Tag Archives: Well-being

New Year’s Revolutions

December 30, 2016 Steve Sheppard Leave a comment

Even if we deny the need for or intention to establish New Year’s resolutions, we all have ’em, even if tucked away anonymously in the back of our conscious thought. They are items that we wish we could be better at or that we could improve upon, whether for ourselves of the sake of others. Often they are health-related, sometimes they are financial determinations, occasionally they call us to change some quirk of personality. But they are almost always difficult to live up to and can leave us feeling even more inept or unaccomplished than before. Indeed, some “experts” suggest that resolutions are a bad thing, setting us up for failure or disappointment. I’m not sure whether they are a help or a hindrance, having resolved many years ago never to establish any such challenges.

Yet with New Year’s Eve on our doorstep and noisy parties on so many calendars , I’m compelled to offer my own list of hoped-for personal transformations for 2017. I suppose that any of the following could be adopted by others, without copyright infringement, if the fit was right.

1. I resolve to learn the Spanish language, just as I have resolved for each of the past 10 years.

Knowing a language other than my own grants me a clarity. The essence of connecting with others lies in the ability to express oneself to others directly and personally, without the intervention of a translator or mechanical interpreter. The most painful and counterproductive reality of my work in Nicaragua (even with the impeccable translations of my colleague), is my inability to express personally to another human being what I think and feel. I suspect that no one else suffers from such a shortcoming.

2. I resolve to be more giving of the immense blessings I have received, both personal and material.

I’m just a temporary steward of everything I am, everything I have. I don’t get to take any of it with me when I leave. I’d rather have the enjoyment of giving it away now and feeling the immense pleasure of sharing that which I never deserved in the first place.

3. I resolve to preserve more water.

I can do without TVs and cell phones and vocation and achievement and even the loves of my life. But I need water. (So do you.) I’m going to collect it and be careful with it. What a treasure!

4. I resolve to de-clutter.

While I’m busy giving more things away, I’ll be de-cluttering at the same time. And when the unnecessary elements of my daily living are out of the way, I’m thinking that the important matters will receive more of my attention. Have you ever lost anything?

5. I resolve to be more open to the possibility that newly-elected politicians could actually do some good things.

All resolutions require some time and effort but I really don’t expect to spend much of either on this one, I admit. People could say that I haven’t really resolved much here, but then again, I can think of few current politicians who have given me any reason to expect honest leadership or commitment to the common good.

6. I resolve to stay committed to the preservation of my health and fitness, since no one else can or will.

It’s probably true that I am what I eat. And I am what I drink and how I sleep and how I care for myself. My health and well-being are a product of my own choices and self-care, rather than the domain of doctors and therapists. I’d like those professional people to go along for the trip, but I insist on driving. Who knows, maybe some others might choose to follow.

7. I resolve to learn more about more of the world, since the politicians and the media are not up to the task.

Like everyone else, I’ve always been a creature who is subject to my own personal perceptions about the truth. My life experiences necessarily shape my views of things. But it’s becoming more and more difficult to separate reality from someone’s self-serving spin on the truth. Absolute truth may not even exist, but I need to get closer to it than I am now. The future of the world depends on it.

8. I resolve to better love my neighbor.

It’s what I’m called to do as a moral human being. I know who they are, I know where they are and I know them as both my obligation and my privilege. I just need to better understand how to extend my reach.

9. I resolve to write a book, or at least begin the process.

As I have led organizations and worked with groups around the country (and elsewhere in the world), I’ve come to know that each and every human being has a unique and important story to tell; even the most mundane of lives holds immeasurable gifts. So it must be true of me, too. I want to identify and tell that story

10. I resolve to embrace the truth that peace comes only from within.

I know it’s there, and I have gone to that well more times than I can count over my lifetime. And still, it is not enough that I have sought and found such peace. It is there that my joys and trials, achievements and failures, thrills and disappointments are all reconciled within my life. I know the source of that comfort for myself; I resolve to cherish and foster it.

