Category: Choices

David, Goliath, and Me

Posted on by Death C. Chanel

WHO SHOULD HAVE WON the battle of David versus Goliath??? Goliath, of course. David was small, he was alone, and he had a rock in a sling. Goliath was tall. Big. Like a house or something. Or a skyscraper. Or a giant rocket ship. And Goliath had big backers.

NO WAY could David win. But as we know, the story is about more than two guys battling. We now have all kinds of lessons about small and nimble versus big and slow. We can say that  Goliath was lazy and all too smug, so he didn’t have to prepare, but David did. He had to believe in himself. Goliath just had to be big. Not too much to do there.

Now Malcolm Gladwell, author of (David and Goliath: Underdogs, Misfits, and the Art of Battling Giants) has another theory. That Goliath was nearsighted. He couldn’t see what David was doing because he was so far away. And, the parable applies to big companies being “nearsighted” or perhaps “blinded” by their internal dialog. It makes them too weak to fight when the smaller, new competitor sneaks up and takes market share. I’m also reminded of Rocky Balboa, the scrappy fighter in the movie ROCKY who went up against the heavyweight champion, Apollo Creed. Rocky eventually won. We love these stories! Look at the sequels.

The United States of America was the upstart underdog taking on the hairy old England… and we know how that came out! We won. YAY us.

All these metaphors are great if you want to study and continue there, but what is REALLY important is that Goliath died because he was on the Deathlist for that day. He had to die, and David didn’t. That was all.

That is all.

Your death date is on the Deathlist. It’s in the book DEATHLIST by Kathryn Atkins, which is being launched in early 2022. Hang tight! And in the meantime, please think about it. Would YOU want to know when you’re going to die? Not how. When.

I’m late for collecting souls. See ya.

Yours truly, Death

 

 

Large Life Lessons from a Small Stupid Splinter

Posted on by Kathryn Atkins

When was the last time you got a splinter? I can’t remember mine, but having spent the better part of the last precious hour I didn’t think I had in trying to remove one, I was blessed with seeing the life messages it presented me.

I used to get splinters all the time when I was little and my dad called them a splinter in your “finner.” I remember mom and I would bend over the dumb thing, almost drooling with concentration.

We were both younger. I could see what I was doing without magnification. Mom celebrated these intimate moments, I think, almost as much as squeezing my blackheads. Funny what you remember.

Mom and I were both determined to remove the splinter. And we fought to wield our weapon of choice. She liked tweezers. I chose a sewing needle. Not a pin. Heavens, no. We used to burn the needle and tweezers to sterilize them back then. I wonder if they had peroxide in those days…?

So many thoughts poured through me and the parallels to our lives kept shoving through my consciousness as I pretty much bullied the thing out of my finger. Blood flooded the gouge. My glasses got fogged over with my hot breath urging the thing out but to no avail. Could I ignore it? Not a chance. It was a battle of wits. A fight to the finish. Good versus evil. My honor was at stake. I was a splinter remover of note, having removed dozens over my young, reckless childhood. Yay for reckless childhoods. Do we even allow those now?

A splinter is a metaphor for life’s challenges. Some people take them head-on, and won’t give up until they’re overcome or removed. Some people put up with them. Letting them fester and get infected. Others don’t want to take on the excruciating pain (you know it’s still in there because it hurts like hell when you touch it) of digging underneath and pushing, pulling, or sucking it out. (I was never successful at that last one). Softening. the skin by soaking.

  • Perseverance
  • Lots of light
  • Magnification
  • Focus
  • Patience
  • Correct tools
  • Eating (I’d skipped breakfast)
  • Managing Pain
  • Relief
  • Satisfaction (I got it, finally)
  • Removal of an offending problem
  • Hurry is a hazard
  • Memories of Mom and Dad
  • Carving time
  • Softening by soaking

I’m not a soften-by-soaking person. nor am I patient. I don’t usually give into little things, but alas, I was felled like Goliath by a tiny David of a sliver.  The episode is over, but its teachings helped me understand more about myself.

Let me know about your last “sliver” and what you did. OR, let me know if you’re David or Goliath. Which one do you want to be?

Love to hear from you.

How Long Have You Got?

Posted on by Death C. Chanel

It’s your friend Death here again for a friendly chat.

