***

Driving to work I see expensive Rolex watches on the billboard. I get home to watch TV, and I am faced with commercials with the latest Lexus model. I turn on my computer to check my Facebook and I am bombarded with flashing ads selling everything from shoes to phones.

Everywhere you turn, someone is trying to get you to buy stuff. Every medium is about selling advertising. Even the baseball stadium is named after the sponsoring company!

My family is not rich, but we are far from having to beg on the street. I have everything I need, so I should be quite content. But the messages I see and hear, everywhere I look, are telling me that I need more stuff.

And that message was getting to me.

When I look in my closet, I think I have “nothing” to wear. I look at the refrigerator and yearn for a new one with more features. I look in the mirror and …well, let’s just say I wanted some changes there too. Advertising was telling me about everything I lacked, and I found myself dissatisfied with what I have, and even who I am.

Then a simple event turned me around. Have you ever have an epiphany where a light bulb goes off? I went to the funeral of my friend’s mother. There is something about being faced with the reality of death that puts everything into perspective. During the memorial service, I had one of those moments of introspection, “Katy, what is life all about? Do you think better stuff will make you happier? At the end of your life, are those “things” going to make a difference?”

Consumerism which is suppose to enhance the quality of my life, was in fact keeping me from enjoying my life.

While our culture continues to inundate us with messages of “more” and “newer”, I made 4 deliberate choices to go against that noise:

1. Stay away from the mall. Going shopping used to be a favorite pastime. “What do you want to do today?” “Let’s go walk around the mall.”

I don’t do that anymore. Looking at all the stuff I don’t have only makes me discontent. I don’t have room for all that stuff anyway.

2. Don’t buy anything I don’t need immediately. When I go shopping, I only buy what I need to buy and no more. Even if it’s on sale, and even if I could use it one day, I pass. I definitely don’t have room for more stuff.

3. Count my blessings everyday. As my mother used to say, “Why do you need so many pairs of shoes, you can only wear one pair at a time.” I thank God I actually have more than one pair of shoes, and that is more than I need. At the end of each day, before I sleep, my daughter and I each take a turn thanking God for something specific.

4. Focus on building relationships. A friend told me her mother was known for her hospitality. She was always ready to have a friend over for a cup of tea. Did she have a fancy house to entertain? No, she couldn’t afford more than a one-bedroom cottage. But she would lay a table cloth on the table in her tiny kitchen and enjoy the company of her friends. It wasn’t what she had, but who she was that people remembered. I am not going to be self-conscious about having the right house or the right clothes. Being the right person by showing kindness and generosity is much more important.

Whenever I feel the bug of discontentment, I think of that funeral. Life is not about materialism. Keep yourself away from those who tell you otherwise, and focus on the stuff that matters most.

***

Katy Lee enjoys life with her husband and three children in the suburbs of Los Angeles. Her passion for spreading family values, through her personal stories, is found on her website http://www.AdventuresInParenting.org/

***

Many of us have gone through our fair share of seeing neighbours come and go. Some we love and would hate to see move. Some we hate and would be glad to see move.

I’m digging into my past, ten years ago, to paint a picture of four families living on four properties - all connected together, my family included. I was a young teenager at the time.

My property was a “battle-axe” block, surrounded by seven  2/3rd acre blocks, placing me at the centre of the coming ”war”. On the one side was a family with one boy,  Marty, the other side, a family with three kids - we’ll call them the Canadians (which they were). On the opposite corner side, there was a family with four kids, I call them the Flintstones.

Now, my recollections of how it all unfolded are a bit hazy, but Marty and I had started and maintained a good friendship well before either of the other two families had moved in. I can still hear in my mind his famous method of calling out to me across the whole yard to get my attention during the early hours of the morning  in his pre-pubescent, girly voice: “Maaaaaaatttthhhhhheeeeewwwwww!!”

The Flintsones moved in. It was always interesting and exciting to see new people; the Flintstones were all around my age. Marty was a bit younger than me so my instinct was to meet these new people, with Marty in tow. The Flintstones seemed alright, friendly and welcoming, and it didn’t take long for a connection to develop between them and myself.

