Author Archives: Richard M. Rosso, CFP

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About Richard M. Rosso, CFP

I'm a money manager; a writer at heart. I love to observe the imperfections and dig into my own. On occasion, it's a bloody ordeal.

God Knows Where You Belong (Even When You Don’t).

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September 1970: “Shut the fuck up back there!”

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It was a cavernous black-on-black metal beast out of Detroit. A 1969 Cadillac Convertible with slick leather seats. With each turn, lane change, interchange between brake and acceleration, my little body was slung from side to side in the backseat (we weren’t fans of seatbelts back then) like an amusement ride just for me.

Every year, it was an adventure I looked forward to. A chance to escape the urban filth, the smell of incinerated used Kotex pads, the endless mounds of dog shit. A daddy/son adventure.

To upstate New York.

Where trees survived in packs and the air smelled sweet. The Catskills, specifically. The plan was always the same: First, the Catskill Game Farm (now gone), then Carson City (gone too), and last, a small retail establishment named “Roy’s,” which only sold stuffed animals.

Hundreds of them. I’ll never forget behind the front plate-glass window sat a monstrous black stuffed gorilla with a five-foot yellow banana. And I mean huge. With arms open wide, this cloth beast spanned the entire length of the store.

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I couldn’t sit still for the entire trip. I loved to read the billboards, especially the quirky homespun wooden relics as we traveled farther north. It was only a matter of time before the iconic Catskill Game Farm billboard appeared. I mean it was “America’s Greatest Zoological Playground,” for God’s sake.

The radio stations would ebb and flow in on crackles and frequency farts. Most important was dad to turn up the volume when my favorite song hit the airwaves. It was a song my dad hated. It was a song Brooklyn hated.

“Beneath this snowy mantle, cold and clean.”

“What the fuck is this kid listening to?” Dad.

Anne Murray sings again in that memorable, soothing tone:

“The unborn grass lies waiting, for it’s coat to turn to green.”

“Oh, I’m changing this shit!” Dad again.

It was a song my friends hated. It just didn’t belong in an urban setting. But to me, it represented something clean, natural, open.

Like when I watched my favorite early Saturday morning television program, “Agriculture USA,” a show about farming that unnaturally appeared on New York City 6AM television.

“The snowbird sings the song he always sings…”

“What the f**k is this snowbird?”

And now we’re swerving. In a tank. On a dysfunctional family adventure.

Dad was always up early. He sought to be out the door before mom. He’d walk into the living room. See me sitting cross legged, staring up at the old black and white TV screen, watching the farm report.

                                       “Who the hell are you? You don’t belong here.”

He never meant anything bad by it. I sort of knew that. And he was correct. I never felt like I belonged in a dirty city. I hated people living on top of people. I longed for something more quite, desolate. Even at six years old I sought escape. Dad was indeed correct. I often wondered if God misplaced me. Must have been some celestial joke.

Oh, the song:  It was “Snowbird.” Lovingly recorded by Anne Murray in 1970. Written by some dude in Canada (where I always believed there were lots of trees).

The opening was distinct. Later I discovered it was an electric sitar. Soothing.

The first lyrics. Hopeful. Let’s play it again. Or as a DJ on WABC radio in New York would coo in a broadcast – “Let’s hit the instant replay!” Exciting.

Beneath it’s snowy mantle cold and clean,
The unborn grass lies waiting for its coat to turn to green.

Cold and clean. Not dirty and hot like the grime on a New York City street. No dog crap in “cold and clean.”

More refreshment. Get me out of here:

Spread your tiny wings and fly away.

And take the snow back with you where it came from on that day.

Yes, spreading my tiny wings would have worked.

Flying away would have been terrific.

Random Thoughts:

1). Our  souls must be from somewhere else and occasionally dropped into the wrong vessel. It took 40 years for me to be comfortable in my own skin even though I believe (still) it was not my own. Who has mine? Please contact me. I’d really like it for my second half.

When your country spirit is placed into a city kid or vice versa, shit is gonna happen. Your self esteem is going to be battered. You’re going to be on the outside looking in most of the time. And then it happens. You’re grateful that you’re a square dropped into a circle.

The experience formed something unique, a way to interpret life different from everyone else’s. It gave you the appreciation of people’s faults, to see the beauty in them. If you were “misallocated,” have you become aware of your gifts, yet?

2). You’ll be a better investor. If you’re comfortable in your own or someone else’s skin – you’ll better understand your very human pitfalls and realize how they will kill your investment returns. Turn your clean virgin snowbird into yellow and black snow; nature’s afterbirth stuck to the bottom of a NYC taxi.

Individual investors aren’t “dumb,” just humans not equipped to handle the skin of investments. Morningstar, the mutual fund “gurus,” completed a study  that fund investors are indeed good at selecting funds (imagine that). They just are not “in their own skins,” when they allocate. In other words, they consistently buy HOT categories and sell  COLD ones. Can you believe it?

We like hot and sexy instead of cold and sterile? When it comes to investing some of your best returns come from COLD. And cold is cleansing.

3). Your home is your home. And that home is in you. Until you’re comfortable with who you are in the housing you’re given, you’ll never feel secure, confident or stand for the people you love or the convictions you hold dear.

Never.

Those Catskill locations are long gone.

Carson City, a simulated wild west town, is now home to a bunch of condos.

Yet somewhere in a room, in my store of memories in whoever’s skin I’m in, those places are as real as they ever were.

And even if the rightful owner of my shell comes to return it, there are some things I refuse to give back.

Because for now and going forward, I’m home.

Are you?

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What a Princess Taught Me About Money. And she Ain’t No Dog, Neither.

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I hold a great affinity for animals, especially dogs and specifically my Princess. There’s a primal beauty to them-and us. Our instinct keeps us alive; it’s imbedded in our internal code to protect. We are hard-wired to survive at all costs. Unfortunately, the skill set required to protect ourselves from predators is not exactly proper to employ when making investment or overall financial decisions.

I’m not exactly sure her name fits her either since Princess is far from graceful but I can tell she knows it and she’s certain I’m going to love her anyway – As I watch her behaviors I see many similarities and differences we can learn from  when it comes to managing finances. Here are a few lessons I’ve learned.

1). Occasionally we believe ourselves to be something we’re not – It’s human nature to be overconfident in our personal investing abilities. Numerous academic studies prove that over 80% of investors who deem themselves to be “successful,” or have achieved better results than the overall stock market actually experienced extremely poor overall returns. When examined closely, taking into account several variables including taxes and commissions, the majority of investors turned out to suffer from below-average return rates. It’s best to be yourself and understand how markets are humbling mechanisms. Create rules and disciplines that make sense to you and stick with them.