My team and I have been studying you humans for a long time. You. Are. Awesome. Really. We love to be working so closely with you and we know now why God created you all. You’re very entertaining. Never a dull moment with you guys. From inventions to families to wars to art and music, there is not much your kind hasn’t created. Truly. All of us in heaven love to see what each new day brings in the lives of our human friends.

We are mostly interested in the possibility that some of you are not maximizing your time on the Earth. But that begs the question:

How much time have you got? 

What if you only have a week? A month? A decade? What would you do with each of those? How could you ensure that you have fulfilled your purpose? Do you know what that is?

How much time have you got? 

Did you ever listen to a meditation on prioritization? @AndyPuddicombe’s Headspace app suggests that one way to prioritize is to imagine that this was your last day on earth. Is this the best use of your last day? He even says it sounds morbid. But it’s the truth. You do not know when your time is up. As I collect people’s souls and help them through from their mortal selves to their spiritual existence, many people lament their lack of accomplishment. “I ran out of time? Can I have a little more?” they ask. By the time I arrive, it’s too late.

How much time have you got? 

What if you knew? What would you do? Would you finish your symphony? Your painting? Your education? Be a dancer? Take the architecture course you always wanted to take? What? So, let’s say you can find out how much time you have. That won’t be done until the Deathlist is released from Heaven. It will be coming in the next few years. And. You. Will. Know.

What will you do with the time? And, will you believe it? Is the Deathlist right? Will it tell your exact death date? IF it’s wrong, (it’s not) you will have some extra time. If it’s right, you’ll feel like you should have believed it and done what God put you here to do. SO… long way of saying…

Make the most of the time while you’re here. Because for not, You don’t know how much time you’ve got. But you will soon.

Read The Deathlist, by my friend Kathryn Atkins, and you’ll know all about it.

 

 

 

I Really Do Like You

I Really Do Like You

Posted on by Death C. Chanel

It’s hard for a lot of you humans to believe. I get it. You think I’m out to get you.

I am.

And I’m not.

As Death, I have a job to do, which is to collect souls. That said, I do not decide when you pass from here to there, nor do I choose how it happens. What I do help with is the experience of it. My role is to ease you out. Make it a peaceful transition. And, as you will find out, I really do like you.

I must add, too, that I do not decide where you spend your eternity. That one’s on you. If you’ve lived a good life, and the Sin Amalagator Department has collected the number of good points required for Heaven, you come here. If, on the other hand, your points are in the not-so-good categories, you’ll be sent elsewhere. It’s a precise system, and we pride ourselves on fairness and accuracy. Mostly. We’ve had very few errors. Really.

You’re wondering why I’m bothering to talk to you about this. Well, there’s this thing called the Deathlist, and I’m going to be publishing a book about it very soon. You’ll learn all about it and perhaps wonder why you’re not aware of it. First of all, the book hasn’t been released yet! Second, the Deathlist is a future event for you. For us, it’s already come and gone, because time up here  (in Heaven) is fluid.

They’re both coming soon, though. The book and the Deathlist itself. I’d be prepared. And if you’re curious, let me just say that if you are interested in knowing when you’re going to die — so you can get your ___________ (whatever it is) done before you die, you’ll want to read about the Deathlist. I’m sure of it.

~ Over and out from Death (wearing Chanel today. As usual.)

“…I Lie Awake at Night and Ask Why Me?”

Posted on by Kathryn Atkins

Then a voice answers, “Nothing personal, your name just happened to come up.”

These TWO lines are a quote from Charles M. Schulz, creator of the Peanuts comic strips. 

GOOD STUFF

I had not seen this quote. It stopped me cold because it’s my question too! In the case of Charles Schulz and me, ours were, I think, questions of the things that we had received (his gift for penning and illustrating comic strips, and mine for playing the piano by ear). Or not! Because . . .

NOT-GOOD STUFF

Not-good stuff happens to us that yields the same question— and the reasons for the query change over the decades, years, and months. Heck. “Why Me?” pops into our heads as one freakin’ instant changes the positive to the negative and back again. Whiplash? Yaasss!

THE ANSWER

The answer does not change.

