July 8th…
I’m an introvert. People usually don’t believe me when I state this as a fact, but it’s true. I’m able to laugh and joke and spend time with groups of people for a few hours once in awhile, but I must then take refuge in a quiet room with the lights dimmed to recharge my batteries.
Monday mornings are particularly challenging because my weekends have become busier and more exciting over the past several years. I am an online entrepreneur working alone in front of my computer for three to four hours most days. But the people I care about most are living the Monday through Friday, nine to five lifestyle I walked away from in 2006. In order to be a part of their world I must take a deep breath and venture out into their world on the weekends. I love it, until I don’t. Then I head home to take solace in my sacred space.
This morning is a typical Monday morning for me. I allowed myself to sleep in, which means I did not get out of bed until 5:45. At first I will feel like I am already behind and my business will cease to grow and people will find alternatives to what I have to offer them and…
And then I take a deep breath and slowly slide my feet on to the floor. I think about how fortunate I am to be working from home. After three decades of getting up at 4:30, making the mad dash to let my dogs out, eat breakfast, brush my teeth, take a shower, get dressed, gather my belongings, let the dogs back in, make sure to be in the car no later than 5:30 drive over an hour in horrific traffic, arrive at work, do the work, go on to my other work, and drive home to arrive no earlier than 6:30 and sometimes much, much later than that, let the dogs out, fix something to eat, go to bed by 9, and do it all over again the next day, I finally said goodbye to that life and started my online business.
I make my own hours. I choose the projects I will work on. I decide who I will work with. Lots of “I” has replaced lots of “they” in my life. It is a charmed life. My lack of confidence and low self-esteem has been replaced by the satisfaction of work well done every day.
My Monday Morning Mellow meditation this morning included an emotional tribute to a friend I lost the day before Christmas in 2005. Today would be his 62nd birthday. Tory was a friend since childhood who made a difference in my life. He did not live long enough to have gray hair or to hold my first book in his hands. He was a Renaissance man who never embraced technology but could tell you the times and patterns of the ocean’s diurnal tides. I love you and miss you, Tory. Safe travels on your eternal journey.
My world has expanded as my business has taken me global, both physically and virtually. I have friends and colleagues in every corner of the earth. I spend time every year with family and friends in Europe. At a moment’s notice I hop on a plane and arrive in a foreign land and make new friends. Connie, the introvert who travels the world. I dreamed of this life but never spoke it out loud until becoming an online entrepreneur.
The first year I taught school my class was made up of 5th and 6th grade students from Russia, Mexico, Yugoslavia, El Salvador, Armenia, Guatemala, India, and the United States. Every Friday I would have dinner with the family of one of my students. They were proud to share their culture with me through music, food, customs, language, crafts, art, and more. Little did I know that year would be the training ground that would help me to appreciate the people of our world so deeply and passionately more than do decades later.
My Monday morning is mellow because I am living each moment on my terms. My goal is to serve those in my community, whether they live down the street or on another continent. This is my life’s work that gives me meaning and purpose.
I am Connie Ragen Green, author and speaker and entrepreneur. Oh yes, and introvert who travels the world. Connect with me if you have a burning desire to live life on your terms as an author and entrepreneur.
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July 15th
I was in the third grade when President Kennedy was assassinated in 1963. The principal announced it over the PA (public address) system and her tone was soft and defeated as she shared the news in a gentle way. My teacher, Miss Turk told us to get our things ready. It wasn’t even eleven o’clock but we did as we were told and lined up with our lunch boxes and jackets on that chilly November morning.
The mothers began arriving within minutes, all dressed in floral print house dresses and carrying oversized handbags. Except for my mother, who wore her tight black pants and a shirt with polka dots. My classmates silently got into cars and drove past as we began our walk back home.