2). Sometimes we lose control – When Princess gets excited she has a tough time controlling her bladder. When we get excited we have a tough time making a decision and that will usually lead to a mistake. Those who make investment or financial decisions in the heat of fear or euphoria will most likely wind up in worse shape longer term.

For example, those who sold off all their stock positions in March 2009 or purchased tech stocks in the heat of the moment back in 1999, fared worst than most. Unlike Princess who can’t control her excitement, you need to step back, consult with an objective third party and create a strategy first before taking dramatic financial actions. Those individuals who make large purchases impulsively, especially on credit cards are paying dearly for their impetuous nature as the average credit card interest rate currently hovers around 15%.

3). Biting off more than you can chew is a bad, bad thing – Princess loves her toys; she also finds a way to destroy them in record time and her “daddy” keeps purchasing her new ones. Not a good financial decision overall on my part but she appears conditioned to continue since there’s always a new toy on the way.

Over the last 20 years, many bit off more debt than their households can service because of the assumption that asset prices, especially house prices would continue to increase. Households, saddled with historically large debt loads, stagnant asset prices and little increase in wages are now working slowly through household balance sheet repair. This is a long, arduous process which will take many years. It’s best now to watch spending, aggressively pay down debts and not take on any excessive debt going forward.

Princess may certainly get a new toy very soon; we don’t appear to be receiving any relief from the fiscal side (Washington & congress) or rising house prices anytime soon (at least the heated prices you remember), so it’s up to us to take responsibility now and get through an anemic economic cycle on our own.

4). When you’re done, you’re done – There are some dogs and people Princess simply does not care for and I can sense when her triggers have been hit. Recent studies show that as a generous people, we will continue to give money to family members and friends with established track records of spotty financial behavior. To preserve your own situation, it may be best to draw the line and say no.

There’s nothing wrong with encouraging others to seek different avenues for loans and gifts, especially if your current household debt levels are unsustainably high. It doesn’t make you a bad person. It doesn’t make Princess a bad dog either if she feels she doesn’t “like” certain people or dogs.

Some dogs are more fashionable than you are.

Princess knows what her boundaries are.

Do you?

What the Dead Taught Me – Lessons from an Urban Cemetery.

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It was out of place then. It’s out of place now. Hundreds of years ago-perfect. And when I climbed the fence or dug a hole underneath to enter this hallowed wedge almost directly underneath the elevated “F” Subway line, I felt at home. Calm. An oasis of rest. There was nothing to fear, no one to judge. Just whatever is left after bodies move beyond the rot and weathered gravestones, some with captivating epitaphs.

First time I saw the sign was 1970. It’s timeless.

Hey, the cemetery was founded by a babe (lady). A plus.

There was a rumor that a tunnel existed underneath the caretaker’s abode; allegedly, this channel lead to the back of the cemetery, up through an unmarked grave to daylight. It was an escape route/hiding place during the Revolutionary War. I never had the guts to investigate the validity of this tale, although at times I was tempted. A couple of nights a week, especially during the summer, I’d find myself waking up early morning behind a grave marker. I felt a very live affinity for the dead.

The infamous caretaker cottage. Sealed for decades.

I’m not so macabre. You’ve been there. Many of the living hold a fascination with graveyards and tombstones. My connection, however seemed deeper. As I sat on lumpy ground deep inside iron gates, I’d close my eyes and attempt to cast out a spiritual thread. I was desperately seeking answers. Hoping for a visceral spiritual pull. Once, at 1AM through an August late night that turned to early morning, I felt a tug on the other end of the ethereal thread. It woke me. A voice.

I was startled. Awoke with a rapid heartbeat. It was so strong, I recall my ears closing up to any external sounds. The voice was inner and soothing. He said his name was William. Who the hell was William. I didn’t know a William, or a Bill. The words filled my ears-I live by them 40 years later (or at least by my interpretation of them):

                                                      “We are all the same.”

Underneath the surface not much different.

Random Thoughts:

1). Deep Down We All Seek. Love, good health for us, friends and family, success, fortune. Our paths to what we seek are different. Could be life experience, frames of reference, luck. Yet, no matter what, there is a measure of peace we all wish to discover. You wouldn’t know it based on the day-to-day surface noise we encounter which keeps us divided-class warfare, politics, work, the kids, constipation. Remember though we all share a spiritual thread. The key to reward is to cast it willingly and see what happens. Deep down we are all the same.

2). Empathy/Fairness Strengthens your Signal. If you learn (not easy) to set aside the divisions and truly connect with the very human elements of others, then you will learn something that will make you a well-rounded individual surrounded by friend with rich experiences. Empathy or fairness provides mental fuel for the adventure. Regardless of who you decide to vote for in November, we are all the same.

3). Stock Markets are Fear & Greed Machines. It’s helpful to understand beyond the sophisticated math formulas and technology, financial markets are people. Irrational people. Fear & greed cycles through all of us therefore it flows through markets. It’s not different this time. Far from it. It’s always been this way and always will be unless the dead create a stock exchange. It’s best to understand and work within this framework. You’ll sleep better and deal with the fact that “it is what it is.” The thread that winds through markets is  all the same.

4). Better Them than Me. Recently I watched (50th time) the latest movie remake of “Dawn of the Dead.” When asked to say a kind word over the bodies of the dead (and dead again) Ving Rhames’ character blurts out candidly: “Better them than me.” Yes, better them than you. If you’re alive, keep an open mind. Rise above petty politics and trivial distractions of the day. Get acquainted or possibly connected with other breathing souls. Because when you cut through all the shit realize we are all the same.

And being alive and all the same is better than being dead and all the same.

Ok, Ving R. is a badass. Maybe a bit different? No. Just an actor.

The voice was gone. Heartbeat normal. The streetlight above was bright. I was able to read the gravestone.

Asleep in Jesus. W. Williams. We are all the same.

I went back to sleep. I was no longer the kid with the crazy mom. I was the same. I fit in.

Thanks for the lesson, William.

Home Base – 4 Ways to Rediscover Where You Belong.

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“You can’t stay here anymore, son. We lock the gates at dusk.”

“Really, sir?” I asked. I stretched out my voice. The politeness from him, from me, was painful. Sarcasm seeping through.

He stared at me. I returned the stare. Didn’t blink. He turned and walked.

I won again. Or did I?