It wasn’t so much the case with Marty. He seemed to like them but lurked more in the background and as it turned out, they really didn’t approve of him and didn’t want him at their house. I was surprised and could not understand this - there was nothing wrong with him. Marty was a friend; I was not going to just leave him out.

Then the Canadians moved in. I was in no hurry to meet them; however, the Flinstones became quite friendly with them, consequently leading me to get to know them as well and they were quite OK. Marty seemed a little more interested in the Canadians as they were younger than the Flintstones. He must have met them without my help as I saw him over in their pool, as well as the Flinstones.

I started to feel a bit left out now.

A few days later, things changed, as they often do in social contexts. I was in the company of the Canadians and the Flintstones and it seemed neither party were very fond of Marty and in fact had decided they weren’t going to invite him over anymore, although I was still welcome.

I was not comfortable with this. It wasn’t my decision to make - it was their choice, but I felt I could be of influence. I had to tell them how I felt; I was not prepared to exclude Marty so I could go over to their house. I felt they were all ganging up on him.

They acknowledged my sentiment, but offered no solution. I didn’t know what to do. I felt sorry for him and couldn’t understand it. I wasn’t going to let these indifferences come between us.

Marty and I talked about the situation. He didn’t think much of the new people, understandably and suggested I should not talk to them. This was not going to work for me as I was keen to continue the friendship with the Flintstones as well as remain loyal to Marty. After discussing my feelings, Marty seemed to understand. I theorised that I was the only one who could decide who I should and should not be friends with and while I didn’t like the Flintstones and Canadians exclusionary tactics, I didn’t want to discard their friendship. I felt I had taken the moral “high ground” in this mess between all parties and it was here that I felt I won the war.

Over time it turned out that the friendships between me, the Flintstones and the Canadians didn’t last too long and Marty and I seemed to drift apart also. There was never bad blood, but the choice I made, the war I won, had casualties. No one was comfortable with my decision to be friendly towards everyone. Making my own choices, maintaining an openness to everyone - what I felt was the moral high ground - seemed to be above everyone else’s heads.

Looking back over the years, I question myself if I made the right choice and if I actually won the war. The war really was between my friends, but then again it was also between my heart and head and the decision I had to make. My head says I made the right choice - my heart too, but it still hurts a little that these friendships were sacrificed. Sixteen years were spent at that house and they are fond memories of a special place.

The weird thing is, since those days and the numerous houses I’ve lived in, I’ve never developed any friendships with neighbours. I think I would be a good neighbour and friend. But the possibility of more feuds, exclusion and the thought of more tough moral choices - reaching out, that could be the start of a whole new war.

by Matt Heale 

The film Rounders asks the question, “Why do the same bunch of guys make it to the final table of the World Series of Poker each year? Are they the luckiest guys in the world?” I say it’s partly luck, but most of all, it’s a skills game. 

After competing in pub poker tournaments for some time now, I just wanted to win one. Sure, the main reason I go is for the social factor and to have some fun, but come on, I want to win! Finishing 4th once, 3rd twice and 2nd twice, I began wondering how hard can it be to just cross the line?  

The road to victory is a great experience and learning curve. Learn from your mistakes, what could I do differently next time? Should I have folded then, should I have bet harder then? How can I change my strategy? 

So here I was on the final table, three people left with a healthy chip stack and a commanding position. Another guy was knocked out so it was now heads up, the part I really don’t like. I knew how much I wanted the title, but I didn’t know whether it was time to get serious, focus and concentrate or to just laugh about because it’s just a game.  Then I realised it’s not just a game, you’ve got to think of it as a war. 

My opponent didn’t have much left, so I was hoping that I had it in the bag. I didn’t want to look at my cards, I didn’t have to but I did. I raised on the big blind, he called, I bet what he had left on the flop and he called not sounding too confident. My pocket kings were holding, but it wasn’t over yet. The heart was pounding and I was praying, I had two more cards to agonise over, but they didn’t help him. 

The moment had arrived. The title was mine, finally! 

Someone said to me after the game, “it’s about time you won”. My brother also stated, “that must be a weight off you now…” 

Well it was a relief, but what was with the pressure? Poker really is war. 

