Posts Tagged ‘vulnerability’

Heavy Sky

Posted: May 12, 2013 in Living The Lifestyle
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Now I’m a grown man, with a child of my own, and I swear I’m not going to let her know all of the pain that I’ve known. -Art Alexakis

By Mark E. Smith

When I was 17, I spent a lot of that summer camping in Yosemite’s White Wolfe region. It was part independence building, part adventure, part escape. I attended forestry seminars that summer, and learned that wild fires can prove good for the environment. Dense forests fill up with debris, and stifle new growth; however, a wild fire clears out the old, and allows new plants and trees to grow. What initially seems like destruction, actually builds a new, stronger habitat.

At that time, I wasn’t in touch with my father. He’d walked out on my brother and me many years earlier. We were little, maybe five and six, or a bit older – it’s hard to date such things, probably because it’s too painful to remember exactly when your father left. But, I remember.

Regardless of dates or circumstances, when your father drives away for the last time, it creates a void in you that many say never goes away – it’s just a heavy sky that’s left over you. And, as the seasons pass, you learn that other people, who you love, leave and don’t come back, either. It’s emotional dominoes set into motion by the man who’s supposed to be a boy’s hero, and you learn to just fall with them, relationship after relationship, where the fear of abandonment becomes the security of being alone.

Yet, you grow strong in ways, where you never distrust because there’s always a chance that someone might stay. You’re forever a seven-year-old starring out of the living room window, with the possibility that Dad might pull up in his pick-up truck, boozed up but playful. And, so you learn to trust in a counter-intuitive way – it’s the dream that’s the only comfort to hold onto.

And, you likewise learn to never leave anyone because you don’t want her or him to know the pain that you’ve known. Yes, everyone’s going to promise to be by you till the end, but who dare live up to it? You will live up to it because you won’t be like him.

And, then there is her, your own child, and as a broken man, there’s something remarkably whole about you in that single role, where your pieces come back together, and you see everyone around you in the sunlight of spring. It’s inexplicable that where only destruction has been, beauty emerges – a single flower among ravaged woods. And, you realize that the injustice of not having a father is corrected by being a father – the better man, you are for it all.

It Gets Better

Posted: May 6, 2013 in Delving Deeper, Uncategorized
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Morgan Duffy & Crew, Stanford Class of 2013

By Mark E. Smith

Author’s Note: There’s a disturbing undercurrent that, in this modern day, some teens with physical disabilities still feel isolated, depressed, even suicidal. So, let us talk about being a teen with a disability, and how life gets better….

As a teenager struggling with having a disability, you need to know only one truth: Life gets better – remarkably better.

I remember being a teenager with cerebral palsy and, like you, I remember struggling with it all – feeling different, but wanting to fit in; being treated different, but wanting to fit in, or, at times, feeling completely “normal,” but not being accepted as such. No, high school for me wasn’t all terrible – there were some good friends and good times, as I hope there are for you. We should all see good where there’s good. But, it wasn’t easy for me being different. But, it did get better. And, I know it may not be easy for you right now, but it will get better – remarkably better.

See, high school is tough for everyone, typically a confusing time, and everyone just wants to fit in. I have a 16-year-old daughter who “fits the mold,” and it’s even tough for her and her friends at times. Like you and my daughter and her friends, I just wanted to fit in, too – to have the right friends, have the right persona, and get invited to the right parties. And, for me, maybe like you, sometimes it worked, and sometimes it didn’t. Well, a lot of times it didn’t work. And, when it didn’t work – the occasional bully calling me “retard,” or not getting invited to different events and such – it really, really hurt. At points, I, too, just wanted to give up and die. And, before it gets better, sometimes it gets worse.

I remember at among the lowest points in my teen years, I had a girlfriend who I thought truly accepted me, but when it came time to dance at the prom, she wouldn’t dance with me because I used a wheelchair. I remember thinking that my disability was the blame, that if I wasn’t plagued by cerebral palsy, I’d have all of the friends, girlfriends, and coolness in the world. However, I would never be accepted or successful because of my disability.