The neighborhood park, an oasis almost directly underneath the rusted steel of the elevated “F” Subway line, was home away from home. For months. And now this prick was laying down some form of superficial martial law to prove he actually worked that day; like anyone I knew couldn’t find a way in to this park at night. Remnants of used condoms on the swings, discarded clothing told the real story. On the weekends, this park was teeming with people. Summer nights the same. Made sleeping on a park bench less sleep and more adventure.

park bench homeless

In Gravesend, Brooklyn. A lower-middle class pool of tepid toilet water. Swirling personalities. Harsh realities. Old-school foundations lost to a new generation.

During a summer when innocent people died.

When my father was almost shot by serial killer Son of Sam.

Four parked cars close. But far enough. He almost was called home. His ears were ringing from the gun exploding, creating death.

son of sam

Where home was. And hope wasn’t lost. Not yet.

Twelve-years old. Kicked out. Well, I left. Left a home that wasn’t a home. Too many strange men, too many strange drugs, too much nudity, too much of too much. And home wasn’t home anymore. And Dad was gone. Making out with women within the Son of Sam target zone; I was afraid of losing him. Like I lost my mother. Not to death. Just lost. She was in the dark. Couldn’t find home anymore.

She was..

Where home wasn’t. And hope was lost. Forever.

lose our way

Author Thomas Wolfe wrote “You Can’t Go Home Again.” It was published after his death. I disagree.

But.

There’s that recurring dream some of us have. We leave a home, a comfort, turn around, find ourselves in the middle of nowhere. In darkness. Panicked. Alone. Afraid. Disappointed. Saddened. Most of us eventually find our center again – the way back. Some don’t. Some stay lost. They’re alive, but restless. Can’t get comfortable. In their sleep they’re walking, searching. Awake they do the same. They try to find what’s lost. The home long gone.  A torturous circle. A path with no end. Just a beginning. Over and over, again.

Until. It ends. On occasion, it concludes badly. Home burns down. Nothing left.

A few get shot in the head. Self inflict damage. Blood, spirits 100 proof, substances more evil.

Not you, though.

Time to rebuild.

Random Thoughts:

1). Who or What is Home? Where’s your hearth? Who or what adds kindle to your fire? I’ve learned it’s ok if a person provides the fuel. Until that person is gone. And the bad dream returns. The door is closed. You look back. Dark. Learn to re-establish home base. Begin from the foundation. Understand what is home to you. Live it again. Feel the shelter form around you again. Rejuvenation.

2). Define or Re-establish  your Home Base. It’s there. Just hidden. It’ll take some deep reflection to establish a new home base because each time you seek home center, the structure you build grows weaker, more frail. Until you stop. Stop building. You stop. The end. Don’t stop.

3). Understand your Financial Home Base. And work back to it regularly. If you’ve stopped saving, start again. If you haven’t examined your portfolio allocation, it’s time to do it with stock markets hitting post financial-crisis highs. Time to get your financial home back in shape. It’s never too late. You can go home again.

4). Know When it’s Time to Demolish. Start again. There will be times you’ll build a home base that never really was. In your mind you thought it was standing. Because what your mind feels will always be real to you. But it’s not. It’s a mirage. You find that out once the hearth grows cold. You’ll find building a new hearth is tougher than building the home itself. But it can be done. With time. As long as you stay focused. Have a plan, a blueprint to rebuild.

You’ll rediscover.

Where home is. Who and what the real hearth is.

And this time you may. Just may.

Die happy.

With a home around you.

home hearth

 

Before you’re called to.

Another.

The First of the Day: How to be Born Again in the Present.

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There are quite a few inspirational books around-one being Eckhart Tolle’s “The Power of The Now,” which extolls how one must live in the present (the now) to be fulfilled, happy, less in a state of anguish. The more time I spend with these sage teachings, the more time I take to fully absorb the lessons, the more I realize how living in the present is the only way to live.

I’ll explain.

The past is a heavy dumbbell that positions itself in the center of your mind and eventually finds a home someplace deeper. And the weight is there: All the time. It presses. Feels like a thousand pounds. Dragging you down. The past nurtures fear, resentment and ostensibly works to stifle your creativity, your spark. Plainly, it’s exhausting to relive the past. Heck, I’m still reliving moments from 30 years ago and when consumed by the past, I’m tired enough to sleep for days.

Being overly worried about the future is a waste of mental and physical resources, too. As then happiness, your state of mind, virtually depends on some perfect future confluence of events. You’ll create and be bound by rules. From the outside, some of these rules will appear overwhelming, debilitating. Not to you, though. To you, the hurdles formed are just fine (but they’re not).

 “I’ll be happy; I’ll be satisfied, if and when this or that occurs.” This is no way to exist.

After all, how long before the present becomes the future? Think about it: So, today is Tuesday. The future is Wednesday. Ok, so I’ll be happy Wednesday because of _____.  Then Wednesday comes around and without a doubt, you’re fretting because it’s not Thursday! The future is a torturous, seductive mind loop made of insecurity, negativity and conditional happiness. It’s the cerebral version of the hamster wheel. Not productive. You’ll be stuck in the muck of a world that’s not yet arrived. And then never arrives.

Ignoring the beauty of the present or not truly realizing you live and breathe in the present, in the now, is a waste of mental resources and sometimes it’s a waste of financial opportunity. Avoiding the present destroys fulfillment, creativity and happiness in daily accomplishment.  The present is really all you have when you truly think about it. The current moment is everything. What will you do with it? How will you make the most of the now, right now?

The shackles of the past release you in the now; the rules, conditions, and burdens of the future don’t exist either. You’ve given yourself permission to fly. Tolle teaches how the ego is the culprit. It’s primarily a dysfunctional, festering cerebral offspring that won’t go. Won’t give you a moment’s peace. The human ego is the mechanism which feeds off the carcasses of your past and then sets unrealistic guidelines for your future. The ego is the heaviest link in your misery chain. The ego can destroy or stand in the way of your wealth building activities.

“The ego’s needs are endless. It feels vulnerable and threatened and so lives in a state of fear and want. The ego is always seeking for something to attach itself to in order to uphold and strengthen its illusory sense of self, and it will readily attach itself to your problems. This is why, for so many people, a large part of their sense of self is intimately connected with their problems.” Tolle.

I get puzzled looks when I discuss this stuff: “Rich, you’re a money guy. A financial planner. You’re obsessed with the future and you explore the past. How much money will you need in retirement? What happens to your family’s finances if you become disabled? Do you have enough insurance coverage on your home or auto? What were your first experiences with money? Plus Rich, I know you: You have a HUGE ego. I mean really BIG: Aries BIG!”

