Non Sequitur #3: Norman Vincent Peale and Happiness

"When I get up in the morning, I have two choices—either to be happy or unhappy, and what do you think I do? I just choose to be happy, and that's all there is to it." -Norman Vincent Peale, "The Power of Positive Thinking"

Positive thinking and I are very rarely seen with one another. I'm one of life's great pessimists when it comes to my own life; it's only in my ardent support of friends that my optimism manifests itself.

If I am pessimistic, expecting the bad to happen, I will not react when the bad things come. After all, I expected them.

It is only when you have positive expectations that you can be let down.

However, in certain cases, Peale may be right. I don't believe simply saying "I'm going to be happy" every morning will get the job done. Peale isn't on the level there.

In life, sometimes we are forced to choose between what will make us happy and what will make us unhappy. It's usually more weighty than that, with morality and ethics coming into play, but at the base level the choice really is happy or unhappy. That's where Peale's simplicity is right.

On occasion, we all deserve to choose to be happy, consequences be damned.

Note that I said "on occasion." Dabbling too much in the "Choose to be happy" pool flirts with becoming Hedonistic or suppliants of Dionysus.

The odd indulgence isn't always a bad thing; some vices are meant to be enjoyed. As Churchill said of Clement Attlee, "He has all of the virtues I dislike and none of the vices I admire." All virtue and no vice ... fill in the rest of the cliche here.

If you don't already, make a choice and carve out a little happy for yourselves.

I promise, you'll be glad you did.

Cliff Rule #37

Cliff Rule #37: Follow your bliss.

For the record, I suppose I must admit that Cliff Rule #37 is a bit derivative, so much so that it was blatantly stolen from some parting advice given by Cher in an episode of Will and Grace.

Yes, I've taken life advice from this woman. In my defense,

she is the only thing other than cockroaches and Twinkies

that could survive a nuclear war. That's worth something.

While I wouldn't buy hair products from the woman, she makes a good point in that advice.

For years, I saw myself being pushed in the direction of becoming a lawyer, mainly by Ms. Liz.

Honestly, it made sense.

I enjoy arguing, persuasion, and theatrics, all of which are essential lawyering skills.

I'm ethically dubious ... yet another essential legal skill.

I did Youth Judicial in high school and was always a lawyer for my team, trying to blend together some high school version of Atticus Finch, Matlock, and Perry Mason all rolled into one. Other than an odd Foghorn Leghorn-esque Southern accent, I dare say I failed at that mission.

Even after I left my law-friendly poli sci major to become an English major, the lawyer mantle was still in the back of my mind.

"You'd be so great at it," the Inner Lawyer said. "What's not to like? Think of the money. Think of the prestige. You'd be a natural."

It bothered me so much that my senior year at Auburn, I actually took the LSAT, just to see what might come of it. I talked to some local lawyers and judges, nice family friends who were happy to talk to me about what I might expect from law school and the legal profession. Several offered to write letters of recommendation and make phone calls.

That was an option. It was dangerously close to being reality.

I thought about it for a long time, prayed over it, and sought counsel.

When none of that worked and I was up nights worrying, I turned to my movies to help me fall asleep.

I popped in "Sister Act 2: Back in the Habit." (What can I say? I love Whoopi and nuns.)

Damn if Whoopi didn't have the advice I was looking for.

I went to my mother who gave me this book called "Letters To A Young Poet" by Rainer Maria Rilke. He’s a fabulous writer. A fellow used to write to him and say: I want to be a writer, please read my stuff. And Rilke says to this guy, don’t ask me about being a writer. If when you wake up in the morning you can think of nothing but writing, then you’re a writer.

When I wake up in the morning, I think about reading and writing.

I wake up and pray that I'll be able to show others the joy and happiness reading and writing have made in my life, inspiring them to read and write more for themselves.

Through reading, we discover more about the world as others see it; through writing, we discover how we see the world ourselves.

I'm an English teacher, the batty kind that will make high school seniors memorize lines from The Canterbury Tales in Middle English.

I am not now, nor have I ever been, a lawyer.

The money would have been nice, but life shouldn't be driven by the pursuit of money. The happiness of doing a job you enjoy can outweigh the pleasures of money.

Ethically dubious though I may be, even I couldn't have made myself defend people or corporations I knew to be in the wrong. I might be a bit of a whore at times, but on larger moral and ethical issues, my compass points due north.

Any good lawyer has to defend the guilty as well as the innocent; that's what makes them good. I know me, and I wouldn't have tried as hard for a guilty client.

There are people out there who are destined to be great lawyers. I'm glad, because I say a lot of crazy things and I may need one of them some day soon.

Don't let the pressures of family, friends, and a logical path push you in a direction that won't make you happy.

Find what you wake up thinking about and do that.

Discover your bliss ... and then follow the hell out of it.

Cliff Rule #26

Cliff Rule #26: From time to time, a little self-affirmational dancing in front of a

mirror to Barry White's "You're My First, My Last, My Everything" is beneficial.

This particular Cliff Rule is one taken from the short-lived but wonderful David E. Kelley series "Ally McBeal." I'm a huge Kelley fan, so I tend to watch any and all

of his shows when afforded the opportunity to do so.

One of the show's main characters, John Cage (played by the incomparable Peter MacNicol) is a quirky fellow with many odd ticks and strange behaviors.

I'm not in Cage's league in terms of quirkiness, but I have always identified a bit

with the character.

