Walk to Wisdom:The Origin of "What did you learn?"

    Wisdom allows us to see what we would otherwise miss. It is a refinement of thought that is manifested in intentional action or stillness.  No one doubts the wisdom of America's forefathers, and most would say it was God given. But that was long ago. In today's busy world, where is wisdom? What does it look like? Where do we find it?
    Twenty five years ago, I had the amazing privilege of working for a man named Bill Starr. Until he began to struggle with dementia,Bill was the embodiment of wisdom - and even now I would venture to say he is still that. When I met Bill,he was in the later half of midlife. He isn't a whole lot taller than I am, but he seemed like a giant. He will joke about his lack of hair, just one way he is able to laugh with himself. Bill can captivate a room full of people in his first sentence. After 18 years of leading a large international youth organization, Bill "retired" and went to work for National Public Television. He was encouraged to move to Phoenix by good friends who are prominent businessmen in Phoenix, one of whose wife has mentored me for many years. She encouraged me to go to work for Bill after my daughter, Rachel, was born.
     And there I was. Little Debbie with big dreams and no direction, except the professional goals written upon graduating from college. Goals that were now farther away with the addition of a family. Goals that would one day be found written on a piece of paper and stuffed in the middle of the little white zipper Bible she'd had since childhood. Goals that when found would be rewritten to better reflect the change in priorities from money, success and power to God, family and a meaningful career.
     Soon after going to work for Bill, he decided to leave the affiliate with whom he was employed and start Southwest Leadership Foundation.  So there we were, the two of us.  The first thing Bill assigned me to do was review the rental contract for the office. Are you kidding? I wasn't a realtor or even a business manager. Up until that point in my life, I'd been a waitress, a reservations manager, a front desk clerk at a Hyatt and an editorial coordinator.  I knew NOTHING about leases. Nothing about estoppel rates, nothing about back loading, nothing about late fees or even square footage. And this was before Google Search.  Bill just said, "Let me know if you have questions."   A year later when we realized our rent was going up significantly because I didn't understand estoppel rates, Bill simply said, "Well, what did you learn?"  He didn't scream. He wasn't sarcastic. He didn't talk about the money we needed. He simply smiled and nodded as I told him what I had learned. What I had learned wasn't just about leasing terms but about people. Like don't trust everyone to be honest and give you a good deal because you are a charity and they are your friend. He smiled and nodded again. And then a few years later, he had me go look for a new office.
     Bill was a great man of God who embraced people of all faiths while never compromising his own beliefs - and they embraced him, too.  He grasped the concept of grace better than any human being I have ever known, and lived it. I always knew I was in for a life lesson when Bill would say, "oh Deb, bless you....." I learned quickly when I heard those words to sit up and listen closely. When Bill sent me off to St. Louis to plan a conference for 5,000 to 10,000 participants, I knew he had lost his mind. "But Bill," I said with a bit of panic in my voice,"I've never done something like this before." He smiled and responded, "you'll learn. You will be fine." What I learned from Bill is inked on the best of who I am today. In the management team of our organization, we joke that I am the "what did you learn" person, and our director of curriculum and instruction is our "what the hell were you thinking" person. It takes a village..... Bill taught me to take a chance on people. To accept people while not compromising my belief system. To be patient with myself and with others. To look up and point up. To laugh at myself. To dream big. To keep going when it's really, really tough. To stand in the gap for those who are under served. To realize that "out on the limb" is where I am supposed to be. And to enjoy a bold Cabernet with a cigar on the back porch as the sun sets on both the good days and the bad.

Walk to Wisdom:Know the Meaning You Give the Image

When I was pregnant, I was fat. No really. With toxemia and preeclampsia, my body swelled to the point that even my toes were fat. I have been fat one other time in my life: the three years following the onset of acute asthma after getting the RSV virus, which resulted in needing massive doses of prednisone. Prior to high school, during which I challenged myself once to survive on Tab and gum, I was chubby but not fat. Why all this talk about fat? What does it have to do with wisdom? A little and a lot. Fat is often a mindset. We all have an image of ourselves, and we tend to operate out of that image. As a Therapist, I was amazed at how people perceived themselves. If we are building on knowledge to gain wisdom, it's pretty important to be self aware - at least to the point that we recognize we aren't always self aware. Minor though it is, a good example follows: I have been married 32 years, and when I have a quick thought about my husband, the image in my mind is of a thin guy with muscular arms, a mustache and thick dark brown hair. Very puzzling. If I were to describe him that way to a driver who was going to meet him in a crowded airport and needed to know what to look for, the driver would never find him. Who the driver should be looking for is a handsome (subjectively speaking) guy with a middle-age-guy- belly (affectionately known as his bumper), cleanshaven with white hair cut short and moussed in a modern style. Wisdom dictates that I treasure the image of how this man looked when my hormones were ranging so strong that they chemically carved that image of him in my brain, while embracing the image of this man whom I thankfully wake up to each morning. Well, maybe not the wake up image, but more the one when he's all dressed up in his dark Armani jeans with his cashmere black mock turtle neck sweater and the splash of DG.
    In processing this phenomenon, I was reminded that how I imagine things isn't always reality; but the meaning I place on those images can determine what happens in reality. After pregnancy and prednisone, the image that came back from the mirror was horrifying to me. Fat is not fun - at least for me it wasn't. I had to intentionally fight to keep from having that image control how I felt about myself. Most of the time, I chose to have fun anyway. I also chose to go forward until the woman in the mirror began to change. Sometimes there is value in intentionally choosing the meaning we put on our self image, but only as long as we remember what we are doing and not confuse it with facts. The fact of post pregnancy and prednisone was that I was overweight and for health reasons I needed to lose weight. Telling myself I was still attractive and smart didn't change those facts, but it did help me make decisions that changed those facts. It helped me have the courage to keep going until which time people recognized a difference in how I looked and I recognized a difference in how I felt. Last year when things were pretty dismal with my business, I called an older, wiser and much more successful friend. After allowing me a very brief whining session, he said in a less than sympathetic voice, "you'll be fine. You are strong, you are smart, you are besutiful." While I wanted sympathy, he knew I needed a slap of reality, wrapped in a confidence-boosting compliment, and he got the order right, too.