True words. But. As I must keep an open mind when assisting those in my client family, I understand how I’m responsible for interpreting present conditions, mine and those of the ones I serve, to truly forge an appropriate financial path. For me, keeping an open mind to the input of the now has brought about a state of enlightenment, of ideas, exercises, and words that have been helpful to many. Being in the present also helps me see whether a financial path needs to adjust or change altogether. I have worked to train myself to remain in the present. Relish in its beauty and teachings. Being fully absorbed in the moment is crucial. It’s no longer a focus on money mistakes of the past or flowery overarching statements of future financial success.

Like:

“Picture yourself on some beach, relaxing in retirement. Toes in the sand. Let us worry about your money.” Financial Firm Speak 2012.

Too much picture of the future. Not enough vision of the present. It’s easy to fall for false promises because the weight of the future is just too stressful. Flowery images of the future are not going to get you where you need to go. Plus, I’m customarily skeptical of any financial entity that advises me to “let them worry about it.” If it’s my money, if I built the wealth, then it’s because I did worry about my money. I’m still going to worry about it. I want you to worry about it WITH ME.

To become a master of your financial path, embracing the present is a necessity. And since your ego is not permitted to flourish in the now, your thought process will be clearer, you’ll be receptive to change, and willing to alter the behaviors which have prevented you from increasing your net worth.

Random Thoughts: The Ways of the Now:

1). Drop your Current Financial Advisor. I heard a financial person on local radio make a statement that irked me recently. He said, “the future will be better for stock investing.” And as I listened I could tell immediately his statement was not backed by any formidable research done in the present. If stock investing is indeed going to be better in the future, then I guess you should stay fully invested until that magic moment occurs (whenever that is).

 If the yet to come is going to improve for stock investing, or any type of investing, then in essence, I’ve possibly wasted my present (and maybe my money)  by not accepting the conditions that exist today. Any advisor who tells you the future will be better (or worse) for any style of investing or a specific asset class of investment, should be ready to offer the evidence that helped him or her decide on the outcome. It’s fair if the assessment is based on homework. You can choose to agree or not.  And the evidence must come from origins other than an employer’s in-house research department. Your advisor needs to do his or her own homework, unshackled by the biases of the research created by an employer. If not, in the present, it’s best to find a different advisor to guide you.

 2). Fully Absorb in the First Expense of the Day. No matter what that first purchase of the day is. A cup of coffee, lunch, a newspaper (who buys actual newspapers anymore?), gum,  I want you to write down the why behind the purchase. How did you make the purchase, cash or credit? As of today, can you stop this purchase from becoming a habit or stop if it is a habit, already? What was the motivation for that first purchase? Were you stressed? Tired? Analyze the present. Can you go an entire day without making a single purchase? A week? Try it. Think twice in the now before you make a first purchase of the day.

3). Become a Financial Sherlock Holmes. Scrutinize daily actions, your financial habits, from the perspective of the present. In the recent film, “Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows,” Robert Downey, Jr. as the super sleuth is asked: “What do you see?” He says: “Everything. That’s my curse.” Well, is seeing everything (in the present), becoming fully aware of your current environment, really a curse? Focusing on the now may save your life. Your activities today matter most, especially when it comes to money behavior. What you do today forms the foundation of success or failure in the future. You and your advisor or a trusted partner must confront what’s happening in your life now which prevents you from saving more of your income, paying down debt, seeking a better job, and moving away investments laden with higher-than-average fees or commissions.

4).To Fight Behavioral Pitfalls you must exist in the Now.  Your ego: One of the most lethal enemies of good fiscal health. A healthy ego can lead to bad financial behavior. It seduces you with sweet lies. It tells you you’re greater at investment selection (and everything else) than you really are-makes you overconfident in your investing skills, anchors you to the price paid for a losing investment.  For example, maintaining a losing position until it returns to the original purchase price “in the future,” is a very common investor mistake. And the opportunity cost can be enormous.

Tough to believe-there are investors who are still convinced that the Cisco stock (CSCO) they purchased in 1999 for $160 a share will return to that price (in their lifetime). And it’s been 13 years! Talk about chained to the past!

Holding on to a concentrated stock position (one that makes up 25% or more of your portfolio), solely due to an emotional attachment (it happens more often than you think), is a mistake when you focus on the past. Perhaps you inherited an investment from a loved one or possess an overweight to a stock of the company you retired from after 15 years.  Living in the now breaks the chains of the past. In the now, you can research an investment and be free of emotion doing it. Is the investment as good as it was years before? My life is different in the present, so perhaps I’m more vulnerable to risk if I don’t sell down this position?

Living in the now doesn’t mean you should be short-term trading your portfolio, either. It’s about stepping back, slowing down time and digging deep into your money mental makeup. If anything, being aware in the present will prevent you from overtrading your accounts.

5). Immediate Gratification was really Future Gratification. I know. You’ve been told that one of the primary reasons for over indebted households was the desire to consume. Let’s face it: We love stuff. And we used credit and home equity to purchase all that stuff. I argue that when you were making the decision to purchase that big-screen HD television and surround-sound system you were fixated solely on the future. First, you pictured yourself the following Saturday, sitting and watching an endless stream of Blue-Ray movies, even the ones you weren’t really fond of in the first place (they must look better on a new television). Second, you figured there were better times ahead and your house would continue to increase in price. Third, you thought a pay raise was imminent even though perhaps the future had different plans for you.

There is something revolutionary about this power of now. Why didn’t I come across this wisdom twenty years ago? Oh that’s right: The past is dust, the future is myth. The present is here.

How will you deal with the real of now?

What Are Your Shackles? Understand the Ties that Bind.

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1974: Coney Island Hospital, Brooklyn New York. 1AM.

“Your father wants to see you, he’s really hurting,” the man in the white coat said.

“He’s not my father. He tried to kill me tonight.”

“Now, there’s no reason to be ashamed, he has a problem.”

“Yes, he’s an addict who has bad aim with big kitchen knives.” Bob just missed my sleeping face and there was a pillow at home with a chef’s knife still sticking out of it to prove it.  I craved to stick it in a doctor that night.

“Your mother even says you’re the son.”

“My mother is nuts, too.”

I never witnessed anyone in real life in a straitjacket before. I didn’t believe there were such things as real padded rooms either, except for what I saw on on Looney Tunes cartoons. I loved what happened on my tiny black and white TV screen because it wasn’t supposed to be real. It was a wonderful rabbit-eared escape that kept me sane.

To this day I don’t understand the popularity of reality programming. I watch TV to escape all semblance of reality. At the time of this writing I’m reading how sit-coms are making a strong comeback. Thank God. Haven’t we all had enough reality for one lifetime? And the real cruel game God plays on us now is we all live much longer. He’s like the cat who toys with the mouse before he rips its head off. I can’t spend 80 years obsessing over Kim Kardashian’s ass and be healthy. Can you?

