Tag: philosophy

Why I Write

Last week, I had an interaction with someone on Facebook that made me stop and seriously question why I write. The original post, a personal introduction in a group for people with the same Myers-Briggs Personality Type (MBTI), was made under my Facebook profile designated for this blog, The Curated Man. I have a personal Facebook profile as well, but that is used for my friends and family. I use my personal profile to post about personal things. You know, stuff about my kid, my wife, baseball, barbecue (real bbq…smoking and such). Things I won’t post about in a group with over 100,000 members.

While my introduction was widely met with warm welcomes, one person commented with a single word, “Advertisement.” Immediately realizing that they perceived my posting with my Curated Man profile as promoting my writing efforts, I tried to offer them an explanation in hopes that it would relieve the skepticism they might hold about my intentions. I receive no compensation for my little blog. They weren’t willing to concede ground on their assessment of me. I don’t judge them for being wary. However, the interaction did spur me into thinking more intently about the reasons I write.

The primary reason I write is completely selfish. It is a cathartic experience for me. It’s cheaper than therapy. In its simplest form, it is a journal. It allows me to take the random thoughts racing through my head, organize them in a coherent fashion, and create something tangible. It is my feeble attempt at artistic expression. If nobody reads what I write, that’s ok. I’ve still created something that is a reflection of me and the world we live in.

The second big reason that I choose to write is more altruistic. We live in a connected society, as much as some people wish they didn’t. Many are on a journey of trying to understand the world and themselves within that world. My family is well-versed in my experiences and philosophy, only able to withstand small doses of my ramblings. The reality is that most people are not interested in what I have to say. I’m fine with that. But maybe, out there somewhere, is someone on a journey similar to my own. With over 8 billion people on this planet, maybe there are some out there that could benefit by reading a few of my words. Statistically, there have to be at least 20 people out there that meet that criteria. So, for those who might stumble upon my little WordPress blog, I put my thoughts out into the world in hopes that it might in some way help them.

There is another reason I write. It’s another reason why I don’t just keep a private journal. As I make my 52nd trip around the Sun, there are countless times when I wish I could ask my parents for their advice. I wonder what they would have thought about a specific situation. I lost my dad when I was 21. I lost my Mom when I was 30. The older I become, the more I wish I had opportunities to know what they thought about life. Things I didn’t have the wisdom to ask when I was younger. One day, my daughter will likely find herself in the same position. How nice would it be if I could go back and read about what my parents thought about life? So, in that spirit, I will continue to string words together and commit my thoughts to a state of digital immortality. One day, after I’m gone, my daughter will at least have an opportunity to read about my thoughts.

I enjoy writing. There were times when I thought I could make a little extra money with my writing. I soon realized that in the blogging world, making money requires creating a lot of material. It requires consistently pumping out copious amounts of content, all in an effort to stay on the forethought of peoples’ minds. I soon found myself dreading the whole experience. What I created wouldn’t resonate with me. There was no joy. As a result, I decided not to use my blog in that manner. Perhaps one day, I’ll decide to write a book. Maybe, I won’t. As long as I still feel a spark of inspiration which occasionally results in a few paragraphs worthy of sharing, I’ll be just fine.

So, if you see me on social media as The Curated Man, know I’m not there for any purpose other than to interact with people. It means I chose to keep a little piece of myself reserved for those with whom I’ve developed some kind of relationship in the past. It’s merely a partition between my personal self and my less personal self.

Thoughts on Success

Are you successful? It’s a loaded question, isn’t it? How do you define success? Dictionary.com offers multiple definitions. It is, “the favorable or prosperous termination of attempts or endeavors; the accomplishment of one’s goals.” It’s also defined as, “the attainment of wealth, position, honors, or the like.” One is intrinsically personal, based on an individual’s endeavors. The other is contingent on a societal status, as viewed by others. Both are valid definitions. But do they carry equal weight, when your story is told? The answer to that question is likely driven by what you value.

Hopefully, one day, people you have known will gather around and reflect on your life. You won’t be there in physical form, but make no mistake that you’ll be there. People will look back upon your works, and they will evaluate you. Were you successful? I know this because I’ve attended many gatherings of this nature. When we die, how will we be remembered? I’ve been to memorial services and funerals where the reflection of others centered on the latter definition of success. I’ve been to services where the nicest thing said about the departed was that they were successful at work. They met the second definition of success, but nothing was offered up to demonstrate their success by the first definition listed above.