Maybe your list, if one exists, doesn’t resemble this one at all. But if I was inclined to set myself up for either enriching my life or, alternatively, creating huge disappointment, these would be my revolutionary priorities.

In any case, I’ve still got two days to think about it….

Certificate Program, Peasant Agriculture

Dormilona

November 29, 2016 Steve Sheppard Leave a comment

While visiting a Nicaraguan farm one Sunday in September, just before the start of the Certificate Program, we hiked some of the property with the owner of the land, Ernesto, along with several of our Nicaraguan colleagues. His is a small-but-diverse operation, where he has raised beans, corn, coffee, cattle and cacao for his entire life. Walking the plot of land, even briefly, was a great enjoyment. I’m always amazed at what grows in sometimes-suspect soil, and how creative farmers have to be with the logistics of five crops growing on very limited acreage. But the plant that commanded my attention was not one planted in straight rows or intended for harvest.

As we walked to the grove of cacao trees, one of the family members bent over and pointed to a tiny plant growing wild in the pasture. The stems of the plant were no more than an inch or so in length, with delicate leaves symmetrically extending from each side of the stem. Though the plant was not in bloom, I was told that it boasts a beautiful pinkish flower. The stems were all over the area, like some special ground cover that I might see in a backyard where I live. The plant is called dormilona, sometimes called the “sleeper plant” or the “bashful plant.” For when its tiny leaves are even gently brushed, they immediately close up like the pages in a book. It’s a fascinating response to observe, as though the plant is either ticklish to the touch or so shy as to be physically introverted. The leaves eventually unfold again, once they are sure that the intrusion has passed. The experience of touching the plants and observing their response is oddly addicting. And I had it in the back of my mind at the start of the workshop.

On the following day, the Certificate Program began with each of the 40-some participants- class members, presenters, hosts and guests- introducing themselves to the rest of the crowd. This is an interesting and instructive process, however routine it may seem. For within these brief statements of “who I am,” we get perhaps our first opportunity to meet each of the individuals with whom we will be sharing an entire week. It’s a quick gauge of personality and perspective to guide the interactions to come.

It’s not unusual for members of a group like this, in any country or setting, to be a little hesitant or even shy about speaking up; many of us are “hard-wired” to be cautious about how much we reveal of ourselves until we’re sure that the surroundings are safe. It’s better to venture forth slowly, lest we jump into waters way over our heads and we suddenly discover that we don’t know how to swim. And particularly with rural Nicaraguans, many of whom have not spent much time in the presence of visitors, the tendency is to be reserved and quiet. (Unless you’re like the ubiquitous “Juan,” one of whom seems to be in every group, wisecracking and joking from the start!)

Nonetheless, we always start with these introductions, not for the completeness of what they can tell us, but for the brief glimpses of who is in the room. On this occasion, it’s what started me thinking about the dormilona plant once again. It seemed to me that there were many in our group who, when their turn to introduce arrived, were clearly humbled to even offer their names, standing in withering modesty, almost turning inward upon themselves, so tangible was their bashfulness. I thought of fragile green leaves, folding inward for protection until threats had passed.

During the ensuing week, the dangers must have dissipated, because the Program participants opened up in ways as beautiful as those little green, flowering plants which covered that Sunday hillside. We came to recognize each member for the capacity which he or she brought to the week. The participants were engaged and energized, and full of the ideas that could make their week successful. Indeed, by week’s end when the certificates were awarded, each individual was recognized for his or her own particular character and contribution, and there was nothing bashful about it. Only a sense of accomplishment and some pride.

Working alongside the Nica participants during the Certificate Program was not unlike interacting the dormilona plant. At first touch, palpable humility showed itself as a “folding inward” for many. But with time, the folded arms of shyness gradually reached out to embrace what was good in the environment, to soak in the essential components of well-being, whether personal of group. It’s a universal truth, though one that we seem to forget the next time we find ourselves among strangers.

