By John Y. Brown III, on Fri Jan 4, 2013 at 12:00 PM ET One of the greatest gifts a parent can give a child is not being a role model for achievement (although that is important), or being present at many of their activities (although that is very important, too), or being actively engaged in molding their child to be a good citizen (although that is needed), or being a good financial provider (although that is expected).
Rather one of the greatest gifts a parent can give to their children, in my opinion, is regular transparent glimpses into that parent’s humanness. Not showing flaws or foibles for the sake of exposure—like showing off a war wound. But an honest reflection of what that parent is thinking, feeling, and experiencing (to the extent the parent really knows him or herself). In other words, not playing the role of “Father Knows Best” or “How I Became the Queen Bee” But rather the daily role of “Father (or Mother) Tries Hard Most Days and Gets it Wrong about as Often as he (or she) gets it Right.”
The other qualities listed in the first paragraph teach children how to “appear” and be perceived by others as successful. But a parent who is consistently transparent can help set an internal barometer for children that will serve them well—helping them to know themselves and trust their instincts. Not just seem to be holding it together.
 Of course, it’s important for children to grow up to exemplify model behavior, to be consistent and active and responsible. But I believe it is even more important for them to have the confidence be be real. To be authentic…..and not be confused about how to do that. And if they haven’t learned how by watching their parents it’s like expecting a child to know the native language even though it was never spoken in the home.
No one strives to be merely authentic as an end in itself. Or the related traits of transparent and self-aware. We strive instead to be successful, great, courageous, and a dozen other various forms of “achievement.” But authenticity is often the precondition for these so called achievements. And even when it’s not, it is the greatest consolation. A person who has a long resume but isn’t comfortable in his or her own skin, isn’t self-aware or genuine, is a shell of the person who has these attributes but, for the moment, possesses a slimmer resume.
The former is more like an automaton–a robot. A well trained animal who performs on cue and is applauded.
But the latter is someone who is worth getting to know and who has something meaningful to say. And is leading a life worth living. Not merely seeking to perform a life worth applauding.
By John Y. Brown III, on Wed Jan 2, 2013 at 12:00 PM ET I am coming to the conclusion that all human relationships are a variation of parasite-host.
That’s not as bad as it sounds. And often can work. For a while.
Some hosts don’t know they are the host and once they find out are appalled and demand change.
By contrast, a parasite always knows (or suspects) he (or she) is a parasite. And if they learn they are acting like a host, they are appalled and demand change immediately back to their original role exclusively as parasite only.
The stages of most human relationships seem to follow this course:
Stage 1: Host —Host
Stage 2: Parasite–Host
Stage 3: Host–Parasite
Stage 4: Parasite-Parasite.
It’s usually during stages two and three that problems start to occur. But not until stage four before the parties realize these problems. And by the time both parties are behaving like a parasite, it is too late. Hosts can become parasites. But parasites almost never become hosts.
There are instances of this happening with medication, group therapy and behavioral modification. But takes a long time and changes are unstable. It is usually more efficient for each party (each parasite) to instead find a new host to befriend than try to change or get the partner to change.
Or simply try to eat one another.
By Nancy Slotnick, on Tue Jan 1, 2013 at 8:30 AM ET “If we are going to survive this, you need to remember, fear is not real. It is a product of the thoughts you create. Now do not misunderstand me; danger is very real. But fear is a choice.”
–Will Smith, as a Dad to son in an upcoming survival sci-fi movie
I liken dating in the modern world to sci-fi survival in this sense. There is a lot of fear but not nearly as much danger as it would seem. People talk about the fear of meeting an axe murderer, but statistically speaking that is not likely. Getting rejected, on the other hand, is par for the course. So is succumbing to fear of rejection based on real danger or just a choice? And how do we determine where the line is?
Heartbreak is real. For some, it can be debilitating. But in dating, if you’re the one doing the rejecting and you’re never the “rejectee,” then you’re probably not aiming high enough. In true love situations, I believe that both people feel lucky. Both feel that their date is a little out of their league. And so it’s so exciting when it really happens. And so gut-wrenching when it crashes and burns.
My New Year’s resolution is to know the difference between danger and fear and to choose against fear. This is not easy; I may need some help. My stomach is no help- it would steer me away from everything. My mind is no help. I would obsess until the window of time had passed. My shame is no help. I’m letting go of shame. But acting shamelessly can sometimes leave me to embarrass myself or piss people off. Just ask the Gallaghers on Showtime.
My grammar auto-correct is green-lining “I may need some help.” Is that because I should be more sure about my needs? If I need help, it should be a definite. Maybe I don’t need help. Maybe I just need grit and determination. I also need a healthy dollop of faith, which is hard to come by these days. Luckily I have a reserve of faith that I saved for a rainy new year’s day, like a special bottle of wine in my cellar. Do have a faith cellar?
