67 Lessons Learned in 67 Turns Around the Sun

Posted on March 15, 2022 by Glen-Peter Ahlers
  1. All you need is Love.
  2. All I need is within me now.
  3. Life is good.
  4. Most people most of the time mostly want to mostly do mostly good.
  5. Forgiving others is a gift to oneself.
  6. Yesterdays are folded away; tomorrows may yet unfold; only todays matter.
  7. When given a choice to be kind or to be correct, you can’t be wrong by being kind.
  8. The great wisdom traditions share more similarities than differences.
  9. Mothers and fathers are a crapshoot; lucky me rolled 7 twice.
  10. Our purpose is to find our purpose.  To find what lights us up; to find what fuels us; to find what compels us forward; to find what bursts our cells into song and smile.
  11. Stubbing toes, tripping up, falling down, coming up short; all just part of the experience.
  12. Tenacity is imperative.
  13. So is courage, which means it’s okay to be afraid, but you still jump out of the plane.
  14. Anyone can get a first date; the trick is getting a second.
  15. Category 5 hurricanes, with all their might, always succumb to blue skies. Always.
  16. Nietzsche was right; life would be a mistake without music.
  17. Baloo is right too. We should all “look for the, ‘uh,’ bare necessities.”
  18. Some lessons never seem to stick.  For example, not to swallow water and breath at the same time.  How many times must I choke on that lesson before it sticks?
  19. Time crawls in the dentist’s chair yet sprints past the youth of our children.
  20. I am blessed with six magnificent adult children. Where’d the time go?
  21. I asked my mother how she always remained so calm; “it’s simple,” she said. “I choose to be the eye of whatever storm must blow.”
  22. It’s not about me.
  23. Skinny dipping is still fun.
  24. Our eyes will not see what our brain tell us is not there.
  25. People are miracles; warts and all.
  26. Hatred eats us alive.
  27. Dylan was right. I was so much older then, and I am younger than that now.
  28. I still enjoy lollipops.
  29. Collect moments, not things.
  30. You cannot overuse thank yous.
  31. You don’t have to like people you don’t like; but you can still be pleasant.
  32. What’s wrong with life is readily available; so is what is right.
  33. I choose to see glasses half full.  Doesn’t make me right, just helps make my days right.
  34. Every spin around the sun brings new joy, frustration, sadness, sun, rain, and growth.
  35. Like plants, we are mostly growing or withering with precious little time in stasis. 
  36. My parents and I still talk.
  37. I am one blessedly blessed guy.
  38. Deep breaths are remarkable tools in the hands of the right lungs.
  39. We should be more kind when we define success; remember, baseball’s great hitters succeed about thirty percent of the time.
  40. Einstein was right; it’s all relative.
  41. All 8 billion of us on the planet are experts at beating ourselves up.
  42. The Japanese call it tree bathing, or forest bathing (Shinrin Yoku). I call it hiking or camping.  But hiking in nature by any other name is still deeply healing.
  43. Why wallow in blaming someone else when we can just move on?
  44. Christ was wise.
  45. Buddha was wise.
  46. Muhammad was wise.
  47. Confucius was wise.
  48. I still prefer to follow police cars on the highway, rather than the other way around.
  49. There’s a fun book, All I Really Need To Know I Learned In Kindergarten.  My “book” is the music catalog of the Beatles.
  50. Bob Dylan also taught me much.
  51. Kris Kristofferson too.  He earned his Rhodes scholarship and then some.
  52. Feeling good was easy when Bobby sang the blues.
  53. I cannot give thanks too often.
  54. I cannot forgive too often.
  55. A shoulder leaned on is not a crutch.
  56. Albuquerque is still the land of mañana.
  57. We all could use a little mañana right now.
  58. The right to pause.  This pause.  Right now.  This moment.  Is a gift to ourselves.
  59. I wonder if my children work to understand me as hard as I work to understand them.
  60. Sometimes I need to remind myself that mine is not the only perspective.
  61. Although they may wish I cared, what others think of me is not my concern.
  62. Language matters.  Why call an experience a failure when it is a lesson?  Edison succeeded with the light bulb after over 1,100 lessons of what didn’t work. We don’t say he failed 1,100 times.
  63. Everyone stumbles; getting up is what matters.
  64. My Uncle Joe taught me: if at first, I succeed, then I set my goals too low.
  65.  I Love getting haircuts—my hair’s still growing!
  66. Life flowers at its own pace. We may coach it proper diet, exercise, Love, and laughter; but we can’t tug it from the ground faster than its plan.
  67. I still capitalize the word Love whenever I write it.