But, I was wrong. High school and my peers had no impact on my ultimately living a happy, successful life. The day that I graduated, virtually everything got better for me. I went from bullies calling me “retard,” to being a writer, speaker, and academic. I was soon invited to real parties, with amazing people, even getting to meet the President of the United States. And, while no relationship is perfect, I had my ultimate dances with amazing women since – loving, accepting, sincere. It all got better – remarkably better.

My daughter and I were planting Marigolds this spring in a flower bed in front of our home. It was a 70-degree sunny day, where our English bulldog lay on the ultra-green grass. And, although my life, again, isn’t perfect, I was reminded of all I’ve been blessed with – my daughter, a career that helps others, a nice home, the respect of those in my community – and I thought back to my days in high school, wondering where those who treated me poorly are today? Oddly, when I was on Capitol Hill recently, none were there. I don’t see any of them in magazines that I write for, or any with Internet followings. And, I have to wonder with a smile, is their grass as green as mine?

The fact is, while those who hurt you today in school may seem so powerful, they’ll soon enough get lost in the world. But, you. You were born into the extraordinary, with capacities toward life success that they’ll likely never realize. Let’s wish them well, but they don’t have what you have – that is, potential waiting to explode. And, it will, where your life is going to get better – remarkably better. You’re a survivor and a thriver, and that which seems to work against you now, will work for you soon. You’ve been given the gifts of tenacity, perseverance, and empathy – traits that are rocket fuel for life, just waiting to ignite your life in the most rewarding of ways.

My young friend, Morgan Duffy, graduates from Stanford University in a few weeks at this writing. She’s a Dalai Lama Fellow; she’s done an internship on Capitol Hill; and, she’s studied abroad. And, get this, she’s accepted a job with Genentech – without even applying (the recruiters found her based on her accomplishments). But, I’ll let Morgan’s own words explain the rest of her story:

So I’d like to tell you that I am your average 21 year old, living life and learning through mistakes and experiences. Most of my experiences, however, are less than average. Three years ago, I packed up my life and moved from the small city of Scranton, PA to begin my college education at Stanford University. I am a Cross Cultural Health and Intervention major with interests in disability, health policy, social justice, women’s health and choice. Like most, my interests are based in experience. I am a woman with a physical disability, who navigates the world in a wheelchair. And I like to feel the world beneath me in that way, taking each bump and knock consistently and steadily. My mother is a nurse, and through my years listening to her complain of the inefficiencies and inequities of modern US health, I have been motivated to learn how to change this. Social justice was the foundation of my high school career at Scranton Prep, and I have vowed to never forget.

Morgan isn’t an exception, she’s the rule – just as you are. You, too, will leave your town and “feel the world beneath you,” as Morgan puts it, going on to successes that won’t just change you, but will change the world.

It may all seem tough today, but the strength to hold on was born into you – there’s a purpose for who we each are, and yours is extraordinary. Tough out the tough times, as it all gets better, remarkably better. And, yes, the grass will be greener on the other side. I’ll see you there.

Empty Words

Posted: April 14, 2013 in Delving Deeper, Uncategorized
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emptywords

By Mark E. Smith

The two symbolic, ground-breaking shovels that sit in the corner of his office catch my eye. One is gold-plated and the other, chrome. They’re the type of shovels that dignitaries and politicization use to pose with in a dirt patch when kicking-off a new development project. And, they’re leaning in the corner of his stately office, which clearly has not been remodeled since the 1980s, right down to worn leather chairs. But, all is spotless clean – even the shiny shovels.

I could picture him back in the day, likely slamming one of those shovels onto a board room table, and saying in a larger-than-life voice to his executive team, “Are we going to dig our own grave, or dig our way to the top?”

Yet, now he’s a kind, calm, soft-spoken older man, a proud grandfather. And, as he talks I feel a bit writer and a bit grandson. “Never trust words,” he says. “Flow charts, a good dresser, a great speaker – never trust any of it. Only trust results. When someone delivers, trust that. Trust whomever backs you in the trenches.”

