Recently, I posted these words on Facebook: You can’t start the next chapter of your life if you keep re-reading your last one. I didn’t consider this to be a profound or controversial statement… not until the responses started rolling in. The first response, “So very true Michael. We must continue to move forward!” was followed by, “Hmmm. Memory whether we like it or not, exists and is triggered by many causes. To not read your past and put it into perspective, could be very damaging to the individual. A form of suppression. You can start the next chapter but need to keep the narrative going, otherwise you will become a deluded person.” And so it began…

As I read down the line of comments, this thought came to mind: Contrary to what many writers may believe, readers bring their own meaning to our words. While writing The Power of Teamwork I stated, “The dictionary defines words… we give them meaning.” Words mean different things to different people at different times and places. Eventually I weighed in on my post with this response: “Growing from our past is productive… attempting to live there isn’t. Yes, it’s fine (and sometimes healthy and productive) to occasionally revisit our past. Like re-reading a ‘good’ book… the content remains unchanged, yet we find new meaning… and sometimes profoundly so. That’s because we’ve changed—our perspective is different. The opposite can also be true… sometimes we re-read a ‘good’ book and discover the magic it once held for us is gone. When I wrote my original post, I was thinking about getting unstuck… moving on. Many people struggle with this ‘stuck’ condition. They can’t get past the past. When we continually attempt to re-live moments, we inadvertently let the past control our present. Change is constant… and life isn’t a stagnant event. Each moment is an original page… an opportunity to create something new… something unique and meaningful. Regardless of where we derive our inspiration—whether it’s reflecting on our past, projecting our future, living in the moment… all or none of the above… life continues on, with or without us.”

As readers and writers, we each bring our own meaning to words. My original post, “You can’t start the next chapter of your life if you keep re-reading your last one,” now carries a different meaning for me than when I first wrote it. While words remain the same, the context of life is ever changing… and over time, the more layers, the more perspectives… the more significant these changes become. Imagine what happens to words over thousands of years. What did or didn’t the authors(s) really mean? You tell me!

Recently, I posted this question on Facebook, “To live a moral life, do people require the promise/threat of eternal rewards or punishments?”

It received many interesting responses… several were sent to me personally. For pantheists, atheists and others, my question posed little challenge. While some religious practitioners suggested eternal rewards and punishments were extra incentives, the majority claimed they would continue living a moral life, regardless of afterlife consequences. While concepts of heaven and hell appear in many religions, I’m limiting my discussion to monotheistic religions of the Abrahamic tradition, since many FB responders identified themselves as such.

I must confess, this subject intrigues me. My grandfathers were evangelical preachers… need I say more? I’ve spent many years discussing theology, studying religion, philosophy… and pondering life. But like Odysseus, I’ve ordered myself tied to the mast as to stay on topic during this post.

If the promise/threat of eternal rewards or punishments have little (if any) influence on people’s moral behavior, why do they exist? In the early Bible, the concept of heaven, hell or Satan didn’t exist. Should someone have referenced these subjects with a Hebrew from the time of Moses, they wouldn’t understand. What changed? Why propose such an idea? No doubt, such questions will generate countless responses. Let me propose one—it explains why those who follow God’s law are sometimes punished on earth while those who don’t, are sometimes rewarded. It offers the promise of retribution. With this belief in place, the just find earthly injustice more tolerable. While a perceived problem is sometimes an unseen solution, the opposite can also be true. The intended and unintended consequences of believing in eternal rewards or punishments is readily evident. Just pick up a history book or turn on the TV.

Some FB responders asked me to define a moral life. For the sake of this discussion, I’ll define it as living one’s life according to the ethic of reciprocity (Golden Rule). In one form or another, this maxim has existed for thousands of years throughout countless cultures, and is foundational to most religions, moral philosophies and healthy societies.

Have you ever noticed how our perceived enemies are demonized… given derogatory labels, portrayed as different from us… presented as a threat, unworthy or evil? This is no accident. It violates the ethic of reciprocity. Take farm animals for example… by labeling pigs “pork bellies” and cows “beef”… and so on, it’s easier to dismiss them as living feeling beings like us. Once dehumanized, labeled as food items, we can better justify the inhumane treatment they receive. In contrast, when loved ones are involved, we focus on our similarities, assign meaningful descriptions and create glowing images of them for ourselves and others to see. We put ourselves in their shoes and by extension, we make connections… we feel their pain and joy. We would do most anything for them. You might say, our moral beliefs and actions can create heaven or hell on earth… we decide.