The voice of, I don’t know, someone, says our name just happened to come up. We can look for all kinds of philosophical hoo-haw to explain the unexplainable. But, I think it saves a lot of time to relax into the idea of chance, luck, Karma, or serendipity. Call it what you will, each can be skewed to the positive or negative. And luck, change, or Karma can change on a dime.

Life just is. We don’t know why. It. Just. Is.

Let’s keep going. Let’s see what our name comes up for today.

My Mom Confesses

My Mom Confesses

Posted on by Kathryn Atkins

If you’re a Catholic of a certain age, you remember that in the old days, we had to confess our sins. You might have seen it in the movies, but it was what we really did. You’d go into the church and on one side there was a place where you went in a little door, knelt down in a dark room, and waited for the priest to slide the little door that separated him from you. You confessed your heinous sins to the gauzy outline of a man who looked like the pope or something. It was weird and sometimes you wondered what he had for lunch.

So what did I confess? I like, might have said a bad word. Like shoot. (I was little.) Or had a “bad” thought (like wanting to stay home from church). Or if you ate meat on Friday. Or you forgot to say your prayers one night, those were sins. For me, I didn’t have a lot to confess, but we were supposed to go at least once a month. I think more devout Catholics were supposed to go once a week. I’m not sure. Did the nuns go every day?

ANYWAY, my mom was a “convenient” Catholic. Her strategy was to find the priests that gave her the least number of Our Fathers and Hail Mary’s to say as penance and go on their day in the confessional box. She especially liked the priests who said, “Oh, that’s not a big sin, really. In fact, let’s not call it a sin this time. Try to do better next time.” Like a speeding ticket warning or something.

Sometimes, there was a substitute in the confessional, and she’d get a hard priest. “That’s terrible. Say 50 Our Father’s and 50 Hail Mary’s.” My mom felt horrible. Then he’d say, “Now, go in peace, my child.”

“Go in peace?” she might have said. “I might just go to hell if I don’t say these in time!” My mother would be a wreck. But then she didn’t have a lot to confess anyway. Just yelling at us kids for something or other. And that was okay. We probably deserved it.

It was fun seeing how my mom “interpreted” Catholicism. She was pretty practical. And I’m sure she’s in heaven now. She was a great mom, even if she thought confessing would get her into heaven. I don’t know. I’ll have to ask her if I ever get there. It will be great to see her again.

The Old-Fashioned Way

The Old-Fashioned Way

Posted on by Kathryn Atkins

 

I envied her.

She didn’t own a computer. She had a cell phone for three months but never used it. She told her kids to take it back. She had time to read and do crafts, take long walks, and lunch with friends. She attended live lectures, went to the library, enjoyed museums, picnics at the park, and face-to-face conversations with her grandchildren, who squirmed much of the time, unused to talking without a keyboard and a computer screen as part of the interaction. And she could see the kids’ expressions, touch their knees or hands, and help them understand social interplay the old-fashioned way.

Mrs. Manfred writes notes to people, does her banking inside the bank, visits friends, and has the bridge club at her house once a month. The book club is on the third Thursday of the month, bridge club on the second Tuesday, and baby quilters on the fourth Friday. Mrs.M. volunteers at the local hospital, stuffing envelopes and helping the cooks put little white cups on the trays for the patients. She wears a hairnet, gloves, and an apron for this job. The apron comes down to the floor, and the extra small gloves hang off her tiny hands like a four-year-old dressing up in her mom’s clothes. The hairnet is a big blue surgical hat of which the hospital purchased at a huge discount in the tens of thousands, making Mrs. M. look like a cross between a blue mushroom and a midget chef. Her hair pokes out from under the blue hat, clown style.

She laughed easily. She had a razor-sharp mind and a heart of expanding elasticity, especially for children. Her favorite volunteer work was reading to kids in hospitals, schools, churches, and libraries.

However, it was not only becoming a lost art, but the ‘safety laws required that she wear a badge, get fingerprinted, TB tested, and background checked all so she could have an “aide” in the room while she read to the kids. Mrs. M. cried at the thought of it.

“All I want to do is entertain and teach the children,” she said. The laws had changed, the world had changed, the people had changed. It became too much of a hassle for her, and eventually, she had to cut back because they couldn’t find the “aide” person. In fact, when she gave up driving for Lent one year, her daughter couldn’t get her to the hospitals, and she had to stop forever.

