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Chris Brady’s
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“The only way to be happy, is to give happy.”

  • 1454 I am pleased to announce my new book Rascal: Making a Difference by Becoming an Original Character, with a foreword by Orrin Woodward, is now available. 

    Being a Rascal is a spirit of willfulness and strength, a dynamic force that drives one forward toward a unique path and contribution.  It is character in motion, originality in broad relief, uniqueness for the sake of being true to oneself and one's cause.  It is authenticity in courageous display.  It is life lived on purpose and for a purpose.

    The book highlights a number of Rascals, both contemporary and historical, who meet this description, while teaching the principles by which they live(d). Contained inside is an audio CD and a personal assessment test to assist in applying the principles to the reader's life. 

    The goal is for this book to be a call to action to awaken Rascals everywhere. The world desperately needs people to get out of line and stand for absolute truths, and explains how the concepts of freedom and justice have always been won, defended, and passed along by Rascals.

    It is my hope that this book will inspire you to achieve your own maximum level of "Rascalinity."

    Enjoy.    

  • What you believe about what you CAN achieve determines what you WILL achieve.

    It's what we know that just isn't so that holds us back the most.

    Be willing to do well what most people won't do at all.

    Commitment means you will persist with the process long before it appears to be working.

    Deliberate practice over time is what separates the great performers from the great pretenders.

    Don't forget that adversity is not your enemy.

    You don't need to do everything well – just certain things. Learning what those are is a big key to your success.

  • It should go without saying that you should know what you're doing in order to do it. But a surprising number of people and even companies don't seem to know what their main purpose is. There are two groups, however, that can always be counted on to understand this perfectly well: 1) customers and 2) competitors. One will leave you and one will devour you if you don't figure it out.

    So what business are you in?

    Have you clearly defined it?

    Are you sure that's really it?

    The answers to these questions are important because they dictate the strategies, decisions, and actions that lead to results, or lack thereof. These are not trite exercises – they are paramount.

    Let's take Steve Jobs of Apple Computer fame, for example. He is a subject worthy of study, to be sure, having succeeded tremendously at an extreme young age, then floundered famously, only to rise from the ashes and soar to ever higher heights. I will, at some point in the future, do a more in depth write-up on this interesting man, but for now it will suffice to use him as what I hope will be a clear example of the main point of this article (aren't you glad there's a point?)

    The very name of "Apple Computer Corporation" gives a hint to where I'm going with this. You see, I contend that part of what was amiss with Steve Jobs in his first run-up to success was that he didn't understand the nature of his own genius. He thought he was in the business of making and selling computers. Following this purpose sent him down many cul-de-sacs and eventually led to his ouster from the very company he helped launch.

    He fared even worse at his "next" adventure, NeXT Computers, in which he focused again on building and selling computers, this time to a slightly different market. But along the way he did a few things correctly, which morphed into his eventual success and return to the top. Most importantly, he either discovered or just simply got aligned with his overall true ability: making technology incredibly, reliably, and stylishly useful to the average person.

    You see, most of us aren't really interested in how a computer works, or the intricacies of programming, or the cleverness of a sub-routine. I have been alive for the entire computer revolution, my first exposure to it being at my friend Ramana's house in fourth grade where he showed me his P.E.T. computer.  

    "What's it for?" I asked.

    "For computing stuff," he replied.

    "Like what?"

    "Well, you can write lines of programming code and it will compile it," he answered.

    "Can we play with your Star Wars action figures some more?" I asked.

    Computer technology has always been interesting to the Ramana's of this world, but not to the rest of us mere mortals. (Ramana would go on to be one of our Valedictorians). For the most part, my experience with computers has been a forced, frustrated exercise in learning detailed gobblygook I didn't want to learn in the first place. I just wanted the end result of what the stupid thing was supposed to produce.

    Enter Steve Jobs. With his sense of cool and his near maniacal insistence that things "just work," he stands like a knight in shining armor for all of us who desperately need technology but find it no more interesting than putting bamboo shoots under our own fingernails. The fact that he could bring us something that works, and even make us feel cool doing it, was his real genius. I contend, in fact, that it's the real business he's in. Once he discovered this fact he has been unstoppable.  This realization broke him out of the box of "making and selling computers" and led him into the world of digitized music (iPODs and iTunes), computer-animated full-length feature movies (Pixar), and computing devices that serve our lives reliably (MacBooks and iPhones). Good job, Steve. Although you think Zen is cool and don't eat meat, I still can somehow relate to you.