So what happens to us when we die? I don’t know. Neither does anyone else. What I do know, based on observation, reflection… and FB responses… is that living a moral life, regardless of what happens after we die, resonates with most people. Living a moral life creates more happiness and fulfillment than not living one. Not only for ourselves, but for others, too… including those not yet born. Yes, our afterlife does live on in the hearts and minds of those who survive us. While the ethic of reciprocity provides moral guidance, it also creates awareness and establishes a wonderful litmus test for any society. Imagine if our social, political and business discussions and decisions were centered on the Golden Rule.

Note: Fortunately, I’m still tied to the mast. The Sirens have been luring me with enchanting music… and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to resist. I just deleted several paragraphs of moral anecdotes and philosophical challenges. But as promised, I’m staying on topic to the best of my ability… but be warned, I’m not certain how much longer these ropes can hold me.

So in conclusion, regardless of our beliefs, we are all an inseparable part of an immense whole. It seems most agree, by living a moral life and being accountable for our actions, we do receive just retributions. And if by chance, eternal rewards do await us, to quote Nancy (a FB responder)… it’s like “icing on the cake.”

At one point, Monster returned me to my sophomore year of college. To a time when my nerves were shot… I was confused, sleep deprived and directionless. When you’re attending college full-time while simultaneously working to pay for it, there’s little time for sleep or contemplation. Picking the right path (major) under such conditions can seem impossible. I had always been drawn to the arts… but needing to make a living, practicality was important, too. Uncertain, I decided to enroll in Preston Jackson‘s basic design class. (A few years later, I earned a degree in design/visual communications.) In addition to being a renowned artist, Preston is also a great instructor… and a kind, sensitive and insightful person to boot. One day, as Preston was musing, he said something I’ve never forgotten. “Regardless of what you do in life, be a student of history. But don’t limit yourself to history books. Study the music, art, and literature of particular time periods. Learn everything you can, from every perspective. The past provides meaning to the present… and sheds light on the future.”

When Monster was released, the U.S. was engaged in the Vietnam conflict, Richard Nixon was president, and civil unrest was rampant. To many citizens, especially those from the “older” generation, bands like Steppenwolf were unwelcome messengers—radical groups of unpatriotic, hippie misfits. Students of history know that demonizing the perceived enemy is nothing new. Wait! The enemy? Did you read the lyrics? (see below) They’re lucid, insightful… even prophetic. Unpatriotic? Steppenwolf sounds like a band of patriots! That’s from today’s perspective. When Monster was released, these lyrics challenged America’s ideology with reality. They violated many citizens’ perceptions of themselves by contrasting symbolic representations with facts. The map is not the territory. For many, this concept is difficult to grasp.

Kurt Vonnegut said, “I sometimes wondered what the use of any of the arts was. The best thing I could come up with was what I call the canary in the coal mine theory of the arts. This theory says that artists are useful to society because they are so sensitive. They are super-sensitive. They keel over like canaries in poison coal mines long before more robust types realize that there is any danger whatsoever.”

Perhaps that’s what pulls me to the arts? But I digress. Like canaries, Steppenwolf sensed the poison permeating America… and like good patriots, they warned fellow citizens of the pending dangers. How many listened? How many heard? Many citizens confuse symbols for patriotism. To them, political ideologies outweigh truth and honor… and canaries. Discrediting the messenger is easier than examining the message.

To ignore, discredit or denounce messengers, canaries (or gadflies) is nothing new. Ask Socrates. This brilliant philosopher was found guilty by his fellow citizens and sentenced to death. Guilty of what, you might wonder? For asking valid questions… and thereby exposing perceptual blindness, political corruption, and delusional citizens. In short, Socrates was guilty of being a true Athenian patriot. For the record, I have little respect (actually none) for beliefs or subjects deemed too taboo to question. In fact, I encourage everyone to question most, those deemed most unquestionable. Just as some confuse the package for its contents, they also confuse beliefs, folklore and ideology for reality. Questions followed by critical thinking help us to distinguish the differences… and uncover the truth.

