Go easy, my friend

This week I lost a friend. It hurts.

Most of us have too few people in our lives who we call close friends. Chuck Gallagher, who died Wednesday morning, was one of those for me. 

We worked together for almost 30 years at the Reading Eagle,including about 10 years as the top editors in the newsroom. During that decade, before he retired as editor in 2008, we spent countless hours together. 

Almost every weekday he would come into my office early in the morning, usually with his first cup of bad coffee from the office vending machine, and we would discuss that day’s paper. We would talk about issues in the community, news in the world and personnel in the newsroom. During those discussions we would solve the problems of the newspaper, Berks County and the world beyond. If only others had listened.

Sometimes we talked about our families. 

Some days he would launch into some of his lines from one of the many theater productions that were so special to him. I often wondered which he loved more—the real world of news or the imaginary world of the stage. 

He often shared old stories of his experiences in the Air Force or his early newspaper days as a police reporter. Some of those he told several times, but I never minded hearing even the ones I could have repeated to him. I treasure them, including the ones I won’t share.

At the end of the late afternoon news meeting, he and I would remain in the conference room after the other editors had left, and we would rehash the day and revisit some of the things we talked about that morning.

It’s amazing how well we got along. He was a long-time Philadelphia Eagles fan, and I remain a long-time Dallas Cowboys fan. For many years, at Christmas, he would give to me something related to the Cowboys – a pennant signed by Roger Staubach, a miniature helmet signed by Bob Lilly, an autographed Troy Aikman jersey, a game-worn jersey by a lesser-known defensive back, and a plaque with a piece of the turf from the old Texas Stadium.

We did share a love for the Philadelphia Phillies., which is more than can be said about his life at home. His tolerance of differences in sports was evident by his long-time marriage to Ellen, a New York Mets fan. I believe, in his mind, it was Ellen’s only flaw.

Chuck liked good whiskey. Even more, he loved Guinness, which he called mother’s milk.

If we were out together and having drinks, he would ask me if I wanted a light beer. That irritated me a bit that he would imply I didn’t like or couldn’t handle real beer. Eventually I realized that in Chuck’s mind everything other than Guinness was light beer. 

We didn’t share political views. One of us was slightly to the left. The other slightly to the right. You can guess which. But it never affected our direction of the news. We both believed in balance and fairness.

We also didn’t share spiritual views, but I did pray for him and still do.

Sometimes Chuck talked in code, which I came to understand. For example, when I hired a new artist and introduced him to Chuck, one of his first questions to the new guy was, “BC?”, meaning “Are you from Berks County?”

Chuck also loved writing poetry, and I loved making a point to him that what he wrote seldom rhymed.

For many years, he gave a one-minute preview on TV-69 of the news coming in the next day’s paper. He would write out his script and then do it from memory. Sometimes it would require a few takes but he always got it right. There were some good outtakes however, which the guys at TV-69 saved and put together to play at his retirement program. 

In his later years, he looked the part of an old-style newspaper editor, wearing suspenders and carrying a little extra around the middle. 

Chuck and I were very different men who shared a passion for the news business. He was a colleague. He was a mentor who prepared me for my turn in the editor’s seat. But, mostly, he was a friend.

Even after he retired, we met for lunch several times each year, resurrecting our early morning discussions. In recent years, it was difficult to watch as his health declined. Isn’t that always true with someone special in your life?

When I went to see him last week, I thought it might be our last time together. I left him with the words he so often told me when we’d part: Go easy.

Go easy, my friend.

Sometimes life throws curveballs

A good reminder in a column I wrote almost three years ago.

Some things are simply beyond our control. Sometimes we just have to accept things and move forward.

It takes most of us many years to learn that there are times in life when no matter how hard you try, you can’t win or have things your own way.

When no matter how good your intentions, it’s time to stop fighting lost battles and start looking to the future.

When no matter how much you want to help or protect people, you need to let go and hope for the best.

When no matter how much you talk and how well you reason, people may not understand or just may refuse to even listen.

When no matter how well you plan and how well you prepare, things spiral out of control.

In my six-plus decades on Earth, I have come to know that sometimes you can’t control life. Sometimes life controls you.

