Traveling is a "Trip"

One of my favourite activities is traveling.  I once had a job that allowed me to be on the road 40 out of 52 weeks one year, logging over 100,000 air miles.   It was a great learning experience.  The first time I parked my car in a garage at the Dallas airport (DFW) it literally took me well over an hour to find it as I walked through two garages level-by-level on a hot Texas summer night trying to recollect where I last left it.   Every trip since, my parking location is logged in my phone before I leave the garage to go into the terminal. 

I recently had an opportunity to travel to the southeast for a job interview.   The first clue that this trip was going to be different is that I thought I booked a 7:50 a.m. flight when in fact it was a 7:50 p.m. flight.  So I get to the airport at 6:45 a.m. and acquire my ticket through the self-service kiosk and move on to the security checkpoint.  I place my quart- sized bag with my < 3 ounce liquids, my shoes, my watch and my iPad in the grey plastic bin.  A new addition in the process of which the TSA agent informed me now requires removal of belts.  So that got added to the bin as well. 

I was then asked to slip into the “naked” scan machine.  I thought maybe my tanned face and arms from hours spent on the soccer pitch this summer might be the catalyst for the decision to get the full body scan.  Or could it be because I was 12 hours early for my flight?   Then came the pat down.  A touch to the rear discovered my wallet in a back pocket and then came a message to the TSA patter man communicated via his walkie-talkie radio that suggested I was not considered to be a terrorist threat.  I was then released to the open spaces of terminal B to find my flight once I got my shoes and belt back on. 

While looking at the flight schedule on the overhead listing I discovered that there was not a 7:50 a.m. flight.  However, there was an 8 a.m. flight.  I went to the gate to try to get on the 8 a.m. non-stop flight, but it was oversold.  The next flight was at 2:30 p.m., and it too was oversold.  Both were regional jets that seat 37 people.  Why does the airline continuously oversell and then offer $300-400 incentives for a person to take a later flight and give up their seat on the oversold flight?  And they wonder why they financially struggle.  I remained in the airport all day reading a book and walking around.  My wife suggested I leave and return.  I said one pat down was enough, thank you. 

During my stay in the airport I noticed many unaccompanied minors getting off planes and unite with their parents, grandparents or an adult on the approved list.  I got a sense of multiple family dynamics through my observation…close (hugs, excitement), distant (smile, obligatory hug), confounded (kids with divorced parents either coming home or going to spend time with one parent).  I also got a sense that all major airlines should be in the black is because of the sheer number of people who were at the airport.

By 7:50 p.m. the departure gate had already been changed twice and the plane would be delayed for at least an hour.  At 9 p.m. we board the plane after a 3^rd gate change.  The flight was uneventful and I land at 11:30 p.m.  Got my rental car and checked in my hotel at 2 a.m.  Two mid-morning face-to-face interviews allowed me to spend the afternoon checking out the area just in case I have to relocate.  I got to the airport at 4:30 p.m. for a 5:30 p.m. flight to Dallas via Atlanta. 

I went to check in and discovered that my flight to Atlanta had been cancelled.  No one seemed to know why, it just was.  I called the customer service number the customer service rep with a fixed smile provided me to try to get on the later and last flight of the day.  Again, it was a regional jet and was already oversold before this flight had been cancelled.  The customer service rep scheduled me to depart the next day at the same time (5:30 p.m.).  This was unacceptable, especially if I had to stay another night at my expense.  I was determined not to spend another full day singing the airport blues.  I informed the customer service agent that his company was costing me money and that I would refuse to fly on that carrier again.  I got a 5:30 a.m. flight that would get me in Dallas around 9:30 a.m.  I have been on flights that were cancelled, but the airline put me on the next available flight or sent me to another carrier that had a flight going to the same destination on the same day.  This was my first cancelled flight that was an overnight layover.

I had just turned in my rental car and had to find a room for yet another night.  All the rental car companies except one were out of cars available to rent.  The agent at the rental car company knew my situation and subsequently charged me a pricy rate for a compact car with manual door window control and manual door locks.  One night with that car cost me more than the 4-door Chevy truck with power windows and locks I rented the day before.  They saw me coming J.