 Try to find yours. Actually do not try. As Yoda says: “Try there is not. Do or do not.” Every time the universe throws you a bone- like a great date with someone who lives in another country- hold onto the good faith. Let go of the guy. Keep the faith perfectly chilled in your faith cellar until you find yourself in need of reserve. Thank the universe for giving you a taste of what is to come, rather than cursing the universe for taking it away. There’s more goodness where that came from, if you can choose against fear.
This year, make it your resolution to get rejected as much as you can. The more times you are rejected the closer you are getting what you seek. In sales, they say: “Every no leads you closer to a yes.” That is, if you can learn from your failures and improve. Do not seek perfection (that is foolish), but aim high. Disappointment comes when it comes, and it sucks as it always does. The fact that you didn’t get your hopes up doesn’t really make it better. You have to get your hopes up if you want anything good to happen. It’s your dream- make it big.
When I had my dating-café Drip and it reached its height of popularity circa 1997, customers said to me: “I’ll bet you never imagined your place would be like this!” And I was thinking: “Of course I imagined it- or it would never have happened!” I didn’t say that- I was trying to be polite. And I think that I had suppressed the fact that I had been terrified that it wouldn’t turn out how I imagined. I guess it’s like the pain of childbirth—we are programmed to forget that fear or we would never endure it again.
Read the rest of…
Nancy Slotnick: New Year’s Resolution — Be Fearless
By John Y. Brown III, on Mon Dec 31, 2012 at 12:00 PM ET Disclosure and children.
How much is too much?
How little is not enough?
As with most things, it’s a delicate balance and specific to the situation. One never should like to ones children. But one should probably never disclose gratuitous details that weren’t specifically requested.
For example, a few weeks ago my son and I were on the topic, somehow, of Christmas song and which ones were probably best known.
I told him that Bing Crosby’s White Christmas was recognized as the greatest Christmas son ever –and had sold more records than any other Christmas song by far.
That was an “appropriate, informative, and measured response” to share with my 18 year old.
What I didn’t share with him is that my favorite Christmas song of all time is Christmas in Hollis by Run DMC.
I just can’t resist the lyrics,
“It’s Christmas time and we got the spirit
Jack Frost chillin, the orchas out?
And that’s what Christmas is all about
The time is now, the place is here
And the whole wide world is filled with cheer”
And
“My name’s D.M.C. with the mic in my hand
And I’m chilling and coolin just like a snowman
So open your eyes, lend us an ear
We want to say: “Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!”
But to have shared that, in my view, would have been a “parental over-share.”
Even thought its true.
By John Y. Brown III, on Wed Dec 26, 2012 at 12:00 PM ET Metric for the perfect mate
Analytics is all the rage in business and government. The hot new tool of the year—decade maybe—to help organizations make better data-driven decisions.
The movie Moneyball brilliantly depicted the powers of knowing and playing the numbers to get the results you want in more than just business and budgets. You can even use analytics to create a championship level pro baseball team –on the cheap.
So, why not use analytics on a more personal level by individuals seeking “better data-driven decisions”? And why not something more important and personal to you than budget forecasting or sports pastimes. How about an algorithm for finding the ideal mate? Or just a tolerable one? I think it’s doable.
Of course, you say, eHarmony and other dating websites already use these tools to match people for dating. Yes, they surely do. But that’s dating. And it’s a business. If eHarmony only offered a one shot algorithm telling you that you should or should not marry someone, there would be nothing much to advertise because it’s a one-shot business model. Instead, eHarmony wisely held out expertise for the dating marketplace which provides endless opportunities for selling, buying, re-selling and re-buying .
Dating involves behavior that economists refer to as “elastic” (subject to changing over time, even if only temporarily) as opposed to marriage, which involves behavior that is “inelastic” (only subject to changing in the imagination of one’s spouse). And besides, dating has far too many variables to derive a truly reliable forecast of dating success because much less is on the line. For example, where dating only is involved, literally thousands of faux pas are grounds to refuse a next date….but that same activity if applied in a marriage context would merely become “this week’s topic” in counseling or a cute story to tell at a cocktail party (twice but not that third time when you embellish) or simply viewed as an opportunity to catch up on some reading by sleeping all week on the couch downstairs.
So, what would such an algorithm look like? I can’t say what one for the ideal female partner should look like. I’m not a woman and am not comfortable guessing. I only know it will be far more complex and require a mind capable of revising relativity theory to complete, whereas for the male model, merely having a high school familiarity with algebra is adequate to the task.
I’ll let one of the truly brilliant and accomplished analytics organizations in education, business or public policy (or dating or baseball) take on the task.