This post and blog are copyrighted by Glen-Peter Ahlers, Sr.

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Sixty-Two Lessons Learned In Sixty-Two Trips Around The Sun

Posted on March 24, 2017 by Glen-Peter Ahlers

The lessons appear in no particular order, except number one remains number one.

  1. All you need is Love.[1]
  2. I am not perfect.
  3. It’s not about me.
  4. Skinny dipping is still fun.[2]
  5. All I need is within me now.[3]
  6. Great hitters hit more singles, more doubles, and more triples, than homeruns.
  7. Homerun hitters strike out a lot, but they are still homerun hitters.
  8. The sun always shines full force, even on rainy days.
  9. Our eyes cannot see what our brains tell us is not there.
  10. Back-to-back-to-back-to-back hurricanes (Florida 2004) are no fun.
  11. No hurricanes since 2004: pretty cool.
  12. I’d rather wash dishes than dry dishes.
  13. I’d rather wash laundry than fold laundry.
  14. I’d rather wear laundry than either wash or fold laundry.
  15. Amazon v. Walmart is interesting.
  16. No one is perfect.
  17. Every person is a miracle, faults and all.
  18. Nietzsche was right; without music, life would be a mistake.[4]
  19. I’m still learning from my mother.
  20. I’m still learning from my father.
  21. We cook for ourselves today, but plant trees for children and grandchildren tomorrow.
  22. Nature soothes me.
  23. Those who hate only beat themselves up.
  24. Learning to forgive frees us to Love unconditionally.
  25. There is no place for blame; just move on.
  26. Predawn hours pacing, patting, and soothing my children to sleep were precious.
  27. I was so much older then; I’m younger than that now.
  28. Einstein was wise.
  29. Christ was wise.
  30. Buddha was wise.
  31. Muhammad was wise.
  32. Confucius was wise.
  33. There’s nothing you can do that can’t be done.[5]
  34. There’s nowhere you can be that isn’t where you’re meant to be.[6]
  35. Mentors are priceless.
  36. Satin sheets feel best when shared.
  37. I prefer to follow the police on the highway, not the other way around.
  38. I like roller coasters at theme parks; not in my daily life.
  39. A young child’s smile is sweet, but my adult children’s smiles light my life.
  40. Not all stepparents are step monsters.
  41. Not all stepchildren are step monsters.
  42. Much of what I really need to know I learned from the Beatles.
  43. Bob Dylan also taught me much.
  44. Kris Kristofferson earned his Rhodes scholarship. Then some.
  45. Salt water and salt air refresh my soul.
  46. I cannot say “thank you” too often.
  47. I cannot forgive too often.
  48. A shoulder leaned on is not a crutch.
  49. Heads leaning on my shoulder are not burdens.
  50. Nothing makes her mine, me hers, or anyone else, anyone else’s.
  51. Feeling good was easy when Bobby sang the blues.
  52. What an odd saying: “he’s dead to me.”
  53. Albuquerque remains the land of mañana.
  54. We all could use a little mañana right now.
  55. The right to pause. Right now. This moment. Is a gift to ourselves.
  56. I hope my children work to understand me just as hard as I work to understand them.
  57. While I mean harm to no one, I understand mine is not the only perspective.
  58. What others think of me is not my concern, although they probably wish I cared.
  59. Today’s failure does not fail a lifetime.
  60. Everyone stumbles; getting up is what matters.
  61. If at first I succeed, I set my goals too low.
  62. Sixty-two trips around the sun is a darn good start!

[1] Lesson 1, Happy Birthday: Fifty-Nine Lessons Learned In Fifty-Nine Orbits Around The Sun, https://mewalls.wordpress.com/ March 15, 2014. Lesson one has always been my lesson one.

[2] Lesson 44, Happy Birthday: Fifty-Nine Lessons Learned In Fifty-Nine Orbits Around The Sun, https://mewalls.wordpress.com/ March 15, 2014.

