Humbled

Poll the average non-believer - heck, you could even poll the average believer - as to what is the defining characteristic of Christian people, and you'll not likely hear in response, "humbled." As it relates to our awareness of sin (ours and others'), we are far more apt to harbor one or more of the following attitudes:

1. Condemning others for their outwardly obvious sins

2. Justifying ourselves for our own righteousness

3. Beating ourselves up for our own unrighteousness

4. Giving little thought to the consequence of unrighteousness (ours and others') because God has forgiven us

In contrast, consider some of the great prayers in the Bible. For example, you could do worse than the ninth chapter of the books of Ezra, Nehemiah, and Daniel. In each, one detects a profound sense of reverence for God, confession of our undeniable pattern of waywardness, and grateful acknowledgment of God's merciful acceptance. The primary postures of Ezra, Nehemiah, Daniel, and others was not haughty condemnation of others or boasting in self, nor was it a perfectionist's lament over having made mistakes or a hedonist's nonchalance over sin's effects. Rather, it was humble, humbled, grateful, and worshipful.

Or consider one of the more recognizable stories in the New Testament, that which is commonly known as "the parable of the prodigal son." This is Jesus' carefully chosen story in response to the grumbling of the religious leaders of the day that He, alleged this great spiritual force, was rubbing elbows with the outwardly immoral people in society. He speaks of a son who opts out of his family, asks his father for his inheritance up front, squanders it in a faraway land on prostitutes, hits rock bottom, and decides to return to his father. Not as a son, for he has already severed that possibility, but as a hired hand, for at least he can support himself on his father's wages. His long-rehearsed mea culpa - "I am no longer worthy to be called your son" - belies his acceptance (preference?) that sonship is out of the question, and that a working relationship is what he seeks.

Jesus wants the hearers of this story to come away with this image of the father: he runs. Though he was thoroughly embarrassed by his son's dismissal, though his son has been dishonorable, though putting out his son would have likely been accepted and applauded by the community at large (the law at the time seems to suggest that, for such a betrayal, the son deserved to be put to death) - yet the father runs. The son's long-rehearsed statement is swallowed up by the fierce and overpowering love of a father who runs out to his son, embraces and kisses him, and orders up a huge party for all to join in on to celebrate the son's return. There is more to the Christian story than this story, but I would be hard-pressed to offer you a better, more central, or more defining glimpse of what I believe my God is like, than this emotionally charged and profoundly humbling account.

And so Christians ought to be known by many characteristics; but "humbled" should be a central one. Humbled by our own waywardness - not in a perfectionistic "I'm supposed to be good and instead I messed up," but rather in a desperate awareness of guilty stain in the presence of eminent holiness. And humbled by the fierce and overpowering love of a father who runs to us, embraces and kisses us, and orders up a huge party for all to join in on to celebrate our return.

I leave you with the lyrics from two worship songs that have been on my mind of late, that I have meditated on and prayed through in response to my own waywardness and that of this generation. It is not easy for me to be humble - insert self-deprecating joke here about "when you're as awesome as I am" - what I mean is that pride gets in the way. But it is easy for me to be humbled, when I have encountered the God of Ezra's, Nehemiah's, and Daniel's prayers, the God of Jesus's story about the prodigal son, the God who is still in the business of running to us and embracing us and celebrating over us. Would that others encounter such a God as well; and would that we who have, would pray like Ezra, Nehemiah, and Daniel, for God to heal this generation.



Before You Call

Come to me my people, come
There's no need to be afraid of your Father
When I see you I will run
I will be there, I will be there

Before you call, I will answer you
While you still speak, I will hear
My ears are turned to the cry
Of my chosen ones
In my love you can rest in me
For you are my very own
So hold on to the hope You have
That I would draw you to myself
For I will never leave you alone

I will not forget you,
I gather my lambs in my arms
So I will comfort you and carry
You close to my heart



Save Us, Oh God

We confess the sins of our nation
And Lord we are guilty of a prayerless life.
We've turned away our hearts from Your laws
And have taken for granted Your unchanging grace.

Turn away this curse from our country.
We say that we robbed You and our storehouses are bare.
Open wide the floodgates of heaven.
Rebuke the devourer so we may not be destroyed.

You said that if we humble ourselves and begin to pray
You would heal our barren land and cleanse us with Your rain.
Don't pass us by, let this be the generation, Lord
That lifts up Your name to all the world.