And, for a moment, my eyes drift back to the shovels leaning in the corner, and I think about how true his words are, not just in business, but in life. As a writer and speaker, I’m a contradiction in that I’ve always distrusted words. It goes back to my mom and her always lying about not being drunk, my therapist would say. And, while maybe that’s where my distrust of words likely began, it runs more universally than that. I’ve learned that when we truly care about others, we don’t just say it, we show it. Show me you care about me, show me you love me – don’t just tell me. I’ve fallen for words too many times, only to be hurt by them – empty, hollow in the end, the words, me, all of it. You have, I have, we all have. And, what’s insane is that we continue wanting to hear them, the words, and believe in them – I’ll pick up the pace, I’ll make things right, I’ll quit doing it, I’ll change…. But, what’s any of it mean if there’s no action or effort behind the words?

The answer is, nothing. Here’s the fact: when we look and don’t listen – that is, when we gauge a person on what they do, not what he or she says – it’s the ultimate truth of what we mean to that person. No matter if it’s an employee, friend, or love interest, follow what one does, not what one says. Lots of people will say they’re there for you; but, who’s truly there in the sincerest ways? It quickly becomes a short list, doesn’t it?

And, yes, it’s a painful realization, but also a poignant one. See, in the process of realizing how adrift we are, alone at sea, we likewise realize who’s truly there for us, not in words, but in heart, soul, good times and bad. Words are so often an empty gesture; but, actions of the heart always prove true intent. Grab those who put their hearts and souls out there for you – hold on to them, truly trust in them, no longer adrift but anchored by them.

And, as he continues speaking, I stare at the shiny shovels, and again wonder why any of us still trust in words at all?

Dream On

Posted: March 31, 2013 in Living The Lifestyle
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equalrights

I never doubted that equal rights was the right direction. Most reforms, most problems are complicated. But to me there is nothing complicated about ordinary equality. -Alice Paul

By Mark E. Smith

When I was born, there was no humility in disability, just the medical authority calling people like me the vegetative minority. No, I couldn’t walk, speak or crawl; but, with my toddler eyes and ears, I saw and heard it all. Dream on.

And, as I grew, no one knew what my fate would be, a prognosis based on speculative hyperbole. But, still, with ignorance, everyone all labeled me – crippled. …Yep, that was me. Yet, inside hid the person I knew I could be. And, at night, when I cried — trapped by an ignorant society — even my mother couldn’t comfort me. Dream on.

When I was seven and sent to the back of the church, I was taught children like me didn’t go to Heaven. How could a God, who I came from, not let me with a disability into his kingdom? It wasn’t some Father’s place to say we aren’t anointed by the Lord based on physicality, when inside me, I knew I was appointed, worthy of spirituality. Dream on.

Mainstream education brought taunts and stares – kids who didn’t know better, teachers who didn’t care. I could read but I couldn’t write, so I bought a thrift-store typewriter and clicked the keys, teaching myself to type one night. And the words that flowed were bold and grew, and I knew I had something to say to the world – even at eight years old. That’s right. Dream on.

My family fell apart, ignorance toward my condition stung at my heart, and back in those days, a step into a store meant I could get in, and they had the right to refuse me service, a hypocrisy to no win. America the beautiful, the bold and the brave; but, my wheels of steel made everyone my master, gave me little more than the rights of slave. A country founded from oppression, surviving wars and the Depression, and I still I faced daily oppression? Stigmas did follow me, and I felt this: Where was truth in equality? Dream on.

But, for me segregation didn’t stop my education, and I wouldn’t give up my mind’s elevation. Heart strings tatter, but a spirit that wouldn’t shatter, I’d just move on; different day, same song. Things went wrong, but I’d move on. Dream on.

I remember at the prom when she wouldn’t dance with me, then going home that night, questioning my sexuality – for months it went on, the depression, a repeated song. I awoke in the hospital despite the pills taken, and it registered with me that I wasn’t a soul forsaken. I was who I was and just had to be me, why drown in self-loathing when I could swim in a sea – of acceptance. That had to be me. Dream on.

It all got easier as I went, worth the sweat and the tears that were spent – but who knows. I was always told that life goes as it goes till we grow old, and the forces that once held us down soon push us up from the ground. Our weaknesses become our strength, and those who’ve wronged us, we should thank – adversity from diversity is a character that we build, and successes that are earned create lives that are willed. Dream on.