My only request is a simple one that will be eagerly provided. If such a formula is ever developed that I’m given credit for promoting the idea. How do I know this credit will be eagerly provided to me? C’mon, it doesn’t take a high school algebra level understanding of analytics to know such a formula would never really work. And that whoever claims otherwise will immediately be looking for someone else to blame for coming up with the foolhardy idea. That’s just common sense.
(See pic below of male professor explaining the overwhelming empirical evidence that the female graduate student should date him if she wants to be truly happy. Who said analytics types don’t have street smarts too.)
Postscript: They have now been married 6 years but the former grad student (now Phd) has since revised the formula to eliminate errors and “kinks” in assumptions in the original formula. I’m joking. I think)
By John Y. Brown III, on Wed Dec 26, 2012 at 8:30 AM ET Twas the Night after Christmas
Twas the night after Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, except a small mouse.
The stockings were strewn across the floor like nobody cared,
In hopes more money would be found insider there.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While hip hop on new head phones danced in their heads.
And mamma and I, both feeling like crap,
Had tried for a night’s sleep but got no more than a nap
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my office chair to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I stumbled and then crashed,
But pulled myself up by the shutters and threw open the sash.
It wasn’t the moon’s shiny cast on gleaming white snow
But the local garbage truck, grinding it’s gears low and slow
It was a wonder to tired eyes when what should appear
But Santa’s magic clean up crew—instead of elves and reindeer
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be our garbage man, Rick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called the refuse angry names!
Darned boxes, darned paper, darned instructions and spoiled food
To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall!
Now trash away! Trash away! Trash away all!”
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with a hydraulic waste collector, mount to the sky.
So up to the house-top the wrapping papers they flew,
With the truck full of excesses from St Nicholas’ crew.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard from my perch
The pulling and grunting of the garbage truck’s helpers.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
I thought to myself, what a difference a day makes. In fact it’s profound
I love Santa, his reindeer and am thankful for the gadgets and bling
But this morning, Rick and his helpers seemed like God’s greatest Christmas blessing.
Read the rest of…
John Y. Brown, III: The Night After Christmas
By John Y. Brown III, on Tue Dec 25, 2012 at 12:00 PM ET I wish everyone a Merry Mediocre Christmas.
Why?
Well, about 20 years ago I noticed that few people we truly enjoying the Christmas holiday season because so many were stressed out and anxious trying to achieve some sort of “perfect” or “idealized” or “amazing” Christmas holiday. And I felt bad pouring fuel on the fire by wishing them a merry Christmas on top of all that burdensome pressure. So I started withing people a “Mediocre Christmas.” And I think it takes the pressure off…a little. And we need that more than we probably think.
It’s not about how “fabulous” the presents are this holiday season. But about how fabulously present you can be to those most important. And sometimes a step back and a deep breath and a reminder that mediocre and present is better than fabulous and stressed out.
Now, if you think you can handle an unadulterated Merry Christmas, more power to you. Go for it. But otherwise, just know it’s not necessary and I don’t want my overly optimistic wishes to be an obstacle to you having a nice time with those closest to you this holiday season.
It ain’t about how many loved ones we can impress …but more about how many loved ones we can allow to impress us–without asking them to try all that hard to do so.
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The benefits on the night before Christmas of having older children.
This is something that I did on the night before Christmas 7-8 years ago. That I will not be doing tonight. Thankfully. ; )
A True Christmas Story.
Twas the night before Christmas and all through the Brown house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care in hopes that St Nick….well, you get the idea.
 Anyway, it was a few years ago when my children were still Santa age (before Christmas became more of a business transaction) and my job was to work the wee hours of the morning to assemble a mini pool table for our basement and surprise our children Christmas morning.
I started around 1am. By 3am I was almost finished but realized I had assembled one of the short ends of the table upside down. So, I took it all apart and started over.
By 4:30am I was nearly finished again before realizing I had inadvertently assembled one of the long ends of the table upside down. I took a short break to say as many curse words under my breath as I could recall at that time of morning and got back to work a little before 5am.
I took apart the table again and decided to get out the directions this time. I followed them, but like following all directions, it slowed me down (although admittedly I didn’t make any mistakes this last time). No mistakes….but I did run out of time.
It was now nearly 7am and I heard feet pattering upstairs and cries of “Dad, where are you?” The kiddos were ready to see what Santa had left them….and weren’t going to give me another 30-45 minutes to finish up. Fortunately, I quickly thought of a brilliant solution.
A note. From Santa. Here’s how it read.
Dear Johnny and Maggie, Merry Christmas!! I love you both so much and hope you like all the presents I left you, including the miniature pool table. As you know, I have to cover a lot of ground tonight and in my old age don’t move as fast as I used to. I almost got the pool table set up, but had to leave before finishing to get to all the other children in the world. I left the last few pieces for your father to finish for you.Thanks for the cookies and milk.