It didn’t matter though, this victory was mine! 

*** 

I go by the name of Matt. I reside in the town of Frankston in Melbourne. I make a dollar by working in a warehouse by day, and in the bar and kitchen of a restaurant by  evening. I’m an avid AFL follower and don’t mind a game of poker. Being a music fan, I get a kick out of going to live shows and reviewing them. I enjoy good food and the company of good people as well as maintaining my fitness. 

***

Thanks Matt! This has been another installment in November’s Carnival of War…

Many newbies to the blogosphere get their first blogger’s block after 3 months of blogging but veteran bloggers can also run out of article ideas and get tired from spending too much time on each article. Sound familiar? This guide will help you streamline your habits on the way to blogging well for a long, long time.

7 Killer Tips to Daily Speed Blogging Success

Know that you’ll get better with experience

When I began blogging, I could spend DAYS writing articles like this one and you can tell. Already I was asking myself how long it would last, but I was having so much fun that I kept going. As I pushed myself further, I improved to the point where most of my articles now only take ONE hour to write. You can do it too if you aim for it.

Use your favorites to build articles over time

As you regularly surf the web or browse your RSS feed reader, bookmark articles that you may want to blog about at some point later and this way you’ll gradually build post topics over time. Be careful how you tag those bookmarks so that when you need an article idea, you can choose all the bookmarks for one tag and filter from there, which is how I compiled 40 Tips for Job Seekers Over 40.

Schedule your blogging

All successes are based on a formula, and the best way to express a blog formula is in a monthly schedule detailing what you’ll blog about and when. Having a daily objective will prevent you from faffing around trying to decide what to blog about, a big time-waster for anyone. Sprinkle your schedule with news articles, reader surveys, speedlinking roundups and weekly link-bait like The Funniest Rejection Letter Ever.

Blog early in the morning

Blog when your mind is at its freshest. First thing before you check your email and/or feed reader is good, but if you like ‘hot off the blogosphere ideas’, you might prefer to blog immediately afterwards. Just blog early and get your daily article out of the way instead of letting it hang over you all day like a gray cloud.

Let the words flow

Once you have an idea and are ready to blog, let the idea out. Speed readers fly through text multiple times to let the meaning seep in, while touch typists type as fast as they can and then go back to correct errors. Follow those examples by sitting in front of your screen and filling it as quickly as possible. Then go back to edit, rearrange, clarify and optimize. I ’spew’ blogged 4 Simple Tips Guaranteed to Improve Your Job Search and Your Life this way in less than an hour.

Stay focused

Let nothing interrupt your daily one hour speed blogging creation process. Do whatever it takes to stay in focus. One of the advantages of aiming to finish in a single hour is that almost any potential interruption can wait for such a short period of time to go by.

Break up articles into smaller parts

Keep articles as short as possible to get your point across, and then try to shorten them some more. Shorter articles usually means less time spent blogging them. Some of the early articles on my blog JobMob were loooonnnnggg and I knew that was bad because even I was getting bored reading them. If that happens to you, break up your articles into series of 3-4 posts on the same theme.

Wrap Up

If you follow these tips and develop them into terrific blogging habits, you’ll be amazed at how easily you can become a regular blogger with more time to spend on promotion and other activities to grow you blog’s readership and revenue.

–Jacob Share

Jacob Share created JobMob to rally job seekers and jobfinders in getting jobs in Israel and all over the world. The blog is filled with job search tips and humor, so you should subscribe now to JobMob via RSS or email if you’re looking for work or just want to laugh about it. When that’s done, enjoy some funny job search horror stories.

I’m sure you all know the feeling.  It’s 3.00pm and you’ve been at work a while.  You’re starting to get bored, maybe a little hungry.  Suddenly, all you can think about is food. For some people it’s chocolate or lollies.  For those with a more savoury bent, it might be chips.  For me it was cake. 