Still, think what you will, but when I travel from the Pacific Northwest to Capitol Hill, there’s ground to be gained, equality sustained, where one nation for all is exactly where we fall – short. And, until everyone – regardless of disability, gender, sexual orientation, race, or religion, of unity, not division –is seen as humanly proficient, not different or deficient, I will continue to question America, the bold, the beautiful, and the brave as it holds up discrimination and prejudice to save – yes, even in this so-called progressive age. Until there’s equality for all, as a nation we fall. But, as for me, I’m optimistic. I dream on.

Empty Chairs

Posted: March 24, 2013 in Living The Lifestyle
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KITCHENCHAIRS

There’s a grief that can’t be spoken. –Empty Chairs at Empty Tables, Les Miserables

By Mark E. Smith

I’m really striving to keep a super clean house these days. It’s always been tidy, but after 11 years of living there, dust bunnies and cobwebs collect in corners. However, my close friend sneaked into my house while I was away working an Abilities Expo, and did a dramatic deep cleaning, where my kitchen looks new again. So, I’ve been doing my best to keep the house spotless.

Yet, my 16-year-old isn’t so mindful. She has a bad habit of piling jacket after jacket on a kitchen chair. And, with her virtually never home anymore – at school during the day, and drama rehearsal, band practice, and hanging out with friends at night – I’m the cerebral palsy version of Ozzy Osborne, with this over-the-top career by day, but puttering alone in the house in the eves, somewhat lost beyond my work.

So, amidst my immaculate kitchen, I saw my daughter’s myriad of coats, sweaters, and hoodies once again piled on a kitchen chair one evening, and I got really mad. How come she can’t just put these jackets in her bedroom? I’m stuffing all of this in a garbage bag, putting it on the curb, and teaching her a lesson!

Of course, I didn’t really do that. Instead, I went and lay on my bed, surrounded by the silence of the house. And, when my daughter got home around 10pm, I asked her how rehearsal was, not mentioning the jackets piled on the chair.

A few days later, I was working on a project, and a distant colleague raised a very trivial issue, one of no real consequence other than to get a rise out of others. “Why’s he making an issue of nothing?” I asked another colleague.

And, she said among the most profound insights, “Sometimes when people feel a lack of control over aspects of their lives or careers, they focus on that which they can control, the small things.”

Indeed, we do often focus on the small things that we can control when the bigger aspects seem overwhelming or uncontrollable. In the wheelchair world in which I work, consumers sometimes hyper focus on small details regarding a wheelchair, only later to share how overwhelmed he or she is by the entirety of disability experience, that the small issue with the wheelchair was merely a way to avoid facing the larger issues in life. Similarly, think about how often emotions build up in relationships, where a small issue ends up representing much deeper issues. Even in the movies, think about how often one character wants to tell another his or her feelings, but can’t get the words out, instead rambling about something trivial – it’s a classic cinematic tension builder based on human nature. …It’s true that it’s often emotionally easier to hyper focus on small issues rather than tackle the big ones – especially when we’re not ready or don’t feel emotionally safe doing so.

For me, I immediately thought back to the jackets on my kitchen chair. In the grand scheme, it really doesn’t matter if they’re there. But, as a single dad puttering around my empty house, it’s about all that I felt that I could truly control these days in the larger picture of my parental life. After all, my daughter’s growing up, times are changing, and while it’s all good, healthy, and normal, it’s also a bit scary – namely on my own, as a single dad, where my daughter has been my foremost focus. It’s the realization of, Wow, I’m not caretaker of a child anymore, but father of a wonderfully-flourishing young lady…. and where do I fit into all of this, and go from here?

Of course, I know the logical answers. My role remains vital, where my daughter comes home at night, plops on the big, stuffed chair in my master suite, as I’m already tucked in bed, and I listen to what’s going on in her life, asking questions, sometimes giving advice. Sure, she still needs me very much – just in different ways – and I’m forever there for her.