Maybe I make too much of the dormilona and my fascination with its gentle ways. But I have found its character enormously attractive, and worth spending my time on….

Rio Olympics

Medalists

August 20, 2016 Steve Sheppard Leave a comment

I have not been able to watch much of this year’s Summer Olympics on television. Travel and other preoccupations have interceded and my viewing has been limited to short replays of key events and several planned sessions where I was free to watch a particular competition. Otherwise, I’ve been relegated to reading about the games online and in the news.

The stories have been wide-ranging, to be sure: like the saga of Michael Phelps and how his efforts seem to inevitably result in gold; the heartbreak of Wilhelm Belocian, the French sprinter whose years of Olympic training ended in disqualification when he anticipated the starting gun; the disrespect of Islam El Shehaby, Egyptian judoka who refused to shake hands with his Israeli opponent; or the remarkable career of Usain Bolt and the superhuman speed in his legs. They are compelling events of compelling people. But there is one story which, for me, is the most important of the entire Olympics.

You saw the footage, likely: two competitors, fallen during the run of their lives, reaching out to one another at the expense of Olympic dreams, and at the end of it all, in possession of something far more precious than the medal for which they competed. What the two of them won was a sudden clarity of perspective during what was probably the most important event of their lives. As it turned out, that moment likely was the most important event of their lives, though for reasons which neither would have anticipated.

2016 Rio Olympics - — 2016 Rio Olympics –

Each in her own way dreamed dreams of attaining gold, of the notoriety that comes with finishing at the front of a field of competitors representing the best in the world. In solitary moments, each nurtured the audacity to believe that she might rise above the others and receive the special adulation reserved for Olympic champions in this, the age of celebrity worship. Each worked very hard to be the very best that she can be. And suddenly, each was lying on the ground, in front of their fellow competitors and the world, sprawled together in an inelegant collision which, perhaps for some others, might have become a calamity for all time. But not for these two.

In turn, they reached out to one another. In gestures as innate as smiles and tears, and at the expense of their long-held dreams, they stopped the chase to help one another up, to reach out in empathy and mutual encouragement so that neither would be left behind. Only when both were standing on their own did their personal race begin once again. And when the event was ended, they sought out each other and hugged in an understanding of what they had just achieved.

That exchange on the track had little to do with who would win a 5,000 meter gold medal race, and everything to do with the hearts and souls of the human race. In that moment of unrehearsed and unscripted love, two individuals discovered not only the depth of their own characters, but also the hunger for such feeling around the world. For in its aftermath, the event that played out in front of the world audience touched us all. We witnessed it, we acclaimed it, we attributed importance and feeling to it. The women won the admiration and regard of the world in that moment, and have spoken about the unanticipated expressions of respect from people around the world. And today, few can name the winner of the women’s 5,000 meter event, but Olympic fans the world over know the story of the “women who helped each other.”

There are those who might say that what the contestants did on that day defied the rigors of competition and perseverance, that one of the elements of success in any endeavor is the ability to remain focused on one’s objective and its demands. Some “winners” wear such a brand proudly, as a testament to toughness, to their rugged determination. And I understand the allure of such persona. Oh, to be self-sufficient!

But beyond simply touching us spectators with their empathy, these two women have both discovered and taught a lesson of life to the rest of us. There is enough reward in the race to make champions of us all. A hand up carries enough strength to allow every competitor to run the race with dignity and self-respect. We sacrifice little in the effort of a hand up. And what we gain in return is tenfold the cost of stopping to help another. We are always surprised at learning the lesson once more, such as at an Olympic race venue. We should never doubt its veracity….