Merry Christmas!!!S.C.
(My kids were excited but also skeptical and disappointed. My daughter suspected my handwriting. And my son knew if it depended on me putting something together, it might take all night).
By Nancy Slotnick, on Mon Dec 24, 2012 at 8:30 AM ET I’m from Newton, Mass., which is not the same as Newtown, Conn. But as President Obama put it, Newtown is a town that could have been any town. It could have been any school. So it is the same. Our president also remarked that when he hears about these horrific events, he experiences them as a parent does. I did too. And besides the unspeakable grief that I allowed myself to feel but for an instant (it would have been too painful otherwise), I also felt wrath and indignation. (I may have gotten that from the Passover Haggadah — It did feel like a plague of the worst proportions.)
My indignation first went to all the usual suspects — the shooter himself, the card-carrying members of the NRA, even the inept mental health professionals who cannot identify a human ticking bomb when they see one. But then my wrath settled in on the root cause, the one that no one is talking about. I blame the mom.
 I blame the mom for not knowing her son. I blame her for not seeing the signs. I blame her for not getting him help. I blame her for leaving guns in his reach. But most of all, I blame her for how he turned out. It is my belief, from what I know about psychology and what I have seen in four and a half decades of life, that a positive parental experience will not yield a suicidal psycho killer. Period. End of story.
My husband is a psychoanalyst in private practice and a clinical social worker and this is actually his theory, not mine. I have just tested it out in the real world as an anthropologist and it holds true.
Now I have no idea of what goes on behind closed doors in a murderer’s family, but I have seen in my coaching practice that torture begets torture. We have to start holding the moms responsible for their sons. I saw a school classmate of the shooter speaking on 60 Minutes. She said that he always kept to himself, he did not speak to anyone, ever. This is what the man-on-street interviews always say about the serial killers. But it’s always after the fact.
Read the rest of…
Nancy Slotnick: Newtown
By John Y. Brown III, on Fri Dec 21, 2012 at 9:15 AM ET  Well, the trip is about over now. The trip of a lifetime, for sure, for my family.
We’d never before been on a cruise or to the Mediterranean. And had the great good fortune of doing both. For that I am grateful.
And, as with all family vacations, the best is yet to come. It’s my experience that the memory of the vacation always exceeds the experience of it. Not sure why it works that way, but it does. For us anyway.
We saw a lot and learned a little and may be inspired to learn a lot more as a result of our travels.
It’s a great big world out there. Stunning in it’s breadth and diversity. And yet no matter where you go, people are just people–far more alike than different. Just making do with different circumstances.
For our trip of a lifetime we touched Italy, Greece, and Turkey.
I hope—if I can distill my thoughts of this trip to a single hope–that we learned an appreciation of the roots of all Western culture in Greece. In Turkey, I hope we recall the roots of all human history–from the Biblical to the political– and that the deep divide at present between Westerners and Muslims seems harder to understand when interacting face to face with one another. And finally, from Italy—oh, Italy–I hope we learned just a little bit about how to live and love with greater passion. That’s Amore!
And, of course, perhaps our greatest blessing: Returning to a place that we have the extraordinary privilege of calling home! The good ole U.S. of A. With a new term learned along the way that describes both where we have been– and where we are going.
Bravissimo!!
By Jonathan Miller, on Tue Dec 18, 2012 at 2:30 PM ET
As you may have read, the malevolent jackasses at the Westboro Baptist Church have now chosen to further poison the American polity by picketing a vigil for the victims of the Newtown, Connecticut school shooting.
Here is their latest tweet:
Predictably, and of course most deservingly, the provocation has generated considerable outrage all over the Internet tubes.
Unfortunately, as my friend and social media guru Scott Clark writes , expressing our outrage online only helps this tiny group of extremist perverts further achieve its mission of spreading their anti-Christian gospel of hatred and intolerance:
Every time you share/like/comment on a post about the Westboro Cult, you boost their SEO and Social Media profile (yes, I recognize my role by posting this, but read on). This is precisely what they exist for – they know how to game the engagement algorithms online. Likes, Shares and Comments, Page Views, Click throughs, Good *or* bad publicity…they love it all. So stop.
So here’s my modest proposal. From now on, when you want to write something online about these malignant buffoons, refer to them as “The Recovering Politician.”
Such as posting on Facebook:
I hear The Recovering Politician is at it again — spewing hate and dragging the poor innocent souls of murdered children into its sinister plot.
Or on Twitter:
I think @RecoveringPol is the biggest douchebag in the country.
Give it a try.
Now that I’m out of politics I can handle the abuse. And I’d love to improve my SEO and Social Media profile.
Whatever that means.
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