But, the heart isn’t so logical. It realizes that my little girl is growing up, and soon the jackets piled on the kitchen chair will be a fond memory as she heads off to college. And, there’s both a joy and sadness in that process. So, what I’ve realized is that those aren’t just jackets piled on the kitchen chair, but my own emotions as a father watching his truest pride, joy, and love grow up – and rightfully struggling with it all.

And, so for now, I’ll just leave the jackets on the kitchen chair, not worrying about it, but appreciating this stage of her life – our life – before it changes even more. Why strive to control such trivial aspects when I can just enjoy the more important aspects of life as a father.

Days of Powdered Milk

Posted: March 17, 2013 in Delving Deeper
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By Mark E. Smith

People keep asking me about the recent issues – actually, I don’t even know what to call them – at The Scooter Store, leaving a reported 1,800 people out of work on “furlough,” many in a region of the country where jobs are hard to come by.

As I’ve explained to a few, I don’t know any more about the situation than what’s been posted on news outlets. However, what I do know is that I feel deeply for the employees and their families. See, these are 1,800 hard-working Americans, doing jobs as phone operators, data processors, delivery drivers, and virtually every other honest position one can hold. They are moms and dads, some single parents, some working their way through school, most paying bills on Friday and going to church on Sunday. Indeed, for me, there’s not a story about The Scooter Store, but 1,800 stories, ones of how the rent will get paid, ones of keeping gas in the car, ones of, How do we survive as a family from here?

I truly don’t know precisely what the 1,800 families of The Scooter Store are going through, as I have a good-paying career and don’t need to worry about rent or gas these days. However, I come from a very humble background of being poor at times as a child – I remember being in food lines with my mom to get big boxes of government powdered milk and blocks of cheese – and it’s stuck with me my whole life, never wanting to go back to that. And, so, I can only imagine how scary this time is for the 1,800 families of The Scooter Store, including their children.

Beyond the fear of being broke and hungry, I also relate to the all-American work ethic that most of The Scooter Store employees personify. Folks are sometimes kind to note my talent based on the volume of my career, but it’s truly an allusion. Really, at the heart of what I do is simply an intense work ethic, where I keep my mouth shut, my head down, and do the best possible job I can in any given situation. And, I learned long ago to never say no to any type of work, no matter the task or amount – because that’s what it takes to survive. Nashville for a conference? Sure. L.A. for the Abilities Expo the next week? Of course. All of my other duties, and working on a book at the same time? Not a problem – I’ll do it all. I don’t care how heavy the work load, how tough the independent travel, how exhausting the schedule, I’m just grateful to have the work. And, I forever watch, listen, and learn as I go.

See, when you know where you come from – just poor – and you know that you can go back to that at any time, and the only line between then and now is hard work, you work really hard, like your life depends on it – because it does. Mine does.

Disability experience teaches us all a lot in that way, where often all we have to get us through is pure tenacity, and when we rely on that, it’s really all that we need. Talent and luck can get you so far, but just good ol’ back-breaking hard work is among the truest keys to not just surviving but thriving. And, when something doesn’t work out, you’re ready to employ Plan B, C, and D, doing whatever it takes.

My brother is presently a great example of a life fueled by tenacity and back-breaking work. He’s a master tile setter, living in a very expensive part of the country. In order to afford a home for his family, he lives three hours from the city where he works. He gets up at 2am, six days per week, drives three hours to work, sets tile all day, then drives three hours home – generally just to go to bed and get up and do it again. So, why does he do it? Well, he knows the value of hard work and keeping the lights on. We were in government food lines together, and he never wants to go back there, either. He couldn’t afford to give his wife and daughters the lifestyle he wished in the city, so he moved where they could afford, making remarkable personal sacrifices in the process. He’s no genius or extraordinary talent; rather, he’s just working really, really hard.

And, for the 1,800 employees of The Scooter Store, who worked really, really hard, and now find themselves wondering how to pay the rent and keep gas in the car, my sentiment is this: Let’s not allow these families to get lost in a news story about whatever becomes of The Scooter Store; rather, let us each remind ourselves where we come from, and how scary it would be to be out of work, maybe even waiting in a food line for government boxes of powdered milk and blocks of cheese. Most of all, let’s keep those 1,800 Scooter Store employees in our prayers.

