the world change.


Cheers,
Mo

The Joy of Being Heard

November 28, 2010

What’s on Your Mind?

In case you're wondering, the answer is yes. Yes, I am still finding joy in the most improbable of circumstances. This time it was closer to home than ever before, in fact it was inside my home.

My husband has been volunteering at a local homeless shelter. Obviously , I admire his effort – making them meals, bringing clothes, doing odd jobs around the building. I do my best to listen to the stories, but they are so heart wrenching, until today I could barely make it through without breaking down in tears, telling him I understood and asking him to please not finish. Then he’d cry too. Most times, I’d fish three or four sweaters out of my closet, pile them in his truck for the next visit…and we’d silently, anxiously, move along with our day.

Well aware of this fact, that I would lock the gates and bolt for cover the moment his words made their way from my head to my heart...this time I was committed to stay. I sat with him at the kitchen table, sipping coffee, eye to eye, and I took an impossibly deep breath. “How’s it going at the shelter, I asked.” Then I sat back and listened to every bitter cold detail. …The 50 year old Irish woman with the beautiful blue eyes, that always apologizes for her odor and has only yet mentioned that she is the youngest of eight, but promising to let him in on her story when she is ready. The 33-year-old "kid," from Portland, with the thin, frail fingers and a backpack stuffed with books, who is perhaps, one of the most well read people on the planet. The man who does not speak much but obviously loves dogs, who was beaten to near death, simply because he does not have a home. The mattresses scattered on the floor, the soullessness of their eyes, the palpable fear, and how he can’t stop thinking about them… how they all seem to members of the same race …“the forgotten.” When he was finished, I cried of course, but I noticed something else. He didn’t. In fact, he looked more peaceful than I’ve seen him in months. Dare I ask…was this simply because he finally got to finish his story?

With a half a smile and pat on my head, he flung back his last sip of coffee and said, "I'm going to bring that old organ downstairs to the shelter. I'll see you later," and off he went. It was then that I realized his volunteering was not just about making them meals, fixing broken doors and bringing them sweaters. Although all vital gestures, the gift he had truly been giving to these people was much simpler, and much more profound. He listened.

I got to thinking, what might happen if we all just stopped, asked our daughters, friends, neighbors and co-workers, simply, “What’s on your mind,”…and then really…just… listened. Radical thought these days huh? But, could this simple act really be the colossal misstep? Could it possibly be that all the anxiety, all the anger, all the terrifying loneliness of a well-populated planet…is a result of the fact that we have not taken five minutes to move the conversation from our heads to our hearts…and really…just…listen?

I suspect the people at the shelter he listens to most likely are still fearful of the night and still go cold for many a days. They may never even have a home again. But each week, for just a few gentle moments, the world stops spinning uncontrollably around them, simply because someone looks them in the eye and says, "what's on your mind?"...and then …
stays to listen.

Dancing in the Dark

January 28, 2009

Dancing in the Dark

Along with the rest of the world, I've been watching the horrifying images from Haiti, night after night, network after network. Yes, it's hard to look away, flip the channel, or even go do a load of laundry. It’s hard for most of us to fathom that these folks, these babies, don't even have shoes - let alone a home, a blanket, a warm meal, or a promise of tomorrow.
But I am starting to notice a solid trend in the news reports of this catastrophic event. Almost every single member of the broadcast media, without exception, has mentioned the astonishing resilience of the Haitian people. One stating, near tears, that he climbed off the plane expecting to be hounded for a helping hand, bowled over by sorrow...and yet, was surprised to see that they were in fact, helping themselves. Another mentioning that after a four year old boy was rescued from his demolished home, where he’d been stuck under the wreckage for an entire week – he was asked how he felt. His reply, “I feel good.” Holy___ I don’t even remember the last time I said that!
I was intrigued.
The next segment showed a group of Haitians, post quake, young and old, dancing amongst the rubble, amidst the death, above their shattered world. They were bleeding, bruised, battered and broiling in the sun. They were tired, limping and hungry. And yes, they were dancing. In fact they were singing. They were laughing. They were clapping. They weren't anywhere near tears. And without their dust laden limbs or the stark images of destruction blazing in their background; without the tickertape below their feet, stating the latest insurmountable death toll, one might even have thought they were celebrating. Were they celebrating death?
No, they were celebrating Life.
Of course the Haitian people need our help. Of course they need food, supplies, medical experts and a structured plan to get back on their feet. But ….could it be, possibly, that we may just have needed something from them too? As we continue to offer our prayers and support; as we continue to look through the lenses – which presumably will be following this tragedy for quite some time - I urge you to try and see something more. Look beyond their pain – deeper than their despair – far beneath all of the destruction. Look for what I see. Look for what they see.
Look for their light.

