At the Orchard Supply Hardware store in Petaluma, Cal., there is an assistant manager named Bob. His family and friends probably know him as a kind, giving person. His customers and co-workers no doubt think of him as the go-to, dependable guy who arrives early and stays late. I know him as a bona fide angel on earth. 

Here's why: my father lost his wife (my mom) of 62 years about a year ago. He told me last week, when he thought I was asking "Where's the pasta?" (he can't hear—I had asked "Which doctor?"), that he hasn't cooked anything on the stove since she died. He reports that evenings are the hardest. 

"It's when I feel most lonesome," he said.

Which makes sense. And has the effect on the daughter of a melon baller coring her at the midline. 

This hole-in-his-life would explain why my 86-year-old father decided—despite being retired for 18 years—that he needed to get a job. He would request the evening shift, say 4-9p. 

This is a depression-era man born in 1929, one of six siblings, who knows from hard work and determination, who made his CB handle circa 1975 the "Straight Arrow, and who is, on average, 2.5 hours early for all flights. This is a man who got a job at a hardware store last month because of an assistant manager named Bob, who read between the lines. 

He trained for a week, mostly on the computer with other trainees, before heading into the ER with a-fib and congestive heart failure. Same thing from which his deceased wife died. 

When my dad called Bob, he was told not to worry. "Just call me when you're out. The job will be here." 

After he went into the ICU the second time and tried to bow out of the position, Bob said, "I'm sorry, you can't quit. I want you to take a leave of absence and call me when you're ready to come back." 

Bob doesn't know that my dad's ejection fraction, which is a measure of how efficiently his left ventricle is pumping, is 15%. 

But he does know something that my dad's cardiologists don't ... 

purpose 
connection 
contribution 
belonging
significance.

For that, I will be forever grateful. 

And reminded that there are, in fact, angels on earth. 



* The photo is of my father, holding his first paycheck from OSH. I delivered it to him in the hospital on his 4th day ... he's now on his 11th ... the food is not improving, but his heart is holding on. 

I'll tell you one thing. 
We ain't going to change much.
The sun still rises. 
Even with the pain. 


I'll tell you one thing.
We ain't going to change love.
The sun still rises. 
Even through the rain.


Everyone feels a little crazy. 
And we go on living again. 


Can we go on? 
As we once were. 


I'm a big believer in music therapy. A good song that resonates can catapult me out of almost any blue mood. I also believe there are very few coincidences in life. Kismet happens for a reason. There's a plan and it's bigger than us. Four years ago, today, my past life—meaning my marriage and all that went with it—ended. I was in Tahoe, which is why I came back this weekend. To disinter any remaining, persistent vestiges of sorrow and pain and let them go. For my daughters. For my partner. For my ex. And for me. 

For good. 

Upon arriving in this pristine mountain mecca, I drove directly to a mellow flow yoga class. The playlist included The Head and The Heart's Another Story. As it happened, the class theme honored the new moon, another non-coincidence.* Four years ago last night, there was a full moon. We took a picture of it driving home from dinner at the Hilltop Cafe in Truckee. It was the last picture we took as an "intact" family. (Although we'd been broken for a long, long time.) For the first few years after that night, I would pull up the photo on my laptop and sob. Now, when I see it, I understand that my marriage was supposed to end. That full moons are followed, eventually, by new moons. That I was supposed to meet my partner, and that my ex was supposed to meet his partner (which was pointed out to me by my ex's partner, whom I adore). 

That chapters end and begin ... and the sun still rises. 




* The instructor closed class by sharing this excerpt from www.thepowerpath.com:

New Moon is Friday, August 14 at 8:53 AM MDT (Mountain Daylight Time).

This new moon is supportive of bringing pieces together to make a whole. Like working on a puzzle where you don’t know where a piece fits until you try it, this is a time to see what pieces fit. If they don’t fit, they are excess. If they do, make a place for them so they can become part of the whole.

This is also a way to observe your priorities. The pieces that fit nicely are the ones that will continue supporting you on your true path. The ones that do not fit are distractions, connected to something old and unimportant, or belong to someone else.

Yesterday, my oldest daughter got to meet David Kelley. His wiki gives you the broad strokes. Having founded, among other things, the D-School at Stanford, the man is a living legend in the worlds of design and education. And now he's my daughter's hero. 

Long story short: my ex works at a company called IDEO. Each summer they offer a one-shot Design Boot Camp (gratis) for employees' kids/relatives during which the kids rub elbows with some of the most creative minds in Silicon Valley. Our oldest, a rising junior in high school, was lucky enough to be among the plebs who hailed from all over the planet. 

They did a couple dozen amazing things, but her highlight was biking to Stanford for a fireside chat with Mr. Kelley. Lauren's question for him: "What advice would you give your high-school self?" 

His lapidary response was not what you might expect. Having been diagnosed with terminal cancer ten or so years ago, Mr. Kelley is acutely aware of the meaning and the marrow. 

Here's what he would impart: 

1. Relationships over material. Those you love matter. The rest? Not so much;  

2. Measure everything in fun. Lead with it. When Kelley was diagnosed, Stanford provided a therapist for him. The therapist told him to write down each activity he did every day for two weeks. He was instructed to measure everything on a FUN metric of 1 - 10. How much FUN, for example, was he having while in faculty meetings? Zero, which is why he hasn't been to a faculty meeting in five years. The fun exercise, he said, was a breakthrough. Life's too short to not lead with fun, yes? 

3. Explore. Explore everything. Adopt an exploration mindset. Say YES to travel; 

And this ... 

4. Get terminal cancer but don't actually get the disease. Just THINK as if you had beat it. In other words, see the world through the lens of post-plague David Kelley. 

Not a bad perspective, if you can get it. 

#leadwithfun



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