How far from reality can you go on a bottle of wine?

There I was-God’s mouse in a cage. Locked in a padded room (I heard the heavy strength of the door as it closed tight behind me). Alone with the asshole who tried to kill me a couple of hours earlier. He was sitting at the edge of a long steel table. Secured in a straitjacket. Rocking back and forth. I remember the room was cold. Super cold. Like morgue cold.

I remember this man. After many decades. And not because he tried to kill me. Mom’s boyfriend number 30, or something like that. I recall how incredibly tragic he was. Didn’t seem to mind being restrained. What was another chain, another demon, I guess? He was overrun, overpowered by the chains. Alcoholic, drug addict, bad hair, a greasy ducktail from the 50’s, and fortunately for me, bad aim with a chef’s knife.

He begged me to move closer. I did. Through his tears, through his repeated apologies, his bouts of anger, this boy toy was a curiousity to me. I wanted to understand how he ticked so I wouldn’t tick the same. His clock was way off from the rest of the world, the functioning people. In this room, his clock appeared oddly at home. Calm. Like his clock found the proper wall. Or off-the-wall. His eyes were dull. For a moment, I thought I could see demons floating in his pupils. Perhaps that’s what it means to have that “crazed look.”

Is this crazy enough for you? I’ve been there.

Never forget: We’re all shackled. We’re always three bad actions from insane. Granted, some people are shackled more than others. Some indeed require to be chained more than others. It keeps the rest of us alive and safe. Yet without shackles, you’re not alive. You’re not human. And God has already decided you’re going to live longer. Great huh.

Random Thoughts:

1). Know what shackles you.  Let’s face it. We have them. We own them. Several were created by others because we allowed it. Many were created in our own minds and have no basis in today, the now. Because kids called me fat in grade school, in my mind I’m still fat. No matter what. I have a fat shackle. Frequently, I’m amazed, as I observe myself, others, how as society we fail to have a solid grip on the chains that bind us. List them. After all, you’ve been living with them a long time now. Feel the weight of them. In your head. Around your wrists. Strangling you.

2).  What are your shackles made of? Understand the compositions. Some shackles will be thicker and harder to break than others. Like addictions for example. Identify and prioritize which shackles to work on cutting first. And don’t be shocked to see how long it takes to completely sever the bad shackles. And don’t be shocked to grasp how the chains are never truly broken. You will need to be aware of them the rest of your life. And as you know, you’re probably going to live to be 100.

3). What shackles your ability to gain wealth? Bad money habits most likely were passed on through your observations of others’ chains. How did your parents handle money? What is your very first money memory? How has early money behavior affected your current situation? It’s never too late to change it up. Cut the mental shackles that prevent you from becoming financially independent. Since you’re going to live a long time, it doesn’t matter if you’re 40, or 50. Just start cutting. Now.

4). Not all shackles are bad. Positive chains like saving, not misusing credit, studying, writing, exercising, sleeping are all healthy. List the good shackles too. Learn to make them stronger. Every day. Over time they will be thicker and stronger than your weaker links.

5). What’s your padded cell made of? Is it really so bad to be locked away? Where do you go to recharge? What do you do to recharge? Sharpen your saw. Love the quiet. Don’t be afraid to be alone with yourself. Still. You need the padded cell more than ever.

“I’m sorry I tried to kill you,” padded Bob said.

I shattered his nose. Hit him perfect. Apology accepted.

On occasion, I understand broken shackles can be fun.

No matter how long you live.

 

Stop Thinking Now – 3 Ways to Shut Down and Live Again.

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“Death is a stripping away of all that is not you. The secret of life is to “die before you die” — and find that there is no death,” Eckert Tolle.

Reliving the past is draining. After I recall memories of the past to write a blog in my present, I can feel brain cells dying. I can sleep for two hours. The world loses color like I’m living in a black & white movie. Everything becomes one dimensional. The spirit and gift of the present-gone.

Focusing on the future and where you want to be is exhausting. And then when the future becomes the present you can’t enjoy it and you’re edgy-ready to focus on the future again. It’s the fucking hamster wheel of our nature but then sooner or later the hamster dies and the mate in your Habitrail feeds off your carcass.

It’s time for you to live in the present. Shake off the past. Fuck the future. You’re alive right now. Today. The present is a beautiful thing. Focus on the moment. Stare at your boss for an hour and realize the type of asshole you deal with on a daily basis. In the present. Get angry.

Ain’t it the truth?

Yes, you’re brain dead but the mind wheel keeps spinning. And you’re getting nowhere. What the hell is going on?  You see, corporate America has figured this out about you so they paid you to run on the wheel.  Underneath it all they don’t truly want you to stop either. They don’t want you to take vacation or get sick or pick up your kid at school.  Then, after the financial crisis, they discovered you were willing to run harder even when they had decided long ago, to never give you another pay increase. And now that you still (run) like the wind, I’m convinced you’re never going to see another raise.

Corporate drones have been trained to forget the past. Your past performance. The revenue you created, the account you saved, the lunch you didn’t take, the extra 10 hours you worked last week? Old news. What have you done for me today? Right now. I need a report at noon about deals you closed between 8-11am.  My goal was (is) to serve people, not shareholders.

What are you doing reading this blog when you could be making another phone call? In an odd way, I admire middle management’s ability to look in the face of a solid employee, a decent employee, a loyal employee and deliver with a straight face: “I need to make a case for your job TODAY. EVERY DAY. I admire upper management’s ability to get middle management to deliver the message with straight faces.

How fast can you run the wheel on Thursday compared to Wednesday?” You see, job security is a memory too. Frankly, the case your supervisor is making is to keep his or her job. If it’s down to your job or the supervisor’s, you’re gonna lose. In the present. Right now. You. Loser.  So many hamsters eager to take your place. They breed like crazy those hamsters.

Publicly-traded (stock exchange) corporate america has grabbed the brass ring of the present. How about you? What have you grabbed? Circles under the eyes?

Corporate drones make promises for the future. Corp America also knows you’re a sucker for a good story. A better future they’ll help you achieve: There’s the carrot dangling that promises a raise in the future, more employees in the future so you’re not doing the work of three (yet your impossible goals haven’t changed). You’ve heard the stories: If we can increase revenue by 1,000% ( a “reasonable” goal today)  we can “make the case,” for paper clips.