The Humanity of Foot Washing

Posted: March 11, 2013 in Delving Deeper
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By Mark E. Smith

There’s been an amazing trend across the country of very financially and socially successful people – from business titans to professional athletes – washing the feet of the homeless.

Now, we know how superficial we in the U.S. can be, where many look down on the homeless, walking around them on city sidewalks like they’re invisible.

And, yet, they’re not invisible. They’re as human as you and me, with a value and depth to their humanity that’s no less than anyone else’s. And, this is where foot washing comes in. See, while “foot washing” is biblical, it’s also very much about humility. It’s about simply connecting with others as-is, caring just to care, loving just to love, where superficial pettiness doesn’t separate us. Rather, our humanity unites us. After all, what’s more socially leveling and caring than washing others’ feet?

I’ve just entered my 42nd year, and if there’s one lesson I’ve learned in my life it’s not to judge others – and not to allow them to judge me. My ultimate role is to love and be loved, as ideally all of our roles should be. I don’t care if you’re worth $2-billion like a gentleman I’m currently interviewing for a writing project, or if you’re flat broke like a homeless gentleman I met in Vegas last summer and shared a poignant moment with. You can smell like cologne or urine. You can live in a mansion or a shack. You can be of any color, of any religion, of any sexual orientation, from any educational background. I don’t care. My only concern is, are you a kind person, and if so, I will be glad to wash your feet, human to human, where I trust you’d do the same for me.

The fact is, in my 42 years, I’ve known the pain and injustice of, as Martin Luther King Jr. put it, being judged not based on the quality of my character, but the color of my skin, so to speak. Strangers and those close to me alike have judged me many of times, obviously based on my physical disability but for other petty reasons, as well. And, it all hurt. However, it’s all taught me to love and accept others at deeper, truer levels. I will love you for you, as-is, period. And, it’s an amazing process where it’s brought amazing people into my life who I wouldn’t have known if I were judging and stereotyping.

For some of us, we see having the opportunity to “wash others’ feet” as a blessing. Yet, imagine how wonderful it is to have one’s own feet washed, to just know that someone cares.

Jumping Off Cliffs

Posted: February 17, 2013 in Delving Deeper
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cliff

Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma – which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of others’ opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. -Steve Jobs

Mark E. Smith

At what points do you throw logic and reason and expert opinions and friendly advice into the wind and just believe in yourself? Everyone in the world can tell you that if you jump off of that proverbial cliff you’re going to die. Yet, you know something they don’t: You’ve jumped off of that cliff many times, and haven’t just survived, you’ve soared.

There’s a lot of value to following others’ advice, to not making the mistakes they’ve made. Yet, what about what you know, what about what you’ve learned, what about the power that your spirit has taught you, truths that others — more realistic, more grounded, with less vision — simply don’t know or understand? Maybe you have done the seemingly impossible, maybe you have seen fairy tales come true, maybe you have experienced what others will never understand is possible. Why let the ordinary dictate your life when you can live the extraordinary.

I look back on my own life, and if I had listened to anyone but my own potential, will, and heart, I wouldn’t be here, period. I was supposed to be a vegetable, with no cognitive skills. I was supposed to fail as among the first mainstream students. I was supposed to never have kids or career or live independently. I was never supposed to accomplish virtually everything I’ve accomplished. I’ve always been told that I’ll never succeed at this or that. But, every time I’ve found myself perched on a cliff, where everyone — following the rules of gravity, medicine, psychology, social norms — told me that I was destine for failure, I’ve just looked back, smiled a confident grin, and jumped, never hitting the ground but soaring.

Of course we, ourselves, can be our biggest roadblocks, where past disappointments and fears can keep us from making life-changing leaps of faith. I’m not going to apply for that job because I’ll never get it…. I’m not going to pursue that relationship because it’s just going to end in heartache…. I’m not going to follow my dream because it’s too unrealistic…. No, if we’re ever to achieve what we truly want and deserve, it requires us to make huge leaps of faith at times. We don’t know we can soar till we make the leap.

