Category: Living The Lifestyle

Teeing Off At Love

By Mark E. Smith

Yes, my swing is still off by a millimeter – but, of course, I’m working on it with more determination than ever, as we all should if we’re serious about getting it right. See, I learned that the only difference between the best golfers in the world and the worst golfers in the world is a one millimeter positioning of the head of the club at the point of impact on the ball. That one millimeter at the point of impact dictates whether the ball soars down the fairway, onto the green, or veers off by dozens of yards, into the rough. It all comes down to trajectory, where a slight nuance at the beginning dictates a vastly different outcome.

And, so, in my romantic life, there are days when I’m still one millimeter off, still trying to make right and do right. However, through all sorts of practice – from counseling, to reading, to just taking good ol’ accountability – I keep working on my swing, trying to get that last millimeter right, my love life soaring consistently down the fairway, being both a worthy partner and worthy of a partner. As is the case for a lot of people, loving is easy for me, but feeling fully worthy of love has been the hard part – the last millimeter.

Why is it that truly feeling worthy of love – like hitting a silly, white ball in a straight line – can be so challenging? I mean, for me, I’ve learned at least some of the answers. I know that I started the whole romance thing at four millimeters off, having my parents as the worst coaches – read that, examples – in the world. I actually started in my late teens hitting the ball in the entirely wrong direction, dating emotional vacuums. But, after a few relationships and just wanting to do right by others and just be happy myself, I got better at it all, healthier at it all. But, never perfect. You might say I could keep the ball straighter, but the trajectory always landed me in the rough at the end. Was it my dysfunctions creeping in at the last minute, or just bad luck, a gust of wind that I couldn’t recover from?

And, that’s the baffling part of romantic relationships, isn’t it? When we think we’ve finally hit our best shot – where we strive to love with sincerity and vulnerability, and find love in return – we too often ultimately watch it inexplicably veer off course, saying to ourselves and those around us, Wait! I swear I’ve been working on myself, and gave it my best shot! This isn’t the direction it’s supposed to go! We sometimes want to throw our club in the air, and scream, OK, Lord, I give up – I’m moving into my studio condo in Vegas, getting a cat, and look forward to being the best single grandparent ever!

Yet, we can’t do that. See, the only time we lose in any aspect of life, including love, is when we give up. No, we shouldn’t throw our club in despair, and stomp off of the course. Rather, if we’re patient, someone, somewhere, at the right time, who’s truly compatible, will fall in love with us, accepting us for who we are – with our fully reciprocating – and together with her or him we’ll celebrate the victory of finding the literal sweet spot of life.

But, indeed, it’s the waiting for love that so many of us have struggled with at times in our lives, the right one to enter our lives, wholly, completely. I was recently discussing the topic of love with a spiritual force in my life, a woman wiser and more angelic than anyone I’ve ever known, and she spoke profound words: When the time is right, the right person will come into your life. Life is a waiting game. If we try to rush things, we often short change ourselves.

Similarly, musician and sage soul, Bob Marley, delivered among the most profound takes on love, one that resonates with the emotional availability and valuation that we should all have when we meet the one for us:

Only once in your life, I truly believe, you find someone who can completely turn your world around. You tell them things that you’ve never shared with another soul and they absorb everything you say and actually want to hear more. You share hopes for the future, dreams that will never come true, goals that were never achieved and the many disappointments life has thrown at you. When something wonderful happens, you can’t wait to tell them about it, knowing they will share in your excitement. They are not embarrassed to cry with you when you are hurting or laugh with you when you make a fool of yourself. Never do they hurt your feelings or make you feel like you are not good enough, but rather they build you up and show you the things about yourself that make you special and even beautiful. There is never any pressure, jealousy or competition but only a quiet calmness when they are around. You can be yourself and not worry about what they will think of you because they love you for who you are. The things that seem insignificant to most people such as a note, song or walk become invaluable treasures kept safe in your heart to cherish forever. Memories of your childhood come back and are so clear and vivid it’s like being young again. Colours seem brighter and more brilliant. Laughter seems part of daily life where before it was infrequent or didn’t exist at all. A phone call or two during the day helps to get you through a long day’s work and always brings a smile to your face. In their presence, there’s no need for continuous conversation, but you find you’re quite content in just having them nearby. Things that never interested you before become fascinating because you know they are important to this person who is so special to you. You think of this person on every occasion and in everything you do. Simple things bring them to mind like a pale blue sky, gentle wind or even a storm cloud on the horizon. You open your heart knowing that there’s a chance it may be broken one day and in opening your heart, you experience a love and joy that you never dreamed possible. You find that being vulnerable is the only way to allow your heart to feel true pleasure that’s so real it scares you. You find strength in knowing you have a true friend and possibly a soul mate who will remain loyal to the end. Life seems completely different, exciting and worthwhile. Your only hope and security is in knowing that they are a part of your life.”
― Bob Marley

And, so we should each just keep practicing at it all – learning and growing and loving, in a relationship or single or somewhere in-between – knowing that one day, at the right tee time, we’ll finally shave off that one millimeter blocking our well-formed swings, and all will soar in the direction we and our partners desire – a hole-in-one in life, love, and fulfillment.

Palm Tree in the Wind

By Mark E. Smith

Indeed, my friend, I continue working on this thing called life – physically, emotionally, mentally. I’ve concluded that it’s all a bit like exercise. From the physical to the emotional, if we do nothing, life is effortless. However, such a no-effort approach is also the worst thing for us – we don’t grow, nothing changes, nothing gets easier, things just stay the same or degrade. Yet, like physical exercise, when we put in the effort to change ourselves for the better, we grow and become healthier – and life gets better. It’s the nature of personal growth: It takes effort, but the more we do it, the easier it gets – more intuitive, more natural – and the healthier we get.

I just spoke at the University of Scranton, and a student asked where I got my resiliency as a child? I couldn’t give an absolute answer other than there was something intrinsic in me toward facing adversity. I know that in changing our lives for the better as adults, we need a conscious desire to improve ourselves, as well as an innate inner capacity to accomplish it. There’s often a catalyst for conscious change – and I’ll get to that more in a moment – but the innate part is more complex.

I recently learned about the resilience of palm trees. While all other trees topple in hurricane force winds, the palm bows for hours in horrendous storms, then simply uprights to normal. Oaks, pines, maples, you name it, all topple – but not the palm. I think all of us are born as palms – that is, having utmost resilience – but for some, the roots are eroded by others, where hellish upbringings can kill our capacities to grow beyond the scars that were left. But, fortunately, I wasn’t one of those people whose spirit was ever lost or destroyed. I’ve weathered my storms, but my roots – my capacities to learn, grow, and change – stayed intact.

For a lot of years, I relied on my innate capacities to change and grow, but it wasn’t until the passing of both my parents due to their troubled lives that I truly understood the power of combining innate strength with the conscious desire to change, to move beyond their negative examples and live a better life for myself. It’s one thing to survive and get by; but, it’s another to thrive and do well. I guess with my parents’ deaths, I was able to shake away a lot of shadows, and truly work on moving beyond the pain of my past. It may be a shame that their passing liberated me in ways – that’s not how parent-child relationships should work – but it did put so much of the dysfunction to rest. I guess those who aren’t there anymore can’t hurt us – but the memories still can – and moving beyond both has been my goal for several years now.

And, the newly-made memories are better these days, all of them. I added a fireplace to my master bedroom. No, it’s not a real one, but what they call “vent-free.” But it’s a beautiful mantel, with a realistic flame and logs, and heats the room with a toasty warmth and glow. I also picked out a thick, shag area rug that nicely frames my bed. It all cozies up my space, a tranquil one, where my daughter and I have nightly conversations about her life, my life, our life – life overall. She’s in driver’s education now, with her first formal gallery showing of her photography coming up, and a boyfriend who’s an Eagle Scout. So, there’s a lot to talk about around the fake fireplace and shag rug – warmth abound.