• 120 dB - Approaching 747’s that mistake our porch light for a landing beacon and trace an unfortunate flight path over our property
•  90dB - Our bedside clock radio/blender since there’s nothing quite like waking up to adult contemporary and fruit smoothies
• 70 dB - The constant car door slamming from our next door neighbors who we can only determine are training for the ESPN World Series of Chinese Fire Drills Regional Qualifiers

It may be that Google Maps plots the directions to the Sturgis Bike Rally (from any starting point in the country) to follow a route directly past our house or that his room is just simply closer to the front of the house resulting in more road noise, but Adam still wakes up at least twice a night. He is the antithesis of Jack; the crying counterweight screaming in the night balancing the scales of parental fairness. 

Our fatigued desperation has compelled us to unprecedentedly solicit the advice of other parents and thereafter attempt the culled methods, tips, old wives tales, homeopathic remedies and techniques guaranteed to get your child to sleep though the night or your money back. 

Included among the failed attempts are the cry it out method, the co-sleeping method, drinking chamomile tea before nursing, a motion activated musical mobile, sleep training, an inverted facelock sleeper hold, hypnotism, a pre-bedtime bath, nitrous oxide hits, repeating the phrase through gritted teeth “Why won’t you sleep Baby?”, allowing a giant glowing butterfly to flap into the room through an open window then hover ominously over the crib, reruns of Jay Leno’s opening monologue, C-Span…none of them worked. 

The closest thing we’ve found to a solution to our late night woes was when we put the Homedics White Noise Sound Maker in his room to drown out the din of the world by surrounding him in a computerized cocoon of artificially reproduced nature sounds. This particular White Noise Maker has six self-described soothing, natural sounds that help calm a baby to sleep. We’ve tried all six of the sounds with Adam with varying degrees of success. In order of least successful to most successful are: 

6. The Heartbeat –Meant to simulate a mother’s natural heartbeat it is closer to a meddlesome downstairs neighbor banging a broom handle on the ceiling because the Homedic sound engineers were cranking Freebird at 2:00 in the morning again. 

5. Rainforest –Sneak into a Petsmart after hours, mic every animal, kick the cages, and press record. 

4. Waterfall – If you’ve ever stuck your head out the window of moving car, have gone skydiving or simulated hurricane conditions in a wind tunnel then you’ve heard the Homedic Waterfall. 

3. Summer Night – In this Monroe Midsummer Night’s Dream the crickets are really just squeaky brake pads. 

2. Rainfall – Put a pound of Oscar Meyer Bacon in a cast-iron skillet, put the skillet on the stove, turn the burner on high, listen carefully; fat rendered waterfall. 

1. Ocean – If seagulls owned espresso machines or were at least allowed into Starbucks you too could enjoy the dulcet ebb and flow that Ventis young Adam to sleep every night. 

So thanks to a glorified sound effects machine we’re sleeping again. Even if it’s only for 4 hour stretches we’re sleeping again and to that end it matters very little to me that Adam has developed a fondness for seabirds, an addiction to caffeine, an insatiable hunger for breakfast meat and an unnatural affinity for southern rock anthems. 

It matters very little ’cause I’m as free as a bird now, and this bird you’ll never change. Lord knows, I can’t change. Lord help me, I can’t change. 

Alright Mrs. Esposito! Alright! Stop Banging! I’ll turn it down! 

*** 

“Bill Gathen is the father of two boys, one who refuses to sleep and one who refuses to eat, and the husband of one woman who for some reason has permanently attached herself to him “like the thing from Alien” as she puts it. They share their house in upstate New York with an 11 year old, bowlegged, overweight, chain smoking, narcoleptic housecat and an imaginary leprechaun named King Brian.

Bill’s oldest son, Jack, is only 5 years old but is already finger-painting at a 10th grade level. Bill is also terrified to pick up his one year old son Adam because he treats neck skin like a Taffy Pull and kneads upper lips like pizza dough. He writes about all this and more at his blog Make it a Double (http://bgathen.wordpress.com). He’s got a heavy pour and you can’t beat the prices.” 