As we shape our future, we also create our past. Time has a way of revealing the villains from the heroes… propagandists from truth tellers… and perceived patriots from real ones. By learning everything we can, from every perspective… we begin to see a bigger, more accurate picture. America is a melting pot of individuals… and patriots come in many shades, shapes and sizes… and from many walks of life. Yet, I’ve observed it’s America’s canaries… the “super-sensitive” folks… those most vulnerable, easiest to attack and discredit that are best at shedding light on our future. Great patriots are seen best by future generations.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Monster
Once the religious, the hunted and weary
Chasing the promise of freedom and hope
Came to this country to build a new vision
Far from the reaches of kingdom and pope
Like good Christians, some would burn the witches
Later some got slaves to gather riche
But still from near and far to seek America
They came by thousands to court the wild
But she just patiently smiled and bore a child
To be their spirit and guiding light
Then once the ties with the crown had been broken
Westward in saddle and wagon it went
And ’til the railroad linked ocean to ocean
Many the lives which had come to an end
While we bullied, stole and bought a homeland
We began the slaughter of the red man
But still from near and far to seek America
They came by thousands to court the wild
But she just patiently smiled and bore a child
To be their spirit and guiding light
The blue and grey they stomped it
They kicked it just like a dog
And when the war was over
They stuffed it just like a hog
And though the past has its share of injustice
Kind was the spirit in many a way
But its protectors and friends have been sleeping
Now it’s a monster and will not obey

(Suicide)
The spirit was freedom and justice
And its keepers seem generous and kind
Its leaders were supposed to serve the country
But now they won’t pay it no mind
Cause the people grew fat and got lazy
Now their vote is a meaningless joke
They babble about law and order
But it’s all just an echo of what they’ve been told
Yeah, there’s a monster on the loose
It’s got our heads into a noose
And it just sits there watchin’
The cities have turned into jungles
And corruption is stranglin’ the land
The police force is watching the people
And the people just can’t understand
We don’t know how to mind our own business
Cause the whole world’s got to be just like us
Now we are fighting a war over there
No matter who’s the winner
We can’t pay the cost
Cause there’s a monster on the loose
It’s got our heads into a noose
And it just sits there watching

(America)
America, where are you now?
Don’t you care about your sons and daughters?
Don’t you know we need you now?
We can’t fight alone against the monster
© Copyright MCA Music (BMI)

Back in the day we used to have a garden. While it takes time, gardening is a viable solution to the current alternatives. And what isn’t eaten during the growing season can be shared, canned and frozen. As I drove, I envisioned my family working with me… everyone pitching in and reaping a bounty of fresh produce. I imagined sharing with my neighbors and… then reality struck! I live in downtown Chicago, and there’s not a lot of arable land on the 28^th floor!

Soon I found myself in the suburbs, driving down a residential street. An elderly couple stood in their yard talking to a couple guys in uniforms… and then I spotted the lawn chemical truck in the driveway.

I remembered spending money on lawn chemicals when we lived in the suburbs. Why do people spend time and money growing, cutting and maintaining grass? Who came up with this idea? Is it social conditioning, tradition… perceptual blindness? My questions triggered a rush of ideas and visions… I had a flashback to my time spent in Germany. The cemeteries I had visited there were so beautiful and the locals took such pride in creating and maintaining them. I began to envision suburban neighborhoods filled with beautiful gardens… like a Monet painting composed of fruit trees, herbs and vegetables. Visions of crop circles, corn mazes and rows of fruit trees, and beautifully designed vegetable patterns of all shapes, colors and kinds raced through my head. My brain was crystallizing with interconnected concepts and possibilities. The benefits of replacing worthless grass lawns with beautiful functioning gardens seemed endless…

Fresh healthy food right from your own yard… unemployed and retired citizens would stay active, eat healthier and reduce food costs… neighbors would reconnect and establish a new sense of purpose and community… home real estate investments would provide additional returns… physical exercise would help to reduce heart disease, obesity, diabetes and high blood pressure, and by extension, reduce medical costs… creativity and learning would improve through exploration of gardening methods (collecting, bartering, developing, selling and exchanging seeds/products, recipes, ideas, labor and expertise with one another)… kids would experience nature, learn about healthy food, responsibility, community, and have fun getting their hands dirty in the process… new jobs would be created for landscape designers, tool and equipment manufacturers, entrepreneurs interested in packaging, storing, canning, making deliveries, and creating healthy products from fresh produce… the possibilities are endless… and the physical, psychological and spiritual benefits are too numerous to list.

