What Really Matters

Well, here we are again, friends of stories to make sense of it all. It is January 2021 and we've had quite a last year we don't want to talk about that anymore except to say one thing. What we discovered in 2020 about ourselves is that we need each other desperately and we found that Zoom is no substitute for person to person, face to face. You get, you know, people have Zoom neck, people have Zoom fatigue, and you don't hear people coming back, you know, nobody comes back from having coffee with a good friend and saying, boy, that wore me out. But Zoom calls, where are you at? Anyway, here's what we're going to do going forward in these next months on known stories to make sense of it all, these podcasts. This is a suggestion from a friend and producer, technical producer of this program, Richard Flores, and I think it's a great idea. So here's the deal, five years ago, Ruth and I started writing a book around the theme of one of the most important things in our entire lives, friendship. How do we grow them? How do we nurture them? How do we keep them? It was published in the summer of 2017. I actually happened to be down by the beach with one of our grandsons, Young Will Ottman, who's now a senior in high school, but the book came, I said, we'll stand over there on this clip overlooking the beach and I mean, hold the book and let me take a shot and so that's available, I think, on the current social media offerings. But the title of the book that was published two and a half years ago was known from which we get this podcast title, finding deep friendships in a shallow world. And as we came brutally face to face with our need for human connection and communication and touch, we just thought that it would be great if maybe we could just take the audio recording of known and use pieces of it in each of our podcasts going forward. So that's what we're going to do and the podcast will be more rhythmic as opposed to hit and miss like we've had the last year or so. We're going to start with the dedication and the introduction today and then we'll proceed from there. Hope you enjoy. We write this book for 22 reasons, our four children and their spouses who know as best and their children who enrich our lives at every turn with their love and their friendship. Here's to you, Eric and Van with Allie and Zach, Claren David, Sam and Hope, Jenny and Brett with Drew and Lily Grace, Susanna and Scott with Jack Willonetti, Chris and Tracy with Cameron, Chloe and Noah. So I just gave you 22 reasons for why Ruth and I wrote this book. Since the writing, we have three more reasons actually. They're called great grandchildren, we have Emma, who's three, Emma, Rob is her name. We have her younger sister, who's less than a year old, her name is Avery and their parents are Zach and Allie, Rob, they live in Eugene, Oregon. And then David and Clare Kenny, another of our granddaughters, they are going to have a little one within a few weeks from now, from this podcast and they know the sex of the child and they have a name for them. So I'm not going to tell you the name, but I am going to say it's a boy. Well, three more reasons to share this book, to write this book and we're grateful for that opportunity. So now let's go to the introduction. What really matters, words are easy like the wind, faithful friends are hard to find, William Shakespeare and the passionate pilgrim. The question I asked the university student was casual. What's a word that you'd use to describe your generation? He said overwhelmed. I said, what do you mean? What are you overwhelmed by? When I heard overwhelmed, I saw my parents born in 1910 and 1913 respectively, who lived through World War I, the influenza epidemic of 1917 and 18, great depression of the 1930s and World War II, information he said, my generation is overwhelmed by information. When he said information, two facts I'd recently seen popped into my head. Children born in the 1990s belong to the first generation in the history of the world that do not have to go to an authority figure for information. And we'll be able to access more new information that will be generated this year than in the previous 5,000 years combined. But you're so connected to each other, I continue. He said, oh, yes, I'm connected to several dozen people through Facebook and Twitter. I just don't know how to start a conversation. His words jared me. For me, face-to-face conversation is the stuff of life. My thoughts zip to Penn station in New York City ten years earlier. Ruth and I were sitting in a hole in the wall pizza hut waiting for our train to wash in D.C., an older woman approached our table and asked if she could join us because seating was scarce. Absolutely, we said. As we talked, she told us of graduating from a major Midwestern university as a young woman and going to work for hallmark in their creative department. She rose to the executive ranks in marketing where she spent the rest of her career and from which she retired. When we asked, what brought you to New York? She said that she'd been talked into coming out of retirement two years earlier to join the marketing department of a large New York company. When I asked, what's the biggest difference in the workplace now for you? She replied, it bothers me when a young person sends me an email on the subject while sitting five feet away in the next cubicle. Why does that matter? I asked. It's efficient. She got quiet for a moment and looked straight at us and said, I missed the face to face. The eye contact. Eye contact makes us human. I doubt that she had read the work of a Tsushi Senju, a cognitive neuroscientist who says a Richard mode of communication is possible right after making eye contact. It