A couple weeks ago, I watched Terrence Malick's The Tree of Life.

Talk about "Give a Mouse a Cookie!"

It's not really a movie.  It's more an exposition on existentialism.

Sure, it's presented via film, but it's primarily a hallucinogenic journey from creation to destruction, with Texas and philosophy residing somewhere in between.

The early lines about two ways to live, via grace or nature, are breathtaking.  And, as the journey unfolds, similarly heartbreaking.

But the film led me on a Terrence Malick bender, proceeding from The Tree of Life to Badlands, Days of Heaven and The New World (which was particularly rewarding because, after devouring A Land as God Made It and A Kingdom Strange [both by James Horn, about the Jamestown and Roanoke colonies, respectively], I had also just returned from an emotional day at Jamestown Colony). 

After growing up in Waco, TX, Malick graduated from Harvard with a degree in philosophy.  He then attended Oxford as a Rhodes Scholar, but he did not complete his doctoral work, opting instead to drop-out, become a journalist, writer, itinerant professor at MIT and, surely, one of this century's most reclusive, enigmatic, brilliant directors.  His personal story is marked by lows and highs, from his pianist brother's crippling his own hands and eventual suicide to Malick's three marriages and his ultimately directing what many regard as the finest film ever made, Days of Heaven, which proved that 'the magic hour' right before dusk can be the most gorgeous time to roll tape. 

Malick's own inquiries, evident in everything he has touched, are about Being.  In fact, one of his best known scholarly works is a translation of Martin Heidegger's (1889-1976) Vom Wesen des Grundes, published by Malick as The Essence of Reasons.  Heidegger, a controversial figure then and now, explored the meaning of Being, determinism, our role in the world ("in situ," as it were)--and the extent (or limited extent) to which we can be, in short, "masters of our domain," advocating instead that we are probably just "leaves in a stream." 

These films by Malick, the books by Horn, my introspective day at Jamestown (during which, virtually alone for hours, I felt like an alien landing on earth some 300 years after it imploded)--coincide with my 42nd birthday--placing me (God willing and health permitting) smack-dab between my own creation and (carnate) destruction at the intersection of Texas and philosophy.  Mid-life, to be sure.

As I've written before, our daughter articulated her first, deep existential angst about one month into 1st Grade.  As I lay her in bed one night, her heavy head on the pillow, tinkly music drifting in the background, she stared up at me with her big round eyes and inquired (God as my witness), "Daddy, is this all there is to life?"  Perplexed, I asked, "What, Sweetie?"  Sighing, she said, "You know...dressing, eating, sitting in plastic chairs all day listening to a teacher.  Coming home to eat, undress and do it all again tomorrow?" 

Needless to say, I was first taken aback.

Who spoke these words?

In return, I was speechless. 

There is, to life, a number of days in plastic chairs.

And a number of hours standing in line.

Along with perhaps 87,600 meals.

And 29,200 showers.

And, if you want them and are fortunate, perhaps 2.5 kids, a couple cars, a house in the cul-de-sac, a few diplomas on the wall and all the rest.

Sure, yes, there is much about life that is pedestrian, pragmatic, prosaic.

As we spoke, for what amounted to perhaps one hour, we proceeded to move beyond these ideas though, at which point I tried (speaking to a six-year-old) to describe meaning, belief, service, faith, hope, love and all the rest.  And, very briefly, to describe a sense of calling, living a life on purpose, and talents.  (Hey, she asked.  We're too far in to turn back now, I reasoned.) 

Looking back over the nearly four years that have lapsed since then I can say, with a degree of shock, that it did seem to click.  She was listening.  She more than heard me--she somehow, through her tiny ears and wet eyes, understood.

And her journey, like mine--yours--ours, is often about Being more than Doing.

We are trained, most of us, to focus on "behavior," as it is, from a reductive standpoint, observable and, therefore, "measurable and coach-able."

But I must say, as I get older, that any worthwhile reflection on one's personhood begins much deeper.  Not at the 'genetic' level, mind you, but certainly at the 'atomic' level of, say, one's Being and Beliefs.

To make this demonstrable, consider the hypocrite.  The politician, for example, who Is and who Believes one way, yet consistently Behaves obversely.

More slippery still, consider the person who Behaves well toward you, demonstrating wonderful actions, when all the while a brew of anger, hate, jealousy or vengeance roils right beneath the surface.

Psychologists and philosophers have wrestled with and written about these "veneers" and "masks" for millennia, and they always will.

The questions of "Who am I" and "What do I believe" undergird and give shape to our very existence.