Sometimes the solution isn’t in quitting, it’s simply in accepting.

Sometimes there’s no way to prevent pain and suffering, and your love and caring isn’t known or accepted until you pick up the broken pieces.

Sometimes sadness may be the path to get to happiness.

Sometimes understanding comes in its own time.

Sometimes progress comes through surrender.

Sometimes success happens through patience.

If you understand all of that, you also may understand how often life mirrors the game of baseball.

There are few perfect games.

Sometimes we hit home runs. Occasionally we hit a grand slam. More often than not the results are far less impressive.

There are days when life comes at us like a 100 mph fastball. We learn to watch and prepare for it. Then, often when we’re not expecting it, we see a curveball, a knuckleball or a changeup, and our well-intentioned swing meets nothing but air.

That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t swing again, but before we do it’s important to accept that the previous pitch is over and the next pitch is a fresh start.

There are many ways to win in the game of baseball. Through experience, we learn that walks sometimes can be as important as base hits, that there are others who will back us up when we make mistakes, that errors are part of the game and that we get more than one strike.

Sometimes the game goes extra innings. Other times it is cut short because of storms.

We also learn that in most cases the harder we work, the better we get. But even that doesn’t always guarantee success.

Like in baseball, much of what happens in our lives is the result of choices we make: where we stand, how much we concentrate, how well we prepare and what sacrifices we are willing to make. It’s true in our relationships, our jobs and our accomplishments. Circumstances and opportunities play big parts, but much of where life goes depends on our own actions and decisions.

Sometimes it’s a matter of the energy we invest in things. Other times patience guides our progress. Either way, we can’t always blame others or ourselves for the results. Sometimes it’s just the way the ball bounces.

Perhaps it is most important to remember that we won’t win every time, but we should be happy that at least we had the opportunity to play the game. Even when we lose, there’s something to be learned that may help us at some point in the future. Regardless of the results today, if we’re lucky, there may be another game tomorrow, and whatever the previous results, the scoreboard will be wiped clean.

Unless, of course, it rains. Because in baseball and in life, there are some things we simply can’t control.

Putting sadness in perspective

I want to be happy every minute of every day. Sadly, that’s not realistic. So I seek a little happiness where I can find it.

Who among us has never experienced sadness?

Sadness is a part of life.

If not for sadness, how would we clearly define and understand happiness? It’s important, however, not to allow sadness to overwhelm us. Sadness should not dominate or define our life.

Sadness sometimes results from our specific expectations in life. We want things to be perfect. At least we hope to have things our own way. Life doesn’t work that way, and as much as we can do things to set a direction for our life, there is so much that is beyond our control. Too often, instead of accepting that, we allow sadness to take over.

Among the many reasons for sadness are loss, disappointment, conflict and loneliness.

Sadness is most obvious during grieving. We expect those close to us to always be here, even though we know that life in this world eventually ends for all of us.

Some of our sadness may be the result of regrets. Why wasn’t I nicer to him? Why didn’t I spend more time with her? Why didn’t I make a different decision? Why didn’t I try harder? There is nothing we can do to change the past, but we can learn from our experiences and influence our future.

We could avoid experiencing those losses and disappointments by avoiding relationships and actions, but then we would miss out on the joys and memories that are part of time we spend with others and our experiences. And then our sadness results from isolation and loneliness.

Loneliness can be a bottomless pit. The longer we experience it, the more difficult it becomes to escape it. Then it becomes easier to stop trying and let our depression grow.

Sometimes we feel helpless and are frustrated by our inability to resolve conflicts. Neither side wants to give in. It may be a stubborn fear of losing the battle, a refusal to forgive a wrong against us, or reluctance to risk being hurt again. Instead we sacrifice the happiness that we wanted all along.

And who among us hasn’t experienced the sadness that results from disappointment when we don’t accomplish the goals we set? When we aren’t accepted, recognized or appreciated. When the plans we made fall through. Or when we can’t acquire the things we want. 

All the sadness that enters our lives, and which we sometimes allow to overwhelm us, can lead to severe depression. If we allow it to continue, the darkness grows, and so does the pain.

