That All-Consuming Passion

As I have travelled through life these past four and a half decades, I have noticed two essential attitudes that guide people's lives. There are those who attack life with gusto, taking on one challenge after another, come what may. Then there are those who muddle through life in a grey lament, neither excelling at anything nor seeking to improve their lives. They exist - or even subsist - but they don't seek greatness.

I, of course, fall into the former category. Never one to let a disappointment stop me, I take lessons from my failures so I can avoid the same mistakes, and then I find a new goal to energise me. I have possessed this attitude for all of my adult life, but it stretches back to my early childhood, too.

At the beginning of 2011, a good friend of mine Steven and I were chatting about life and goals. I talked about how I had wanted to pursue a long-form writing project for many years. As a lover of great fiction, I aspired to create a great plot and story, but after much thought and even outlining, the ideas would fall flat. This, as one could imagine, frustrated me. I love fiction so much and have read hundreds of novels over the course my life, so why couldn't I, a confident and mature young adult, come up with a good story? I haven't an answer to that question right now, but in discussing this, my friend suggested something else. In essence, he said to me: 'What about a chronicle of your life and travels?' My first thought was: who would want to read such a thing? My next thought was: who wouldn't! Why isn't my life interesting enough to write about and therefore put out for the world to read - whomever that might entail?

Returning to the goalless drifters for a moment, I notice another common trait: defeatism. Whilst I possess a certain amount of self-criticism, these others wallow in the things they'll never do. Perhaps as children they had parents who treated them as incapable nothings. Perhaps as school children their teachers did the same. And now as adults, their defeatism encompasses the essence of their souls such that when they encounter a can-do spirit, they express jealousy or even hatred. I, on the other hand, feel a tingling excitement when I meet other people of achievement.

Another friend and former colleague, Liza, recently came to Sydney for some business meetings. She's based in Toronto, but travels the world seeking out new opportunities wherever they may originate. The only word to describe Liza is dynamo. She's constantly on the lookout for new challenges and achievements. Wherever she is and whatever the state of economies in North America and abroad, Liza will come out successful and cheerful. Nothing gets in her way. Over dinner, I discussed my book plans with her and how they began to take form. First, she was surprised to hear that I had been writing for such a long time and then she had only words of encouragement to offer. Though I only see Liza occasionally, I consider her a lightning rod of inspiration. Obviously I don't need her enthusiasm to embark on a daunting project such as writing a travel memoir, but it surely encourages me, knowing that I have an audience of other achievers.

In the end, what I see in my friends and in myself is an all-consuming passion to live to the fullest. Yes we admit that disappointments and failures are part of the on-going experiment, but they are brief moments to accept and then cast aside as the consequence of taking risks. If I flash forward to my dying days and one asks me if I have regrets, I am sure the answer will be a resounding NO. That, I submit, is the difference between one who lives and one who merely exists.

The Fall of a Corrupt Soul

‘Nice guys finish last’. In popular parlance, few phrases prove more difficult to refute than this one. How many of us work in large organisations and companies where the most grasping, mediocre and power hungry co-workers appear to get ahead, whilst the honest among us languish in our cubicles? Hence the expression and the confusion when one suggests that the most virtuous do, in fact, prevail in the long run.

We can look no further than the popular TV show 24 to see the fall of a corrupt soul in the character of Sherry Palmer, played with aplomb by Penny Johnson Jerald. For those unfamiliar with the show, Palmer appeared in the first three seasons, first as wife of presidential hopeful David Palmer. In the first season, Sherry was David’s campaign manager who, from the first time we see her on screen, appears to have some other motive than the successful election of her husband. As the season wore on, her true colours manifested themselves in her casual flouting of the integrity that David possessed. She manipulated reporters, covered up scandals and even attempted to get a staffer to sleep with her husband. At the end of the season, David cast her out of his life and threw her off the campaign.

In season 2, David Palmer is President and faces a nuclear threat to the United States. Sherry reappears and offers to help him find out who may be trying to undermine his presidency. As in season 1, Sherry still has the same motives, but once again appears to want only the best for her ex-husband. Even though Johnson Jerald is relegated to half the episodes in the season, one feels her presence throughout. As it turns out, her conniving and conspiring form the central plot element in the season. Her narrow escape in the final episode of the season proves breathtaking. One has to watch it to believe it. In other words, how in the hell did Sherry make it out alive again?