*** Thanks Bill!  

And so begins November’s Carnival of War! We’ll post the next installment in two days’ time…

It was the best of me, it was the worst of me

Every summer, my mom drove me and most of my siblings on the 4-hour journey to Afton, Wyoming. On the way, I daydreamed of the things we would do: fish for trout in his well-stocked pond, milk the cows or torment them with firecrackers, float down the Salt River (which wasn’t salty), hunt for gophers in the wheat fields. One year we had to use the riding lawn mower to drag a dead calf from a corral to the family campground, where we burned it in the fire pit! Dead things and fire! Can you think of a more awesome adventure for a pair of 10-year-old boys? I left Wyoming at the end of every trip jealous of my cousin and angry at my unreasonable mother, who wouldn’t let me live with him despite my clearly reasonable arguments. The greatest thing about my cousin’s farm was that it gave me space to do whatever I wanted.

And the worst thing about my cousin’s farm and the annual trip was that it gave me space to do whatever I wanted. I probably looked forward to the hunts more than anything. If you want to explore who a boy is, put a .22 rifle in his hands. The rifle confers power that he hasn’t experienced before because drowning ants with a toxic brew of household cleaners and pee just didn’t have the same rush, you know? (What? I’m the only one who tried that??) Mixed with the hormonal cocktail swirling through his veins, a gun will teach a boy things about himself that he perhaps cannot learn in any other way.

The deed

One day during a summer visit, I was out in the countryside by myself with my .22. I happened upon a fallen tree, bare of leaves and dry in the early part of summer. Nestled in the branches at about eye level was a nest, and in the nest were three baby robins. They reacted to my shadow by trembling their useless wings, craning their necks up and peeping for food, their beaks open impossibly wide. I wondered to myself…can I kill all three of them with one shot? I lined it up carefully, adjusting the angle and height of the rifle to be just right, and pulled the trigger.

Yes. I learned that I could kill them all with one shot, and so I did, with no more forethought than when emptying my bladder behind a rock. I instantly regretted it. When I checked my handiwork and saw all three forms lumped together on the side of the nest opposite me, I felt a hollowness that haunts me to this day. My sore conscience served up visions of the Mommy robin coming back to the nest to discover her dead brood. She would have a worm in her beak, but would soon drop it. She would sit by them for hours until her genetic instructions kicked in and told her to get on with life.

Something changed that summer. It was the last year my cousin and I took our guns out into the fields, and soon the summer visits stopped altogether. Time put an end to the boyish pleasures, as it must, and I’m left with memories—some are sweet and some are so bitter that I still cringe at the taste.

Some things you don’t learn until you teach them

Raw olives are extremely bitter. If you taste one, you’ll wonder how in the world humans ever discovered they were edible. But with time, proper care, and just the right brine to soak in, olives become a delicious delicacy. So it is with memory.

Twenty years pass and I have a son of my own, “Tommy.” He is 8 or 9 during this summer (he’s 12 now), and we live in southern Arizona, where wildlife is present as soon as we step out our door. Tommy loves to go exploring in the dry river beds and desert areas outside our apartment complex. He brings home snakes, lizards, toads, and tarantulas; we keep them overnight to watch them and then let them go in the morning.

One day he discovers that the areas inside the apartment complex, covered with trees, are good hunting grounds as well. He brings home a baby bird—a feathered but pre-flight sparrow. We keep it for about a week, feeding it a mixture of water and bread from an eye dropper, and soon it responds to Tommy’s shadow by flapping its useless wings, craning its neck while peeping for food, and opening its beak impossibly wide. Tommy gets a kick out of playing mama bird.

We learn that, in the harsh climate of Arizona, parents or siblings will sometimes push the youngest and smallest birds out of the nest to maximize food and the survival chances of the stronger ones. It’s nature’s way of balancing the carrying capacity of an ecosystem.

Nature didn’t count on Tommy. He makes it his personal mission to scour the grounds every day and rescue nestlings that have fallen or been thrown out of their nests. Our living room is an aviary. Baby sparrows, pigeons, mourning doves, and once, a bat, took up residence in shoe boxes and kitchen mixing bowls. We learn of “the Bird Lady,” a wildlife rehabilitator on the east side of town that took such birds in and hand raised them until they were able to survive in the wild on their own.

At least three times a week during that month, we make the 75-minute round trip drive to deliver Tommy’s finds to the person who could care for them. She learns his name, shows him her inventory of birds exotic and common, and he learns a lot about himself—maybe things only caring for helpless hatchlings, despite his natural tendencies to aggression and destruction, can teach him.