I reached my destination and parked the car but my mind continued racing with possibilities. Could this idea really work? Thomas Jefferson believed that an agrarian national economy with many small independent farmers would ensure America’s freedom. My idea goes a step further—a nation of independent gardeners! I don’t know if this concept could work… but I do know the current solution isn’t the answer.

I’m sharing my thoughts not as a solution, but as seeds of potential. We never know if our ideas will take root until we plant them. Perhaps this idea could start in one or two neighborhoods… find some success and spread. That’s how these things typically work.

To quote Margaret Mead, “Never underestimate the power of a small group of people to change the world.  In fact, it is the only way it ever has.”

As for me, I’m exploring the vacant lot across the street (currently labeled a problem), and a potential rooftop garden for our building. The possibilities are endless… the world we focus on is the world we create. I hope you will share your thoughts and ideas… and point out the pieces I missed on my drive.

It’s late. The final Pink Bat manuscript is due tomorrow. From my office I can see several Chicago landmark buildings lit with pink lights. It’s Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Amidst this pink glow—the posters, the ribbons, and special events—we are all reminded of the search for solutions to save lives. The color connection to this cause… and my book title… is obvious. Less obvious, but more relevant, is the thinking found inside.

For every problem, there exists a solution… and at the very least, an opportunity. Breast cancer is no different. But it takes an open mind… imagination, purpose and passion… to find it. In time, this “problem” will be viewed differently… and an unseen solution will appear. Perhaps an outsider will see what experienced insiders have missed. Someone less influenced by perceptual blindness… an unlikely suspect.

My reasons for writing Pink Bat were to plant some seeds, capture imaginations, and inspire people to see the world in a new light. I hope I’ve accomplished these objectives in some way.

You can live each day in a world filled with “problems,” or rise each morning and embrace a world filled with unseen solutions… eager for you to find them. The decision is yours… both worlds exist. The one you choose is the one you will create.

A year has passed… and much has changed.

According to the American Cancer Society, about 1.3 million women will be diagnosed with breast cancer and about 465,000 will die from the disease. This is unacceptable.

On a personal note, my mom was diagnosed with colon cancer a few months ago and my father-in-law with bladder cancer. They are both currently in treatment. Hopefully these cancers were caught in time. Whether it’s breast cancer or any other kind of cancer, prevention and early detection are key.

As I write this post, Pink Bat is back at press—again. It has done well and I have received many positive responses—personal stories, examples and insights. Thank you. In light of all that’s happened since releasing it, and all that remains, I’m discounting Pink Bat this month to $11.95 and donating a portion of the proceeds to cancer research for every book sold.

Be inspired! Watch the Pink Bat video.

One day we were jamming when Jim, our lead guitarist, started playing Happy Together by the Turtles. It was funny at first… but then we all joined in and something clicked. While it was outside our genre, something about this song resonated with us. In fact, our version of Happy Together not only sounded great… it was fun to play. So now what? How do you transition from Black Dog and Iron Man to Happy Together? We weren’t certain, but we had an upcoming gig and decided to find out.

It was the night before our gig and we had been practicing hard all week. Since we hadn’t performed Happy Together publicly, we decided to go over it a few more times. Jim was/is a talented musician and he had figured out all the harmonies, including a great three-part harmony for the “Ba-ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba-ba” part. (If you’ve never heard this song, I apologize… but you should do so.)

Click here to view the embedded video.

Oh yes, there’s something I neglected to mention… it was for good reason that our bass guitar player rarely sang. He was notoriously off-key and pitchy (I’m being polite). Perhaps that’s what amazed Jim and me the most about us playing Happy Together… he actually sang one of the harmony parts.

Back to practice… I was singing lead and Jim was singing background harmony when we reached this part of the song…

Me and you and you and me
No matter how they toss the dice, it has to be
The only one for me is you, and you for me
So happy together

Then we all jumped in…
Ba-ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba-ba

Before we could hit the second, Ba-ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba-ba, Jim stopped playing, turned and looked directly at me. Accept for the ring in our ears, the room was silent.