I don’t want you to get the wrong impression. I’m not saying that the second definition of success, which I refer to as status success, is bad. I’ve attained a small portion of it myself. I’m not ashamed of it, but when I leave this world, it’s not how I want to be measured. It will only be one of my endeavors in life. It does not speak of what I did to obtain that status. I can also say that when I measure my own success, I have derived little or no joy from accomplishments directly related to status success. If any happiness has been found in those efforts, it has been fleeting. For me, status success is more a means to achieve a broader meaning of success.

When it’s time for the people who know me to come together to remember and measure me, I hope no time is spent talking about my career or the material success I may have encountered along the way. Did I treat people well? Did I try to be a better human being each day? Was I aware of my shortcomings? Did I use my voice in the furtherance of others? Was I a helper? Did I love and was I loved in return? When I feel like I’ve accomplished any of those goals at the end of any given day, that is when I feel the most happiness. If you gather around in my memory, that is the yardstick I would want you to use to determine if I was successful, or not.

A Jagged Little Pill

I like to consider myself a lifelong learner. I will never be finished, and in spite of my preferences to have finality in pretty much all aspects of my life, I’ve grown more and more comfortable with that reality. When I reflect on what I’ve learned in these 50 years, I’m resigned to admit that I have very little figured out in life. What is easier for me to see, is how I’ve learned throughout the years. It’s no secret that I value my formal education. More than anything, that exposure has taught me how to critically think about life and the many issues we encounter living as socially interdependent life forms. Just as valuable, have been the lessons learned outside of an academic setting. Each relationship I’ve had and every life lesson I’ve experienced, has contributed to who I am today. For better, or for worse, we are all to some extent, products of our environment and our experiences.

This past weekend, I received a reminder of what is perhaps the finest teacher outside of our own personal experiences. Something which manifests itself, with few exceptions, exclusively from the minds of human beings. It offers humanity a mirror, which we gaze upon to see ourselves in others. We see the beauty of this world. We see the world through the eyes of its creator. It can distract us by capturing our imagination, even if ever so briefly, providing our minds with a respite from the cruelty and pressures of our day to day struggles. And when done really well, it can make us terribly uncomfortable. This teacher, after all, is merely showing us our own lives, offering us a chance to step out of our own thoughts, and into another’s. And our minds are undeniably messy. This teacher goes far beyond the simple employment of logic. Logic is cold and void of an essential element we possess as humans; Emotion.

This teacher used to be conspicuously present in our schools. It is unfortunate that it has slowly been forced out of the academic realm, especially in the world of public education. For one reason or another, we have slowly stopped placing value on the importance of this medium of learning. You cannot balance a ledger with it. To see it’s value, you have to look under the surface, peeling away the superficial materialism that seems to envelope our busy, imperfect lives we lead. It is impossible to replicate it with Artificial Intelligence, due simply to the fact that it requires the essence and perspective of another human being. If you haven’t deduced the name of this teacher as of yet, I will eliminate any further suspense. I’m talking about Art. I’ve intentionally capitalized the word here, as it’s the least I can do to communicate the power this teacher holds, with the appropriate amount of deference.

This past weekend, I was fortunate enough to catch the Tony Award winning musical Jagged Little Pill, inspired by the music of Alanis Morissette. If you’ve read my recent series about the soundtrack of my life, you’ll know that her songwriting, her art, holds profound meaning to me. Though I’ve never met her, and likely never will, I consider her a kindred spirit. While the show employs the music she’s created, and so many love, the story created for this musical is equally powerful. My family and I had the opportunity to see it in 2022, as it debuted as a national tour in Las Vegas, a relatively short drive from our home in Phoenix. I loved the show, but as great art does, it made me incredibly uncomfortable. The story deals with the struggles of living as a family, acceptance of others, addiction, and love. But the most uncomfortable story arc for me addresses sexual assault and it’s far reaching impact it has on our society. Knowing what to expect from the show, I thought I would be less uncomfortable seeing it for a second time. I was absolutely wrong.