His grandparents come to visit and they object to the regular drive and the time involved, which takes him away from them for far too long during their short stay. “You throw those birds in the dumpster and he’ll soon stop bringing them home,” mutters Grandpa. “Two hours each time?” says Grandma, incredulous. “Are birds worth it?”

“It’s not about the birds,” I reply. “It’s about Tommy.” What I didn’t tell them was this: It’s also about me because I remembered the three lifeless forms on the other side of the nest. It’s about me proving to myself that I could be as good at kindness as at cruelty. That I could exercise power to bestow and protect life as well as to take it. All that and more. The memory became less bitter that summer. I still don’t like the images associated with it, but I understand them. And I understand the boy who lived it. He has learned something about the exercise of power and about the ongoing battle with self.

*** 

Joe is the father of five and husband of one with varying degrees of success (his words not mine!). You can read about those degrees and about his (mis)adventures in fatherhood at his blog, Fathered Five.

***

We try very hard with everything to have the level of perception on quality wooden flooring fitters raised and then you’re treated like this: tarred with the same brush as all cowboys!

So, in all fairness, I lost it. Became defensive, even angry - about that tar brush, very sticky - and said exactly those things I shouldn’t have said. In the end we did make an appointment with the client to check on the floor - which is a normal, standard part of our 4 seasons guarantee - but I fear he won’t easily be happy with us.

What I’ve should have said was something along the lines of:

“I’m under the impression you have been let down badly by trades before or even very recently. Well, we at Wood You Like, pride ourselves on our after service, for your peace of mind we even created our 4-seasons guarantee on labour…”

[For the rest of Karin's post, click here]

If you’ve heard of me (no guarantees, but google “themolk” sometime ;), then you’d know that I have started a fairly serious medically managed weight-loss process. So far, so good - I’ve lost just over 30kg! On reflection that is a serious amount of weight - still 50kg to go. My weight when I started was 172.3kg… yes, that much. But “losing weight” - that’s not my war…

The program has me eating a meagre amount a day (1200 calories including 4 replacement meals a day), and is re-educating me to make much smarter choices when to comes to what I put in my gob and what the sizes are of what I put in my gob. It’s tough, and I have experienced some dark moments to date and I am sure will experience some more to come. But “not enough food” - that’s not my war…

As a part of the program I also have to exercise a whole lot more than I used to. Considering I didn’t used to exercise, ANY exercise is a whole bunch more that I used to. This means for the last 15 weeks I have been walking for at least 45 minutes every day, and even trying to do some resistance training (sit ups, push ups, other stuff with gym equipment if I can get near it). This has meant somewhat of a mind-shift for me, but I am now entirely comfortable that I will need to walk for at least 45 minutes at least every other day for the rest of my life. But “exercise” - that’s not my war…

I am already noticing that a lot of my clothes now really don’t fit me, to the point of feeling like I’ve put on a parachute with some of my pairs of pants. I am really looking forward to having to go shopping for the new wardrobe when I get there, and even on the way (as a bunch of clothes will need to be accounted for before I get to the whole new wardrobe time). It will be great to walk into a normal clothes store and try something on and just go “I’ll have two of these and some of those and that”. But “second mortgage to pay for new wardrobe” - that’s not my war…

My war is a very personal one, that I haven’t shared with too many people. The main reason for that is that it sounds a bit naff, a bit selfish. It’s not really a “terror”, but a very real fear…

WHO am I going to be when I have lost the 80kg I am aiming to lose as a part of this program?

I have been overweight for all of my adult life and a fair bit of my teenage years. Maybe not morbidly obese early on as I am now/was, but certainly the token fat kid that every school seems to have. As an adult I never really took that much responsibility for my weight or my health, thus it readily and somewhat rapidly grew as I grew. Throughout this process (from my teenage years) I was establishing my identity, understanding who I was, how I related to people, how I coped with various situations, and building my relationships with others. “Being the fat kid/guy” was so centrally linked to that - like the colour of my hair, my ability to cope with stress and pressure, etc. Even though I was comfortable that my overall identity was found to be centrally based in my faith in Christ, all the normal things that surround you and impact your understanding of your ’self’ layered across the outer me.