“What are you doing?” Jim asked looking confused. “You’re completely off-key… maybe we aren’t ready to perform this yet!”

I was irritated, embarrassed and somewhat dumbfounded… but not totally surprised. I didn’t respond at first. I respected Jim. More importantly, I knew he was right. In an effort to compensate for the bass guitarist, I was compromising my part. I was singing off tune to try to get us in harmony. I had been doing so all week… just not to this degree. That night during practice, my extra effort crossed the line and Jim called me on it. Explaining my actions meant telling the truth… the truth we all knew, but didn’t want to talk about. When the facts are on the table, you’re able to address the situation and make progress. That’s what we did. We made some modifications to the harmonies… and Happy Together was back on track and well received by the audience.

That night at practice I learned some valuable lessons about harmony… and not only about music, but life, too. It’s easy to slip into denial or to try and fix what’s wrong by overcompensating for someone who isn’t doing his or her part. And sometimes, to a degree, it may be okay or even necessary. But in the long run, it doesn’t work. Honesty truly is still the best policy.

I’m glad Jim was honest about my performance. I think most people prefer knowing the truth. We want to honestly know how we’re performing. I know I do. It’s hard to improve and find yourself when you don’t know where you stand. Ironically, even with the best of intentions, when we bend reality in an effort to create “harmony”… we accomplish just the opposite. Twisting the truth creates confusion… and that leads to disharmony. By turning a blind eye (or deaf ear) or compromising our part (not doing what we know is right), more times than not, we’re creating disharmony. True harmony requires that we each do our part… open and honestly.

That winter was unprecedented. The number of consecutive freezing days and snowfall set an Illinois record and resulted in 62 deaths and more than 2,000 injuries. I was kept very busy.

One morning the shop received so many calls about stranded motorists, abandoned vehicles and accidents, I decided to skip class and keep working. The local radio station and newspaper warned residents to stay inside unless it was an emergency. They said if you absolutely had to travel be certain to carry a first-aid kit, flashlight (extra batteries), blankets, waterproof matches, a sack of sand, a shovel, tool kit, tow rope, booster cables, compass… the list was as extreme as the weather. Since cellular phones weren’t around back then, you had to think before venturing out.

By the end of the day I was beat. I arrived home and started taking off my boots when the phone rang. It was the county police: “This situation has gone from bad to worse… get back out there and start towing in any and every vehicle in sight.” Apparently the number of stranded vehicles was making it impossible to plow—not to mention dangerous.

I grabbed a sandwich and went back to work… and continued working for nearly 40 consecutive hours. Before long I had pulled in enough vehicles to pay for an entire semester of school. Financially, the blizzard seemed like a blessing to me.

At some point, as my boss was writing reports on all the frozen vehicles that had filled the parking lot, it hit him… “How long has McMillan been working?”

“Wrecker Boy, Wrecker Boy, do you copy?”

That was my “handle.” The older shop guys gave it to me. They found it funny. I didn’t mind. Even if I had, it wouldn’t have mattered—the police called me “Wrecker Boy,” too.

“I read you… over,” I responded.

“What’s your twenty?”

The radio was breaking up. I tried adjusting the squelch control but to no avail. “I’m not certain… out in the country… some place west of town,” I replied. I had strategically pulled in the vehicles closest to the shop first, then slowly worked my way further and further into the country… off the beaten path.

“It’s time you bring that damn wrecker in and get some rest.”

He was more right than he knew. I was exhausted and in desperate need of rest.

“10-4… I’m picking up one more—then I’m heading back.”

“10-1… I can’t read yo…” were the last words I heard. I tried contacting him a few more times but concluded I was out of range. It was around noon when I lowered the tow sling down, slid under the stranded car, and hooked up the chains. I was mentally and physically fatigued. It took everything I had to move the frozen hoist lever. With the front wheels off the snow, I jumped back inside the cab, peeled off my gloves, switched on the flashing amber light, and started back toward the shop. I glanced in the side mirrors to check on my load. While it appeared stable, I knew I wasn’t. I was sleep-drunk, driving under the influence of exhaustion.