Life isn’t perfect. Man changed that soon after creation. Our definition and view of perfection in the world is determined by whose standards and perceptions are used in that judgment.

When we accept that happiness and sadness do and must co-exist, then we can tolerate sadness and enjoy happiness.

There is a risk in everything we do. If we don’t take the chance of swinging a baseball bat, we can’t get a hit. If we don’t step out of our door, we can’t experience the beauty in the world. If we don’t take a chance on friendship and love, we’ll never know the joy they can bring to our lives.

Amanda McBroom’s song, “The Rose,” made famous by Bette Midler, expressed it well:

“It’s the heart afraid of breaking that never learns to dance.

“It’s the dream afraid of waking that never takes the chance.

“It’s the one who won’t be taken, who cannot seem to give,

“And the soul afraid of dying that never learns to live.”

I have written about happiness numerous times. My assessment has been that “our happiness often depends on perspective,” and we need to stop counting our sorrows and start counting our blessings. I’ve written that “the secret to finding happiness” is to focus on good things instead of allowing negatives to weigh you down, and to share your happiness with others. Finally, I really believe that “true happiness comes when we choose happiness.”

We need to acknowledge and accept that sadness is a part of life, but we should not allow it to become our life.

Perhaps we’d be better off if we looked at sadness as an experience along our journey to happiness. At least that’s how I’m trying to approach it these days.

It's difficult to fix your role as a fixer

This is another older column that I needed to reread this week to remind myself about dealing with things that are beyond my control. I originally shared it on Sept. 13, 2015, the Sunday before my first wife died after a six-year battle with a series of illnesses. I hope it also helps others in some way.

I’m a fixer. It isn’t a choice. It’s a role into which I was thrust, and it’s all but impossible to escape. Others expect it of me. I’ve grown to accept it. That doesn’t mean I always like it.

For many years it’s been my role in my family. I can’t recall when it started, but gradually the burden was placed on my shoulders. For many of us, we become fixers when we become parents, but some of us are more intense fixers than others are.

People come to expect fixers to fix things. Often they don’t consider all of their options and try to address the problems themselves. Why should they when there’s a fixer to whom they can turn for help?

I don’t always resent being a fixer. There is some satisfaction in it. When you are successful, you know you have helped someone. You may have improved that person’s life or helped him to avert some trouble or pain.

Fixers also have the security of knowing they are needed. You will always have a special place in others’ lives if they know they can turn to you in times of confusion, uncertainty or trouble.

A fixer can’t fix everything. A fixer also doesn’t have to know everything. It helps to know a little bit about a lot of things, but the key to being a fixer is giving the impression that you are able to fix things. Of course, once you become a fixer there’s a certain reputation that you must maintain. If you admit your weakness, others may no longer turn to you for help. What good is a fixer who can’t fix?

A good fixer also shows confidence when faced with a new challenge. If he doesn’t know what to do, he is able to fake it enough until he can work through the problem. A good example is home repairs. Many people can learn the basic skills. Once they do, the seed of another fixer has been planted. As the level of repairs increases, so does the fixer’s confidence and reputation.

Another good example is in finances. If people see you are doing well, it makes sense to turn to you for advice and direction.

Some fixers settle into this role because others view us as self-reliant. Part of it may be driven by pride and stubbornness. We don’t want to appear incapable. Or we may not want to be indebted to others. So we handle things ourselves. As we continue to do that, our role as a fixer grows.

The biggest problem for fixers is that they may take on too many problems and burdens that belong to others. It becomes difficult for fixers to say no to requests. Then those problems and burdens become our own.

With each challenge, there is a risk. Because others believe fixers can fix anything, fixers begin to believe that too. Most longtime fixers have trouble accepting what is unfixable. As a result, many fixers live with stress.

Fixers do grow weary. Although it’s difficult to believe, fixers also have their own problems to fix. We can become overwhelmed when we are struggling with our own issues and then are asked to turn our attention to the problems of others.

Sometimes fixers are reluctant to turn to others for help. Because we are fixers, we also grow to believe we are the ones who should fix things. It’s expected. If we let others or ourselves down, who would fix that? Who could?