amplifies your ability to compute all the signals so you're able to read the other person's brain. The older woman wasn't making a scientific statement. She was making a visceral statement, just like my young university friend, when the young man said overwhelmed, and I don't know how to start a conversation, it was a pen station echo. In Trees, I listened and he schooled me. He had good reason to feel overwhelmed. Come to think of it, I feel that way myself half the time. The Niagara of information we have access to can drown us. How we keep up, sort through, choose, and prioritize can paralyze us. Instant access has changed everything, education, sports, business, politics, and of course, shopping. Still, nothing has changed more than the way we talk to each other. Communication is the name of the game. Our brains are exhibit one, a communication marvel. The brain automatically sends and receives millions of messages a day throughout our bodies. Person to person communication, on the other hand, takes intent. Every arena of life, business, sports, medicine, education, the military and families to name a few, work only as well as we communicate. Why? Because great communication creates a relationship and relationship drives our whole lives. At stake in this new reality where we have keyboard control over what we wish others to know about us is the depth of relationships we want to build. We have all kinds of relationships, but apart from family, none is more meaningful than a friendship. A friendship by definition is unique. It's about investment and vulnerability. So trying to make a friend at light speed is brutal. On the internet I can give you information, but it's hard to give you me. That process does not happen at the top of a key. How then do relationships get started? What nurtures them? And God says it is not good that man should be alone. We know he's not kidding because we know alone. How do we get beyond that reality? What do we need to understand to create any kind of connection, let alone a friendship? Lance with us for a moment in the rearview mirror, how do kids make friends? When we are young, we develop friendships on the fly. Mostly they come from play, but when I was young, I lived to play. Looking back, play set the stage for my first friendship. My parents moved from Oakland, California to South India when I was three years old. The next five years framed how I see the world to this day, but the year we returned to the states framed how I see friendship. We came to Springfield, Missouri in the summer of 1950. The blue mountains of southwest India were as different from the Ozark Mountains of Southwest Missouri as Curried Chicken was from Biscuits and Gravy. It was there that I got my first bike, a bright red twin. That bike became my ticket to a world, a royal crowned colas and Eskimo pies saturated in Ozark accents and open door hospitality. Those were good times. And John David made them better. John David lived three doors up from us on Williams Street on the north edge of Springfield, born within two months of each other in the spring of 1942. He and I had the chemistry, whatever that means, we had it. We were Marco Polos on bikes racing through the nearby local zoo and county fairgrounds ranging out when time and parents allowed to doling park in the James River. We only lived in Springfield one year, but that year was filled with fishing and hiking and spelunking through caves. The days were riddled with BB gun wars, wrestling matches and games of every kind. The greater the challenge meant the greater the fun. When we explored doling park late that spring, we found the tepid water at the lake's edge to be a perfect hatching site for tadpoles, hundreds of tadpoles, huge tadpoles, tadpoles with oversized heads and sweeping tails, and we became hunters. They became the hunted. Edward Folkers' coffee cans nailed to scrap furring strips we captured a bunch of those denizens of the shallows. We took them back to the unfinished concrete basement of the foathouse, put them in a galvanized wash tub, I don't remember what we fed them or how many survived the trauma. All I remember is being amazed when tails fell off and legs grew. In a few weeks on a humid June night, the full-throated baritone songs of their cousins back at the lake filled the darkness and we knew that something wondrous had happened. Looking back on that year, another wondrous thing had happened. I had made a friend, my very first real friend, a friend to talk to and play with, a friend to fight and dream with, a friend with whom I could more often grow, a friend for the adventure called life. We left Springfield for Oakland, California in August of 1951. John David and I would connect every so often over the next decades. But it would be more than 40 years before we lived near each other again. Then it would be in Washington, DC. By that time John David Ashcroft had served twice as Attorney General of Missouri, twice as Governor, one term as Senator, and during our years in DC would become the 79th Attorney General of the United States. Relationships come and go, summer for a season, others just for a moment. But some are for a lifetime. At this writing, John David and I have been friends for over 65 years. That said, 1950 is gone forever. How people relate to each other today has been transformed. We live in a high tech digital world that promotes connections, which often mimic relationship, but are far from what we actually yearn for when we look for meaningful community. Through our network and connections, we can have a feeling of being close without real touching. Dr. Sherry Terkel of MIT and alone together, why we expect more from technology and less from each other, puts it this