Cage suffers from a distinct lack of confidence at times, and, in one of the show's

later seasons, we discover a method he uses to bolster his self-confidence and ego:

Self-affirmational dancing to Barry White music in front of mirrors

in the unisex bathroom.

As crazy as that looks and sounds, it does actually help.

We so seldom take the time to tell ourselves positive things.

We'll gladly heap praise on our friends and peers, but when it comes to saying

something nice about ourselves, we tend to go the self-deprecative route

more often than not.

Mirror dancing, insane though it may seem, reminds you that you should be a

person you care about.

If you can't find value in your own person, you'll be hard pressed to have others

see your value.

I also use Barry White's "You're My First, My Last, My Everything" when doing

my own self-affirmational dancing.

I see no need to improve on Kelley's formula, but that's not to say there aren't

other equally great songs out there for this little scheme.

If Barry White isn't your groove, find someone else.

Use Desree's "You Gotta Be." Use Whitney Houston's "The Greatest Love of All."

Use whatever song brings you joy and contentment.

But, seriously, give self-affirmational dancing a try.

At the very least, you'll get a good laugh and think "Wow, Cliff really is insane."

A New Direction

50 pounds.

It doesn't sound right, but it is. I've seen it.

Over the course of the last 9 months, I've lost a grand total of 50 pounds, down from my all-time high weight of 245.

One morning, I looked up in the mirror and didn't like what I saw, so I resolved to do something about it.

Here I am, 50 pounds lighter and better for it in so many ways. I've dropped a shirt size and a pant size. I can climb stairs without wheezing. I feel better. I look better.

I feel alive again.

I'm not finished with this project yet. There's still a ways to go on that route.

But 50 represents something greater.

50 makes me have to give up one of the most well-loved and used weapons in my arsenal: the Fat Shield. This will be difficult.

The Fat Shield is like family. It's been around since middle school, and it's been a constant companion.

The Fat Shield tells you to make self-deprecating jokes about your weight. They can't call you a fatty if you do it first; it takes the power away from them and establishes you as the de facto "funny guy." Ah, I know that role so well.

The Fat Shield also destroys self-confidence, giving you a self-worth that could fit comfortably in a walnut shell. The Fat Shield is a vampire, feeding off of your pride and leaving you with hopelessness and self-doubt.

Die, vampire, die.

I'm getting back to my fighting weight. I feel like I need some sort of '80s montage music playing while I do it or maybe get Burgess Meredith to yell at me.

With 50 will come more changes, non-weight changes.

Part of losing the Fat Shield means leaving the comfort zone, ridding myself of the old and familiar roles for the promise of a better, more fulfilling life.

It's time for me to live.

It's time for me to do.

"You must be the change you wish to see." - Gandhi

I know what I have to do.

How's about you?

English Major Moment #1

Having a degree in English means that I had the great joy of reading a vast deal of literature. It was, at times, forced on me, but I made it work and found things I could appreciate in each class.

In my case, I spent a majority of my studies within the realm of British literature, so most of my literary tastes are clouded with that bias.

When I can't sleep, as I can't this evening, I turn to the British poets. Today's poison: Tennyson.

From "Ulysses"

It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;

It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,

And see the great Achilles, whom we knew

Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'

We are not now that strength which in old days

Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are, -

One equal temper of heroic hearts,

Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

Cliff Rule #85

Truly, Sir Winston was a litany of things (KG, OM, CH, TD, FRS, PC),

but he was also an OG.

"History shall be kind to me for I intend to write it."

-Winston Leonard Spencer Churchill

Cliff Rule #85: Calls to action never go out of style.

Churchill was a master of manipulating the English language. As Edward R. Murrow said, "He mobilized the English language, and sent it into battle."

In a time of darkness and desperation, a nation sent for that man because he was the only figure who could see them through the horrors of war with the Teutonic menace. He'd suffered their ridicule and scorn, being shouted down in the House of Commons and branded a loon for his continued aggressive stance on Hitler.

When King and country called to welcome him back, he answered boldly and without malice.

He understood his people, their need for a leader, and used the sense of Duty that lay unactivated within the heart of every true citizen of the Realm, the sort of Duty one seldom sees outside of Gilbert and Sullivan operetas. Duty worthy of being capitalized.

As a student of the Prime Minister's speeches, I can tell you that Churchill knew the power of a good call to action. In almost every speech or written document, statements are issued in the declarative in a stern, unwavering tone. "We will" and "We shall" are thrown about, creating a commonality, an unbreakable bond. Every "We must"is a place where vital life knowledge hangs, waiting to found and consumed.

He had the gift.

I'm moderately obsessed with Churchill. One of my most prized possessions is a first edition copy of his only novel, Savrola.

Like it or not, I know he's not only a major influence on my literary life and tastes, but also my odd penchant for calls to action in my own writing.

I can't resist sounding a trumpet or trying to compel some sort of reaction, some sort of rise from my readers.

It's foolish, I know. Print can't convey the raw emotion and physicality needed for an effective call to action. I can write decent words that can occasionally provoke anger, but I can't start a movement. I recognize my limits.

Some words need the power of voice. The written language should, after all, be little more than a guide for how to produce the spoken language. We should read more things aloud, basking in the glow of hearing the ebb and flow of great cries.

Read Malcolm X aloud. Read "The Frogs" aloud (the brekekes and koaxs are quite fun, I must say). Hell, read Goodnight, Moon aloud.

Take power of the written language and know that unless we speak it and claim what's really there, part of literature lies dormant for us. The Voice grants ownership; use the Voice.

...

A call to action.

I told you, I just can't help myself.