Thin white halos outlined the trees, power poles and lines… like a strange inverted Sabattier print. Everything was glowing unnaturally and I was squinting, hoping to make it stop. I tried calculating how much money I had earned but found I couldn’t add. I tried figuring out how much school I’d missed but didn’t know what day it was. My mind was crystallizing like the world around me. I kept drifting off the road—until the wheels rumbled and then I’d swerve back on—then off… back on… off… on … off… on… then FLASH… I was blind!

I screamed, grabbed my eyes and hit the breaks. With my forehead pressed against the steering wheel, I rubbed my eyelids until my sight started to slowly return. “What the hell just happened… was it aliens?” I asked myself.

Like Lot’s wife, I reluctantly glanced back and saw what appeared to be a laser gun peering above the snow’s surface. Or was it a spacecraft? Upon closer inspection, I discovered it was neither… at least by design. It was a submerged car reflecting the sun. I must have glanced over at the precise moment to catch a flash and to make things worse, my weary eyelids couldn’t respond in time to protect my pupils from frying.

I watched the snow blow over the small exposed patch of car roof—covering it and uncovering it—“dot-dot-dot-dot… dot-dash-dot-dot… like Morse code. I culled through my Cub Scout memories but couldn’t recall a single signal.

I wondered how and when the car ended up out in the field…. but stopped myself from wondering whether anybody was inside it. I know that sounds bad. But I was alone and lost, and while I didn’t know it then, I was experiencing severe sleep deprivation for the first time in my life. After several attempts to radio the office, I stopped and concluded I was still out of range.

Unaware of my location, I tried painting mental pictures of the area so I could report the buried car once I returned. But trying to paint mental pictures in my mental state proved to be impossible. I put the wrecker in gear and started down the road, hoping to figure out where I was.

Before long, the voices in my head returned, “Nobody’s trapped in that car… it would take days to bury a car like that… you’re just exhausted and not thinking right.” Collectively, the voices were convincing until one brave voice spoke up, “Maybe you’re all right… but what if someone is buried in that car?” That question stopped the wrecker and turned me around.

The car appeared to be even further from the road than I had remembered. I waited for the voices of reason to return and persuade me to head back to the shop, but they remained silent. So I bundled up and reentered the deep freeze. Trying to get the shovel down from behind the toolbox was not only a struggle; it was also a warning: “Don’t do it… you are in no condition to rescue anyone.”

Then I looked over the tundra at that buried car and put it out of my mind. I made my way across the field and didn’t look back at the wrecker. I didn’t want to know how far or little I had traveled; I just wanted to arrive. I leaned into the wind fighting for each step… slipping and falling along the way. When I arrived, I fell to my knees and leaned on the shovel to catch my breath. The cold air burned my lungs as I climbed up onto the entombed car and started pounding on the roof and yelling, “Is anyone in there? Can you hear me?” I thought I heard something, but between the howling wind and my mental state I couldn’t be sure.

Don’t worry, you’ll be okay, I’ll get you out!” I yelled as I shoveled enough snow away to see through the driver’s window. I dropped to my knees, leaned down, and peered inside. The front seat was empty, but I couldn’t see into the back. So I climbed toward the rear, cleared away more snow and glanced inside… it was empty, too. Thank God, I thought, as the shovel slid down from the roof onto the ground.

I rolled onto my back, spread out like a snow angel on top of the roof and closed my eyes. I could feel my heart pounding as I tried to catch my breath. In time I sat up and looked back toward the wrecker. Its amber beacon flashed like a distant light tower. And I was a wayward sailor… and no one but me knew I was lost at sea. Whatever energy I had before my journey was now gone.

I slid down the car and started staggering back when I heard a sound. It came from inside the car! Then I realized I hadn’t thought to check the floors… or under the seats. “Hello… hello… I hear you… are you okay?” I yelled frantically turning back to look inside—but it was still empty. The sounds were from inside my head… or at best, from the wind howling around me. I looked toward the flashing amber light again and started to cry. As I made my way toward the beacon, the tears froze to my eyelashes and cheeks.

I finally reached the wrecker and thanked God for having helped me to make it back. My body throbbed as I breathed in the warm air from the wrecker cab. I threw my gloves and cap on the passenger’s seat and watched the snow crystals turn back into water.