Without giving too much of the story away, as I would urge you all to see the show yourselves, the story addresses the sexual assault of a young woman by an acquaintance and the trail of damage that impacts the lives of those around her. Specifically, a witness to the sexual assault grapples with the fact that he saw it happen and did nothing to stop it while it was occurring, and stayed silent in its aftermath. And though I’ve never found myself in that specific situation, when I looked into the mirror that day, I saw far too many situations in my life where I didn’t stand up for what is right. There were so many times where I didn’t possess the courage or the empathy to do what I knew was just. To speak up for the marginalized. Once again staring into this mirror, I was forced to recognize the times I failed those that counted on me. Art, while distracting me and capturing my imagination with the beauty of those really good songs (or in the words of my 16 year old daughter…those Bops), it somehow managed to tap into a part of me I’m not proud of. That discomfort, while unpleasant as it was being experienced, was very fine a teacher.

I know I’m not the same person I was when I was younger. I possess enough grace to have forgiven myself for my missteps and indiscretion of my youth. I know that for all the growth I’ve experienced, I will once again fall short of the ideals I try to live my life by. I know that as hard as we try, every human carries around a little bit of hypocrisy. But that’s not the point. The point is that Art, and the emotional wallop it can deliver, was an important part of my efforts to be a little bit better of a person today, than I was yesterday.

Art can be a mechanism to escape. It can be a distraction. It can lift us up. It can bring us together. It can make us embarrassingly uncomfortable. It can do all of that in a matter of minutes. It is the best mirror we have. As much as some people try to fight it, we are social animals. I’m almost certain our species would not be here today if we weren’t so interdependent on each other. Art offers us the ability to step out of our own mind, into the mind of somebody else, and back again. It provides us a medium to understand each other, and I know of no better mechanism to allow us to do just that. Art is important. It’s just as important as science. It should be valued as such by our society.

Support Art. Support artists. Seek it out. Create it yourself. Advocate for the funding of Art in our public schools. You were built for its consumption. It benefit us all, whether we realize it or not.

The Unmasking of a Highly Sensitive Person

“GET YOUR GLOVE ON THE GROUND!” This was the refrain from my little league coach. At 12, I had just spent my first year in school, in the small town my parents had moved us to. During my brief number of years, I had lived and breathed baseball. Nobody needed to tell me to make sure my mitt was touching the dirt, when fielding a groundball. You have to keep the ball in front of you. It’s a fundamental rule. That day, however, I had let a string of five or six grounders go between my legs, to the aggravation of my coach. The more I told myself not to let the next one through, the more anxious I became. Eventually, I lost my composure and just started crying. I had tried to hold it back, but the harder I tried, the more difficult it became.

In retrospect, this is the first time I remember being confronted with an undeniable truth; I was a sensitive person. I spent the next 30 years trying to change what I, and apparently others, believed was a fault. I was too sensitive, especially for a guy. I did not like the fact that I felt deeply about some situations and struggled in environments that my peers did not seem to struggle with. I wasn’t about to tell anyone about how I cried when I watched the movie E.T. There was no way anyone would know how devastated I had become when I first experienced a broken heart in high school. As a police officer, how could I tell my peers that sometimes at the end of my shift, I would just sit in a dark room and cry until my body physically prevented me from going on. I didn’t let on that I couldn’t stand to look at photos of crime scenes or autopsies, at the risk of becoming sick to my stomach, not with disgust, but with empathy. I was battling what we now know as the Toughness Myth. 

In 2014, I stumbled upon the book The Highly Sensitive Person by Elaine Aron. While reading it, I immediately identified with nearly every indicator of a highly sensitive person. I struggled with receiving critical feedback. I became overwhelmed in certain environments. I took on the feelings of the people around me. I was easily moved by emotion. All of the characteristics I had come to believe were my faults or defects, were listed out right in front of me, clear as day. I was hopeful that the book would give me suggestions on how I could become less sensitive. If I had the right tools, I could surely learn to stop taking things so personally. After finishing the book, I was initially disappointed because it offered no practical ideas on how to stop being sensitive. It seemed as if this trait was simply a part of who I was. However, there was some comfort in hearing that about 20 to 30 percent of the world’s population are also classified as highly sensitive. 