We recently went and saw The Perks of Being a Wallflower. It’s the movie adaptation from the 1990s novel by the same name. A central theme of the movie is, We accept the love we think we deserve, meaning that if we think we deserve little, then that’s what we’ll get, that we should all raise our expectations – in life and love. And, the movie was not lost on who we’re each striving to become, the wounds we’re each healing, the ever-rewarding effort that we’re each putting into loving, learning, and growing.

It’s said that if we don’t address the trauma of our pasts and heal, we statistically will relive it, making ourselves forever either a victim or a perpetrator – or both. If you were raised by an alcoholic, chances are that unless you make a conscious change, along with possessing the innate capacity to do so, you will marry an alcoholic, be an alcoholic, or, forbid, do both. This holds true for any trauma in our lives, where, again, if we don’t address it, we relive it – the only creature on Earth known by science that revictimizes itself. And, I’ve done it, now taking absolute accountability for choosing relationships where I simply found those who fit the mold of those I knew in my insanely dysfunctional upbringing – emotionally unavailable for any number of dysfunctional reasons. However, with my own value at stake – raising the bar on the health and love that I deserve, and breaking the cycle of dysfunction for the sake of my daughter – I continue working on myself, changing my own flawed programming, moving out of the shadows of my past and into the glow of my potential. And, like exercise, it’s been painful getting into shape, and it’s all just scary and confusing at times. But, I just keep working at it – the strength of a lone man just trying to do right.

And, so it’s around the fake fireplace and shag rug that I continue building an ever-inspired life of laughter, love, learning, and growth. Sure, it was once just my daughter and me in a house left both literally and figuratively empty by my ended marriage, repeated dysfunctional patterns from my childhood on. But, now there are new pictures on the walls, a fake fireplace, and shag rug that are just quirky enough to feel so right. Palm trees, my friend, do always find ways to right themselves – it just takes time.

Flying High

By Mark E. Smith

I smiled – as always – when I rolled up to the airline ticket counter, and offered a friendly good morning to the ticket agent, placing my companion’s identification card and mine on the counter. The agent took our I.D.s, pulled up our tickets, and said, “You’re going to have to check your bag – that’ll be $25.”

“It’s a carry-on,” I replied, glancing at my bag.

“No, it’s too big to be a carry-on,” she replied. “You have to check it.”

“It’s a certified carry-on, and I’ve flown with it countless times as a carry-on, never checking it,” I explained.

“Do you want to fly today or not?” she asked. “”If so, I need that bag and $25.”

I suppose I could have asked to set the bag on the measuring board, or asked to speak to a manager, but I didn’t want to make the agent any angrier than she was, I didn’t want to add any fuel to whatever was burning her up inside that morning. So, I simply checked the bag as she insisted.

As my travel companion and I headed toward security screening, my companion was outraged, not understanding why the agent was so rude? “I don’t know why she was so rude,” I answered. “People are rude all the time. I just hope her day gets better.”

I was heading home from a successful business trip; I was blessed that $25 wasn’t an issue for me to afford; and, I was excited to be going home to my daughter. Really, I was happy to just be on my way – no worries at all.

The fact is, not everyone is going to like you or be kind to you – often for no reason at all. From your own family members to complete strangers, people are going to be rude, unkind, possibly downright mean. However, we have the choice of buying into their misery, or just letting it roll off us like water on glass – not letting it stick. If we know we are living kind, loving lives that give to others, it’s doing ourselves an injustice to let others bring us down. Be yourself – celebrated, not degraded or just tolerated.

I had a nice flight home, ultimately reaching the arms of my welcoming daughter. And, I truly hope that ticket agent’s day turned out just as well.