You’re going to find yourself at crossroads in life, perched on cliffs of decision, where everyone is going to give you advice, telling you it will never work, you’ll never succeed, you’re in denial, you’re destine for failure. Maybe you’ll even doubt yourself. But, if you simply trust that we all can accomplish the seemingly impossible, that fairy tales can come true, then you’re going to look back at the crowd, maybe even look at your own fears, smile a confident grin — because your heart and spirit know best — and you’re not just going to jump, you’re going to soar. All it takes is that one leap of faith to better your life forever.

Open-Ended

Posted: February 10, 2013 in Delving Deeper
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LOVE

By Mark E. Smith

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way…. -Pablo Neruda

As we sat talking – strangers seated next to each other on an airplane – I told him what I know about love as I glanced out the window, clouds beneath us drifting by, uncertainties ahead, the unknowns of travel and life….

Love isn’t about chances, I told him. It’s about trust. When you see a woman walking toward you – maybe the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen – and you smile warmly, looking into her eyes, you trust that she’ll smile back. Maybe it’s a stranger, and the electricity of her eyes says it all. Or, maybe she’s someone you know, and the squeeze of her hug says it all. However it occurs, it’s not about chances, it’s about trust.

When you ask a woman out on a date – maybe you put it casually, Do you want to go grab something to eat? – it’s not about chances, it’s about trust.

When you’re the first to initiate any milestones – …Can I see you again? …Do you want to come in? …How about meeting my friends? …What would you think about us going away this weekend? …I’m falling in love with you… – it’s not about chances, it’s about trust.

When there’s a petty argument, a disagreement, moodiness, and you’re the first to say, I’m sorry, it’s not about chances, it’s about trust.

When either one of you is confused or scared by it all, don’t run away from the relationship, run toward it. And, if she says that she needs time and space – maybe she’s even told you, It’s over – you step back as a gentleman, as a guy who cares and understands, and you give her that time and space because love isn’t about chances, it’s about trust.

And, when you have her picture still on your dresser, looking at it with fond memories – her head tilted back, smiling – but she’s not calling you on the phone anymore, your heart isn’t aching but warmed. Because, love isn’t about chances, it’s about trust.

Now, I can’t tell you whether it’s over or not in such cases – sometimes love has a vagueness and timing of its own. The cadence of the heart can’t be explained. But, I can tell you this: Love isn’t about chances. It’s about trust. …And, if you’re going to love – truly, madly, deeply – you have to trust more than you ever thought possible.

And, the clouds – the clouds, looking like I could float on them – just kept drifting by….

The Real American Dream

Posted: February 3, 2013 in Living The Lifestyle
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By Mark E. Smith

We often hear of the American Dream, but what does that really mean? In my home, it means a lot – because we’re living it.

This past week, I was in Atlanta, working with the Georgia Association of Medical Equipment Services, advocating at the Capitol and its Legislature for sustained mobility funding and disability-related services.

Before I left, my daughter and I sat at our kitchen table, and laid out our 2013 schedules, finances, and priorities. As a family – even though it’s just the two of us – we must be on the same page, as a team, pursuing my goals, her goals, and most importantly, our goals as a family building a legacy.

At just turning 16, my daughter is on her high school’s honor role, and on an Ivy-League track toward college, leaning heavily toward an ultimate doctorate in psychology. She plays and holds a seat not just in the school band, but regional orchestra, too, and is next auditioning for the state level in March. She’s a member of the National Thespian Society, where she acts, as well as serves as Secretary for her troop, and she’s a gallery-shown photographer. This summer, she’s attending George Mason University, where she was nominated as among the top 250 youth leaders in the country, and she’s also volunteering as a counselor at a muscular dystrophy summer camp. Yes, the kid is freakin’ awesome, nailing life at 16!

My career continues in full swing, where I have more corporate, advocacy, writing, and speaking projects lined up than in the history of my career, and what I’ve accomplished in just the first month of the year makes my head spin. Again, I was in Atlanta last week – recently back from Detroit! – now I have a radio interview, magazine columns (both in print and in process), a MDA Muscle Walk fundraiser, which I’m helping coordinate, an on-going book project, engagements in Nashville, and Los Angeles, and a full-time corporate job, message board, and weekly blog. And, that only gets me to mid March! (Then it’s Capitol Hill time, Abilities Expos… you get the idea….)