All these carrots swinging in the wind of the future. Think about it. How many of these motivators have you actually been promised since 2010? How many of these carrots have you actually savored since then?  I’m thinking you got your blessed paper clips. Maybe. What was the real price you paid for them? Go ahead: Sell your soul for a highlighter next. Corporative executives, shareholders, have realized as you observe the neighbor next door and across the street lose jobs, they own your present. They will keep you from your family and your life even though they promote your well being through health programs.  And if you give up your present, (like no summer vacation with the kids but they’ll send you photos), the future is going to be so much brighter for you, right? But is it? Why would it be? Please understand now, in the present, those promises are false because when the future is now, your past performance earlier than the previous week (day) will be long forgotten. It’s not you. It’s them. Short-term memory leads to long-term profits.

Random Thoughts:

1). Understand your Now. In all fairness, not every company exhibits this behavior. As I follow trends, I interpret the general themes of the times, the present. This theme is prominent and disturbing. It’s up to you to objectively assess your present and if this is your situation, how do you change it? Are you happy in your present? How does your family feel about your slavery to shareholders? Ask them. If you’ve been experiencing this dilemma then you know the harmful impact there’s been to your spirit and possibly your physical health.

2). Drop the Past. Take a lesson from the company! Your past is a drag on you. Promises made to you will not be fulfilled. Close your eyes. Take a deep breath. Hold it for 20 seconds. Imagine your past is dead. Die before you die. Allow the image of the carrot to disappear. The carrot is in you, by you, from you.

3). The Future is a Seductress. How long is it before the future is the present and you’re still stuck in the same place? On the wheel. Stale carrots replaced with new carrots that you’ll never have an opportunity to bite. The future is today. Understand the environment. If you must run the wheel due to financial obligations, try to form a game plan for exiting the wheel. I’m not saying it’s easy. However, if you want to live, it could be necessary. Your entire life may depend on it.

I’m reading Eckert Tolle daily. Pick up “The Power of Now,” it will help you understand.

“And sometimes I actually start to think human life is just as cheap to corporate America as animal life, so long as there are big profits to be made.” Tom Scholz.
How will you enjoy your present, forget the past and ignore the seduction of the future?

I found your corporate head shot!

The Life In The Mirror. 3 Ways to Save It.

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I bolted. Ran out the door. Down three flights of stairs. 3am. Screaming. For a Brooklyn street it was eerie quiet. Dark. Street lights out. A desperate sprint. In pajamas. To the only pay phone close by. Would it be working? It had to be the most vandalized pay phone in the city. Odds weren’t good.

Directly across the avenue from Harold’s Pharmacy.

Neon beacon in the night. Still around.

It was a shabby three-room apartment in a pre-WWII three-story walk up.  But it was shelter. That’s all I cared about. It was my world for a time and to me it felt big when things were good and amazingly small and cloying when things were bad.

Lately it felt as if I was living on a pin and the head was about to run out of room.   For an old building, the steam heat worked amazingly well. New York cold was occasionally harsh, so I was grateful. Turn the valve for the first time and the radiator clanked and clunked loud like an old car starting up after a long hibernation. Steam heat smelled good to me. Like a change of season coming. Only because there were summers. Rough summers. Rough seasons overall. This summer was a scorcher. Hotter than usual. It was ready to crescendo to one of the most memorable electrical blackouts in New York City history.

Two weeks before it felt as if I leaped from the heat right into the fire. A life or death decision flare up. A three alarmer. I wasn’t mentally ready to play God, but God didn’t seem to give a shit. I was in the intense heat of a crossroad on fire. I needed to make a move. Otherwise someone was gonna die. I remember thinking: “I’m too young to be dealing with this shit.”

Is it really worth growing older? I ponder this question.

Mom & I alternated use of the only bedroom (for sleeping. Me anyway.) One night couch (no sleep), next night bed (sleep). There was this full-length mirror. I recall dad cursing, fighting to secure the clunky structure to the hall-closet door. It was his good deed. Got mom off his back. And he wasn’t very good at chores around the house.     If  the closet door was open just right, I could get a full view of the kitchen as it reflected into my line of sight. From the bedroom.     Since mom always seemed to gravitate to the kitchen especially late, the reflection in the mirror of her her pacing back and forth would always wake me.  Prevent me from staying asleep. My habit was to wake, look in the mirror, turn over. Eventually,  I was forced to get up and close the door so I couldn’t see what was going on. Back to precious sleep time. It was my turn to have the bed, dammit!  The night before she destroyed the red trimline phone. The entire phone right down to the wall. And beyond. R.I.P. trimline.

10pm: Wake up. Look in mirror. See kitchen. Fridge door open. More beer I was sure.  Midnight: Wake up. Look in mirror. See kitchen. Fridge door open. Heavy drinking binge. Turn over. 2:30am: Wake up. Turn over. Look in mirror. See kitchen. Fridge door open. Again? Or Still? Weird.

I was mad. So mad. Until I saw. Mom on the floor. On her side. Tangled in the phone cord. Her head literally inside the bottom shelf of the fridge. I picked her up from the shoulders. She was so cold. Her joints were stiff. She was a 100-pound human accordian who wouldn’t unfold. I thought this was how rigor mortis started. Yet she was alive. How could that be? Stll breathing. Her breath was far from normal. Shallow. Her tongue shriveled. Mouth open wide. Lips colorless, perhaps light blue.  I was in a panic. Half asleep. My mind reeling.

Then suddenly, I was overcome with calm. I sat on the floor. Staring at her. Thinking. I watched mom’s small chest closely as it went still for longer on the exhale. Then her machine started up again. I was waiting for stillness. Perhaps hoping for it. I was at a crossroad. I knew I was. It was the power to make a decision that would change everything.  An inside voice was talking. One I never heard before. It kept asking. Slightly teasing. The repetition of the query felt forbidden. But it continued.

Does she live or die? Choose.

Would it be humane but inhuman just for me to return to bed? She had lived such a horrible life so far. Mom was 35 but looked twice that age. Especially now. On the floor. I sort of understood the weight of what was unfolding in front of me.

I knew my path, my karma, my thought process would be shaped, or changed forever perhaps in a way I wasn’t sure I could live with.

I rose. Moved strangely calm, to the hall mirror. Stood there. Staring at myself. So many questions rolled through my head.

Would I look the same in this damn mirror tomorrow if I decided just to leave her there? She would most likely be dead in a few minutes. Was I supposed to find her? Was there a higher power guiding me? Was the mirror the conduit for the message?

What if I woke up just 5 minutes later? Then I wouldn’t need to deal with a choice like this. And why was this even a choice for me?

Was the phone, now ripped from the wall, dead, a sign? Why was I given the responsibility of dealing with this situation? I never asked for this challenge.