I arrive at the airport at 4:45 a.m. the following morning and breeze through security, even as I forgot to take off my watch.  I move on to the lower level of the terminal and head for the gate.  As soon as I reach the gate, we get the message that the gate has changed and we have to go back upstairs to the lobby level.  The flight to Atlanta was quick and the layover was long enough for me to get from one terminal to another with 10 minutes to spare before we boarded the next plane.  The flight attendants on both flights were great as were the pilots, but if I want my next trip to go without a hitch, I think I’ll pass on flying the D airline if I have a choice.  The best part of the trip turned out to be on the terminal train in Dallas as I was going to the terminal where I left my car 2 days earlier.  On the train, were band members with their instruments wearing their tour gear and I thought one of their signature songs “That’s the Way I Like It” could be the theme song for the customer service training I could put together for the airline.  What a trip!

Who Are You?

There is no bone in the chimpanzee body that I don’t share nor is there no known part of the immune system, digestive system, vascular system, lymph system or nervous system that I have and a chimpanzee does not and vice versa.  We are only 2-5% different in genetic structure from chimpanzees.²   I am who I am.  Who are you? 

The aged old debate goes on as to whether nature (genetics / heredity) is more significant than nurture (environment) in shaping who we become and are.  My life experiences suggest that the environment is crucial in the early developmental years…cultural adaptation, values formation, and behaviour patterns while hereditary influences include physicality, propensity for disease or illness, and intelligence that carry forward from cradle to grave.    

I recently started delving into my past to learn about my genetic past.  I took a long leap backward and participated in the National Geographic Genographic Project and submitted my DNA to see which group(s) my ancestor’s belonged to as they migrated out of Africa as far back as 60,000 years ago.  I ponied up the money for a dual report…maternal and paternal.   Only males can participate in getting both because of possessing the X & Y chromosomes.  It was not a big surprise that both sets of my ancestors trekked north to Europe. 

My wife’s maternal family tree is traced back to the 1600’s with origins in United Kingdom.  Her distant relatives were among the first Europeans to inhabit this great nation on the east coast.  Apparently the research related to this tree has been in the making for many years by a number a people.  The further you delve into the history of a family it becomes really interesting to see the linkages and how closely connected we are.  My wife has some kinship to the infamous Lizzie Borden in her tree, so I have learned to sleep even more lightly since I have learned that bit of information J.   I expect her father’s family to also have originated from the U.K. with a name like Blackford.  My son can be safe and secure wearing the England national team football jersey.

With the help of my cousin and his wife we were able to start piecing things together to get some sort of visualization of our family history on my father’s side.  It has been an interesting journey.  In my quest, I learned that my surname today is not spelled the same as it was yesterday.  For example, my last name is spelled La Combe, my grandfather’s native name was Lacome, but changed it to LaCombe circa 1943.  Records indicate his name was Lacome when he was elected to the Colorado State House of Representatives in the early 1940’s, but appears that he changed it soon thereafter. 

That has been one of many hurdles in my attempt to discover my ancestral history.   I recently finished a biography of a frontiersman who lived in the vicinity where my parents and grandparents lived which gave an accounting of life during the time Colorado was part of the New Mexico territory¹.  It was a raw, rugged and rough existence.  Survival in this land required courage to fend off threats from nature and other people.  As a consequence of the locale and times, there were untimely deaths that afforded more than one spouse during a lifetime and the adoption of children.  These events have created a challenge of ensuring relations in the attempt to complete the puzzle. Then there are a few whose names we know through oral history, but records of their existence are barely evident.  We’ve traced the Lacome name back to France, but the fathers before me with that name in the U.S. were given Spanish first names…Juan, Francisco, Guillermo.   Really?  Go figure.  My generation from the Lacome/LaCombe/La Combe family of whom I am associated with broke the Spanish first name tradition.  