Perspectives, Reconciliation, Well-Being, Well-Being

Except For…

May 12, 2016 Steve Sheppard Leave a comment

We’re finally into flat-out, full-bore, blossom-laden Spring in my part of the world! We haven’t had any freezing temperatures for weeks now, the sun is high enough to quickly warm even the coolest mornings and every living thing is in motion. I took a long run along the river over the weekend, just to listen and smell and hear the magnificence of Spring in northeastern Iowa.

The water is flowing freely right now, the beneficiary of snow melt and early rains. The water is clear at the moment- no chemicals in the mix as yet-and not yet affected by the farm field runoff which still carries too much valuable soil and nutrient to the south. The bubbling rapids are pristine and there is joy in the sight and sound of them; clean water is not only an essential, but a wonder for which to be grateful. I am delighted by its language, except for the realization that its abundance is shrinking everywhere in the world.

Already, fields have been plowed and crops are being planted for a hoped-for bounty by Fall. All around the area, the smell of lilac and pine are at their intoxicating peaks, crabapple and black locust permeate entire neighborhoods. The essence is nearly transformative, lifting me on my run. I am saturated with gratitude at the sweet scents of the earth, except for my memory of the smells of urban decay, both in the U.S. and abroad, which can quickly overpower the natural beauty of a Spring day.

I encountered five other runners and walkers on this day, each showing elation at the emergence from hibernation with smiles and greetings. We are all in moments of leisure, blessed in a communion with the beauty of a Spring idyll. I am glad, not only for myself, but for the experiences of my fellows, except for a sadness that so many others may never know this kind of moment. Maybe their days will be filled with other joys, but I selfishly want them to feel this moment the way that I do.

I am amazed at my running. For fifty years I have traversed wilderness and street, winter freeze and summer swelters, from the Superior Trail to Budapest, Managua to Kyongju. I have run for my own good, for a sense of accomplishment, to be healthy, and to spark creativity. I’ve been blessed with good knees and strength, and I recognize every day what such activities have meant to my well-being. And I find myself full of joy, except for the nagging realization that elsewhere, people conserve their energies for more practical tasks, such as survival. The thought most often slows me down, even if my step remains light. Wherever the journey leads, the contrasts are the same.

“Whether you are writing about anger, love, jealousy, desire, hate, it does not make a great difference whether you use a plowed field or a city alley, a garbage can or a rural dump, a city park or Quabbin Watershed Wilderness Area. The great central human considerations may be found everywhere.” -Joseph Langland, Poet

So I run on, in a delicate balance between the sublime and the disquiet, knowing that what I hear is not always heard, what I feel is not always felt, and the others I see are but a fortunate few of the many unseen. Wherever I am, I run between the conflict of beauty and decay, health and hurt, confidence and despair, for we are whole except for where we hurt, helpless except for when we choose otherwise….

Fear, Interdependence, Interdependence, Making An Impact

For Whom Do You Speak?

April 18, 2016 Steve Sheppard Leave a comment

Whether consciously or not, we all speak for someone. Of course, we speak for ourselves. But even what we speak in our own self-interest most often represents others; we live in a pluralistic place which guarantees that what we say likely echoes someone else’s views. Over the past months I have listened- sometimes intentionally, other times involuntarily- to a host of political voices seeking to speak on my behalf. Despite the fact that I would be quite uncomfortable having any of them speak for me, each seems to lay claim to the privilege of speaking for a majority of the electorate, including me. And as I have wrestled with the reality of someone purporting to represent my thoughts and feelings, it got me to thinking about the rest of us. Who do we speak for?

I thought about the people I know best. One of my close friends, passionate about the outdoors his entire life, has come to teach environmentalism to college students at a time when most of his peers have retired. Another has devoted his energies to the cultivation of the arts, and on a broad scale, in a manner that embraces not only accomplished artists but also the most fledgling efforts of the virtually unknown. A third has ended a career of pastoring his congregations with a voice for social justice, even when doing so might have generated unrest and personal discomfort. Each has chosen a cause, a purpose for his voice, a deliberate act of representation.