So… the biggest issue for me is that I will one day soon-ish look in the mirror and not recognise the thinner guy staring back at me. Who is that? How will people react to him? Will his friends still like him? Will his kids still come running for a cuddle and a kiss and shout “Daddy” when he comes home? Will his wife still love and desire him the same as those first times she flirted with him, and then committed to him when they married?

The obvious answer to all of those questions is “yes, you stupid head, of course!”, but just because it is obvious doesn’t mean that it’s sunk in or makes sense to me yet. Like I said, I am only 75% of the way there. I am vexed. Troubled. On a journey.

Don’t get me wrong - I am REALLY looking forward to meeting ThinMe. I am working hard to become ThinMe. I am conquering a lot of other vices and bad habits and developing a much stronger will as I become thin me. I know I can only do it because I believe in a God of grace, love and compassion who is much bigger than all of this and will help me to become ThinMe permanently.

ThinMe is coming. Be ready. I will win this war - I know that I have nothing to fear by becoming thin me. It’s just my outer shell - my ‘mask’, if you will. What you see has been what you get from a physical sense my whole life, but my friends have come to understand that whatever their pre-conceived ideas of me when they first met/saw me the “who” I am is why they want to be my friend. My family know me - they’ve loved me for some time. I am taking great courage from my cheerleaders in this process, some of who have only recently joined me on the way. You can join in too - come on over to http://themolks.com and read all “The Biggerest Loserer” articles and get involved.

I will achieve this… I have to achieve this.

The war is not yet won.

“The calibre of you as a person is determined by the obstacles you meet on the way, and the determination and courage you show in overcoming them”.

- - - - -

themolk is a guy. Just some guy. Nothing that special. OK, well maybe kinda special, in that way we all are.

His blog has been hi-jacked of late with all this weight loss stuff, but he is determined to get back to some good old run of the mill blogging about all the other stuff he is interested in - like attempting to be a quality Dad. Like sharing his absolutle love of the art that is music and movies. Like ranting and raving about stupid stuff that most people don’t think is worth ranting and raving about. Like sharing all the geeky things that come out of him professionally. He absolutely loves and adores his two kids and lives in constant amazement that his wife not only puts up with him, but loves him in an entirely generous and unconditional manner (despite all those eye rolls and sighs). His wife often thinks she is raising 3 kids - one of which is 34 - and she is not far wrong.

For now - the weight loss stuff is kinda important, so that’s why he keeps yapping about it.

Wait a minute here… You say you’ve won the war on blogging, yet your Technorati rank is only 68,000ish, your authority is 68, your RSS subscriber numbers are not quite worth publishing, you don’t even post every day, and your Google AdSense income to date is $0! How has LOGICal eMOTIONs won the war?!

Well, I never said I was fighting YOUR war…

Oh, but you’re not fighting a war with your blog? Well, what if we have a look at a few things that make up a war, and see how they fit in terms of blogging.

War: an active struggle between competing entities The competing entities - oh how we love them so. Competition for our time, our thoughts, our feelings, and the list goes on. Every day there is a competition over whether we blog today or not, and sure, many have made the comittment that they will post every single day without question. Great - is every day a breeze? Anything ever compete for your time? Absolutely! Heck, things compete for our time when we need to do necessary things like, well, laundry.

The ’struggle between competing entities’ is constantly changing in our lives. The entities that are competing right now to read (or not read) this post, likely won’t be the same two entities in struggle a year from now, a month from now, or even next hour.

Anyone who has ever run a blog, has at some point, struggled with getting a post published, and the reason was because there were simply competing entities - war. We can all likely look at the score card so far to see when posting has won, and where something other than posting has won.

Battle: (struggle) an energetic attempt to achieve something What are we trying to achieve with our blogs? Are you passionate about it?
Have you ever written a post that you were not passionate about? If you did, you’re better off just to go delete it now from your blog and consider it a lesson learned. For LOGICal eMOTIONs it is a continual battle to make sure that the posts that are published are in line with that which I am trying to achieve, and that on a core level there is a passion or energy that is stirred within.