For many families living in the San Luis Valley and north central New Mexico prior to the 20^th century most of the women were named Maria or Josefa and the boys were Juan, Joseph, Jesus or Jose.   We have found the middle names to be critical in identifying which Maria among 5 in a family was in fact my great great… grandmother.  I also found people from different clans with the same surname marrying each other.   One branch led to origins from Spain, which is perceived to be more prestigious than having origins from Mexico in some parts of the world.  That is just on my dad’s side.  I expect twists and turns on my mom’s side since some of her family moved often before finally establishing roots in Colorado.

I truly enjoy learning who my forefathers and foremothers were and finding that one bit of information that gets me to the next generation.  Once you get started it becomes addicting.  I can trace one branch of my family back at least 7 generations in this country to early 17^th century, or over 100 years before our independence.  In fact, one of my great…great grandfathers was a conquistador and one of the original settlers in New Mexico who was beheaded in 1643 because of his relationship with the Governor of the New Mexico.  I have found traces of Spanish, French, English, German, Dutch with probably some Mexican and Native American tossed in for good measure in my ancestry.  

In a multi-cultural world what does it mean to be Spanish, French, English, German, etc., beyond cultural and geographic differences?   As an American, does it matter where our ancestors originated?  Is there any cultural relevance from an ancestral group after being removed 3 generations or more?    In the end, the scientific reality is that we as a people began the journey of life in Africa starting with 2 people and that makes us all kin to one another…who knows, the person you marry may be your 13^th cousin…just as long as it not your first or second, even if it might be legal J. 

Sources:

1.     Perkins, J. E. (2005).  Tom Tobin: Frontiersman.  Adobe Press; Monte Vista, CO.

2.     Ridley, M.  (1999).  Genome:  The Autobiography of a Species in 23 Chapters. Perennial Harper; New York.

My Age Gauge

Ever since I could remember I was faster than the average person.  I was able to learn and pick up things faster than most.  I was almost always the kid with the most pace on the playground or in a sporting event.   My hands were quicker than all the boxers I met in the ring.  This not to say that my speed made me a great scholar or athlete, it just allowed me to compete with others who were a bit slower, but had different valuable gifts or better technical skills.  This gift of quickness was my benchmark in comparing myself to others, especially when I matched up with them on the soccer pitch.  It was what I used to determine my age in a physical sort of way.  My pace earned me the moniker Cheetah, and that eventually became the name of the teams I managed or coached.

I played soccer over 15 years as an adult.  I had incredible pace and as a result became a center forward whose main task was to score goals for my team(s).  My teammates would make long passes that would allow me to run after the ball (Greyhound mentality).  It should be known, that I dislike running, especially when not accompanied by my iPod.  However, if you place a soccer ball in front of me, I can run and run and run and love it.  On many occasions for a decade of more I would catch up to the ball sent in front of me and either get tripped by the defender trying to track me down or would increase my distance of separation and allow my opponents to see #13 on the back of my jersey as I inched closer to the goal.  At 35 years old, I was out running 18 year olds on the pitch.  I felt 15 years younger.

Something happened at the age of 38.  I could still run fast and keep up with everyone, but I was no faster than the young guns that I used to pass by.   Four years later, I lost a second step.  I could out run 30 year old guys, but not those 25 or younger.   The gap between my chronological age and my imagined physical fit age narrowed.  I took a couple of years off and at age 45 I joined a team where I was 10 years older than the next oldest player on the team.  At that point in my life I was not physically fit and carried 15-20 more pounds than the last time I had played.   About every 3^rd game that season, I looked like I could run with the pack and keep up.  The rest of the season was spent on defense playing catch up and tending to arthritic knees.  It became more pain than pleasure, so I hung up my boots after that season and continued to play indoor and coach my son’s club soccer team.

Fast forward to several years later or present day.  I have dropped those 15-20 pounds and received medical treatment for my arthritis that allows me to run without pain and fluid build up that requires drainage.  I am certainly not fit to play a full soccer game, but am not totally sedentary.  I generally spend an hour or more every Sunday afternoon on an open field with a couple of soccer balls and my iPod.  I am in constant motion; sprinting, jogging, kicking and walking.    