In season 3, President David Palmer is facing a major biological threat to America, all the while campaigning for re-election. When a scandal erupts surrounding a major campaign contributor and his brother Wayne - who is also his campaign manager - David calls upon Sherry to help him sort out the mess. In so doing, Sherry sinks the lowest she possibly can to ‘solve’ David’s problems, thereby corrupting his presidency and sealing her fate once and for all.

I consider Sherry Palmer a prime example in contemporary popular art of both a political and philosophical villain. Let’s first examine the former. Sherry’s primary concern is the acquisition of power - power at any cost and regardless of whom she tramples in the process. Does she seek power in order to help her husband best serve the American people? No. As she makes clear from the outset in season 1, she wants power over others, as evidenced by the energy she expends seeking to destroy others. Sherry Palmer is, in fact, the perfect fictional example of the modern politician in America today. She neither seeks to safeguard the individual rights of Americans nor even knows what rights are.

Sherry Palmer shows her philosophical colours throughout the three seasons in which she appears. Whereas David sticks to his principles, Sherry considers David’s ideas naïve. Everything is grey and complicated to Sherry. Everything is matter of opinion and, in her unprincipled mind, this means the sky’s the limit as far as her personal corrupt ambitions go.

Now, 24 is an action thriller and as such spends little time on deep philosophical issues. Were it to do so it would lose the excitement of watching Jack Bauer defeat terrorist enemies. Nevertheless it does present ideas succinctly and within the context of the plot structure. Sherry Palmer, in all her grey pragmatism and political expediency, is a villain and therefore the show expresses its view of those ideas implicitly. That is enough for me.

To return to the initial premise of this article, dramas like 24 show that power hungry villains do get their comeuppance and the virtuous do prevail. In daily life we may see our co-workers get away with petty indiscretions and power plays, but over time, eventually, these same corrupt souls do lose. We may not see them fall as dramatically as we do in pulse pounding action thrillers, but they do burn out, one way or another. A million little Sherry Palmers ultimately take two proverbial bullets to the chest.

Intellectual Due Diligence

During a conversation with my mother when I was about 30, I proclaimed that she and Dad had made it easy for me to reject religion. Incredulous, my mother asked me what I meant by that statement. I told her that both she and Dad had inculcated in me from a young age never to believe something without thinking. Both my parents are life long journalists and therefore their MO in life has been to ask questions and to seek out facts. Sometimes those facts have lead to an uncomfortable revision of a previously held opinion. Sometimes they have reinforced an existing stand on an issue. Whatever the case, they always insisted my siblings and I think first and weigh the evidence before reaching a conclusion.

In exhorting me and my siblings to investigate and sort things out on our own, my parents never told us some areas were off limits. Therefore, from about age 11, I decided the concept of a God and religion in general were utterly silly - or worse. If, as my parents said, I ought to gather facts and evidence in all endeavours of life, then surely they were inviting me to do the same for the really BIG issues, too. And so I did.

Being a child of educated parents where dinnertime conversation frequently revolved around issues and ideas, I also learnt from a young age to cultivate good speaking skills. Respect for the opinions of others was key in my household, but so was healthy debate. If I disagreed with someone, it was acceptable to say so without belittling the other person for holding a divergent view from my own.

As readers of my blog know, I am not afraid to jump into serious issues, but I also avoid the philosophical jargon of other writers. That said, what I figured out as an adult through my own reading was the method my parents had taught me and my siblings amounted to Aristotelian epistemology. The 'e' word is a mouthful, so simply put, Mom and Dad taught us: what do you know and how do you know it? I am sure neither of them had the word epistemology in mind. Theirs was a common sense method they passed on to their kids and I am the happy recipient of that method.

I must pause here to insist I am not a professional intellectual - not by any stretch of the imagination. But I am an observer by my nature and I have always sought answers to the trickiest questions in life. Sometimes my method gets me into hot water. Some religious people have expressed dismay or anger over my lack of belief. Others cannot fathom how I could possess the audacity to challenge belief in a God when historical giants like Thomas Aquinas remained a Catholic despite his Aristotelian methods.