Play In Pain

By Mark E. Smith

At this writing, hurricane Sandy is bearing down on us, and it looks like I have to ride home in my power wheelchair in rain and 40mph winds. And, I’m totally fine with that – no big deal. Now, I have other options, but they seem illogical to me. I have over 400 hours of accumulated time off, so I could have stayed home, or even worked from home. Or, I could call someone to bring my van and pick me up. But, why would I do either of those? Schools are closed, and people are hunkering down with storm supplies, but a little discomfort – or, a lot – never persuaded me to stop from doing what’s best for me and those who count on me, like my going to work like any other day, regardless of a supposed looming hurricane.

We live in culture where too many people seem to resist “playing in pain,” sidelining themselves from the game of life, albeit due to emotional, physical, or mental challenges. It’s as if why try when you can just give up? There’s a storm brewing, so let’s cancel school. I’m sick, so I’m not going to work. My boyfriend broke up with me, so I’m going to sleep all weekend. I lost my job, so I’m just going to sit around the house….

No, just because bad things happen doesn’t mean that we throw in the towel, give up on ourselves, make excuses, or stop our lives. Rather, in times of adversity, we should pick up the pace. They make rain gear to weather storms, and when storms hit our own lives, you might say that rather than run and hide, we should don our rain gear – that is, our inner-strength – and head into the storm, head on. After all, weathering storms is how we grow and become stronger.

The next time you find yourself with the two options of adversity – to play in pain with pride, or seat yourself on the sidelines of life with pity – don your rain gear and head into the storm, with courage and tenacity. Choose to “play in pain,” and you will come out stronger.

That Thing Called Integrity

By Mark E. Smith

I did an interview recently, and both the interviewer and my public relations manager both expressed that if any of the questions were too personal, I should feel free to not answer them. And, so I tried to figure out what would be too personal for me to publicly address?

And, I couldn’t come up with what would be too personal for me to publicly answer, especially because the interview was for a mobility industry publication. I mean, it’s not like they’d ever ask if I’ve had sex in my wheelchair, right? But, if they did, I’d pull a Bill Clinton, and ask for a clarification of terms – and then reply with a resounding, Yes, and then share every sordid detail of each encounter that I could squeeze in before my publicist wisely censored me. …So, I was 20, and in the all-girls dorm at Santa Clara University one night, dating this really hot Psych major….

But, alas, to me at least, the questions were strikingly normal – just questions about growing up with my disability. And, then it hit me: I suppose some people do view speaking of their disabilities as too personal to discuss in public. But, not me, and as I got into the interview questions, I had no qualms about answering them, to an as-honestly-personal level as I could.

See, I know that everyone has differing levels of comfort and privacy. But, if you’re going to put yourself out there, don’t hold back. And, I believe that if someone – or, a readership – is candid enough to ask you a question, you owe it to them and yourself to give a completely candid answer, even when a lump develops in your throat and you have to say what you’re going to say in one breath or the tears will start flowing. After all, if you’re not going to expose yourself completely – your heart and soul, fear and shame – you’re lying to everyone, including yourself. It all comes down to a greatly underestimated trait called integrity.

So, I worked my way through the questions with what I learned about Gandhi. He never planned a speech. What he said, felt, and did were so congruent that he spoke solely from intuition and heart. To each question, I just strove to give an authentic answer.

The interview went great, and not thinking much about it, I left the transcript on my kitchen table. My daughter and sister were hanging out that eve, and began reading through it, par for the course, till they got to one specific question and answer:

What do you know now that you wish you knew then?
That I am worthy of love. I mean, I still struggle with it, but not nearly as much as I did in my teens and twenties. My father, till the day he died, expressed shame toward my disability, and my mother always blamed my disability for their divorce (which occurred when I was a toddler). My mother was also a life-long substance abuser and experienced mental illness, so I took the brunt of that chaos, much of which she blamed on my having a disability, as well. So, when you add that into the normal teen equation of wanting to fit in – but not fitting in due to disability – it was hard for me to look at myself in the mirror at, say, 17. Based on a lot of work on personal growth, and raising my daughter, I’ve come a long way toward truly feeling worthy of love – but, admittedly, I still struggle with it at times.