    So tear a page out of Steve Job's play book, or at least sing to one of his tunes on your iPod Shuffle, and get it clear in your head what your real business is. If you think it's as simple as providing a functional-based answer such as, "making and selling widgets that people want to buy," you deserve what's coming to you. But if you can truly discover your genius angle, that likely you and only you can provide, then you'd better prepare for a moonshot. There will always be a market when you get it right. 

      

  • DSC00468  "Take time to smell the roses," it has been said.  The spirit of this quote is correct, I feel. However, I am not sure about that "take time" part. If you think about it, there is no such thing as "taking time." Time just is. It clicks along at a terrifyingly steady pace as we go about our business. Time won't stop, pause, halt, or even slow down. In fact, the older I get, the more I'm convinced it speeds up. Time itself is almost impossible to define. Perhaps it's a measure of existence from the perspective of how much of it has already gone by. Nowadays a year feels like three months. In a decade or so? Well, mere minutes, I suspect.

    I received word yesterday that a business associate passed away suddenly. From all outward appearances he was otherwise in perfect health. Gone. Just like that.

    I am saddened for the loss felt by his family and friends, and I am hopeful that he knew the Lord and Savior Jesus Christ as his own. Also, his death causes me to think the deep questions that often hide out at the far extremes of my consciousness. Things like this seem to chase those thoughts out onto center stage, overpowering their bashfulness and forcing them to be clearly seen. I am reminded of our mortality, of the brief stop-over that this life is, and the purpose we are to serve while here.

    Stop. Think. Pray. Then be about what it is you were created to be about. Only you can do what only you can do. So stop wasting time waiting, arranging, planning, scheming, or preparing. Get busy being and doing. And while you're at it, hug someone you love and let them know how you feel. Who knows, it just might be your last chance.     

  • You don’t have a thousand years
    IMG_2646  

    To become who you’re meant to be

    You have only a moment in time

    An unknown fleeting quantity.

    Drink deeply from the cup

    Of life you’ve been handed

    Taste all that’s sweet

    And endure what’s bitter

    Remembering the purpose

    For which you’ve been born.

    Squander not your days

    Nor your gifts

    Instead, arm them and

    Send them into battle

    To bring to life

    Those quiet, hidden, but

    True desires of your heart.

    Never pull back from the flames

    As cowards who conspire

    But rush straight in

    To your heart’s desire.

  • 745be6032chumor.jpgWe are proud to announce the winner of Caption Contest 2010.6.  It was, again, a tough one to call, so much so, in fact, that we've decided to list several Honorable Mentions in addition to the first place winner. Great job to everyone who participated, but alas, there can only be one winner. Congratulations to Norma! Her winning entry is: 

    Well the rowing manual did say "For effective rowing minimize jerk."

  • Well, I was going to leave this one to the side, but so many of you have been writing and asking who won the World Cup contest that you've left me no choice.  And the winner is . . . .

    ME!

    Yup! Go back and look through the comments yourselves, not that you would ever doubt the integrity of such a fine, literary location as this blog! I not only picked the correct overall winner (Spain), but also picked the the Netherlands to finish top 3.  No one else who picked the winner got another top 3 pick correct, and those who picked more than one of the top 3 didn't manage to get the correct winner.  

    Thanks to everyone for participating! It was truly an eventful and exciting World Cup, and it was made even better by matching wits with all three of you readers out there! 🙂

    Stay tuned for four years from now when we will re-run the competition and give you another shot! (Now, if I could just figure out what to do with this autographed copy of my own book . . . .)

  • IMG_1768  They swallow indoctrination

    As though it were truth,

    And respond with dunces,

    Eloquent spokesmen

    With no thoughts of their own.

    Students by the thousand

    Babble their creed

    Of worshipping the creation

    While disavowing its author.

    Perched atop ignorant assumptions

    And piling more on top of these

    Until the edifice reaches absurdly upward

    A monument to the urge of man

    To create for himself nonsensical theories

    Masquerading as facts.

    Of those who continually stand firm

    And point to ever receding absolutes,

    They hurl names and epithets

    Certain that their crazy idolatries

    Require only passionate adherence 

    As proof of validity.

    But lonely and steadfast

    Like a stone sentinel in the mist,

    Truth remains.