Save us, oh God, save a people for Yourself, oh Lord.
Let the fear of the Lord be their standard.
Save us, oh God, cleanse us from our unfaithfulness.
Let the place where we live be called a house of prayer.

Recent Reports Released

And now for a bit of shameless promotion of the company where I work. Three recent reports are available for download on our website, representing a wide range of topics:

* How urban agriculture fits into urban land use policy,

* What economic impacts the commercialization of a single federal laboratory innovation is leading to, and

* How much a fully connected waterfront greenway would be worth in Philadelphia.

I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed working on them.

A Long Obedience in the Same Direction

Earlier this month, I was able to catch up with a dear brother in the faith who was in town for a business conference. We went to Penn together, served together in an on-campus Christian fellowship, and through that grew up in the faith and in Christian leadership together. Invariably, the topic of conversation returned again and again to mutual friends of ours, and how they are doing in their lives, in their jobs, in their marriages, and in their faith journeys. As we compared notes, we saw that some were stumbling along like us, while others seemed to be sailing along (or perhaps are better than we are at hiding their stumbling).

Sadly, we observed that still others, and quite a few, were neither doing well nor stumbling along, at least as it related to the radical journey of the Christian faith that we had journeyed with them during our college years. Some had made distinct decisions to go in a different direction in terms of religious beliefs, while others' zeal for Jesus simply faded away like a fire that runs out of fuel. It saddened us to think that so many who we shared such intimate and meaningful spirituality with in our go-go college days were not similarly wired in the present, and it sobered us to think of how easy it would be for us to also opt out or fade out.

I am reminded of a book given to me by a leader in my Christian group, called "A Long Obedience in the Same Direction," by Eugene Peterson. The books speaks of Israel's three-times-a-year habit of going to Jerusalem to worship, and the songs that were sung along the way, songs that ran the gamut of emotions and challenges that defined the journey of the people of God. As Jerusalem is up on a mountain, the metaphor is easy to pick up: God's people climbing, singing along the way to remind themselves and their children of the truths that sustain them in such a journey.

"A long obedience in the same direction" may not be the greatest of catchphrases in this age of instant gratification. But it is in fact the way of the Christian: a way of dogged perseverance, in an uphill climb, sustained by the songs and truths that have sustained our past selves and our spiritual predecessors.

I cannot control what life circumstances may befall me or my past college friends. Some will catch a break in their jobs, hit the perfect notes in the marriage and parenting, and somehow avoid tragedy and hardship. The rest of us will stumble along: there will be tumult in our vocations and in our relationships, we will get old and break things, and life may surprise us with disasters unthinkably sorrowful. To proceed forth on a narrow, unpopular, and steep course, when all the world seems to be prodding us to abandon the cause, seems impossibly difficult and perhaps even utterly hardheaded and foolish.

And yet it is the path to life. And, there is one to whom (apologies for the Christianese phrase coming up) the perseverance of the saints is due. So then, by His mercy, may we keep climbing that ascending path, urging one another on in song and word, buoyed up from strength to strength.

Things That Make Me Happy, First in What is Hoped to Be a Very Frequent Series

Happiness is not the end-all and be-all of life. If anything, we in America, especially who have signed on to the journey of following Jesus, have made happiness an idol, “idol” being defined as something we pursue ahead of God. Far too many say no to intimacy with the Almighty, or have a lukewarm and uneventful relationship with Him, because of aspects of the Christian road that do not offer immediate happiness: physical deprivation, bodily suffering, downward mobility, being mocked and insulted, forsaking family, being found among society’s outcasts. The pursuit of happiness, as good of a good as that is and as hallowed as it is because of its place in the pantheon of great American phrases, should not be our primary consideration, if we are serious about holding fast to what we believe is true and lasting.

Nevertheless, God does indeed intend for following Him to lead to happiness. Not a shallow, enjoy-it-now happiness, but a deep and meaningful type. And, though the real good stuff happens on the other side of glory, there are glimpses, however fleeting and seemingly shallow, that we ought not stifle, as though it is better to be dour and dreary than carefree and joyous.

And so, in my own stick-up-my-you-know-what way, here is my attempt at capturing the lighter, happier things that can be found in life. As with most of what I put up in this space, I will try to just say what comes to mind, rather than polish it up (i.e. to make myself look better, to make some deep and meaningful commentary, or to send some sort of signal about who I want people to think I am). Hence, what you will likely find – in what I hope is a running theme that there are many more chances in the future to add to – are some noble items and some not so noble, some deep and some not so deep.