Lately, I’ve experienced some things in my life that I can’t fix. They are things out of my control. That is difficult for a fixer to admit. In a way, it’s abandoning a primary role.

As I’ve worked through these challenges, I’ve learned that it’s also important for fixers to at least try to be realistic and admit when something is beyond their ability to fix it.

Sometimes it’s not a matter of fixing things. Sometimes it’s just a matter of accepting them. That realization in itself is how a fixer comes to understand he has somehow fixed what can’t be fixed.

Now that I’ve addressed that, it’s on to the next problem that needs fixing.

The right thing vs. the write thing

Writing has been a passion for me for decades. It also has been my release, therapy and creative outlet. I believe it has been my calling in life.

Sometimes, however, what we are driven to do can overshadow or replace other things that are important in our life.

Soon after I retired early last year, I started to write a column and share it for free through my “Retired Editor’s Notebook” site at the end of most weeks. Many of the columns are new; some of them are reruns of my favorites from 10 years as a newspaper editor.

A few people have wondered why I rerun older columns some weeks.

It’s not because I’ve run out of ideas. It’s not because I’m unmotivated or lazy.

Sometimes I need to reread some of them to remind myself of the advice I shared. By putting them out there again, maybe they can help others a second time or help someone who missed them the first time.

Many are timeless.

Some of them bring back good memories that I was happy to share.

Another reason I share them again is that sometimes I run out of time, and I don’t want to allow a perceived obligation to write to get in the way of living.

During a newspaper career that lasted more than 45 years, I sometimes – too often – was so engrossed in my work that other things were pushed aside. My job was a big responsibility. It also was an obsession at times. Being on-call 24/7 didn’t help.

I didn’t ignore those who were important to me, but they weren’t always my priority.

As I got older, I realized the error of my ways. It took awhile to transition, but I came to understand and embrace the importance of placing those I care about before things. I keep a wooden plaque on the wall to remind me and others “The best things in life are not things.”

So now there are times when more important things – people – come before writing a column for that week.

I could block off time every day or every week to write, and that may work for some types of writing or for some people. But my best columns were written when inspiration struck me.

Occasionally I may find a few minutes to write, but not enough time to finish. As a result, dozens of columns are in various stages of development. Some are a few sentences. Some include research I’ve done. Others are waiting for a rewrite.

Many of them, I hope, eventually will be shared. If not, nothing will be lost if they were ignored for someone important.

Everybody sets priorities, whether intentionally or not. We decide what is most important in life. Too often too many of us live with regrets about those decisions. Many times, we shouldn’t have to.

Jobs are important because they provide a means for us to live. So are chores, volunteering and rest, all of which improve our quality of life.

In the end, all of that won’t matter if we don’t dedicate time to share with those who are important in our life.

When I take my last breath on Earth, I want those closest to me to know how much I cared about them. I need to tell them. I need to show them. Mostly, I need to spend time with them.

If that means columns don’t get written, so be it. That will be a better legacy than any words I could have put on paper.

Try to tell me when you've heard enough

Sometimes I like to have fun with my columns. Sometimes I send a discreet message for someone in particular. Sometimes I do both. This is a column I wrote in 2014 after one of many conversations with a person who talked so much that I couldn’t get a word in. If you think you know who it was, you’re probably wrong. 