Six years later the Apollo 11 moon landing was a big deal in July of 1969. I had turned fourteen that summer and was caught up in my world of friends and events leading up to my freshman year in high school in the fall. Several of us had gathered at the home of a family who had a living room large enough to accommodate twenty people or so. My mother was there as well. The adults sat on the sofa, chairs, and kitchen stools that had all been pushed in closer to the television set; the kids were on the floor and I felt lucky that day to be positioned in front of one of the coffee tables so I had a place to stack my cookies and chips and balance my plastic cup of Kool-Aid as the show began.
It was a show, in my mind at least. I couldn’t fathom going any further than from Los Angeles to Miami at that time, let alone into outer space. It was a show, unlike the “war” show that was on when I got home from school every day. I liked this show because it was more refined; the astronauts were quiet and soft-spoken in comparison to the soldiers and commentators coming at us from Viet Nam.
The astronaut show had begun a year before Kennedy was killed. His speech at William Marsh Rice University in Houston on September 12, 1962 set the stage and introduced the ideas that would change the face of history forever. In less than twenty minutes the American people accepted the challenge, along with the financial burden and the inherent danger and moved forward in a quest for top billing in the race to get to the moon.
It was a video sales letter of sorts, masterfully crafted by speechwriter Ted Sorensen, whom Kennedy referred to as his “intellectual blood bank.” It included a brilliant headline — “This country was conquered by those who moved forward-and so will space.” If you watch the video replay you will see people in the audience physically responding by sitting up straighter in their seats and appearing to listen more attentively.
He gave us a “reason why”, laid out the objections and answered them with the “features and benefits” of what space exploration would entail, and then delivered the line we can remember even if we weren’t alive or aware of what occurred on that day…
“We choose to go to the moon. We choose to go to the moon in this decade and do the other things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard, because that goal will serve to organize and measure the best of our energies and skills, because that challenge is one that we are willing to accept, one we are unwilling to postpone, and one which we intend to win, and the others, too.”
As I watched the moon landing with my friends and their families on that humid August day in 1969 the news commentators reminded us of what we had purchased all those years before. They showed excerpts of JFK’s speech and moved in close for that most memorable twenty seconds. I could hear a few of the parents softly sobbing and some of the women gave each other a hug. I didn’t understand it then but I was witnessing history that would affect my future. We never know where our life will take us unless we take the time to choose and plan and implement the steps we will take to move us from where we are right now to closer to where we would like to be.
Two years later, almost exactly to the day I would be married. I was sixteen and he had been married before, was the father of two toddlers, and had divorced his first wife almost immediately upon his return from Viet Nam so she could marry someone else and leave her children behind. There was no such thing as joint custody in those days, so his parents, my new in-laws had legally adopted the kids and promised he would always be able to see them. He was twelve years older, smoked at least a pack of Marlboro’s each day, and loved me fiercely.
I understood everyone’s concern. They pictured me as a divorced single mother by twenty-one, with toddlers of my own hoisted on my hip, a cigarette dangling from my lips, and a bad attitude about not finishing high school. But I knew better; this relationship was right for both of us. I hadn’t focused so much on the “until death do us part” until he died eleven years later.
My life is a blessed one and I live each day with no regrets. And my memories are vivid as I think back to the times when I had to make a hard choice. Not to enter the space race against the country only mentioned once in that speech delivered in Houston, but ones just as significant in my own life. Watching the moon landing allowed me to dream of greater things than would have been possible otherwise. Marrying at a young age gave me perspective that might have taken another decade or two to manifest. And those two toddlers, along with their children have become the people closest to me for almost a half century, so far.
I’m Connie Ragen Green, author, publisher, entrepreneur, and collector of life experiences. Find out more at https://ConnieRagenGreen.com.
MOON – 50 days – https://www.fastcompany.com/section/50-days-to-the-moon
https://er.jsc.nasa.gov/seh/ricetalk.htm – JFK speech – Sept. 12, 1962
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July 22nd
The words rang loud and clear and pierced through to the heart…
“Go back where you came from!”
It’s the first week in August of 1986 and my first year as a classroom teacher. I was assigned a 5th/6th grade split and happy to have the job. Even though I had been a substitute teacher for several months during the previous school year I had no idea what it would be like to be the leader and at the helm in my own classroom.