Then I glanced back across the field and realized I had forgotten the snow shovel. In a distraught state, I started crying again, then laughing… I had just risked my life to rescue someone who didn’t need rescuing… and wasn’t about to go through it all again for a snow shovel. I wiped my eyes, put the wrecker in gear and started back down the road—again.

Days later, I drove back to the scene. The car was gone. The wind and snow had already erased most of the evidence of it ever having been there. I purchased a new snow shovel for the wrecker and never told anyone this story until now.

Looking back on it, I might have done things differently—but probably not much. The colloquial phrase “Good Samaritan,” means someone who helps a stranger. It’s derived from a parable Jesus tells in response to the question of who one’s “neighbor” is… I believe that’s everyone… even those you don’t know but are willing to risk your life to save. The ethic of reciprocity (The Golden Rule) doesn’t discriminate.

As promised, I was left alone and given total access to “be creative.” Staying focused and on task was difficult. The amount of material was vast and my mind wandered like a school kid in class. I was so hyper-focused on the subject matter, the assignment seemed meaningless.

At first I felt a little uncomfortable… like I shouldn’t be reading his personal notes, handling his guitars, or messing with his stuff… like his boots or blue jumpsuit from San Quentin! But then I realized Johnny kept all these things for a reason. Collectively, they represented him… his memories, thoughts and special moments on earth. Some were fragments… personal pieces of a complicated puzzle, clues from an unconventional life. Many of his notes, sketches and lyrics were scribbled out on random sheets of paper, crossed out, rewritten, edited, and often left unfinished. It was these pieces that I connected with most. The fragments… ideas he had worked on but never finished. The idea seeds… the work in progress… the unsolved mysteries that we all carry with us throughout our lives… hoping to someday find them a home.

It’s easy to focus on the tangible successes and failures in someone’s life… I guess that’s why it’s commonly done. But to me, those fragments tell a much better story… a real story about a person’s passionate struggle to understand and connect the dots. And in Johnny’s case, his random fragments revealed these things and more. Regardless of what history says, this much I know… aside from his legendary status, Johnny Cash was a sincere person who experienced many trials and tribulations. He worked hard and pushed himself to be his best. He dug down deep inside himself and was a truth seeker. He loved his wife, June, his fans and his god.

After my second day of shooting, the curator (who was also a good friend of Johnny’s), asked me to join him and his girlfriend for dinner. As you might guess, the conversation was centered largely on Johnny. I asked many questions and he shared many wonderful, personal and intimate stories about the man in black… they all confirmed my intuition. Then I shared my impressions about Johnny and showed some of the photographs I had taken. After complimenting my work, he smiled and said, “You connect with Johnny… he would have really liked you.” What more could be said? I’m sorry we never met in this lifetime… but in some mystical way, I feel we have.

One night over a glass of wine (or two), I asked, “Mario, before or during a race, do you ever think about the possibility of being seriously injured… or even dying?”

It was later explained to me that asking a professional race car driver such a question was inappropriate at best. Perhaps so, but Mario didn’t seem to mind. “I try not to think about it, Michael,” he responded.

I took another sip. “I understand, but isn’t it hard not to think about it at times?”

Then he looked at me and said in a most humble and sincere way, “I don’t fear death; I respect it… and I focus on winning.”

His answer triggered an “aha” moment. We all have obstacles in our lives and jobs… death and injury just happened to be a couple that Mario faced on a regular basis. You don’t jump into a swimming pool and focus on drowning… even though you know it’s possible. Mario focuses on winning… succeeding… period.

Then I asked him when he knew it was time to retire. After reflecting for a moment he responded, “That’s a much harder question. You never really know the perfect time, but it has less to do with your age and ability than many people believe… it has more to do with your purpose and passion.”

His answer resonated throughout my brain. It was Mario’s last racing season… and his words transcended my question. When purpose and passion are replaced with too much thinking and planning, we are no longer competing. Winners are driven by purpose and passion. You can’t pre-plan and over-think each turn and move you make… you need to follow your intuition and let purpose and passion drive you.

What’s driving you? If you’re faltering, check your purpose and passion and make some corrections. When these elements are in place, obstacles disappear and your goals are always within reach.