There is little that is more frustrating than someone who keeps going on and on, talking and refusing to take a break or a breath in order to listen to what others have to say to them, even though those people might have something to offer to help the person to learn something or have a better understanding of a subject, whatever it may be, but that conversation never happens because a conversation involves at least two people interacting, one talking and one listening and vice versa, rather than a lecture, which involves one speaker and one or more listeners, who may not have the opportunity to speak, which may be because the speaker believes that what he has to say is so important that no one else can add something of value or because the speaker simply isn’t interested in hearing from anyone else, and so continues to rattle on, ignoring attempted interjections, gestures or a wide variety of body language that are intended to allow the listener to become a participant and create a conversation that, even though it would be on point, is basically ignored, leaving at least one of the parties frustrated or tired from the futility of failed attempts, which may result in a wide range of reactions –from anger to lack of interest –on the part of the listener and a growing sense of self-importance on the part of the speaker, who continues to talk, believing all of his words are falling on attentive ears that are eager for his next bits of wisdom, which may improve that person’s life but certainly will impress that listener with the level of knowledge and understanding that is flowing from a person, who perhaps at some time in his life was on the other end of such an experience, which no doubt frustrated him to such a degree that he vowed to himself that he would never again be dominated in conversation and so set his mind to not only share his vast array of knowledge and experience but also to establish his dominance in any interaction with others, the result of which is a long, drawn-out monologue that so engrosses the speaker that he seems to fall into a trance that is further deepened by his own ego, which builds his belief that nothing in the world is more important than his thought process and the valuable advice that results from it, and so he continues to drone on, often repeating what he has said several times because he believes it is essential to make his point, and then, just when you sense he is about to pause and provide an opening for dialogue, he gets his second wind seemingly without even taking a breath and begins another chapter, which may enforce what he already has stated or may digress into a completely unrelated issue that for a short time he believes is equally important but which serves only to provide a break in the monotony until he realizes, possibly midsentence, that he has gone off-track and perhaps suddenly or more likely gradually works his way back to his initial point, which will result in sending the listener into a deeper coma or increase his frustration to the point that he is tempted to walk away, but doesn’t do that out of common courtesy, which is ironic given the circumstances, or because the alleged discussion may require some outcome from what has become an unbalanced interaction involving one person who has become the only person talking and listening – to himself – and another who, because he has no opportunity to do the former, ceases to do the latter, and when given the opportunity to finally respond to the speaker’s ultimate question, “Don’t you agree?” is left, after taking a long, deep breath to be sure it is finally his turn to participate, with only one logical and clear response: No.

And there you have it: the long and the short of a one-sided discussion. 

The column that got away

This may be the most difficult column I’ve ever written. It’s the one I can’t remember.

The idea came to me a few months ago during a sleepless time in the middle of a night. At the time, it seemed to be such a good idea that I assumed I’d remember it in the morning. I didn’t. When I awoke, I recalled thinking about a column idea, but the subject was missing.

I thought it might come back at some time during the next day. It didn’t. 

Now that idea seems to be lost forever.

Have you ever walked into a room and forgotten why you went there? Have you ever seen a person and can’t remember who it is or why you know the person? Then you begin an intense thought process, and no matter how hard you try to remember, the answer doesn’t come. The harder you focus, the more frustrating it becomes. Sometimes you put that frustration aside in the belief that the answer will come back to you later. It may. Or it may not.

That’s the way it is when I get an idea for a column and fail to make notes when the thoughts are fresh.

Many ideas come to me late at night, early in the morning or in the middle of the night. Ironically, those last ones – which form when my mind starts to clear as I shed all of the distractions from the day – are the most difficult ones to remember when I fail to make some notes for the morning. 

That’s the reason I’m writing this one, which still doesn’t solve my frustration of recovering the one that got away. For several days, I tried to remember the idea that seemed so good during a sleepless hour. Now, it’s gone for good

When I started to write a weekly newspaper column 10 years ago, I developed a collection of ideas. Some of those I still keep in a file on my laptop.

When those ideas would come to me at various times during the day and night, I would write it into a document on my iPhone. Later, I would transfer it to a file on my laptop. As a result, I have at least 50 columns in various states of development.

Sometimes I will scan through those documents and may spend some time working on one or two. If the inspiration is right, I may finish one. If not, I file it away for another time. At least I have the idea.

Our memories are interesting.

I used to take pride in going to the grocery store and remembering what I needed to buy. As I’ve aged, that mental list is not as reliable. Sometimes I’ll know I’ve forgotten something, but I won’t remember it until I’m home.

It’s just as frustrating when you and your partner share a memory loss, such as the name of a person you once knew. At least you have someone to share your frustration. Sometimes you’re able to talk out what you do remember and eventually find an answer.

You know the information – what you’ve learned and what you’ve experienced – is stored somewhere in your brain, but it won’t always come to the surface.

So now you can share in my frustration of that lost column. Because I can’t remember it and therefore can’t write it, you’ll never read it, and you’re stuck with reading this one.

I do believe that the one that got away would have been much more interesting and entertaining. We’ll never know for sure.