I’d imagined an idealistic setting where everyone loved to read and learn. I would begin the new school year the way I had taught school to my stuffed animals as a child. They each sat attentively and waited patiently for my direction and instructions. Before the week was out my real life, human students were unkind to one another to the point where I finally I had to stop teaching my lesson to address the issue.
“What’s going on here?” I asked in a serious and authoritative tone.
“They’re telling us to go back where we came from,” came a voice I couldn’t recognize.
I feigned ignorance to get closer to them.
“You mean like go back to the play yard or the lunch area?”
They ignored my feeble attempt at humor and proceeded to school me.
“No, Mrs. Green, like go back to our country.”
I stood perfectly still and looked down at the linoleum floor. The silence was deafening as I chose to wait them out. It was a skill I had learned while selling new and used Toyota’s the previous summer. The first one who speaks, loses. It would not, could not be me. Not this time when the stakes were so high.
A little voice spoke up from the back of the room. In broken English Olivia took a tiny step forward and our eyes met.
“They think we are not better and we must go back to our home country.” Her voice was shaky and I focused on maintaining my composure.
“What country are you from, Olivia?”
“I come from El Salvador.” She stood up a little straighter and her voice deepened.
“I come from El Salvador also, Mrs. Green.”
It was Mario. He was proud of his heritage and it showed in his smile.
I took a long stride forward into the center of the classroom and addressed them. I focused on making eye contact while I spoke and turned my body slowly from right to left to see everyone.
“My family is from England and Ireland and Austria. Those countries are in Europe. I haven’t been there and I don’t know anyone there, but that is where my people come from. I was born in America; in Burbank, about a half hour car ride from here.
Two of my girls loudly whispered that they knew where Burbank was.
I smiled a confident smile. They were talking about this sensitive subject. With me. Please, God don’t let anyone from the office or another class come to our classroom right now. I need this time with my students.
“Who else wants to share where they are from, or where your family came from?”
Hands raised. Murmurs from the back of the room moving towards me like an ocean wave dancing in to the shore. The serious tone has lifted. I glance at the clock to make sure we have enough time to hear everyone. These are children who have not been heard during their short lives and this is their moment.
They were from Mexico and the Philippines and Armenia and India and Guatemala and Yugoslavia.
Dustin raises his hand. I nod to acknowledge him. “My father was born in France.”
“Have you visited there?”
“No, but I want to. I want to meet my grandmother and my cousins.”
I let a full minute pass before speaking. The kids are shifting and rocking back and forth from their right feet to their left. I am cautiously optimistic we will make more progress before this moment passes.
“So it seems like nobody is really from here – America. Even for those of us born here, like me and Lisa and Roberto, we all have parents or grandparents who were born somewhere else. So should we all go back to where we came from?”
This is a bold statement on my part and one that requires time to absorb. No one will make eye contact with me. Another half minute passes.
“Wait, I have a thought. The only people who are truly from the United States are the native American Indians. Does anyone here have Indian blood coursing through their veins?”
Some of the girls grimace when I mention blood. And before I can say another word a small, blonde-haired, blue eyed boy steps forward.
“My Mom is one-half Navajo Indian. She was born on the reservation in Arizona and lived there until she married my Dad and had me and my little brother.”
He stands tall and proud, looking straight ahead at some point on the wall and prepared for what anyone might say. I catch him glancing over at me to read my face for a reaction.
“Aaron, you can stay. Do we all agree that Aaron has the right to stay here because he is from America?”
Everyone speaks at once. Yes, they understand this line of thinking. One of the boys steps forward to shake Aaron’s hand and another boy slaps him gently on the back.
“So, Aaron, what do you think? Should the rest of us all go back to where we came from or where our family came from? Is that the right thing to do?”
Without hesitation he faces his classmates and says,
“Everyone should stay. America is where we stay and belong.”
My eyes welled up but I kept it together to see this moment through. The kids took their seats, I went on with the math lesson, and then we ended for the day. There was no more discussion of what we had talked about and everyone appeared to be getting along, at least as much as I could see from my adult perspective.