She was forced into a retirement home—what a loss for everyone — for the kids and Mrs. M.’s wonderfully abundant heart.

One day, when cell phones stopped working, the internet coughed and passed out for a 24-hour period. Mrs. Manfred’s life did not change at all, except the people in the retirement home came down to the central meeting room in a trickle at first and then in a steady stream. Finally, they arrived in a torrent, and the room was awash in blue hairs so that the chattering and laughing brought life back into the home that usually served as the waiting area for an appointment with Death.

New acquaintances became fast friends.

Alas, the internet came back on the next day, and Death and her friend Depression resumed their march. The spell was broken, and Mrs. M. cried until she decided to read to her friends in the old folks’ home –knee to knee, the old-fashioned way.

Smiles all around. Life was good.

If I’m Being Honest

Posted on by Kathryn Atkins

If I’m being honest, I’m checking my authentic truth for falsehoods.

“Really? Is that REALLY true?”

Women Who Run With the Wolves author Clarissa Pinkola Estés says we must turn to art to find our true selves. Find silence. Be somehow willing to acknowledge a higher power.

If I’m being honest, I don’t know what to call the higher power. I think there’s one. I pray to them sometimes. But I’m still on the fence about “God” with that name. It could be anything. Here’s what. I believe we humans are more than an evolutionary fluke. A Charles Darwin leap from an ape to a person. Nope. There’s something or someone. I believe that.

If I’m being honest, I am absolutely sure I have been specially blessed with more than my fair share of REALLY cool stuff. I am grateful for all of it. I wonder when the “shoe” is going to fall. But then maybe I’ll not bring it on by asking too many questions.

If I’m being honest, I absolutely know that there are few accidents. It’s all pretty much planned. All of it. The good, the bad, and the ugly. I am often good, sometimes bad, and unfortunately, plain ugly from time to time. And yet, if I’m being honest, I try to catch myself and get better. That’s all we can ask for, because, well, we’re lucky to be here, maybe being ugly, and still having people who love us even so.

If I’m being honest, I’m trying to be objective about the things I say and do. It takes stillness. And the willingness to work hard to change the things you see that, if you’re being REALLY honest, are REALLY bad. Those are hard times.

Dead at 39

Dead at 39

Posted on by ka-author

This post is about life and gifts.

Last night, we watched the George Gershwin movie, “Rhapsody in Blue,” made in 1945. The lead was played by Robert Alda, Alan Alda’s dad. Alan Alda was Captain Hawkeye Pierce in the long-running M*A*S*H television series, among other successful roles.

In the Rhapsody in Blue movie, George Gershwin’s key trait was his inability to rest. He was always in a huge hurry to finish the current project so he could start another. It’s easy to say that he was pressed (almost to distraction) to create because he had a sense he would be dead at age 39, but is that possible? 

Did he know? 

He never married. He was as much a failure at romance as he was a success at writing music. His gift came with a cost. Is that true of other gifted people? These talented individuals died early, too. Elvis Presley was 42 at his death, Judy Garland, 47, Philip Seymour Hoffman, 46.  And Robin Williams, 53. 

Did they know?

We all have gifts. Some of us have more than others. Some people’s gifts are more evident to outsiders because movies or plays or musical pieces make the gifts public. For some folks, their gifts are never opened. The gifts are left under life’s tree and are never claimed. Maybe those people are spared the angst of Gershwin, et al. 

Do we know? 

I would like to say my gifts have come with a cost, but they haven’t. I haven’t pursued them to distraction. Is that good or bad? Does every gifted person who pursues their talent die early? No. But on the other hand, what is the cost of not opening your gift, or at least only opening one end? Has that life been a waste? What would have happened if Gershwin lived longer? Garland? Would they have lived longer without the hot pursuit of fame, perfection, creation? What drove them? Would a longer life have been worth it? What were they here to do?

Knowing

My ficitious novel “Deathlist, Death, and the Devil” lets people know how long they have to live. Exacty. How. Long. With or without gifts. With or without using them to build tall buildings, swing a golf club, write an opera, or sing in the choir. 

If you knew you were going to be dead at 39, would you live differently? I would hope I would live my life here forward with a different speed and heightened pressure to finish. For that, I would need to embrace  fearlessness. So I ask…

What would you do if you knew?