[3] Lesson 28, Happy Birthday: Fifty-Nine Lessons Learned In Fifty-Nine Orbits Around The Sun, https://mewalls.wordpress.com/ March 15, 2014.

[4] Maxim and arrow 33, Nietzsche, F. W., & Large, D. Twilight of The Idols, or, How To Philosophize With A Hammer. Oxford ; New York: Oxford University Press. (1998).

[5] The Beatles, All you need is Love, Magical Mystery Tour (Capitol Records, 1967).

[6] Id.

This post and blog are copyrighted by Glen-Peter Ahlers, Sr.

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I Watched Her Soar

Posted on March 10, 2017 by Glen-Peter Ahlers

Little means more to this single dad than seeing his children wrestle with the world and win. One of mine won this weekend after a college visit. I watched her soar.

She’s child Five of Six. One and Two have already graduated and Three and Four are currently attending; it’s Five’s turn now.

Dads are used to holding our breaths and concealing grimaces over skinned knees. Remain strong; best not show true concern; stop the bleeding. Five and I started her college quest last year: “Daddy, where should I go to college?”

Because I personally hated my high school experience, I applauded Five’s decision to graduate early, but I immediately had to practice not grimacing when she announced her intention to (in dad’s view) waste her year gained by early graduation to “stay nearby and grow up.” WHY GRADUATE EARLY? I screamed internally. Outwardly, I stapled my tongue to my lip and said little, especially to Five. (But I think she heard my inner screams.)

Five did her homework when we began working through college applications earnestly. “Where are those other scholarship possibilities you talked about, dad?”

“Over here, at the website I gave you.”

“What schools offer them?”

“They’re on the website. Where do you want to go?”

“What schools are in state?”

“Same website. Let’s search by state.”

After months of e-Paperwork ad nauseam, Five declared, “Dad, I’m never going to college. No one will accept me.”

“Sweetheart, how many older siblings do you have?”

“Four.”

“And how many failed to get into college?”

“None.”

”So, you’d be the first?”

“It could happen.”

I tried not to grimace when, after college acceptance 1, college acceptance 2, college acceptance 3… college acceptance umteen rolled in, there were never enough college acceptances to convince Five that she was likely going to college. It didn’t matter that every college she applied to accepted her.

I tried not to grimace when Five said, “Besides, even if I get in, I don’t have the money to pay for college; no one’s going to give me scholarships.”

I held my grimace yet again when, after every school offered serious scholarships to procure her attendance, Five’s response was “Oh, great! Now I get to fail all my courses and lose my scholarships!”

Tried not to grimace yet again when Five felt paralyzed by the possibility of making a wrong choice among three prestigious opportunities. “Sweetheart,” I said, dabbing her skinned knee, “these are all terrific schools offering you terrific possibilities and terrific experiences. There is no wrong decision. You will make friends with different people; you will study under different professors, and your life will follow different paths depending upon where you go college, but you will make incredible friends, learn from incredible professors, and launch an incredible life no matter where you go.”

“But how will I know the right decision for me?”

“You will feel the right decision. It will be the right decision because you make it.” This is your life to direct. It doesn’t matter which among the terrific choices you choose; they all lead to wonderful places. You’ll know which one is for you. And the best part is that, once you feel the right decision, everything becomes clear and all your doubt will be lifted.”

This weekend was our last college visit. I knew Five was enjoying herself, and I sensed she saw more during this visit to campus than our cursory visit last fall. But I knew this weekend changed everything when, as we walked to our car to drive home, Five suddenly hugged me close, burst into tears, and said, “daddy, I’m so happy.”

Five still doesn’t know where she’ll land after college, but she realized this weekend that where she lands doesn’t matter because it’s all in the flight.

I saw one of my children succeed this weekend. I watched her soar.

This post and blog are copyrighted by Glen-Peter Ahlers, Sr.

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Imagine This Dream

Posted on February 27, 2017 by Glen-Peter Ahlers

Ignoring intervening decades, I decided to find and talk to my high school Lover. I found her easily in dreamscape, and she immediately recognized me.

She hesitated for a moment, and, in what had suddenly become our dream, we both immediately faced the interminable chasm question: will she or won’t she?

She remained coy during the pause, but I drew strength from her immediate smile and recognition. I had sensed her and had heard her without sound, just as we had sensed and had undressed one another decades ago.