  • (And for my final installment of Italian musings):

     

    Francis Mayes, the author that put Tuscany on the maps of recent tourists with her book (and later movie) Under the Tuscan Sun, wrote of Italy:

     

    “Italy is an immortal playground.  Does any country come close to its sustained, heady concoction of joys – serene landscape and magnificent art and layered history and savory cuisine and glorious music and welcoming people? So many ands.”

     

    DSC00554
     
    And
    , I might add, awesome climate, Ferrari, Lamborghini, Ducatti, and the like.  After a month here the features of this incredible land are nearly overpowering, except they hit one in a sublime and friendly way.  Of all the countries I’ve visited, Italy ranks among the top three for the most friendly and accommodating people (Ireland and Canada the other two vying for top spot), if not the outright first place winner.  Everywhere I’ve gone, every place through which we’ve managed to squeeze the clunky white mini-bus, every wrong turn, wrong way, blocked intersection, illegal entry, parking calamity, and driving uncertainty has brought about not a single angry word, mean gesture, or unfriendly response.  The closest thing was an extended explanation of my forlorn ways while driving through the heart of Siena in a Local Traffic Only zone.  I shudder to think what an Italian visitor to the United States might have received in a similar, reverse situation.

     

    As I curve continually through Tuscany’s smooth winding roads on my BMW GS 650 motorcycle, I am constantly arrested by the stunning views.  Undulating hills of bright tan wheat fields roll like a painting, while gray-green olive tree groves, planted so straightly one might think they were arranged with celestial navigational aides, provide a nice contrast.  Bright green vineyards stream past like soldiers at attention.  But it’s the architecture that gets me repeatedly.  Everywhere I look someone six or eight hundred years ago thought to build a house especially for me!  There, on that hilltop yonder, see it?  Surrounded by tall, dark green cypress trees standing proudly and a few distinguished maritime pines with their high, distinct canopies.  See it? It’s the one with the tile roof, the stucco and stone walls, the creative exterior stairs, and the fifty kilometer view all around.  Can’t pick it out, you say? Too many such specimens, you say? Ah, then you see what I mean. 

     

    I crane my neck as I downshift gears, believe it or not, letting cars pass.  I want to take it all in and not miss a thing.  I stop to take photos, shoot a little video, desperate to take the essence of it home, to show it to people, someone, everyone, anyone, to share in my joy.  It is like grabbing at smoke.  How do I capture it? I’ve got 2400 photos already (literally), and the lens just doesn’t have the grasp for the reach.  It won’t capture the depth of the field of view looking over ground that would take an hour to cover even on a fast motorbike (like mine).  It doesn’t pick up the hot summer sun on my skin or the smells of the wide-open campania (countryside).  Perhaps I can recreate it with words, on my blog, maybe.

     

    Or maybe not.

     

    By the way, I found Frances Mayes’ home on its high perch by a quiet little road.  I knew it immediately though I had no guide or confirmation until later.  See it there, that house on that hilltop yonder? Someone built it just for her, maybe a few hundred years ago.    

  • We’ve got it wired; this language thing.  

    DSC00538  

    On our first night in Tuscany, just settling into the little town of Terontola that would be our home for nearly a month, Terri trucked into a small grocery store of sorts in search of some key essentials to get us through the weekend.  In her best L’Italiano, she explained that she needed trash bags, to which the helpful and very friendly storeowner kindly walked her over to a display of flip-flops. 

     

    Next, maybe a day or two later, I pulled into the small parking lot of something called a ‘Supermarket.’  Terri got out to hunt for fruit and such, but it ended up being a discount shoe store. 

     

    In Montepulciano, trying my best to learn of the local attractions, I ordered what I thought to be the famous local red wine; Nobile di Montepulciano.  I received a small glass vial of a clear liquid called grappa, (unfamiliar to me as a near teatotaller), which had the distinct taste of gasoline laced with nitroglycerin.  Aficionados might laugh at my ignorance, me, I just spat it quickly out before losing the ability to speak for the rest of my life.  

     

    But by far the most adventurous language caper was when we showed up at the castle ruins of Castiglione del Lago, set beautifully high on the shore of Lake Trasimeno, Italy’s fourth largest lake.  We were decked out in our evening concert-going wear ready for a symphony, only to discover that it was a Blues festival instead.  Mimicking the good-natured flexibility of the Italians, we shrugged our shoulders, paid the fee, and went in anyway, thoroughly enjoying the authentic sounds of some of New Orleans’ finest (Dr. John and the Lower 911, to be specific).  It was the best symphonic blues concert any of us could recall.

     

    Only in Italy.