Yet, as a family, my daughter and I not only have to annually budget time, but also finances. We take money management very seriously in our home, where it’s not just about wealth-building and security, but “stewardship.” We believe that what we’re blesses with isn’t truly ours, but that we manage it for a greater good. We live totally debt free, put necessity before want, share with others, and give as much as we can to charity. We don’t live with a scarcity mindset, where we hoard for ourselves; rather, we live an abundant mindset, where there’s enough for us to really enjoy life and not worry, but we have the ability to give generously, as we believe giving to others is the absolute most fun that one can have with money (and, it’s the reason why we’re “stewards” of income – that is, to ultimately do good with it for others, as opposed to seeing it as ours to keep).

But, here’s what struck me about our 2013 family schedules, finances, and priorities meeting: We’re living the American Dream. In two generations – mine, now my daughter’s – we’ve changed our family tree beyond what many would deem possible. The number of firsts for us is astounding. Although a non-traditional family of just the two of us – there’s no mother figure in our family photos – we personify the American Dream.

See, it’s easy to look at me in a suit and tie traveling the country, speaking to audiences, or read my magazine columns, or know of my corporate career, or see me sunning on my boat or jetting off to Vegas, and say, Sure, Mark, life is easy for you when you and your daughter have money and opportunity….

However, the fact is, I was born into less than nothing, with the four generations before me living in abject poverty, all addicts, most serving prison time, none with an education, most just to steal and harm whoever they could. As I open some of my speaking engagements, On the day I was born, my grandfather was in prison, a lifelong criminal; my grandmother was a heroin-addicted prostitute; my father was an alcoholic, drinking in a bar at noon; and, as I was born on that day, I wasn’t breathing….

And, my family tree got worse from there. My grandmother called my mother on the phone and shot herself in the head, committing suicide. My grandfather died of a heroin overdose after endless years of prison time. Both my parents were Skid Row alcoholics, dead by the time I was 40. And, it all made sense, going back for generations on both sides of my family.

So, how did my daughter and I end up here today? Well, there’s been a lot of hurt, pain, struggle, and success in-between; but for me, it all started with getting myself in and out of a bathtub at age 11, where I simply learned that with unyielding tenacity and vision, my potentials could extend as far as I wished. I couldn’t just change the direction of my family tree, I could grow my own. …And, I did.

I was the first one ever to graduate high school in four generations. I was the first to go through college. I was the first to never serve jail time. I was the first to have a career. I was the first to own and invest. I was the first to not be an addict of any sort. I was the first to not do what those before me and around me had done, but to live by a radically different moral and ethical compass. I was the first to live the American Dream.

Yet, the climb has never been linear. Many of the ghosts of my heritage have chased me at times. At 17, I awoke in intensive care after my own failed suicide attempt. I got myself horribly in debt in my 20s. And, I have yet to sustain a life-long romantic relationship. Yet, every time I’ve fallen down, I’ve used second chances, which we all have, to make things right. I immediately got into counseling at 17; I worked my way out of debt in my early 30s; and, at this writing, I’m currently in counseling, striving to take accountability for a string of ended relationships, and get this whole love life thing right. Indeed, the beauty of the American Dream is it gives each of us the chance to change the directions of our lives at any time and redefine who we are. Again, we can get knocked down and fall down, but we have the chance and the choice to get up stronger every time. And, I’ve never passed on that opportunity.

And, while my daughter’s life hasn’t been a piece of cake, either – her mother ultimately unable to break free of her past and demons, to the point where she hasn’t been in my daughter’s life – my daughter has taken the torch of the American Dream, and ran with it. What we’ve both learned is that life isn’t what you’ve been born into; rather, it’s what you make of it, and despite hardships and hurt, you can move through it all, day by day, hurdle by hurdle, to success that you’ve earned by simply striving to do right – that’s living the American Dream.

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