way. Technology proposes itself as the architect of our intimacy. Digital connections in the sociable robot may offer the illusion of companionship without the demands of friendship. Our network life allows us to hide from each other, even as we're tethered to each other. Please understand, I love technology and social media, the ease that it offers in discovering the world as a playground for guys like me, to hear from our friends on Facebook, or see our 12 grandkids' grins on Skype is wonderful. But sometimes what we think is happening isn't happening, like an old North Carolinian friend of mine said so often. What's happening ain't what's going on. The world of technology and social media can present itself in a luring way, but it often gives me more than I want, and less than I need. It changes daily, platforms and devices shift like the weather, it offers me a lot of things and takes me lots of places, specifically, it takes me wide. Where it cannot easily take me is deep. So where do I go to find deep? There is built into each of us the need not just to connect, but the need to engage. As we will see, we discover ourselves as we discover each other. We adapt to change, but we yearn for stability. We love to have wings, but we also need roots. Friendship can deliver both wings and roots. You already know I'm an older guy. I like to think I won't be officially old till I'm 90, but at this writing, I am on my 75th trip around the sun, so life has worked me over a bit. In the process, I've discovered that certain things make us human and certain things make life work. Old Archimedes, the great scientist of his day, spoke to that idea. Born in 287 BC, he described how levers work and gave us one of the most quotable lines in history. Give me a place to stand and I'll move the earth. It's a physics principle and a great metaphor. Where can you stand to get a solid footing in life? Where can you really be grounded? Ruth and I have a bias. Get relationships right and everything else follows. Our first seven years of life were spent in very different spaces geographically, but they had a common theme. We were both born in California. I was an Oakland guy and she was a San Joaquin Valley girl. I was city, she was farm. Then things changed. At the age of three, I left all extended family and sailed to India with my parents and sister. Ruth stayed in ranch and farming country north of Modesto, surrounded by grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. They were her best friends. She could run two hundred yards through a peach orchard and up the back stairs straight into her grandmother's kitchen. It was there with her grandma that she would discover canning and baking with all its delights. It was in that farmhouse that the smell of fresh baked peach cobbler was tied to the love of her grandma, one of the deepest bonds Ruth has ever had and it's with her still. I on the other hand was running the decks of the MS Gripsholm Swedish liner converted to a troop ship all across the North Atlantic from Jersey City to Alexandria, Egypt. Then on to Bombay, India on the RMS Samaria, British liner converted to troop ship. With more of the same, churning through the chop and swells of the seas, we'd befended fascinating people from around the world every day on the fan tail or promenade deck or over lunch in the dining room. To this day, when I breathe in salt air, I am there again, a three year old, finding new friends at every turn, and that joy has never left. With those scenes as a backdrop, we write this book with one thought in mind. Let's make sure of relationships. The siren song of the immediate is all around us, fear of missing out, FOMO, is so real that distracted and overwhelmed can easily define our lives. And that intimate cyber world, alive in your pocket or on your wrist, or embedded in your glasses, delivers big time. We get that. But to paraphrase Shakespeare, wide is easy like the wind, deep is hard to find. It doesn't just happen. It happens when you get sugar on a kitchen floor and flour on your blouse front and ground with chuckles. It happens when you explore a ship from funnel to anchor chain and your dad makes sure you don't get lost. It happens when you become the greatest tadpole hunters of all time. The ancient prose of Ecclesiastes 49 through 12 says it best. Two are better than one because they have a good return for their work. If one falls down, his friend can help him up, but pity the man who falls and has no one to help him. Also if two lie down together, they will keep warm, but how can one keep warm alone? Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. The court of three strands is not quickly broken. These words speak to the effectiveness of our lives. And two or three walk together. It's the best. In that spirit, as you hike trails or take road trips, gather in twos and threes for serious talk or a screaming football afternoon, have a hot beverage while munching on a cinnabon or gluten-free something, maybe just maybe a few of those relationships will get tagged with that wonderful word, friend. To make a friend and be called a friend is a worthy goal. The Greek philosopher Aristotle said it so well. Friendship is a kind of excellence, and furthermore is very necessary for living. Above all, friendship does not depend on sameness. It is way more than hanging out with folks of common origin or religion or personality. Overall, if sameness of personality were witnessed, Ruth and I shouldn't work. Friendship, true deep friendship is found in a desired to know and the willingness to be known. It is choosing to walk with another person through whatever comes. A lasting friend knows you and still likes you. The lasting friend at the end of the day