“Wow, that’s really brave of you to publicly share,” my sister said.

“It’s not brave at all,” I said. “It’s just being honest.”

Wanna be a Rock Star?

By Mark E. Smith

At some point, one must get smarter about these things – I must get smarter about these things. At some point, unlike Peter Pan, we should all grow up.

I’m heading out on the road, with a jam-packed schedule – first Detroit, then Atlanta for Medtrade. They’re back-to-back trips, with one whole day home in-between, just enough to repack and catch-up with my daughter. It’s a nine-day stint in total.

After well over a decade of these types of trip, I’ve seen it all and done it all, and while it’s been a blast – and made for some great writing and tales to be told – at some point one has to put the work above all else, and dial down the after hours shenanigans for healthier pursuits like sleep. The goal isn’t to pride yourself on rock-starring it all night, then showing up for your gig on time the next day, but to prioritize your actual job at hand – and that means forgoing the whole rock-star part. It’s almost like there has to be humility to it all, where you just do your job, find something to eat, and go back to your hotel room for some reading and a full night’s sleep. No boozing, no parties, no chasing chicks – just a call home, shower, and eight hours of sleep. Is that the life of over-the-top stories and rock-star fantasies come true? No, but it’s a heck of a wise way to live if your career is a priority and you want to live by example for those around you – in my case, my teen daughter.

In Detroit, one day, I have an 8:00am corporate talk, then an 8:00pm keynote, more of a ruckus, rousing one-man show, introduced by one of Detroit’s top news anchors. I have to be up by 5:00am, knock the ball out of the park during the morning talk, then shift gears for a totally different gig that evening, where my energy level is through the roof. And, Medtrade is far more demanding yet, in that it’s a grueling schedule day after day, all week. Work like that, to the levels that I wish to perform, just can’t be done without a good night’s rest and sobriety.

I’ve written and talked about the highs and lows on the road, where the self-imposed chaos could take me from among the most glamorous scenes to the darkest of depression, the type of emotional roller-coaster that contributed to Vic Chestnut’s suicide. And, what I’ve realized is that it’s not the travel, or the work, or the scenes that cause such extremes, but the way we handle them – a loss of perspective and humility.

Sure, most want to be a rock star on the road, living clips of the lifestyle. But, the fact is, I’m no musician with throngs of fans, fueled by booze and chicks. Rather, I’m just a full-time single dad, trying to make a living while making a difference, where good work and clean living is a boring truth. My goal is to do my jobs, move on to the next city, and get home to just being Dad and cleaning my bathroom.

Smashed-Up

By Mark E. Smith

For the third time, U.S. Airways luggage handlers have dropped my power chair from around eight feet in the air (off of the top of the conveyor belt near the cargo door). Fortunately, that particular power chair is like a Timex watch: After two years of use, travel, and being dropped from the conveyor belt three times, it takes a lickin’ and keeps on tickin’!

But, not without battle scars, of course. I mean, when a 300-something-pound power chair falls from eight feet onto the pavement, bad things happen. This time, the power chair landed with such a blow that it actually twisted – not bent, but twisted – some seriously-stout metal structures, destroying an armrest and back cane. Still, the power seating system and power base are fine, ready for more flights (and drops). And, because I’m part of my own power chair company, yes, I am a bit more fortunate than others because I can piece it back together, cover up the gashed areas with black paint, and be off to the next event in real time. Still, in the moment, I’m as stuck as anyone would be at the airport with a smashed-up power chair – not a good feeling or scene.