I can appreciate all the scorn and dismay, but my reply to those challenges is to say: people also believed in a flat earth until that notion was proven incorrect. In addition to that, a common reaction to my atheism has been: prove there isn't a God! Ah, that's a nice intellectual trick, but how does one prove the non-existence of something? Couldn't I just as easily say: prove there isn't an elephant in the room?

My intention here is not to condemn people - after all, this is a blog about valuing. My point is to illustrate that the only way I or anyone else can attain knowledge is by using our minds, sifting through relevant facts and reaching conclusions by a ruthless logical process. I often say - and this should be the epitaph on my gravestone - the facts, wherever they lead me. Sometimes facts will cause me to reject a specious set of ideas like religion or environmentalism. Other times they move me to accept unpopular ideas, such as my hard won belief in freedom and capitalism.

Many people are afraid to think or to challenge the popular wisdom of the day. I have never feared my own mind because I grasped at a young age that my greatest achievements in life will result from my ability to reason. Because of my adherence to good thinking methods, I can accept my errors without difficulty. I LIKE to be proven wrong, as long as the evidence provided squares with the facts of reality.

In thinking about thinking, I am moved to ask my readers: how do YOU arrive at conclusions? Put another way: is reality your friend or your foe?

The Culture Collector

Whilst sitting in my local cafe today drinking my large flat white coffee, I couldn't help smiling at the 80s pop tunes playing on the stereo. I of course came of age in the 1980s and since then the reminder of the infectious era of funny hair styles and crazy fashions emanates from all directions. Nothing brings a smile to my face quicker than a pop song of my youth.

Characteristic of the era were the irrepressibly upbeat melodies and clever assortment of electronic and acoustic instruments, combined with the blue-eyed soul singing styles. The 1980s were also the era that I began my life as a world traveller. When I arrived in Belgium in July of 1984, I noticed straightaway that the pop sensibilities were similar in Europe, but with a decidedly more techno and dark bent. Groups like The Cure were big in Europe, whereas in America they had a more cult following among the brooding set.

Arriving in Québec City in 1986, I began drinking in the local popular music sung in French but with similar upbeat song arrangements as in the English pop songs. To this day, I enjoy a vast array of popular styles sung in various languages, including Norwegian, a language I have never learnt, but which nevertheless translates well to the simple song structures of the era.

In keeping with my own hybrid personality that I have carved for myself over the last three decades, the music of multiple countries appeals to me because it expresses in three or four minutes the joy of my wanderlust. I realised that I am a culture collector. I seek out the bric-à-brac of Belgium, Québec, France, Germany, America, the UK and Australia that appeals to my own sunny outlook on life. I once mused that the climates of the Southwestern United States and Sydney appeal so much to me because they are as sun-drenched as my own personality. Whilst I do have my low moments, my overall theme is one of eternal optimism at my lot in life.

Let me pause to state that my family and friends the world over must find me an interesting egg, to say the least. Some might think leaving America for a life abroad must mean I am at odds with the culture of America. Nothing could be further from the truth. The only difference between me and other adventurous Americans is instead of moving to another American state, I have moved to another country. I remain as engaged with America as always - from afar. I liken my lifestyle to those adventurers of previous centuries seeking out new challenges - ever mindful of what I have left behind, but also excited about what I find in my new home.

Listening to those old songs of my adolescence and early adulthood reminds me of my carefree days, but they also ground me. They arouse in me the exuberance of my youth but also the possibility of what still lies before me. What do the songs of your youth conjure up in you?

L'Expatrié, c'est moi

Over lunch with my French co-worker and his Swedish wife, the three of us agreed that the expatriate life renders us unusual by definition. Not only do we constantly evaluate the countries we choose to live in, but also our own countries of birth. The expatriate observes the world in a semi-detached state that non-expatriates don't even consider. We have eaten good food and bad, sometimes learnt strange languages and, most importantly, befriended other globetrotters.