Unfortunately, knowing that I was highly sensitive provided me little solace. I still felt compelled to mask my sensitivity, due to the Toughness Myth. In 2015, I left public service to start working in the private sector. Part of me thought that leaving the world of law enforcement and child welfare behind, the Toughness Myth would be less prevalent. I was mistaken. When receiving feedback from my leaders or peers, it all centered on one central point. I could become too emotional. I tried to explain that when I felt deeply about something, it could come across as being possibly confrontational, when in fact it was just deep feelings about things that others may not feel deeply about. Unfortunately, the more my motives were misunderstood, the more frustrated I would become. It seemed that trying to tell people about my high sensitivity was actually having the opposite effect. This, in turn, caused me to keep my sensitivity hidden safely away from all but those closest to me. Knowing that my sensitivity was something I could not change did little to prevent me from continuing to see it as a fault and a liability. 

Fortunately, I am a man of self-reflection. I have a rich and vibrant inner world of thought that I use to navigate the world. It’s no surprise that this is also a trait of highly sensitive people. I started learning more about highly sensitive people. I put a name to the Toughness Myth. I began to take the advice of other highly sensitive people and stop trying to change the fact that I was sensitive, unable to do so any more than I could change my height. I’ve come to recognize that the very trait that has caused me so much frustration in the past, is also responsible for some of my greatest gifts. The same sensitivity that causes me to dislike many stereotypical male endeavors (e.g. violent movies and extremely violent sports) is responsible for my ability to empathize with others so easily. My deep feelings about fairness, that others perceive as me being overly emotional, are what has allowed me to connect with those I’ve led, so effectively. That same sensitivity has allowed me to see beauty in the world, when others may only see chaos. I feel deeply, and that’s just who I am. 

So, why am I sharing this information with you? There’s no one, singular reason. It is partly due to the desire for people to better understand me, and other highly sensitive people. It also offers me the opportunity to reach other highly sensitive people, with a message of hope. After all, it’s likely that 1 in 3 people who read this are also highly sensitive people, whether they realize it or not. It is equally as likely for men to be highly sensitive as it is for women, breaking another leg of the Toughness Myth. And of course, with most of my writing, it serves as a cathartic experience for me. This is the next step in the acceptance of my sensitivity.

So there it is. The mask is off. I am a highly sensitive person. It is not a character defect. It is, like with all other natural gifts, imperfect. Of course, it is not superior to other gifts people may have. Being highly sensitive is no better or worse than what would be classified as a “normal” level of sensitivity. It is simply a part of who I am and how I experience the world, as is the fact that I’m an introvert and that I have fair skin. It is responsible for my appreciation of nature and all things beautiful. Some people may not understand the concept, whether because of the Toughness Myth or lack of a frame of reference due to their own level of sensitivity. But it should not be squirreled away. The world needs more sensitivity, not less; and I am here for it.

Quail and the Brittlebush

It’s April in Arizona.  The Sonoran Desert is in full bloom, her Spring borne, verdant hue cloaking the brutal reality she holds inside.  The ginger petals of the desert globemallow invite one in with promises of an elusive respite, only to reveal its arid certainty.  The brittlebush with her bright yellow blaze deceives a seasonal observer, knowing she will disburden her vibrancy once the brutal Summer makes itself known.  The temporary explosion of verdure is undeniably elusive, yet a finer beauty is intractable to chance upon.

All around, the world proves more uncertain, each day.  In a season of beauty, rebirth and consorting, we find ourselves isolated by the cold reality of a global blight.  A species rooted in social interaction finds itself in confinement, a cruel division from an otherwise communal world.  I wonder what nature knows of our trials.  Does the wise owl notice the mighty human, the apex predator, burrowed in their stucco-covered nests, sequestered for the safety of themselves and their brethren?

Nearby in the flourishing wilds, birds once seen companionless now are seen coming and going two by two.  The curved bill thrasher, once in isolation himself, with his territorial cry of “whit-wheep”, is now heard singing his melodic warble, accompanied by his new mate.  The Towhee now forages the desert floor in advance of his new bride, clawing at the ground to expose its next morsel of nourishment, while she cautiously monitors for a signal of safety, so she can join the hunt for the next unsuspecting earthbound insect.

The quail, who roamed just weeks ago together as a covey, have now paired off, one boy and one girl.  The odd man out now aimlessly wanders the creosote lined dry wash, desperately crowing in hopes of attracting a newly single hen.  If his quest brings him in the proximity of a newly paired couple, the young lady will assertively remind him that she is indeed accounted for, while her companion confidently watches the theatrics.  