A lot of people attempt to speak for others but miss the mark. Government officials are notorious for speaking what the constituents want to hear, or what the officials want them to hear. Religious leaders for centuries have tried to tell their followers how they should behave, only to be challenged by shifting societal norms. CEOs everywhere adopt the role of corporate spokespersons, but the perspectives of employees are often far different from the company line: ask a CEO about his/her company’s culture and then interview an employee or two.

Others of us are much less overt- quieter types for whom introversion is a safer form of existence and who are far less likely to mount a figurative soapbox of any kind. Who or what do we represent in our relative silence? For assuredly, not to speak is still a statement of one kind or another.

One of the lessons I learned long ago during my earliest years in business was that “silence is acceptance.” If I was not willing to challenge an idea, then the fair presumption was that the concept was acceptable to me and that I would support it. While the wisdom served as a potentially liberating management tool, more broadly the notion described the societal reality in which we live. Just as in the truth of “not to decide is to decide,” there is truth in “not to speak is to speak.” And there is potential danger in words that are never spoken.

For instance, an article in The Minneapolis StarTribune describes the growing number of “speakers” fomenting anti-Muslim sentiment in rural towns of the Upper Midwest. The self-appointed proselytizers, whose expertise ranges from used car sales to conspiracy theory, possess an understanding about how to use their words to stoke the fears of the unknown in the minds of their audiences. Of course, there are many unbiased residents in small-town America. But the silence of their voices provides amplification to those who portray all Muslims as like-minded, radical jihadists. The “preachers” speak only for themselves, I hope.

Then there is the case of words spoken out of the side of the mouth. The same political candidates referenced above, with choruses from their legislative colleagues, have all decried the disappearance of the middle-class in the U.S. in the most recent case of a near-extinction. But while each has accentuated the importance of the species and pledged to save it, their words belie their true loyalties. While the middle-class faces utter disappearance, the top 1% of the population continues to amass unprecedented wealth. The reality begs the question about who truly speaks for the vanishing strength of America, its middle class.

For whom do we speak? Whether we dedicate our words and actions to the natural world, the creativity of the arts, the circumstances of marginalized people, a political ideology or something else, our words leave a legacy. That legacy will be a fingerprint of our lifetimes, a precise identification of who we were in our time, a picture of what was important to us, an identification of our stewardship, the depth of our love, and whether we left the world in any better shape than we found it….

Happiness, Happiness, Servanthood, Servanthood, Servanthood

It’s All About You

March 6, 2016 Steve Sheppard Leave a comment

We are bombarded with advertisements all the time, whether on television, radio, Internet or printed materials. There’s nothing new about this at all, though the ingenuity used to invade our consciousness is sometimes surprising. (I still maintain that the ads over urinals in public restrooms is arguably the most captive approach.) But I’ve encountered a number of messages lately with the same refrain: “It’s All About You.” There’s the recurrent ad on the radio for a local bank which uses that line in its musical imprinting. (As if banks these days are even conceivably “all about” their customers.) One of my favorite retailers has begun to use the phrase in its website ads. (In reality, it’s more about my purchases than about me, I’m quite sure.) And it’s a message that makes me uneasy.

I understand the implication: I’m worthy of the product being offered and the benefits that it will provide. I must have worked hard in life and am entitled to the luxury-pleasure-convenience-status of the item being offered as a visible affirmation of my worth, one that others will see with admiration and maybe even jealousy, because they, too, are worth it.

It’s an easy trap for us consumers to fall into. The latest versions of luxurious living and tempting toys are alluring, indeed. Caribbean cruises on floating hotels and cars that drive and park themselves are nearly beyond imagination. Even in the far reaches of Nicaragua, cell phone accessibility has become an increasingly commonplace wonder. If some of the chronically poor peasants enjoy such technology, surely the rest of us are entitled to that and more; we must be entitled.