I have often wondered if one can identify the expatriate by his mannerisms or hybrid styles. Australians know immediately that I come from somewhere in North America, but they can never quite place my accent. I say 'zed' and 'lift' and bit by bit my pronunciation is taking on slight local characteristics. Additionally, on return visits to the United States, I get the odd looks from my compatriots who think I sound Australian. I don't, but neither do I sound like the Milwaukee boy of my upbringing. I sound other.

Interestingly, my French co-worker was flummoxed to hear my full on Québécois accent in French. He knew I spoke French, but out of courtesy for other colleagues in the office, we normally speak English together. His surprise highlighted a theory of mine that it is easier to alter one's accent in a second language than it is in one's first language. I reckoned that the extra effort one makes in a second language forces the speaker to pay close attention to the nuance of accent and intonation. That is definitely true for me, as I originally learnt to speak French in Belgium when I was a teenager. After a year at university in Québec City, however, I had shifted completely to a French-Canadian accent.

Naturally, as globetrotters, the conversation turned to the bureaucracy of immigration in the various countries we'd lived in: the United States, Canada, France, Belgium, Sweden, Slovakia and now Australia. We mused at the friendliness - or its lack - amongst customs officials the world over. Australian customs moves quickly and the officials are nearly always friendly and efficient. Not so in the United States or Canada. Europe can be a mixed bag, depending on the nationality. My co-worker's wife noted that red tape in Sweden is cut and dried, whereas in France it can be horribly inconsistent and pedantic. In Sweden you get the stamp or you don't, whereas in France it depends on the mood or temperament of the official.

All these topics got me thinking about the principles of freedom and capitalism, though the conversations did not turn to political philosophy. As I have noted in previous articles, I avoid overt conversations about politics because the context of knowledge varies so much as to make such discussions either too emotional or too disconnected from reality.

As an observer of the world, I thought of politics because I notice that the degree of freedom in a given country will give one a clue about the ease of movement within it. The United States has been heading towards some kind of totalitarian state for many decades, so consequently the ability to migrate there has become byzantine and lacks coherence. Not surprisingly, immigration has become a bugbear in a country with an ever-growing state. Australia, whilst hardly a completely free country, proves nevertheless more hospitable to foreigners seeking to live here. The rules are clear cut and, though more restrictive than I advocate, relatively easy to grasp.

Many people in the West today struggle with the virtue of immigration. I call it a virtue because people who choose to uproot themselves to go make their way in a completely new country are among the most productive in the world. By and large, immigrants seek self-improvement, not free handouts. If I had my choice, when I become a permanent resident of Australia, I would happily forgo all the so-called state benefits in favour of a lower tax burden. Alas, that option does not exist. It should.

In the end, expatriates are the engine of dynamic countries like Australia. They remind native-born Australians by their very presence that the country is worth the long haul flights and the great distances from loved ones back home. If I had my druthers, I would create a special passport for people who have the pluck and courage to change countries like some people change clothes.

Loving Her Is Easy

Popular music these days is rarely compelling or even interesting. Most of what passes for music consists of retreads of old songs or scandalously dressed non-entities strutting their stuff for the paparazzi. Amid the dearth of singing talent arises once or twice in a decade the understated loveliness of Sarah McLachlan, whose grace and distinctive contralto welcome the listener like an old friend.

Whereas other singers make heartbreak feel like a dagger to the soul, Miss McLachlan takes the painful end to her marriage and adds hope for a happier future into the mix. The result is her new release Laws of Illusion. The album reminds the listener of her earlier songs whilst inviting us to experience a woman approaching middle age with the passion of her 25-year-old self.

Miss McLachlan's breakthrough album was Fumbling Towards Ecstasy, released in the early 1990s. On it she sang of fan obsession and the importance of holding onto hope even in the face of death. Critics correctly pointed out at the time that her singing was very good, but the lyrics had the ring of a teenage girl's scribbled poetry.

Now in her early 40s, McLachlan has acquired the subtlety of experience to avoid complex metaphor and state things simply. In the song 'Forgiveness', she sings 'Cause you don't know much about heaven, boy, if you have to hurt to feel'. No-one will give McLachlan writing awards, but she possesses a fine sense of phrasing that suits her understated singing style perfectly.