They precede Behavior and, to my current way of thinking, actually supersede it.  True, I care about Behavior.  I/we all do; should; will.  Agreeing with the cognitivists (e.g., Maslow, McClellan, McGregor, Herzberg) more than the behaviorists (e.g., Pavlov, Skinner and all the rest), I believe that, while actions and reactions matter, behaviors are primarily symptomatic in nature, with one's starting disposition being more causal.  (Yes, yes, there are limitless exceptions, from seatbelts and smoking to aromatic foods, ringing doorbells and vibrating phones, but these do not dissuade me from my 51/49 lean.) 

As I reflect on Malick's films, the colonists who forged this nation, the founding fathers who (nearly 160 years later) canonized its liberties...and even David Fincher's interpretation of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, I am convinced beyond certainty that Being and Beliefs, while not quite prologue, are immeasurably paramount.

When I coach someone who has had "a change of heart," his/her ears and eyes are wide open.

When I coach someone who "intellectually understands," yet maintains a concrete bunker around his/her heart, we both fail.

I share these ruminations in the magic hour of 2011, as dusk is coming and, with it, the sun is slipping below the horizon.

All too soon, 2011 will be but a distant memory and we, like the rooster, will be crowing about 2012 and all that dawns ahead.

May this New Year be your best one yet, so abundant with blessings that your storehouse nails pop clean out, boards bursting at the seams, flat-out overflowing.

But more than this, much more, my hope and heart and mind and prayer is this: may you find and be at peace with your own Being and Beliefs.

So much that, should this or that be your last hour, you might rest your head on a soft pillow knowing, tomorrow and beyond, there is unquestionably Meaning, Reason and Hope well beyond the plastic chairs. 

It is the way of grace.

JamestownPhotos.pdf (12.52 mb)

Next time you're searching for computer desktop/background/wallpaper images, promise me you'll try here.

Trey Ratcliff, an SMU graduate and Austin resident, creates the most glorious artwork from already amazing photos.  They run the gamut, from Icelandic meadows and Texas biker rallies to international airport terminals and shots of his family at Christmas. 

You'll enjoy them, others will enjoy them, and they'll transport you into what feels like an alternate universe.

But I must forewarn you: if you think you'll be spending "only 10 minutes" in his site, you're deluded.  Most of my friends pop-out 1+ hours later, wondering what they've been missing all these years.  Put on a pot of coffee and fall into a deep, cozy chair--cuz I predict you're gonna be a while. 

I just love announcing people with talent, and this fella's got it in spades.  Fortunately for him, Getty and the Smithsonian discovered Trey long ago, and the kid seems to be doing all right for himself.    ;-)

God bless the supra-talented who find their callings and thrive living them.  Way to go, everyone.  Keep up the great work.

Before dinner tonight, I found myself in the very first Starbucks -- the one that started it all. 

Though I'd been once before, I noticed something this time that I failed to notice last time: no chairs.  No seating whatsoever.  It's Starbucks as we know it...but totally stripped down and unplugged.

It got me thinking about this distinction between simplicity and elaborateness (the opposite of simple is elaborateness, not complexity, as we often suppose).

We're all biased, of course, and my bias is this: simple is better.  It just is.  The best car I've ever driven, the best home I've ever lived in, the best clothes I've ever worn, the best friend I ever knew...they were all very straightforward and simple.  And I loved 'em that way.  Preferred them, in fact. 

Just like I loved this Starbucks. 

It lacked all those messy chairs, newspapers strewn on the floor, squatters hogging the best spaces in the place for hours on end with their computer cables running this way and that.

Instead, this tiny 28-year-old joint was full of an eclectic energy, eager buyers, photogs, and folks just happy to get in, get out, and get on their way, steaming cups in hand.

I accept that there are times we wanna flop down in a big cushy chair, but this original Starbucks reminds me that often, we overburden great ideas with unnecessary elaborateness...and lose the essence that made something special in the first place.

I was exhausted last night as I shuffled onto the plane in the dark amid the sleety rain in Michigan.

I shoved one bag under the seat in front of me, another above me, and gingerly took my seat where I slept like a tranquilized boar for two hours.

When I awoke, I had a pleasant conversation with the young man beside me -- Brian.  Brian is around 30 and works at Sewell.  Begun in 1911, Sewell is a very values-based car company, "And we really believe in it.  For us, it's not just talk."  We visited for over an hour and, somewhere along the way, quite nonchalantly, Brian commented, "I have brain cancer.  See this scar?"  (It ran from ear to ear, across the top of his fuzzy skull, and was easily 3/4" wide and almost 3/8" deep.)  "I've finished seven weeks of radiation and now I'm in chemotherapy."

"Wow.  And you're working?  And travelling?" I asked incredulously.

"Yeah.  What else am I gonna do?  I'm tired all the time, sure, but we gotta keep moving forward, right?  Plus, we just had a huge meeting in Detroit with GM."

"What's your prognosis, Brian, if you don't mind my asking."