Do the quail, towhees and thrashers notice us?  More accurately, do they notice the absence of our presence?  Will they notice the absence of the man-made din once present in the Springs of bygone days?  What will they notice after another journey around the Sun?

There are so many uncertainties that lie ahead.  So many questions that are not just unanswerable about the thoughts of the desert flora and fauna, but answers that are unknown to the wisest of human beings.  What I do know is that beauty and wonder are still all around us, waiting to be observed.  In the midst of the worry, there are promises of resilience to be seen all around.  Just as there is certainty provided to us by the brittlebush and the quail, so too can we be confident that we will again gather together as friends, thriving with a renewed sense of connectedness and social responsibility. When the news around us casts its pall, look for the beauty underneath.  Look for the smaller and better things for the assurance that this too shall pass.

 

Cheese Puffs, Fire and En Vino Veritas

It’s Saturday night, the first day of February 2020.  We live in Phoenix, Arizona; smack dab in the middle of the Sonoran Desert.  While the rest of North America is shut in their homes, huddled around a fireplace and sheltering from the cold of a typical American winter, we saw a high temperature of 74 degrees Fahrenheit.  While the sun is engaged in a never-ending game of hide-and-go-seek with most of the country, she is our constant companion, bathing us in a warmth that becomes the seasonal envy of millions of people.  Torture, I know.

After the sunset this evening, which was a brilliant show of oranges, purples, and reds painted across the horizon, I suggested to my wife that we open a bottle of wine.  To this, she readily agreed.  I then made my way into the desert oasis that is our back yard, started a fire in our fire pit and sat down under the moonlight.  All of this, with the hopes that my wife would soon follow me and we would enjoy a semi-romantic suburban night as we enjoy the best of what the vine has to offer. Things didn’t transpire as I planned, and I couldn’t be happier about it.

As I endeavored into my first glass of wine, I heard my daughter come downstairs and begin a conversation with my wife.  This, in and of itself, was a scenario that has become more and more infrequent, as our daughter refuses to stop growing up and has entered her teenage years.  Straight away, it was apparent that my wife and daughter had taken advantage of some peculiar alignment of the stars.  They were laughing and conspired to spend an evening of ill-advised dinner choices and a new Netflix release.  As I sat alone with my thoughts outside, they were eating cheese puffs and giggling like they were sisters, not parent and child.

As I sat outside alone, watching the flames of my fire lapping at the mild desert night air, I realized that I was right where I needed to be, and my wife was exactly where she needed to be.  While I sat alone by the fire, I was the furthest from being lonely that I could be.  As much as I relish my opportunities to be a couple with my spouse, tonight was a night that I needed to remain on the periphery.  No dad or husband contributions were required this evening, other than recognizing the magic that was happening inside the house.  Yes, I sat alone, but every giggle and statement of nonsense inside the house filled me with a contentment that I seem to be constantly in search of.

As I finish my second glass of wine tonight, relocated from the fire to my study, I set to capture the magic of this evening in this prose.  Though the evening hasn’t taken the direction I originally had chartered, it has none the less drawn me closer to my wife.  I realize that there are times, where the best I can contribute to our family dynamic is to step back and watch the magic develop around me.  I am thankful for this night and for the desert oasis that lives inside my own home.

Inspiration, Authenticity, and 7th-Grade Math

Writing is hard.  To be specific, finding and harnessing the inspiration to write is hard.  Granted, when compared to the more challenging feats of mankind (e.g. building pyramids, quantum physics, 7th-grade math), the prior statement can sound rather silly.  None the less, creating strings and blocks of words that somehow might resonate with the reader of those words is challenging.  As an illustration, I may or may not have just spent three hours composing this said block of words.

The reasons why this feat can seem daunting are as numerous as the reasons 7th-grade math flummoxes me.  To my chagrin, as well as my wife’s, I am not independently wealthy.  Quite simply, to keep my belly full and to fund my girls’ Disney travel dependency, full-time employment is my lot in life.  Add in life’s other obligations like human social interaction, finding the right motivators for a teenager (pretty sure the formula is X=Y+M x 4.21 + nothing works, what am I doing?) and household chores, and there are limited hours left in a day to sit down and make pretty words.