But the promise of “all about you” and the attendant requirement for acquiring more items in our lives is a misnomer for fulfillment, whatever our socioeconomic status. Not only because shiny things become dulled in time, but also because they- and we- are all so temporary. We don’t get to take any of our toys with us when we depart the planet, and they will come to the temporary ownership of someone else. The cycle will continue indefinitely and we will have been owners for only a second in time, nothing more. We are only stewards of things, whether they be greater or fewer than others, but they are never truly a part of us.

In reality, it’s not all about me. It’s hardly about me or any of us at all. (I was even reminded of that recently in church, sometimes not a bad place for new perspectives. See the message from January 25.) Each of us is but one seven billionth of the planet; a mere one one hundred and eight billionth of human history. Clearly, it cannot be about you or me; we are not that unique. So it must be about something else, a perspective that makes the center of attention somewhere other than ourselves. If not me, if not you, then our focus must be on “the others,” the marginalized among us who need and deserve our consideration.

Yet the more I consider the notion, an unexpected reversal of thinking occurs to me. Maybe it is all about me. Not in the sense of the receiving and entitlement, but in the giving and opportunity. Maybe it truly is about each of us individually taking ownership, not of our things but of our stewardship. Maybe instead of competing in the marketplace for the most goods, our competition ought to be seen in divesting ourselves of the incredible wealth we have accumulated during our lives of privilege. Is it possible that the hallmark of success could be measured by the number of lives touched, the number of hungry fed, the number of homeless sheltered? For we do lead lives of great privilege in contrast to most of the other humans on earth, present and past alike. How even those kings and emperors of antiquity would be astounded at the lifestyles most of us live!

I received a product ordered online the other day, another manifestation of my own consumerism. It arrived in a carton marked, “Happiness delivered.” I was immediately struck by the presumption that the product delivered would make me happy, and that I never even had to leave the comfort of my home to achieve such joy. The presumption was yet one more attempt to equate a purchase with personal and lasting fulfillment. In reality, the item was one that, yes, I felt (right or wrong) that I needed, but it did not make me happy. That emotion has to come from somewhere else, somewhere from within. And that is all about me, and my relationship to other human beings.

I am informed in my thinking by Native American perspectives on the idea of ownership, not only the impossibility of owning individual lands but of things, as well: ““It was our belief that the love of possessions is a weakness to be overcome… Children must early learn the beauty of generosity. They are taught to give what they prize most, that they may taste the happiness of giving… The Indians in their simplicity literally give away all that they have—to relatives, to guests of other tribes or clans, but above all to the poor and the aged, from whom they can hope for no return.” (Charles Alexander Eastman, Santee Dakota Physician, 1858-1939.)

I’m not an ascetic and thus cannot call others to such a lifestyle. But I recognize, like Native Americans long before me, that what we have- whether in material, opportunity, education, energy or aspiration- is never owned by us. Rather, any of these are gifts to be shared in the best ways that we can, part of a collective competition of largesse, and our lives are truly about discerning how to do just that….

Christmas, Personal Notes, Reflections, Reflections, Reflections, Reflections, Reflections, Reflections

Ordinary People

January 23, 2016 Steve Sheppard Leave a comment

It’s been weeks since I last posted an entry, but the absence hasn’t been for the reasons you might expect. Yes, the holidays came and went during this time, but as filled as they might have been with family at home, time for posting was not limited. I did not travel anywhere nor did my computer suffer a winter hibernation. Nonetheless, my time has been impacted by the passage of the holidays and two other significant events: the a two-week bout with the flu and a cold, and the birth of a grandchild. As commonplace as all of these events might be (though for any grandparent there is no grandchild who is commonplace), their presence in recent days has had me thinking about the ordinary disruptions of daily life, how we experience them and the extent of their impacts.