Ok, sounds rather odd (writes rather odd too), however, to post anything on a blog that is not in line with that which you are trying to achieve, is to do your blog, yourself, and your readership a great disservice.

Battles are not a bad thing, and if it could be achieved easily, you would have already.

Weapon: a means of persuading or arguing So what’s your preferred weapon? Oh come on now, you know you have a preferred method of persuasion - should we ask our fellow bloggers and see what they say? For me, I tend to wield logic as a first strike, but will sometimes wrap it in humor first if it looks like it’s going to do some damage upon impact… My issue, I know… With a blog title of LOGICal eMOTIONs, I’m not sure how logic couldn’t be a major component in my arsenal, and I’m ok with that.

Each one of us has a ‘means of persuading’ which we do naturally and instinctually. Our entire blogs are attempts at persuading our readers to our own point of view. If you were to look at the top 5 or 10 blogs that you read regularly, do they not each use a unique weapon that is a means of persuading or arguing with you as you read? Of course they do - and so do you!

Some use logic, humor, conversation, or even story telling as means of persuading or arguing.

Where we run into challenges with our weapons is when we try to use something else that we are less than proficient at. Think of martial arts masters who will begin training with a certain weapon and not change to a different one until the current one is mastered. Slowly over time our arsenal and skill with each weapon increases which allows us to be more effective with our views and ideas.

Tactics: specific techniques or actions developed by the stakeholders used to achieve a planned strategy I do believe that most blogs have at least a basic strategy, and the ones that for whatever reason do not, end up going back to where they came from - the great abyss. The great thing is that the ones that do have a strategy for the existence and growth of their blog, use different techniques and actions to achieve this PLANNED strategy. LOGICal eMOTIONs and I have a very specific strategy that we’re working with, and I can pretty much assure you that nobody else is using the same tactics. (The changes to the template, and tag lines have not been random acts by any means! A small tactic, but a decidedly strategic one..)

The key is establishing the planned strategy, and then identifying the ways to accomplish it. When it comes to tactics, the understanding of the struggle, the energy behind it, and the weapons used all come into play and influence our tactics every moment of our blogs existence. Our knowledge and understanding of each of these areas (and of ‘victory’ which is coming up next) will determine the tactics we use. We all believe in doing certain things to help our blog, and believe in not doing other things.

Victory: success in a struggle against an enemy, opponent, or obstacle Success in a struggle - is there anything more uplifting at a core level?

When we use our weapons effectively, with the correct tactics, applied in battle, in the war that we have chosen to fight, it becomes nearly impossible to not have victory.

Victory for each blog is different and as well it should be. For LE (Logical Emotions), one of the biggest victories is that of having survived the first year. Although it may not seem like much of a victory to many who read this, yet for me, it is one of the biggest ones. LE has been through a few changes over the year, we’ve learned a lot, we’ve used our weapons effectively in battle, and the tactics determined early on have served us well.

Technorati rankings, nor AdSense is a victory to LE. Technorati rankings is not my war, and it likely never will be simply because I do not place much stock in it. AdSense, although is great for some blogs, will also never be part of the war because I firmly believe that the content (posts and comments) of the blog is the opportunity, and not the blog itself.

RSS subscribers on the other hand are immediate victories for every blog. If you have but one subscriber, you have touched the life of someone in some capacity. You will likely never know how, yet the fact that there is one other person reading what you believe to be true, who appreciates the war you are fighting (even though they will likely never know what it is about), can see the battle unfold, recognizes the weapons you use, the tactics you employ, also get to share in the victory. When we have other people who are with you even after all that, can you honestly surrender and take a victory away from someone?

There isn’t one war we fight with our blogs, which also means that there is not one victory either!

For LE and I, we’ve already won the war on blogging, and we’re having a blast!

***

William Tully is indeed the author of Logical Emotions. I recommend a tour of his posts tagged Wordless Wednesdays (if you don’t have your breath taken away by at least one of these photos, I question whether you’re actually alive! :)), and sampling the post Engineered Meanings.

Glad you won this war, Tully!