"That's God's call, not mine.  I can only do what the doctors suggest.  After that, it's out of our hands."

It is indeed, Brian; it is indeed.

As we parted ways, he shook my hand.  "It was nice visiting with you, Blake."

"You, too, Brian.  You, too."

And with that, I watched him stride toward the front of the plane.  Along the way, he helped a businesswoman remove her very heavy bag from the overhead bin.  She was jabbering away on her cell phone, complaining to someone back in her office, "I simply will not work for that amount of money.  You can tell him I said so."  She never made eye contact with Brian and didn't say a word to him.  Not even a 'thanks.'  But he smiled and kept moving forward.   

As if the billions who preceded us are insufficient signposts, God repeatedly sends emissaries carrying more 'perspective' our way.   

No one promised you another day.  Make this one count. 

Oh, and another thing.  A couple personal favors, really.  One, remember to say "Please" and "Thank you."  It's just mannerly, okay?  And two, stay off the phone when you're in confined spaces.  We didn't call you and, frankly, we'd rather avoid the assault.

Well, this is a neat idea!

Mike Gathright, a professional acquaintance, is now 8 months into a yearlong (or more, or less) sabbatical that involves traveling around the world with his family.

The photos are beautiful and the gang looks happy.  What a fun trip, especially during these times.

Let us live, albeit briefly and vicariously, through his amazing photo album and blog at www.3amtraveling.blogspot.com

Don't say I never gave you anything practical!

Attached is a great checklist from a dear friend, itemizing the various items he often takes when traveling overseas.

Surely your list is unique, but who knows, maybe this one will come in handy some day.

List of Ancillary Items to Pack for International Trips.pdf (161.72 kb)

Having described Grand Canyon & Grey Towers and a great haunt in Toledo, I'll conclude this 'photo album' trilogy (!) with one final entry: The Great Wall of China. 

All I can say is, it's a 50° grade in some places (compared to a standard U.S. grade-range for stairs of around 38° to 39°), it's visible from -- well, not quite space -- but far, because it's so large as to be practically unfathomable and, equally important, it's hot as Hades but more humid.

As always, for the interested, here is a photo album with brief captions.  The attachment concludes with a few organizationally relevant thoughts regarding vision, potential, and the like.  Remember, be patient as the file loads, it is somewhat large: GreatWall_WisdomFromTheSchoolOfHardKnocks_photos_July2006.pdf (1.36 mb)

I'm a sucker for great, small, fun, authentic... 'dives and diners.'  Packo's isn't necessarily either, but it's close.  It's smallish, high-energy, and serves a real gut-busting dog 'n chili mac.  But more importantly, it's a great example of a small, thriving, third-generation family-owned business. 

Every time I go there, the line is practically to the door, whether it's 11am, 1pm, or evening.  The food is simple quality, the service is great, the faces are friendly, and the 'barkers' keep the line moving.  (Simple behaviors, and ones that any organization would do well to demonstrate.) 

Enjoy the food and, as importantly, take a moment to appreciate how Packo's markets itself with clever ideas -- from hundreds of autographed hot dog buns to celebrity photos and a thriving little store... all in this unassuming joint by the river.

And just one more thing, don't forget the Tums.  The place ain't known for salads and tofu. 

In the past couple weeks, having sprinted from working with groups in the Department of Interior to the Department of Agriculture, I can't help but be awestruck by the tirelessness and commitment with which their employees and leaders serve.  They are literally 'on the ground' each and every day, year after year, decade after decade -- preserving America's greatest natural resources and interacting with and educating the public.  

Grand Canyon, of course, makes nearly any short list of "world's greatest natural wonders," but I have absolutely got to share how phenomenal and breathtaking the less-well-known Grey Towers is.  A 'summer cottage' for Gifford Pinchot, the Pinchot Institute at Grey Towers (the residence itself) covers a sprawling 105 acres and rambles pastorally across gorgeous hills in Milford, PA at the juncture of New York and New Jersey.   

It would require pages and pages and more energy than I possess to describe the experience of spending five days at Grey Towers working with some of the greatest thinkers and doers in the natural resources arena, so I'll suggest instead that you research Gifford Pinchot himself, his amazing wife Cornelia, read about the infamous Fingerbowl and, most importantly, if you ever find yourself in that neck of the woods, take the tour of the estate with your family.  The Grey Towers website has videos and podcasts about the Pinchot family legacy, and one cannot immerse him or herself in it without coming out the other side feeling... humbled and motivated.   

There is much great work to be done in the world, and it's individuals like the Pinchots and the often anonymous federal employees who extend their work and add anew who inspire us all.  

Research-on and, for the interested, 21 photos with brief captions.  Be patient while it loads, the file is relatively large: GrandCanyon&GreyTowers_photos_July2009.pdf (5.50 mb)