Random Thoughts:

1). Seek Out Your Mirrors. When up against the wall, at a crossroad, what decisions will you make? Would you be able to live with them? How would you go on? I’ve trained myself to ask tough questions and imagine how I would respond. What if I had a life-threatening illness, lost a leg, lost a loved one to tragedy? How would I appear in the mirror. My actions would shape my image.

2). Be Open to Reflection. Never question why a challenge, a person, an illness, an opportunity, a setback gets thrown in your life path. It was placed there from an energy source  you’ll never be able to explain or fully understand. Signs are all around you if you just let go of skepticism. Stay open minded.  What does your life mirror reflect upon? Whose life remains in the balance once you open your eyes, mind and heart to the signs?

3).  Own the Decision of Life or Death. Don’t let family members, children, parents, friends, be forced to make a decision that concludes your life. Who would make healthcare decisions for you when you can’t make them? What kind of medical treatment would you want, or don’t want if faced with a terminal illness? It’s not fair to place this burden on others, especially without notice. Go to www.agingwithdignity.org and complete the Five Wishes exercise.  Five Wishes is changing the way America talks about and plans for care at the end of life.  More than 18 million copies of Five Wishes are in circulation across the nation, distributed by more than 35,000 organizations.  Five Wishes meets the legal requirements in 42 states and is useful in all 50.

Five Wishes has become America’s most popular living will because it is written in everyday language and helps start and structure important conversations about care in times of serious illness. I was required to make the life or death decision for close family. It’s not a good feeling-It will change forever who you see in the mirror.

I ran. I bolted. The pay phone was working (a sign I made the right choice at least to me). I called 911.

It took mom 6 months to recover. I stayed out of school nursing her back to health. And then one day she noticed. Puzzled.

“What happened to the mirror?”

“Don’t you remember? You broke it the night you fought with what’s-his-name?”

She didn’t remember. I didn’t share the truth. I never did.

The hall mirror and its reflections were best left buried.

I wonder if it’s still in the ground?

I’ll never share the location.

That’s a decision I can live with.

Happily.

Don’t Go Crazy on Purpose – 3 Ways to Understand the Power Inside You.

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1974: “She went crazy on purpose because she had you!”

1959:  The same Long Island Rail Road schedule followed every week. Sundays. When most people were asleep. When humans of the mainstream were hiding under bed covers to escape personal asylum, he embraced discomfort. He ventured out in it. He traveled on the fringe of time. Early. On Sunday.

Like a soldier who accepted and knew his duty. He carried on. Tired. Only one name compelled him to tremble. It was rarely spoken. Except for Sunday. Sunday was different. Her name was all he could think of. On the long trip he tried to remember what her voice sounded like. He worked hard at this. At times, he was upset with himself because he felt her voice slip away deep into the past.

The Sunday ritual should have been comfortable. Or at the least, accepted by then. Nineteen years of the same routine, facing the same distant stare from a bed. His wife. His Josephine. It starts all over again. Every week. His journey to the silent. The only women he ever knew and loved. Gone for 19 years but still breathing. A shell.

Two hours from now he would enter a tiny room, lead painted white, half battleship gray. Eternally cold. Even in summer. At least that’s what I remember. Joseph told me so. He was solemn as he entered a world that would remain silent. He respected what he couldn’t understand. Perhaps it was out of respect. Out of loss. I know he screamed a lot inside. He told me that, too.

Kings Park Psychiatric Center was Josephine’s home for close to two decades. Immediately after she gave birth in 1940, something happened. Something bad. She suffered a stroke as soon as the baby was delivered. By the time the baby, a new daughter, was cleaned up and presented, Josephine could barely speak or move her arms.

Joseph lost it too. He was an immigrant from Italy, his English broken,  but he was able to clearly mutter two words. Again, from what he told me. From what I remember.

“My God.”

Allegedly, Kings Park was haunted. I believe it.

This Sunday, 1959, November was different. Joseph was able to borrow his boss’ car. A Buick. The Kings Park doctors were going to allow Joseph to take Josephine on a road trip to Brooklyn. Her daughter was going to be married in a few weeks. Josephine was aware, sort of aware. Partly in this world, one foot in another. She couldn’t speak any longer. No voice at all. She knew she had a daughter, however. Josephine sort of knew her mother was raising the child as her own.

It was to be Joseph & Josephine together again. For a road trip. For an introduction. The cover was going to come off, blown off, a family secret.  Revealed to an 18 year-old girl who was told her mother died during childbirth. And now at a pre-wedding party she was to be told the truth. In front of family. Two weeks before her nuptials. At a party.

Joseph purchased Josephine a new dress for the visit. It took him a month to save for it. He stocked food shelves for a small store in downtown Manhattan, lived in a tiny apartment close by the store. Never remarried. His daughter lived in a nice house with his mother-in-law, raising his only daughter. A subway ride away. In Brooklyn. His only real family. And he lived separated. As I mentioned: He existed on the fringe. For his wife and daughter. Oh, the in-laws adored him. His sacrifice. His dedication. But it wasn’t the same for him. He spent all his free time (for what it was) with Josephine and his only daughter. He was always traveling. A life on trains. He told me.

Joseph bought me a battery-operated aqua-colored locomotive that puffed real smoke. It was 99 cents. He told me that’s what it cost. I never forgot. He told me about all his time on trains. His thoughts while sitting. I felt how tortured he was. I heard the despair in his voice. I hugged him. I wanted to take the pain from him. I felt his chest sob. I still remember his tears on my forehead.

“Passion and love can cause tears.” He said that. I remember it. He was right. As I get older I realize how truly spot on grandpa was. I didn’t understand at the time. For a grocer he was the the most intuitive man on earth. He wasn’t ashamed to cry. I bet he cried a lot.

Random Thoughts:

1). Words Mean Everything. What you say to others counts. I imagine each word immediately gains 100 pounds when it leaves my mouth. I can feel the heaviness on my tongue. A sentence weighs a thousand pounds. Don’t say what you don’t mean. Mean what you say. Mean it deep. Last month, I received a twitter message from a person I haven’t spoken with in 15 years. She told me how words spoken by me changed her life for the better. Then I got to thinking: What have I said to others in the past that may have changed lives for the worse? I was a friend who provided sincere encouragement at the time. Remember your words weigh heavy. Screw all this “actions speak louder than words,” bullshit you hear.

2). Words Mean Everything. What you say to yourself counts. If you speak to yourself negatively, good things won’t happen. On occasion, bad things will. If you tell yourself you’ll be financially secure, your mind will work toward it (even without you knowing from a conscious level). If you say to yourself that you will be better – physically, mentally, it will happen. Never underestimate the power of words.

