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Admitting error


Recently, I had to admit to making an error in posting something to my blog that had not been sufficiently screened to ensure confidentiality.  When someone pointed it out to me, I immediately admitted the error and removed that particular post from my blog. While no harm was done to any of the individuals involved, it did represent an oversight, an error on my part.

Admitting error seems to be a difficult process for some individuals. (and not just politicians or sports heroes.)  I've found it difficult to maintain stable friendships with people who have great difficulty admitting error on their part, even for minor things.

Thirty years ago, as the new director of an agency, I walked into the office of the youngest supervisor to confront her on the data she had reported on a form I had just created.
“Where did you get this data?” I asked,  “I cannot seem to match it up with the other units.”
“I lied.” She replied matter of factly, looking up from her desk.
“What?  Why would you do that?”  I said, stunned at the directness of her response.
“I didn’t understand your form, and I was afraid if I said that,  you would be upset with me or think I was stupid. So I just lied.”

The, experience was a most disarming one. What you do when someone admits, “I lied.”  It helped that she admitted she was afraid.  Her honesty and vulnerability at that point made her human and understandable. 

This five minute interaction taught me the benefit of readily admitting error and getting on with the business modifying the relationship so that future interactions will be a better place.  In the process, a trust was established.  That was the beginning an honest working relationship.

When we find that we are more concerned with our image and in being right,  when we would rather be right than in a relationship, when we find it easier to be less that truthful, evasive, or to simply deny and project the blame, then we are in trouble, not only with others, but more troubling, with ourselves.   We are living in a constant state of fear. 

Want a new experience in relating to others?   Admit error.  Admit it openly, readily, and honestly.   It can be a refreshing experience.      

A new beginning in your relationships with others, and with yourself.

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The Pen Junkie and the Holy Grail of Pens


Through years of journal writing, one accumulates and an extensive array of pens.  Every writing desk has a canister of pens; not a cup, but a canister. For a period of time, I will write with one kind and then shift to the next one. In the process of three morning pages, I will use at least two kinds of pens of different color; more if I am decorating the edges with a “Zander” tangle design.  


Ball points, felt tips, roller balls, pencils, markers, drafting pens, highlighters, scissors, and fountain pens all vie for space in the crowded canisters. 


From Cardin and Cross, to Micron and Pilot, from Sharpies to Staples to Staedtler,  Tul to Uniball, on Zebra and Zig.  From .01 Microns to 5.0 Calligraphy markers.  From $2.00 to $40.00; the list continues.  Pens, pencils and markers manufactured from Japan to Germany.  But, most importantly, a full array of shades and intensity of color.


Lately, I have begun to enjoy the Cross Fountain pen, a generic medium fountain pen, but have always wanted a pen with a broader point, perhaps even an italic or calligraphic point.  But a truly top quality pen.  The calligraphy starter set I tried tended to dry quickly. Totally unsatisfying.   After writing thousands of journal pages, my Sagittarian mind seeks the next best creative tool. In addition to having a sense of tradition, fountain pens lend themselves well for slower, deliberate, contemplative, meditative writing practices.


Researching the ‘best of the best’ of fountain pens, has led me on a quest for the holy grail of pens, a Pelikan M800.  Quests become Obsessions. Not knowing anyone personally who owns a Pelikan M800, my obsession requires me to research online,.. daily.   Also, I have begun gathering my hoarded gift monies and my credit card points toward the object of the quest.


Yes, I have been told great novels and treatises have been written with goose quills, or pencils. Undeterred, I’ve continued my quest.


Does that mean I will neglect all the pens sitting in my pencil wells? Do artists neglect their old brushes?  Not for a moment. They provide the varying colors, textures and speed I need for writing in different situations. Even my pens must provide useful work if they are to keep their place in the canisters.


When a decade ago I invested in a burgundy, aniline leather chair,  I thought it to be the most extravagant purchase I had made.  But, it has immensely improved the quality of my daily life.  I've never had any regrets about its purchase. So is my assumption about purchasing a top quality pen even though others may think me mad to spend $300+  on a fountain pen. And like the chair, I expect that in a decade from now, I will have no regrets about this purchase.


When the pen of my dreams arrives, I will post a photo and a review.

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Where Have You Been???

Where have you been?” some emails ask.  "It has been a month since your last post.”


After three training trips, my travels are done for the summer.  A return to normalcy and a rhythm prevails. 

Training and Traveling. When I am in that mode, writing gets shoved to the side, overpowered by not only the demands of training workshops, but for the novelty of contrasting sounds, sights, smells, and experiences. The writing gets neglected like some pet that sits and awaits your arrival at home. 

Travels provide contrasts that awaken the senses.  The busy cacophony of traffic, cars,  buses, trains – all of it in downtown Chicago, on a Friday at 5:30 pm is a jarring contrast to the tranquility of Frank Lloyd Wright’s Oak Park, or the nature trails of Oregon Ridge Park in Baltimore on a Saturday at 5:30.

I have experienced a skilled captain pilot an aircraft through stormy weather, and an unskilled copilot struggling with numerous power changes and turns to keep his speed and altitude at the required values enroute to O’Hare. 


The sociability and laughter of Southwest passengers, even in a stormy flight seemed sweet in comparison to United’s staid crew and passengers, most of whom cast no glances at others sitting beside them, preferring to delve into books and electronics.  


From the rear of the last shuttle bus ride came a raucous request from four men wanting to be dropped off at Lufthansa airline.  Following their flight to Munich, three of them would head on to Amsterdam. This jovial quartet laughed and joked in three languages the entire way to the airport; one speaking in Deutsch, one in English, and two in Dutch. Yet, each clearly understood the other.  

How great if this were a microcosm of our entire world! 

For Sunday:  The Pen Junkie and the Holy Grail of Pens

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