“I knew you’d show up,” she said; although I was hoping to hear, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Well?” I asked.

“Well, it’s been a long time.”

“Yeah, but we’re both here now.”

“Obviously.”

“And you’re not running.”

“Why would I run from you?”

“I don’t know; they always do.”

“I’m not them.”

“No. That’s why I’m here.”

“Hoping?”

“Yes hoping.”

“And what, exactly are you hoping for?”

“I’m hoping that you’ll stay.”

“Where would I go?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re hoping I’ll stay here with you instead of going somewhere else?”

“Yes.”

“Why would I go somewhere else when I can be here with you?”

This Blog and this post are copyrighted by Glen-Peter Ahlers, Sr.

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And That’s All That Mattered

Posted on February 24, 2017 by Glen-Peter Ahlers

Sometimes the trees know,
Or do they?
The sap seems to be rising spring
The sun is up a bit earlier and
Lingers a little longer

We met over mint tea
Bathed in warm lights of Starbucks,
The sun already steeped
We sat near a corner, chairs angled towards
One another

A first meeting, perhaps a last
But in dreams of spring
All hope’s eternal
Her eyes danced and jumped atop her smile
Flames licking logs in a warming hearth

We danced to our eye-speak,
Smoldering embers emitting snaps and pops,
Shooting sparks aching to escape
We feasted on one another
Without sharing a meal

If nothing else,
If nothing more,
For a magical eternity, a brief few hours
My rising spring was in her warmth
And nothing else in the world mattered.

This post and blog are copyrighted by Glen-Peter Ahlers, Sr.

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Good Luck and Miracles

Posted on October 16, 2015 by Glen-Peter Ahlers

It’s been an eventful three months for my family. Highlights include one or more of us surviving a six-story plunge, a motorcycle accident, an emergency abdomen operation, and an errant pickup truck imbedded in a bedroom wall.

We racked up a cumulative four weeks of the twelve in three separate hospitals. After hospital stays during July, August, and September, I established a new family goal to stay out of hospitals for the entire, very long month of October. Well, we’re halfway there, despite the best efforts last week of the errant pickup truck driver from a local lawn care service, who planted the front bumper of his truck inside my bedroom. Thank goodness he forgot to light his Molotov cocktail on wheels.

The pickup truck got attention. Well, the news reports gave it attention. Three of the local stations’ three helicopters were in the air over our home that afternoon. “It’s a slow news day” the fire department Lieutenant told me. “You got all three choppers in the air!”

“Dad,” one of my sons told me, “I saw your suspenders. You look good.” Even my auto mechanic told me, “saw you on the news last week.”

Now when friends and colleagues see me coming, that is if they don’t walk out of their way to avoid me, they shake their heads and mutter something to the effect of “man, what a bunch of bad luck!” Or, “heard you did a little remodeling.”

Thing is, I don’t think I have bad luck, although I have often reflected upon that old blues lyric, If it wasn’t for bad luck, I’d have no luck at all. I reflect on the lyric, but I prefer to see the good luck in all the recent misadventures. Despite all the calamities, tragedies really, which occurred, every member of my family is alive and well. That’s not just luck; it’s miraculous. And miraculous again. And miraculous again. And miraculous yet again.

One doesn’t normally survive hurtling to Earth from six stories up. One doesn’t normally survive laying down a motorcycle at neighborhood speeds. One doesn’t normally find a surgeon in his office at 4:30 p.m. on a Friday afternoon for an emergency consult. And certainly not one who gets you admitted into the hospital within hours and performs surgery the following morning. Finally, neither does one normally walk away from a hurtling Molotov cocktail that crashes into a home.

Yes, I guess I’d like to spend some of my good luck on a winning lottery ticket, and I can certainly do with less excitement, but hey, I’m satisfied the miracles keep rolling in.

Here are a couple of reports regarding the pickup truck hitting the house:

WFTV Channel 9 News Report

Fox News Channel 13 Report

WESH Channel 2 News Video

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Wayne Dyer, Just Passing Through

Posted on August 31, 2015 by Glen-Peter Ahlers

One of my gurus left this world Sunday; left his human self. Wayne Dyer. Yet Wayne hasn’t left any more than my father, brother, uncle Joe, great grandma Brengs, or any other influential elders, family, friends, or mentors of mine ever left.