These obligations also leave little time for life’s more enriching moments.  Reading is a writer’s best friend.  Few writers can lay claim to inventing meaningful and profound words.  By and large, we try to recycle the good ones we’ve read somewhere.  I’ve found that I write most freely when I am able to lose myself in some realm of profound thinking. I have learned that profound thought is hard for me to achieve without the presentation of challenging ideas or breathing in the world’s beauty through a writer’s prose. Reading is one of the cornerstones of my own, personal curation.

I also found myself laboring to meet a self-imposed threshold of blog posts.  I was forcing the act of writing, creating content for content’s sake.  Much of what I was writing, both here and on my travel blog, became mechanical and cold.  It often lacked the authenticity required for resonation, offering advice where no advice was solicited.  All of this in the hopes of increasing the readership of my work.  In an effort to reach more people, I altered my own voice.

Life certainly has a way of entrenching itself in front of one’s more admirable pursuits. It has been no different for me these past few months.  It happens in part due to circumstances beyond our control and in no less part due to things that are.  And while this is certainly true with my absence of writing of late, perhaps this retreat has been what I needed to re-learn how to harness that elusive inspiration. Even the most precise instrument requires occasional re-calibration.  So I set forth in an attempt at a more organic writing experience.  I hope you hang around for this next leg of my meandering musings.

 

 

473,040,000 Seconds

473,040,000 seconds. I didn’t know fully what to expect that Summer day when you smiled at me. How could either of us appreciate the journey we were about to embark upon? Our plan was to simply have some fun in life, something we both needed as surely as we needed air to breathe. No, I didn’t know what to expect or what I was getting myself into. It scared me as much as it thrilled me.

Since that moment, I have watched us grow into full-fledged adults. We have laughed and we have done the hard things, neither of us naive enough to believe there aren’t more hard things to endure. The seconds that will follow still scare me as much as they thrill me.

378,432,000 of those seconds have been shared with you, in the grandest experiment to be imagined…parenthood. Part science project and part creation of art, the laughs have outnumbered the tears to this point. Somehow, we have managed to not screw the whole thing up, all the while growing closer to each other.

Neither of us were looking for these sublime seconds that we’ve shared since that Monday in June. Somewhere along the way, quietly and earnestly we decided to keep pulling in the same direction. And pull we have. A strange paradox has been created, where I can remember every one of those 473,040,000 seconds since you smiled at me, though it is difficult for me to imagine a second before, without you.

However we measure our time together, I’m thankful I get to measure it with you.

Are You A Leader? – Your Answer May Surprise You!

From a young age, I have been fascinated by the concept of leadership.  What makes a good leader?  What have renowned leaders done to achieve such regard?  This curiosity pulled me into a lot of informal study of leadership, even if I didn’t recognize that was what I was doing at the time.  Biographies still remain my favorite genre of books, especially those profiling and studying leaders of significance.

This eventually led to the choice of study for my graduate degree, earning a Master of Administration degree with an emphasis in leadership.  I have been fortunate enough to be able to exercise those principles in my occupational journies throughout the years.  More significant though, was realizing that leadership at work was but the tip of the iceberg.  The reality is that my most significant leadership opportunities have existed outside of a conference room.

To some extent, we all exert influence over others in life.  If you needed to break down the meaning of leadership to one word, I would offer that precise definition:  Influence.  And while the principles of leadership are far more complex and nuanced, influence is a fundamental building block. When you look at it from that perspective, it’s easy to see how all of us have the ability to seize an opportunity to display leadership abilities.  This leads me to my question for you…are you a leader?

It’s ok if the answer doesn’t immediately jump out at you.  But I believe it’s a question to spend some time thinking about.  After all, leadership does not equal being the boss.  It doesn’t mean someone gets their way and somebody else doesn’t.  In fact, leadership is about developing and communicating a joint vision and a plan to help you and others to achieve that vision.  Leadership is not a position and carries with it no legitimate authority.  One of the greatest foils of being a leader is selfishness.

With that understanding, I have no issue with saying that I’m a leader of my family.  And in turn, so is my spouse.  We learn from each other every day.  One of my jobs as a father is to take a vision and influence my daughter to see the same things I see.  And one day, to lead her to embrace the confidence to build and communicate her own vision.

So I ask you again…are you a leader?  If your answer is yes, what does that mean to you?  If you’re unsure, what are your thoughts about leadership means?  Share your thoughts by leaving a comment.  I want to hear from you.  As always, thank you for those that have taken the time to follow along and subscribe to The Curated Man.