I still coach the club soccer team my son once played on (www.celticunitedfc.com).  The boys on this team are 16 – 19 years of age, full of raging testosterone and speed.  I participate in their quarter mile warm up run during most practices (2x / week).  The rule is if anyone on the team is behind me at the end of the run, then they have to run another quarter mile.  On most occasions I trail the pack because I burn out after the initial lead, but I don’t finish an embarrassing last, or they might just be kind and not want to be cruel to an old man.  At least I force them to sprint during the initial 100 yards.  The discouraging reality is that when I am out of gas, I am out of gas.  No reserves to call upon to push forward with a final kick like in the old days.  Last week, I had a burst of pace that came from years past that resulted in 14 of the 18 having to run another quarter mile.  One of the boys told me, “Coach I never knew you had it in you.  You are really fast.”  At that moment, I felt 35 again and pondered if I got a bit more fit, could I still play with guys 15 years younger than me?  

Who's in Control?

My last blog on timing takes me to another thought regarding fate or destiny vs. randomness vs. self-determination or free will.   The former implies an external locus of control that the individual has no or little influence in altering.  You might hear someone with this disposition saying, “Alas, so be it.  It is God’s will”, or as my father would say – “que sera sera.”  The middle suggests that the odds increase considerably when one conducts his or her life with deliberate caution and avoids situations of potential harm as Ben Stiller so competently portrayed his character in the movie Along Came Polly.  The latter position is an individual who is determined to create their destiny and legacy in their own way, a la Lady Gaga or Richard Branson of Virgin Airlines fame. 

A lesson I learned in post-graduate studies was related to transformational learning, i.e., enlightenment that redefines how one views the world or serves as a catalyst in a major life transition.  Most learning is transactional, i.e., a “seller” (books, articles, teachers, online curriculum) “sells” to a “buyer”, aka the student or prospective learner.  This type of learning can be informational, addendums to prior knowledge, or skill/performance preparation.  A book written by Paulo Freire, Pedagogy of the Oppressed describes a population at large who are social-economically challenged agricultural illiterate labourers and led to believe their fate would remain as it was.  Education reinforced this message via a method of “banking education” and a “culture of silence.”  Banking education is where the teacher deposits information into the student’s account and the student withdraws enough to pass the near-future memorization test.  There is no perceived need for critical thinking, therefore no dialogue.  An underground effort to educate these people provided a groundswell of literacy that empowered them to take informed action against their oppressors and change their state and fate.  This is a true example of transformational learning that helped people recognize their plight and move to another state of being…destiny to free will.  As you might expect, this book is banned in totalitarian states.

In a recent movie titled The Adjustment Bureau starring Matt Damon the story line is that his life is scripted.   He learns his fate and then goes rogue in attempting to change his predetermined destiny.  The emotional pull of “love” was the driving force to execute free will. 

So what causes us to predominantly favour one position over another?  Could it be cultural nuances, genetic predispositions, ignorance, self-confidence, empowerment, oppression, religious doctrine, fear?  How can a person justify paralysis in a situation that demands action?  Or how can a person justify living life with calculated risks to avoid situations that could potentially cause harm?  Or how can a person justify “going for it” regardless of the outcome?  I suppose the degree of risk and reckless endangerment would be significant factors in that analysis.  And then, what causes us to change from one position to another in a given situation?

This debatable thought has had sages of philosophy churn out their ideas on the matter for years – nature vs. nurture, free will vs. Karma, etc.  As you can see by the general model below it has blossomed into a scientific journey that involves reality.  What is reality?  Aristotle, Socrates, et al. had some things to say about that.

My thought is that each life builds upon the moment to moment experiences we encounter or take in via sensory acquisition and that each situation thereafter reflects reactions to those experiences.  My personal belief is that I have been blessed with the freedom to make choices that will either better or worsen my state.  The more knowledge I have about the choice the greater chance my selection will improve my situation.  Simultaneously, there are events in the environment that I cannot control and am subject to be in harm’s way if I don’t take action.  Yet, there are limits to what I will or won’t do according to the risk of harm involved and other personal factors.   In a nutshell, I believe the situation determines which philosophical camp anyone might fall into at a given time and that determination can be by self or by some other external force.  It’s our choice, or is it?

Source:  http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/7b/DeterminismXFreeWill.jpg