Critics of her new work complain that her pain strikes the listener as almost benign. Shouldn't she be spitting angry about the break-up of her 11-year marriage? Shouldn't she lash out at the man who disappointed her? Well, no. The point of Laws of Illusion is coming to terms with the heartache and then moving forward towards a new life with the possibility of loving still intact. McLachlan expresses this possibility in two songs on the album: 'Loving You Is Easy' and 'Love Come'. The former is bouncy and upbeat whereas the latter is more taciturn and cautious, almost a lament.

In a career now spanning two decades, Sarah McLachlan can still tease the listener into wanting more. She smartly avoids 75-minute albums crammed with content. Instead, she writes well crafted medium length songs. Her albums rarely extend beyond the 45-minute mark. Most of her songs are simply arranged - with piano, drums and guitar accompaniment and no fancy effects or overdubs. The result frees the listener to experience her pure and sweet voice unadorned by technology.

Laws of Illusion is a fine return to form for a singer who hasn't released a full length album of original songs in seven years. Welcome back, Sarah. Loving you is easy.

I Still Eat Pasta

Early this year, I decided to undergo a little body transformation. No, I don't mean I'm going all Cher on people and forking over gobs of cash to fix my nose or belly or whatever. I decided that at age 43, though reasonably fit, I could stand to lose the customary 10 to 12 kilos that Australians talk about often enough. (As an aside, my American readers will simply have to accept that I live in a metric country and figure out the conversions all on their own.)

Upon making this decision, I did a bit of research on the proper methods of weight loss and what is achievable in a four- to six-month span of time. A decade ago I was gung ho about the Atkins diet, but in the intervening years have come to find these types of diets so restrictive as to be ridiculous. Its adherents appear to lose heaps of weight, and then like any other fad diet they gain the weight back over time.

On an online forum I read and post to regularly, I asked the resident fitness expert about the various types of diets out there and he came back with a common sense answer: eat what you want in smaller quantities, eat several small meals a day and stay hydrated. That's it. No self-deprivation, no starvation, no angry cravings that only annoy people, anyway. Oh, and a bit of good resistance training every week.

I decided to try the Lite n' Easy diet (somewhat the Australian equivalent of Weight Watchers), not because it's anything earth shattering, but because it trains you to be conscious of portion size and frequency of meals. So, for the first month of my experiment, I signed up to a 1200-calorie per day diet that included the three main meals of the day and snacks in between. The service conveniently delivers an esky to your door with the week's food. They provide clear directions on what to put in the fridge and freezer. For the breakfasts and lunches, they label each by day of the week. Dead simple.

The quality of the food is above average. They won't win any awards, but to their credit, Lite n' Easy keeps it simple and reasonably flavourful. They also provide a wide array of choices, so if pumpkin and beetroot are not your thing (as a newish resident of Australia, I am still not a huge fan of either), there are plenty of other meal options available.

After my first month or so, I began to wean myself off the Lite n' Easy food, starting with the breakfasts. Because I had trained myself to eat breakfast every day, I have merely replaced theirs with my own. Instead of three eggs and four rashers of bacon, I'll eat ONE egg and a bit of bacon, along with a bottle of water. Or I'll have a SMALL bowl of muesli and an apple. Again, nothing complex there, just some rational thought applied to what I ingest.

Throughout this time, I have continued my twice weekly sessions with my fantastic trainer Alison. In two month's time, I have lost approximately half the weight I want to AND I feel satisfied with my progress. I no longer feel hungry or full - ever. My clothes fit me better and by the end of my weight loss I will need to go shopping. That alone is an exciting prospect for this clothes horse.

The most important lesson I've learnt is vigilance. To remain fit, one must constantly heed one's own body warnings. I have lived in my own body for long enough to know what will cause me to gain weight again and what I must do to maintain the shape that I seek, however modest my own goals. Another lesson came from a cognitive therapist I am familiar with: don't beat myself up for the progress I HAVEN'T made, but do feel proud of the success I HAVE achieved.

I still eat pasta - because I love it - but in much smaller quantities. Life is grand. Now go eat, drink, be merry and lead a life of achievement.