is quite simply there. When all is said and done, Ruth may be peach cobbler and I may be salt air, but we know what it's like to be known. And we've been friends for more than 50 years. That's what really matters. Ruth's thoughts. Half a century. That's a long time to be friends, especially when you're as different as peaches and salt air. Let me explain. Dick is a man of many words, most of them spoken. He believes that people want to know what he's thinking, so he talks. If no one was present to listen, he could probably talk to a wall. I am a woman of a few words. Before I speak, I must mull things over and decide if anything I'm thinking is worth saying. Often I decide that it isn't. Dick is very curious about others and life in general, and he uses most of his words to engage people. People on trains or in airplanes. People at the bank or in grocery stores. Many times he engages with people he has never met before. He sees them as friends in the making. He thinks he can never have too many friends. So he has a gazillion friends. That's why he's writing a book about friendship. Why am I helping him? I'm trying to figure that out. It's certainly not because it's easy for me to make friends. I'm more of an introvert and to be honest, it's never been my goal to have a lot of friends. Just a few good ones and most of them family. While the age of seven, I grew up surrounded by family. My mother's parents and their eight children and many grandchildren. Until that age, I didn't need any other friends. These were the most important people in my life. When I moved to another state, necessitated making new friends, I chose three others, Ruby, Ruth and Regina. We were the four R's. In high school, Marianne and Liz were my best friends. And I met Dick. At times I've been quite jealous of his uncanny ability to make a stranger a friend. He comes alive and gains energy by being with people, a lot of people. He would be very lonely going through life with just a couple of good friends. Being with lots of people drains me and I need a good dose of solitude afterward. Put me in a room with strangers and it can turn into the loneliest place on earth. All talk doesn't come easy for me. I am much more comfortable having tea and a chat with a couple of friends or being introduced to folks I don't know by sharing personal stories around the dinner table. I certainly can't say like Dick that I've never met a stranger. But I am grateful for the wonderful friends we share. And often those friendships began as a result of Dick's engaging personality. It's taken us many years to come to a place where we feel comfortable and happy doing what we do best. I take care of the everyday details of our household and bake apple pies while he travels the world and adds some spice and adventure. We value our friendship. It has become a safe place where we can be ourselves and welcome the differences that push us to grow. Whether you are someone like Dick who loves to be surrounded by friends or like me who is content with a trusted few, your uniqueness will help you build some great friendships if you're willing to accept others as they are. People you meet who are quite different in personality can lend balance to your perspectives and open up a whole new world to you. Making a friend takes time and effort and perseverance. As an introvert sometimes I felt that it might be easier to go it alone rather than invest in another friendship. These are my true feelings, especially when a location change has necessitated leaving behind some good friends and making new ones seems daunting. But that's when I must stop and remind myself how lonely life would be without good friends, people who are there for me in all kinds of circumstances. So why is this introvert helping her very outgoing, extroverted husband write this book? I'll answer that question now. I'm writing because I think there may be quite a few of you who are like me and I think we introverts have something to say about building a few strong lasting relationships. We may not have dozens of friends, but we're happy with the friendships we do have. I am writing to say that there is a place for us too, even if we don't use a lot of words. Well with Ruth having said that, I just like to say that the wordy guy is back. He can say more in one sentence than I can say in three paragraphs. That's just how it is. So next time when we're together, we'll be in chapter one entitled The Great Alone. But until then, if you wanted to go to dickphose.com, just one word dickphose.com, you can see various things related to the book known and some other speaking things. Let's keep discovering this truth from what you just heard. Friendship gives both wings and roots to our lives. I think we should believe that and believe for that as we work on friendships in 2021. So we're back together, traditionally, on New Year's or around New Year's. You hear the old song at the stroke of midnight, all the langsign. It's actually a Scotts song, Robbie Burns back in the day from the 1700s, actually 18th century. But it's in the Scotts language, which is pretty much impossible to understand in terms of our English understanding. But this is a sketch, a translation of what does it mean all the langsign? Well, it's a series of rhetorical questions that go like this. Should old acquaintance be forgot and never thought upon? The flames of love extinguished and fully past and gone is thy sweet heart now grown so cold that loving breast of thy, that thou can'ts never once reflect on old langsign. This is a group of people, New Year's Eve standing around a fire holding hands, singing these questions which essentially say, don't forget your old friends. That's it. God bless. See you next time.