The holidays themselves pose any number of distractions that can take me out of my daily rhythms. We plan and prepare for family visits (a household of two is a very different space than a household of ten), change the quantity and content of our meals (cookies are terrific but not very forgiving) and a visit with an elderly neighbor becomes not just a nice time to chat but a holiday expectation (even though she professes to have had all the Christmases she needs). I suppose that such distractions are among the attractions of the holidays, as they force us out of the sameness of everyday life, even if the routines are the same as other years gone by. At least they aren’t the same as May or September routines.

Succumbing to illness, especially at this time of year, is especially interruptive, since we have expectations of gaiety and joy; indeed, every advertisement on television informs us of just the right gifts needed to provide giddy ecstasy over the holidays. Illness, even if not particularly life-threatening, dims the brightness of the days and extends the wakefulness of the nights in a grotesquely unfair example of poor timing, which no amount of tissues or hot liquids can erase. Holiday illness is the taskmaster of patience, at a time when Godspeed is needed.

To lighten such a load, the birth of a grandchild is highly recommended. Tiny Claire Elizabeth came into this sphere on January 7, bringing with her the usual fanfare of newborns: the stress of childbirth, the anxiety of families, the thrill of new life, the introspective gravitas of a new legacy, the first cry of perseverance and finally, the unbridled joy of those who will be her family. What event could be sweeter than this- the newest piece to life’s puzzle.

So our days have been filled with mixtures of celebration, struggle, anxiety, fears, comforts, dreams and spiritual balm. The rush of the holidays has passed by for another year, the discomforts of a winter illness have finally sought new victims for their misery and a newborn child has begun her journey of enriching, teaching and loving.

After ten years of working between two cultures and world views, the passage of these past weeks has given me pause to reflect upon the ordinary events and people of that other space in my life, Nicaragua. What are the holidays and illnesses and births like for my friends in that country, and how do they unfold? How do such occurrences impact the activities of those who experience them?

I think we can guess at the reality. The holidays occupy a significant part of many Nicaraguans’ lives, as the celebration of the birth of Jesus is national in its importance. But there is no frenzy to buy lavish gifts and to host overflowing holiday feasts for most: sufficiency at the table and in the home is difficult enough to maintain on ordinary days, though worthy enough of deep gratitude.

Nicaraguans become ill just like anyone else, so cough remedies and Indigenous recipes abound. (Honey mixed in rum is what I have been recommended.) Nicaraguans are not immune to the viruses that seem to stop us in our tracks. It’s simply a case that Nicaraguans have a much more difficult time stopping in theirs; there is no safety net for such work stoppage and the margin of sufficiency too small to allow the luxury of staying at home or sipping hot chicken soup. They cannot afford to stop for fear of falling further behind. There are occasions when illness gets in the way of keeping up. It’s when one of the particularly virulent strains of virus or bacteria attack the health of a worker and the ability to keep going is lost to the emergency of simply staying alive. Poverty has a way of breeding brands of illness that make my cold of the past weeks seem like a hiccup. It seems our respective senses of the ordinary are quite different from one another.

And when it comes to having children and grandchildren enter their lives, Nicaraguans feel the same range of emotion that the rest of us do, I suppose. But whereas the dreams for Claire Elizabeth include notions of education, achievement and wholeness of life, dreams for the newly-born in Nicaragua may be far different. The family of a newborn Angelina may dream first of survival and good health for their little girl. Their prayers might include petitions for enough to eat, water to safely consume, and strength enough to be able to work on the coffee farm at an early age. Their hopes likely include visions of their daughter being able to stay in school past the third grade, maybe even being schooled to high school, though the hope may be, practically speaking, a long shot.

What constitutes the ordinary for us depends very heavily upon where the miracle of birth and the journey of life occurs. When we spend even a few moments in reflection and appreciation of that truth, it changes things. Like the way we choose to celebrate the joys of our lives. Like the acceptance of a temporary illness as a minor distraction instead of a major roadblock. And like a growing awareness of just how extra-ordinary our own lives really have become….