I discovered Wayne’s teachings fifteen years ago or so. He was bald even then. But what stunned me most about his passing Sunday—and this may seem silly and trite—is that, before he passed, I insisted upon watching one of his lessons with my bride. It was a shortened video course, Finding Your True Life’s Purpose.

I enlisted my resident nerd to help correctly connect an HDMI cable to the TV to make sure I could stream Wayne’s content from my laptop. It was a struggle; when we were done, my laptop misbehaved and didn’t communicate well with the TV. We had to use my bride’s computer. But then I needed to remember our password to  Wayne’s publisher, Hay House. Not easily done.

It took a lot of doing, but finally we watched Wayne expound upon finding and following one’s “burning desires.” All I knew is that I had to find a way, that very night, to watch the program with my bride. I didn’t realize until the program began, that we watched it only because of my burning desire to do so. Wayne taught of burning desires just as I lived a burning desire to hear him teach. At one point in the video he offered a rose to a participant in the audience and as she took the rose, I felt a twinge; he’s passing the rose, I thought.

I don’t know the exact moment of his passing, and the presentation was recorded, but as it played in my living room last night, given the time zone between the east coast and Hawaii, I know he passed when he passed the rose.

Last night was a gift. One of many Wayne’s given me. One of many more I will continue to receive. He was just passing through, and I am so glad he passed through me.

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Fathers Are Just To Love Us

Posted on June 20, 2015 by Glen-Peter Ahlers

Fathers are Just to Love us.
Just to teach the power of Love.
Just to hold.
Just to hug.
Just to listen.
Just to tug.
Just to hear little hearts’ desires.
Just to cry to.
Just to run to.
Just to laugh with.
Just to guide.
Just to see us laugh.
Just to wish we would listen.
Just to be there when we don’t.
Just to be there when we’re happy.
Just to be there when we’re sad.
Just to be there when we’re good, ’cause Santa doesn’t see the bad.
Just to forgive.
Just to celebrate gold foil stars.
Just to hang scribblings on the fridge.
Just to single out our voice in the choir, our dance in the troupe, our instrument in the orchestra.
Just to beam seeing us in the spotlight.
Just to sweat, squint, and squirm on little league bleachers.
Just to say how well we played.
Just to forget we were called out looking; fathers never see strike three.
Just to share our first steps.
Just to see us fall.
Just to pick us up.
Just to see us fall again.
Just to help us up.
Just to see us fall again.
Just to see us finally pick ourselves up.
Just to see us run.
Just to see us happy.
Just to see us have fun.
Just to cheer us on.
Just to chauffeur us hither and yon.
Just to go three steps beyond.
Just to put a spring in our steps.
Just to put songs in our hearts and rhymes in our times.
Just to teach of the Beatles (countless others too).
Just to teach there’ll never be a day the music died.
Just to teach about Baloo.
Just to dance in a grocery store’s peanut butter aisle for no reason at all.
Just to teach that peanut butter is reason enough to dance.
Just to be patient.
Just to be silent.
Just to forgive.
Just to smile, even when it’s not easy.
Just to wish and wish, and wish again to be heard.
Just to understand and understand, and understand again when he’s not.
Just to worry.
Just to silently anchor us without our knowing.
Just to rail against.
Just to storm against.
Just to defy.
Just to break away from.
Just to cry.
Just to hold us as best he can.
Just to let us go.
Just to nudge us from the nest.
Just to see us soar.
Just to see us roar.
Just to cry at our wedding and bring back Baloo.
Just to cradle our young.
Just to do it all over; new circle begun.

I am blessed because my father just is. He just is still inside me, even though his Earth years are gone. He just still cheers me on and picks me up. We still even laugh and cry sometimes.

I hope sometimes on some days some feel I too, just am.

Glen-Peter Ahlers, Sr.

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Thoughts on Thanksgiving 2014

Posted on November 27, 2014 by Glen-Peter Ahlers

Thank-You B

Thank you. We are taught to say it by our teachers, by our parents, by our grandparents, and by our great-grandparents if we’re lucky enough. We’re taught too to say it in the classroom by classroom teachers. Years ago I was taught a song, a rhyme, really.

There are two little magic words,                                                                                                         That will open any door with ease.                                                                                                 One little word is thank you                                                                                                             And the other little word is please.