I think it may be quite possible, to the Haitian people, this earthquake is less about the loss of life, and more about the love of life. They are saddened by their loss, but they are strengthened by it too. They are not giving up. They are not giving in. They are simply giving us, quite possibly, the most important message we may ever hear.

They are alive, and they feel good.

With Gratitude and Love,
Mo

Great Joy in Little Stuff Too...

Ahh. Snow. It always brings back memories of our Olympic caliber sleigh riding down a tree packed hill, whose path terminated in the middle of Skyler Ave, in the middle of Kearny New Jersey. Phew, no traffic, we'd say as we pressed on, noses running to our chins. We were granted a snow day from school, and we weren't going to waste a single second of it! We'd readjust our ice-caked mittens, now frozen on the inside, and my brother would trek our wooden sleigh back through the trees, up the hill - egging me on to pick up the pace - as I slipped and wobbled behind. I'd yell for him to wait, which of course he did not. But he did look back at me, every so often, and I could see the cloud of fog, circulating in front of his lips, as it was in front of mine; our bodies exhausted from our "march of the frozen feet" up the locally deemed suicide hill -but there was no doubt. We were hopeful, fearful, and breathless... with joy.

Until this morning, I hadn't realized that for the last two decades I'd found only a nostalgic-type pleasure in snow - observing it from the dry side of a window, with a half-smirk and a steamy cup o'java. But, I suppose my quest for joy has exercised my curiosity just enough that I am now well-trained and duly intent on finding happiness, utilizing all senses, as often as possible. With little encouragement from my intellect - I found myself pulling on my boots, wrapping my head in a scarf and forging into the "outside", without salt, without a shovel and, most remarkably, without a plan.

I've got one or two more snow angels in me, I thought. As I lay on my front lawn, flailing my arms and legs, hoping that this wild impulse would not aggravate my sciatica, and making a mental note to schedule a long awaited MRI for my right shoulder, I started to laugh. Not because the childlike adventure had suddenly returned, but because I started to think of the  jumped-to assumptions, likely forming down the block. Think about it - a middle aged woman, rolling around the front lawn, in an inch and half of slush. Ha! If I were ten years old, a neighbor might be looking through the window, wrapped in their own nostalgic snow-covered memories. But, since I'm (ahem) years old, I assume that they are rather saying prayers and scrambling around the basement for their defibrillator.

I laughed more. It may not have been the same exhilaration found during a snow day on suicide hill, but I was feeling it all the way down to my frozen toes....there was no mistake - there was a cloud of fog in front of my lips, and with it, there was joy.

It got me thinking that perhaps finding joy is as habitual as brushing your teeth. Maybe once you feel joy enough, you seek it with little conscious effort. After all it was waiting right there outside my window, along with all the other fallen flakes for twenty-plus years. Thus far in my research I've discovered that most people find deep joy in the big stuff of life, the milestones, the tragedies turned triumphant, the extraordinary unstoppable events that blind side our plans like a wayward comet. But, today I found joy in one of the quiet moments in between. Today I found that sometimes joy can be waiting, patiently, right in your front yard. Today I found that great joy is in the little stuff of life too.

Mo

The Joy of Rock Bottom

Thursday, Dec. 10, 2009

Has anyone seen Joy? Not a trick question, I assure you. Until recently I myself regarded joy as a mythical pine barren dweller - akin to the Jersey Devil - a word whispered at whiskey passing campfires - but never actually seen or heard. Oh sure, there's been laughter; there's been awe; there's even been a few shoulder brushes with lady luck. One might say I've had momentary collisions with bliss - but walking through the world, coddled in the light of joy, has eluded me. That is, until I met them - the improbable preachers of the good life. The relentlessly joyous folks, who may have lost their life savings, their homes or even their health... and are now sleeping under the boardwalk under a newspaper under a hale storm, but still make a mad dash to the foot of the ocean, each day, to dip their toes in the trail of a wave and welcome the sun once more. These folks, my friends, know joy. Which brings me to my next question. Why? What makes them different? Life experience? Good genes? Happy pills? Or could it be... they simply found the gem of their life at rock bottom?

So, you see, my first blog entry is not a theory, not an opinion, or a newscast about my life. It is an announcement: My quest to find the happiest people on the planet, absorb their wisdom, and share it with the world.... has begun.

You may just want to stay tuned!