However, here’s what I really don’t understand: A bunch of people saw my power chair fall off of the conveyor belt – clearly smashed-up – and no one acknowledged it, pretending that it never happened. This time, someone parked it, tweaked as heck, at the gate counter (rather than bringing it to the plane door like they should), and the gate agent came down to the plane door, simply telling me that they couldn’t bring my chair down because it wasn’t working. Duh – it took an 8-foot tumble to the tarmac!

I really appreciate the hard work that the luggage handlers perform – it’s back-breaking, in weather extremes, for not a lot of pay. I also understand that they’re not trained to handle mobility devices, nor is the equipment that they use designed for loading and transporting a big, heavy object like a power chair. However, on a deeper level, how have the airlines created a culture of no responsibility? Call me naïve, but where are accident reports and such? How can a company’s employees and procedures damage customer property without any sort of personnel accountability? Sure, a damage claim can be filled, but that doesn’t resolve the systemic issue of zero accountability among employees – they literally can destroy your property, and no one cares. And, the slight cynic in me wonders if the airlines have determined that it’s more cost effective to just pay an occasional claim than to train personnel and create procedures?

A portion of my career involves flying, and the highlights of my life have been traveling with my teenage daughter the past few years. So, despite a bad track record, and undoubtedly more challenges to come, the rewards of air travel far outweigh the risks and consequences.

Yet, I’d still feel better if I could just fly somewhere without worrying if I’ll be mobile when I land?

Getting Away with Murder

By Mark E. Smith

When she shouted, “Quick, get his gun!” I should have known it all would go downhill from there….

This all started with a group of us anchored in an empty cove, sunbathing on my boat after an afternoon of swimming. I was stretched out on a front lounge when I heard the sirens, poking my head up to see a patrol boat coming toward us, lights flashing – water cops, we call them.

I sit up, and my crew looks puzzled, the water cop pulling beside us. “Is everyone alright onboard?” he asks, shutting off his engine.

“Uh, yeah,” everyone says at once. We’re a mix of parents, teens, and toddlers, kicking back in 85-degree weather. The stereo isn’t even on.

“May I have permission to board?” the water cop asks.

“Absolutely,” I say.

With his boat loosely tied to mine, the water cop jumps from his fore deck, on to mine. And, in the process, his handgun tumbles from its holster, bouncing off of the front boarding deck of my boat.

With kids onboard, and not wanting the water cop’s gun to fall in the lake, my friend screams, “Quick, get his gun!”

But, the water cop doesn’t know he lost his gun, and reaches for his empty holster in an immediate panic. “It’s by your feet,” I say.

He picks up his gun, puts it in the holster, and snaps it shut, regaining his composure. “Has anyone been drinking today?”he asks.

“No,” everyone answers.

“Whose vessel is this?” he asks.

“Mine,” I reply.

“What year were you born?” he asks, and glances at my wheelchair sitting behind the helm, then back at me.

“1971,” I reply, knowing that my age exempts me from needing a boating license. “But, I have my boater’s license, Coast Guard Auxiliary certification, and Auxiliary boat certification. And, my daughter over there has her Red Cross CPR and water certifications. Want to see all of them?”

“No, you’re fine,” he says, leaning over my wheelchair to read both the gauge on my helm-mounted fire extinguisher, and the tag on my throwable floatation device – required safety gear.

“How long is this vessel?” he asks?”

“Twenty-two feet,” I reply.

“Well, it’s good that the kids are wearing life vests,” he says, knowing that they legally don’t have to wear them all of the time on a boat this big.

“I need to see an emergency life vest for every adult on board,” he says.

Everyone stands up, opens all compartments, piling the deck with 20 assorted life vests – all high-quality ski vests, not cheap orange ones. “Why do you have so many vests,” he asks.

“I entertain a lot, so I have a few in every size,” I reply.

“Smart,” he says. “Do you mind if I look under the rear sundeck?”

“No,” I say, and my daughter and her friend scoot off of it.