3). Words Written or Spoken Lead to Self Discovery. The more you communicate, the more you weigh the words, the more you shape the tone of those words, the more people can see you mean them (and they will) the more influence and power you’ll possess. The right people will love you more. The wrong will hate you more. I used the word “more,” more on purpose. Deal with it.

1974: “She went crazy on purpose because she had you!”

I screamed those words at her. Mom. She was pushing my buttons. Hard. She was drunk. She hit me. I hit her back. There was blood everywhere. From her nose. My nose. I meant it too. Josephine went insane because she saw your future, mom!! She saw what a miserable human, horrible mother you were going to turn out to be and the disappointment was too much!!

She sat there. At the edge of the bathtub. Bleeding. She said: “I’m sorry.” That’s it. I stopped her in her tracks. My words hit harder than a palm against her face. I knew they would.

Grandpa Joseph told me about his mistake. He saw a change in his girl. When he wheeled in Josephine and introduced her to his daughter. He said the words he knew changed his daughter forever. But it was too late.

“This is your real momma, honey.”

I barely remember what Grandpa Joseph looked like. I can’t recall his voice at all. But I remember the words he spoke to me. I remember what he told me.

Like it was yesterday. I remember the words I said to mom. Like it was yesterday almost 40 years ago.

Who will remember your words?

Today.

40 years from now.

Will those words comfort you or drive you insane?

You choose.

The Babysitter Chronicles. Will you Embrace or Break Free from the Watchers?

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“Rich, watch us. You like it? C’mon, look up!!”

Don Kirshner you changed my life.

Don Kirshner’s Rock Concert was the musical variety show of the 70’s. Don Kirshner was also one of the greatest rock music promoters of all time.For me, DK wasn’t as threatening as the other Don: Don Cornelius of “Soul Train,” fame. It had nothing to do with skin color, either.I just wasn’t as afraid of the pink bubble-gum groups DK promoted like The Archies, or The Monkees compared to the primal writhing artists featured on “Soul Train.”

It was going to be another late night which meant Gloria, my babysitter, needed to watch over me.

To salvage what was left of a  a disastrous marriage, my parents hit the town almost every weekend. Mom would dress in a burgundy velour jumpsuit. Her hair now platinum blonde (hair color changed monthly).  Dad (you can tell) performed this weekly ritual painfully. The last place he wanted to be was in a casual environment or a tryst with mom. Who could blame him?

I loved Gloria. She let me stay up late. This allowed some serious G.I. Joe Adventure Team action to pursue deep in the night. No doubt the late-night embers were going to  burn in the G.I. Joe Headquarters this Saturday night.

I also loved Gloria because despite her horrific name (Gloria?) she looked to me more like a Sandy or a Stacy, she paid attention to me. She was attentive unlike mom and dad at the time.

Butt-length brown hair parted in the middle. Terrific blue eyes. I watched her carefully as she did little things to stay occupied like paint her toes or read a book, even do her homework. I felt comfortable when it was just the both of us.

Although one night it was Gloria and a friend (name I cannot recall) and Don Kirshner’s Rock Concert was blaring from the television, louder than usual.

The G.I. Joe Headquarters was a plastic paradise.

There was lots of dancing. Two girls apart. More dancing. Now two girls as one. A sweaty teenage semi-nude body tangle. Then there was kissing. Did girls do that?I tried desperately to crawl into the map room of the headquarters. At least mentally. I had no idea what was going on. One of my favorite fuzzy-bearded Joes lost his head because I squeezed too hard.

“Rich, you like this? Look up!”

I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. Well, I did. My glances were now darting eye dances. I tried to not move my head. But then I was up. Kidnapped from my world of male dolls. Engulfed. Taken. Gone.

To this day I cannot break free from the babysitter. How she dressed, the way she looked. I’ve noticed how my secret (or not-so-secret) crushes resemble in some form – The babysitter. She’s an overseer.

Even after all these years. It’s amazing how memories watch over you. Stick around. Guide you. Imprint you. Follow you. Walk alongside you. Walk within you. You have these memories. We all do. We’re plagued by them. Some are so tiny. They can fit on the head of a pin. Others remain as large as the tallest structure. Yet in every case, size doesn’t matter. Impact does. The impact always seems to be strong. Strangling.

You’ll be amazed, are amazed by, regardless how brief the experience, how the impact of the moment can permanently change the direction of your life. Perhaps the lives of others. Others you haven’t met yet. Others you created.  Was Don Kirshner responsible?

How you allow these memories, the watchers, forge your future actions requires constant monitoring.

Random Thoughts:

1). How does your past currently affect your future? Your mental images are time and location stamped. Occasionally you’re damaged goods. What 3 actions have you taken recently good or bad over the last 6 months that have been a direct result of a good or bad imprint? How will you tilt the odds in your favor right now? How will you change?

2). How have memories of money past affected your financial future? My parents disrespected money. Blew it. Spent it frivously. They never prepared for the future. No life insurance. Massive debts. Welfare. I felt as a child that my foundation, security was fleeting. The shame and stress of it all turned my behavior 360 away from their negative behavior memories. Others I know followed similar negative paths as their parents and today are in a shambles, financially. The ripping at the fiber of our financial system in 2008 took many over the edge and a frightening number of household balance sheets are more toxic than ever before.

3). How will your memories affect the future of those you love? Especially people in your inner circle. The ones who exist in the space closest to your heart. The ones who hold the deepest red, the blood, the air, the strongest ties. Is your influence positive or negative? First, be honored if you do influence others. It’s a great responsibility. If you have sent someone off on the wrong path let them know. Admit you were wrong. Apologize. Be humble. Grow more aware of memories who watch over you.

4). How will you break away from the seductive dance of the babysitter?  Do you even want to? Can something positive come from a bad experience? Perhaps you need new memories. Memories that encourage you to go on. A mind is so powerful when focused. Select the best thoughts. Be open to future interactions that will improve your life path. Do your watchers add to or subtract from your life?

5). Can you alter the image of the babysitter? Do you have the will to do so? First, understand who the babysitter is (was). Only from that point can you decide on the sitters you seek to keep around. Decide on the watchers you embrace or set free. And don’t kid yourself. You had a babysitter. A temptation. A demon. A god. A person who changed how you view life, forever.

I never played with G.I. Joes again. I found a new hobby. In human doll form.

The babysitter was around a long time. She was a teacher. My mother fired her for reasons unknown.

How did your babysitter impact you?

Another bad parental decision memory I need to work through.

Just great.