Thanksgiving is all about please and thank you; please pass that, thank you for passing this. But it’s mostly about giving thanks.

We give thanks in the moment; nothing in the moment matters but the thanks. We feel alive as we spread thanks far and wide to family, to friends, to gods, and to the universe.

We feel alive when we give thanks because we acknowledge the universe and its bounty and all the gifts bestowed upon us, including the magical gift of life. As we stand in the moment giving thanks, we stand in appreciation of life and we feel good. We cannot feel sad or disappointed while giving thanks. Living in appreciation is our birthright. The more appreciation and thank yous we give, the happier we are. It’s just a fact.

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Everyone Has a Mom

Posted on November 1, 2013 by Glen-Peter Ahlers

Everyone has a mom, but not like mine. Mom took the sting out of the iodine before she cleaned our skinned knees. Mom had plenty of practice, my siblings and I had fourteen knees to skin and iodine.

Everyone has a mom, but not like mine. Mom spread peanut butter on one slice of bread and jelly on the other because I liked it that way; she didn’t mix it all together like other moms did. My siblings and I gave mom plenty of practice spreading peanut butter and jelly.

Everyone has a mom, but not like mine. Mom let me sit on the fire escape outside the kitchen window that overlooked the backyard. I could see the whole world from there. She fed me grapes; I loved to pluck them off the stems and pop them into my mouth. I still do. I wrote her a poem once. It had a rhyme about eating grapes on fire escapes. I thought it was fine. Mom told me it was better than Shakespeare. She was good about that, telling you that you wrote better that Shakespeare. She also taught us that we sang better than Caruso, painted better than Van Gough, and out smarted Einstein. My siblings and I gave mom plenty of opportunities to tell us how good we were. Imagine the countless grammar school art works, school plays, and chorus programs she had to fawn over.

Everyone has a mom, but not like mine. Mom gave gentle life lessons. “Son,” I still hear her ask, “Why do you always swim upstream? Learn to go with the flow.” After I replied something about being a salmon, she gently asked, “Did you know salmon spend most of their lives at sea?” Mom had plenty of opportunities to guide us down stream.

Everyone has a mom, but not like mine. My mom makes Friday the 13th lucky. I came home from school one day complaining about how terrible Friday was going to be because it was Friday the 13th. Mom told me that she heard that once too, when she was a little girl, but that she thought it was silly. “Why make a day unlucky?” she asked. “You make your own days, son. They can be lucky or unlucky…it’s your choice.” I’ve enjoyed only lucky Fridays since then.

Everyone has a mom, but not like mine. Mom helped when I asked her how someone you Love more than anyone else in the world could suddenly, swiftly, and silently deliver you from great soaring heights to dark, deep despairs. Mom said, “Because she’s inside of you. When someone’s inside of you, it’s not just about you anymore.” Mom had countless opportunities to counsel the lovelorn.

Everyone has a mom, but not like mine. Mom had a way to make you face the mirror. We learned to take a good, hard look at ourselves before casting blame elsewhere. There was a time dad and I just couldn’t, or wouldn’t, see things the same way. I fussed because I felt I suddenly couldn’t understand him or what he wanted. Dad had suddenly became so different than me, I complained. “Do you really want to know what’s going on?” mom asked. Of course I did. “Your dad is just the mirror, son. You’re angry at yourself. You see yourself in your dad, things you don’t like seeing, and you blame dad. You think you’re different, but you two are more alike than either of you can see.” Since then I’ve found many more truths in the mirrors of life.

Everyone has a mom, but not like mine. Mom instilled songs in our hearts; she sang of blue skies, of accentuating the positive, and of the little use in crying because life was worthwhile when we smiled.

Mom celebrates 84 orbits around the sun today. We celebrate mom’s selflessness and insatiable capacity to give. We celebrate her warmth, her smile, and her capacity to heal. Merely sitting silently in mom’s presence is a deep mediation in peace. We celebrate her tenacity, for she never gives up.

Everyone has a mom, but not like mine. Thank you, mom for bringing us life, like all mom’s do. But thank you for not stopping there. Thank you for teaching us about the streams and mirrors of life. And thank you most of all for teaching us about faith, hope, and Love, and that the greatest of these, your greatest treasure, your greatest gift, is Love.

Everyone has a mom, but not like you.

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