The rear sundeck opens into a changing room that contains a commode, as well. The water cop fumbles around trying to open it, but no one gives him advice. Finally, he opens it, seeing the commode sitting there, the compartment otherwise empty. He shuts the sundeck, and returns to midship. “Did anyone have difficulty swimming today?” he asks.

“Nope,” everyone replies.

“We got a call that this vessel pulled a body from the lake, and put it in the rear of the vessel,” the water cop says. “The call was from a house on shore.”

We all look at each other, and know exactly what he’s talking about, but play dumb. “Sorry to disappoint the neighbors, but we’re just having a quiet family day on the lake,” I say.

The water cop thanks us for our patience, wishes us well, and heads off in his boat. And, we all laugh like heck, knowing that the neighbor saw my brother-in-law pull me from the water and drag me to the rear changing room so that I could put on dry clothes. “See how easy it is to get away with murder,” I say, and everyone laughs as they stuff life vests back into storage compartments.

Rock-Starring Into Oblivion

By Mark E. Smith

Indeed, I am on the cover of the July 2012 issue of New Mobility, as the author of the magazine’s feature story, which is an all-night, true-life tale of me in Vegas (and, yes, it involves booze, chicks, and a bowling shirt – that is, the cerebral palsy version of Charlie Sheen, minus bi-polar disorder and cocain).

For me, making the cover of New Mobility as just … well …me, is among the coolest accomplishment in my career – and very humbling. Appearing in mainstream magazines – usually skewed toward a heroic, inspirational persona – isn’t my gig. Who I really am is lost in that. But, to make the cover of New Mobility not because I’m an inspirational figure or because I’m interviewed or because I’m representing anything, but because I’m just me on a tangent in Vegas is pretty darn cool, the ultimate compliment from those who truly matter to me – my peers and readership. (And, it’s an impressive feat for a man of such indiscernible skill and as void of charm as me, where somehow my just hanging out in Vegas and writing about it qualifies as a partial way to make a living – I’m like the Kardashians, but with even less talent, if that’s possible.)

However, while the cover is already framed and hung with pride on a wall among other such achievements in my home, it ultimately represents a larger truth: Beyond the lasting positive impacts we’ve had on others, what we accomplished yesterday does not dictate our potential for today. There’s no riding what we did yesterday. A magazine cover is great, but it’s yesterday’s news – my sleeves remain rolled-up and working, making the most of today. After all, today is all we really have to work with. Life’s like peddling a bike – the minute you stop putting effort into it, you stop.

Think about how that concept applies to every part of our lives. So many people get caught up in yesterday that they completely waste today, using excuses from the past not to make the most of the present. I hit my sales target for the month, so I can coast for a bit. My relationship has been good, so I don’t need to do that little something extra for my partner. I accomplished that awesome feat, so surely I’ll forever command respect.

No, yesterday is gone, and our only true merit is based on what we are accomplishing today. Just because you hit your sales target doesn’t mean you stop there. Just because your relationship has been good doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t make things even better today. Just because you had major accomplishments doesn’t mean that you should quit striving.

If we’re going to be successful, we can’t look at life as riding waves, where we just try to coast from one periodic success to another. Rather, if we’re going to be successful, we must look at life as a never-ending mountain to climb, a daily work ethic toward new growth in all areas.

Sure, it’s nice to hang a new memento of my success on the wall – rock-starring it on the cover of New Mobility, looking every bit the absurd part – but it’s all just memories and decoration in the end. My only value is in my current project, whatever it may be, where I’m hopefully making a difference in the lives of others.

As you read the piece, I hope you’ll recognize that any sort of celebrity is really an illusion, where such stints as the glitz and glam of me rock-starring is cool, but it’s not where the true value in life is. Rather, the real message in the piece – as in life – is that it isn’t who we are or what we have accomplished that adds value to our lives, but it’s our capacity to embrace others, from all backgrounds, that truly makes us each a superstar from the inside out, everyone equally deserving of gracing a magazine cover.

Read “Freewheeling in Vegas” online here.