Walk to Wisdom: It's not digressing, it's processing

  I became a mother for the first time in 1984.  I honestly wasn't the maternal type. I hadn't thought much about the whole idea until about three months before I got pregnant, which I am convinced occurred in a passionate moment one night on our patio next to the spa, which probably explains the challenges we faced during our daughter's adolescence. You know, what goes around, comes around. I never understood the whole "babies are so cute" thing.  Still don't.  Mine were. Alexis Rides was. That's about it. Maybe my grandkids will be. Chuck and I had been married four years. Before getting married, we'd never lived in the same city or state, unless you count the four week visit to Florida one summer. We met on my uncle's farm in Michigan, where Chuck was working for the summer and I had visited on a trip north. We had our first date two months before my thirteenth birthday (which my kids did not know until well into their twenties).  I had a lot of fun between then and the time we got married, and so did Chuck. When I was 18, my grandpa said, "Why are you wasting your time with all those other boys? You are going to marry that Chuck Slagle."  I had to remind Grandpa that I hadn't seen Chuck in years; but Grandpa was not deterred by that.  I didn't know until years after getting married that Chuck had tried to track me down on numerous occasions. One of those times was when I was spending the summer in Kalamazoo.  After driving half way there from his grandfather's house in Ohio, he realized that he didn't have a way to find me in Kalamazoo. So Chuck turned around and drove back to Ohio. He was sleeping on a cot in his grandpa's garage. He explained that he knelt next to the cot and prayed, "Lord, if it is your plan, please bring Debbie back in my life."  Even though I didn't see him again for another three years, that summer The University of Tampa, where I was going to school cancelled its football and wrestling programs. This meant my boyfriend of two years who was a great wrestler transferred to a different school about 800 miles away.
    At UT, now known as "the Harvard on the Hillsborough," I was all that.  I was the editor of the school newspaper, the copy editor for the yearbook and the chairman of the traffic board, that latter I took solely for the scholarship attached and not knowing how incredibly popular it would make me on campus. UT is in downtown Tampa.  I'd chosen UT over Hillsdale College, where I also had been offered a scholarship, because UT was close to the beach. I planned my classes around prime sun time, working hard and playing hard.  It was there my dear friend and professor Dr. Andy Solomon dubbed me "Ticklebrain," shedding light on the fact that even then I tended to digress - which I have managed to do in this blog as well.  It is the thing circuitous timelines are made of - digression. It isn't  always bad.
    So here I was in 1984. Married to a man I'd known since early adolescence. Living in a place I moved to after getting married to this man and not having lived less than 1000 miles away from each other prior to saying "I do."  Not surprising that in spite of being in love with Chuck, my dad did a lot of talking to calm me down before we walked down the aisle of Derbyshire Baptist Church on August 9, 1980.  Now in 1984, giving birth prematurely to the most beautiful little girl. No instruction manual. Shoot, I rarely even babysat when I was a teenager.  I figured I would take a week or so off and head back to work. My boss at the time, who was childless, mentioned to me a week before Rachel was born that he had just read an article about how women didn't need to take as much  time off  as they thought they should when they were pregnant. I believe it was in the same discussion about the deadline for the upcoming issue of the magazine for which I was the editorial coordinator.  It is also why I refused to stay at home with my feet up in spite of the fact I had toxemia. Rachel was born the Monday following our discussion - the day after Father's Day, a month early.  I knew at that moment that deadlines would no longer be the priority in my schedule. It caused a serious identity crisis, which isn't always bad ( do you see a trend?).
     . The day we brought Rachel home, Chuck and I laid down on our bed next to her cradle. And there we lay. Fully clothed. Holding hands. Staring at the ceiling. Two fairly intelligent, college educated adults, scared to death. All the education in psychology and social work, as well as Chuck's four years as a fifth grade teacher, didnt give us the wisdom we needed to guide the life of the little girl who was relying on us. during th ose early years, we were carried by the wisdom of those who were farther along in the journey. I returned to work at the magazine after seven weeks off. And then I quit.