I wish I could tell you there were no more confrontations or clashes that school year around race or ethnicity or religion, or socioeconomic status or anything else, but that would not be the truth. Our school represented a microcosm of our country and we all saw and heard much that school year.
Remind to tell you about the time I broke up a nasty fist fight between two boys, one black and one Puerto Rican. That ended with the three of us reciting the Lord’s Prayer right outside of the classroom while the other students worked on their algebra assignment. Hard to believe I lasted as an employee with the school district for nineteen more years before resigning to become an entrepreneur.
I’m Connie Ragen Green, former classroom teacher turned author, publisher, and entrepreneur. Please allow me to serve you in any way that makes sense for your lifestyle design and goals.
Next…
“In or out?” deadpans the OB-GYN, thrusting a gown and mask towards me.
My friend Mary needs a C-Section after a brutal twelve hours of labor. The head nurse has determined this is the only viable solution. Her first child was born C-Section and she was told that wouldn’t be necessary this time.
Mary and I teach at the same school and have become close friends. I am invited to the birth under two conditions. No camera and no talking.
I node and extend my arms out as a nurse efficiently dresses me for the next steps in this incredible journey.
She is carefully sliced open with the expertise of a chef cutting open a ripe melon. The organs are placed gently above and below he navel and after three minutes a perfectly pink human is extracted and held up to the light. There is no cry, no words, no sound as someone wraps the baby and takes her out of the room.
The organs are replaced in reverse order and she is stitched up. My friend looks like a dead body left on the side of the road and I am ushered out of the delivery room and into the hallway.
“Do you want to see her?”
It’s Matt, Mary’s husband. I nod, continuing to maintain my silence as per her request.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jaron_Lanier
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Khene
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it wasn’t as easy decision, but nothing life changing ever is
Making the decision to leave my teaching job and then following through with it was not an easy one, though it may come across that way in my writing. It was a two year long process where I planned and questioned and made every effort to learn as much as I possibly could before turning in my classroom key to the office manager on June 30th, 2006.
There was also the final closing for the real estate business I had worked so diligently to build up since 1983. On the Monday after the long 4th of July holiday weekend I placed the key in the hands of the young couple who finally owned a home.
One person turns in a key and another receives one, and lives are changed in the process. 7 grams (.25 ounce) felt so heavy in my hand and my key ring was light as a feather as I walked to my car in the scorching heat on that last day as a classroom teacher.
With these two pieces of my life altered forever, I sat in front of my computer every day during that summer of 2006, wondering what to do to earn some income. I’d only earned $21.60 so far. There was no social media back then and I knew not a soul who could help me.
It’s very different for you, though you may not be aware of how fortunate you are. And you may not see the path that will unfold for you if you are willing to take even the smallest action steps each day. Consistent forward movement builds a lucrative business.
I’m here to be your guide; your trusted advisor; a listening ear; your muse. I do not take any of these roles lightly, as you will soon learn if you don’t know me already.
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There was a farmer who grew excellent quality corn. Every year he won the award for the best grown corn. One year a newspaper reporter interviewed him and learned something interesting about how he grew it. The reporter discovered that the farmer shared his seed corn with his neighbors. “How can you afford to share your best seed corn with your neighbors when they are entering corn in competition with yours each year?” the reporter asked.
“Why sir,” said the farmer, “Didn’t you know? The wind picks up pollen from the ripening corn and swirls it from field to field. If my neighbors grow inferior corn, cross-pollination will steadily degrade the quality of my corn. If I am to grow good corn, I must help my neighbors grow good corn.”
So is with our lives… Those who want to live meaningfully and well must help enrich the lives of others, for the value of a life is measured by the lives it touches. And those who choose to be happy must help others find happiness, for the welfare of each is bound up with the welfare of all…
-Call it power of collectivity…
-Call it a principle of success…
-Call it a law of life.
The fact is, none of us truly wins, until we all win!!