Education, Education, Life in the U.S., Life in the U.S., Life in the U.S., Life in the U.S., Prosper! by Martenson and Taggart

Wealth of Nations

December 21, 2015 Steve Sheppard Leave a comment

Too bad that Adam Smith was so narrow in his focus when he wrote his famous book revered still today by so many modern economists. Of course, that focus was quite deliberate on his part, as he sought to educate us about the behaviors of monies and economics, labor and markets. But An Inquiry Into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations has had the residual effect of leading most serious students of the work to believe that, indeed, wealth is measured by purely economic metrics.

That’s too bad, because our reality is so much broader than that. Our wealth is measured on a number of scales, each of which might be said to be as or even more important than the money metric. As our modern society careens its way to ever more spending, debt, consumption, environmental degrading and even planetary threat, we eventually understand that our lives are made up of more than monetary accumulations.

That truth has been embedded in the work by Winds of Peace over its entire history, though perhaps in evolving forms. We have spoken of development in terms of holistic well-being, considering the intellectual, social, emotional, spiritual, occupational and physical dimensions of peoples’ lives. We have accentuated the importance of transparency, integrity, gender equality, stewardship and collaborative work as means of enriching lives.

It may be self-selection, then, that has led me to read the book, Prosper!, authored by Chris Martenson and Adam Taggart. This intriguing work includes a more fully-descriptive detailing of eight forms of capital, a concept I first encountered at a workshop which Martenson and Taggart facilitated last Spring. The concepts resonated with how I have viewed Foundation core beliefs and the book now provides a refreshed and broadened perspective about forms of capital and the compositions of true wealth, and why they transcend the traditional view of what constitutes wealth.

In summary, the eight forms of capital are likely familiar to everyone, but perhaps not in the sense of wealth-building. But reflection upon the eight elements quickly affirms their importance and their essence to our wellness.

Prosper does include Financial Capital among the eight components, covering the realities of income and expense, debt and money. There is no attempt in the book to diminish the reality of financial needs in our lives, only an attempt to put them into a different context.

Living Capital is the land, the trees, water, the soil, the other living creatures with whom we share the earth, and our own bodies and physical health.

Material Capital is made up of our tangible possessions like our homes, automobiles, building materials, tools, stored food, computers.

Knowledge Capital includes the things that we know and events we have experienced, and our abilities to apply that knowledge to the issues of our lives.

Emotional and Spiritual Capital refers to our capacity to adjust to the changes in our lives, the way we respond to events and conditions, the calm and centeredness with which we come to terms with both internal and external challenges.

Social Capital refers to our private and public relationships, the people in our lives who are family and friends, with whom we exchange favors and care, for whom we are willing to give of ourselves.

Cultural Capital is made up of the fabric of the communities in which we live, the stories, songs, habits and histories of the people in our midst.

Time Capital is just that: the time that we are allotted in our lives to accomplish and experience whatever it is to which we aspire. It’s a finite, ever-depleting commodity, the amount of which is unknown to each of us, and therefore of immense value of itself.

For each of us, we possess more of some kinds of capital and less of other kinds.

The consideration of these eight forms of capital has given me occasion to affirm my own thoughts about wealth. Our continuing partnerships with rural Nicaraguans affords the opportunity to observe more distinctly the various forms of capital at work in their lives. They may possess very little in the way of financial capital, but in fact may hold exponentially greater capital in the form of Living or Social or other assets. And since the various forms are fungible among themselves, the wealth of rural Nicaraguans (or other financially impoverished around the world) may be far greater than we think, maybe even greater in some instances than that experienced here in the United States: I know who is hungrier, but I’m not sure who is the better nourished.

None of this is meant to diminish the impact of extreme poverty on those for whom Financial Capital is but a dream; indeed, a human must survive before it can thrive. But at this time of year, when our priorities seem to be focused so predominantly on frenzied consumption of financial resources, awareness of our “other” capital accounts can serve as an important distraction. It’s a pause that might call into question how we “invest” for our futures….