1. My mom went on her first outing outside of the house (besides going to the doctor’s). It was to a flower arrangement class exhibit and she had a lot of fun seeing her old teacher and classmates.

2. My dear friend from high school has four kids, and he told me the sweetest story this past weekend when I called him. One night, they were all together, and he decided to tickle each of them in turn, just to hear their distinctive laughs over and over again, to savor that delightful sound of innocent childhood happiness.

3. My beloved Raiders pummeled the hated Broncos 59-14. That alone is a season’s worth of happiness, although now I’m greedy for a playoff berth. (Darn how easy satisfaction gives way to covetousness!)

4. I caught up with a college friend of mine who is doing really well spiritually: growing in influence in his church, making tough but correct choices in his personal life, taking care of business in his professional life.

5. I almost never buy clothes and often go cheap when I do (as is evidenced by the many things I wear that are frayed and ridden with stains and holes), but decided that with all my biking and the colder months approaching, I would get myself a quality jacket from Eddie Bauer. I ended up with a 3-in-1 that is warm enough for anything this winter can throw at me, and on a whim picked out a blouse for Amy that she really likes. I can’t begin to tell you how rare both of these occurrences are.

Double-Minded

A couple of months into our church’s shepherding initiative, it’s hard for me to get a beat on what people think so far, most likely due to the fact that for the one leadership meeting we’ve had since we kicked it off, I was so late that I completely missed our extended prayer time for all the prayer requests we had gathered in the previous month. But from my limited perspective, it seems like things are off to a good start: people have liked being reached out to, they share their prayer requests freely and gratefully, and I have enjoyed praying for these things and looping back to see how things are going.

Since these prayer requests are somewhat private in nature, I’m not going to blab about what is being shared and prayed for. But I did want to mention one request in particular, and will do so in a very generic way so as not to betray any traceable information. One person asked me to pray that they would not be so double-minded. It’s not a common phrase, so it made me pause to think. Christians may be familiar with the phrase, perhaps from its use in the first chapter of the book of James in the New Testament:

“But if any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask of God, who gives to all generously and without reproach, and it will be given to him. But he must ask in faith without any doubting, for the one who doubts is like the surf of the sea, driven and tossed by the wind. For that man ought not to expect that he will receive anything from the Lord, being a double-minded man, unstable in all his ways” (James 1:5-8).

It struck me that this was a request that spoke of the requester’s earnest desire to be singularly focused on God’s will for their life. It is not a common or celebrated wish in our society. You do not often hear of people striving to not be double-minded. Perhaps the closest you get is when fans complain about an athlete whose off-field distractions prevent him from focusing on individual or team achievements. Or you think of people whose singular pursuits are looked upon with disdain: the workaholic whose greedy pursuit of success or material gain causes marital strife or abandoned kids, not to mention jilted investors or ruined companies.

I am yet again reminded of how alien the authentic and earnest pursuit of Christian discipleship is in our contemporary culture, in which double-mindedness reigns and singular pursuits are viewed with suspicion or scorn. And so I appreciate this person’s desire to be rid of double-mindedness. For it is a Biblical desire, and it will lead to good, and it is courageous to pursue it today. And so I will pray that for this person. And I will pray it for myself, as well.

In the Navy Yard

A national competition with future glory at stake. A battle between Philadelphia and the Bay Area. A confident powerhouse and a plucky competitor. And the underdog pulls off the upset.

A rehash of the drama of Giants-Phillies? No, I am referring to the US Department of Energy’s recent $129 million grant to Penn State University to establish a center at the Navy Yard in Philadelphia that will look comprehensively – through engineering, public policy, and behavioral nudges - at how to make buildings more energy efficient. Lawrence Berkeley National Laboratory, the powerhouse in this arena, was the favored, shoo-in applicant, but was somehow not selected, much to their chagrin and surprise. (Now they know how the Phillies feel.) I’m sure that Secretary Chu, who has Berkeley ties, has gotten a lot of flak for this.

Back on the East Coast, this is a huge coup for the City of Brotherly Love. The addition to the Navy Yard should make for an even better synergy of cool activity down there: scientists and policy wonks will now be joining makers of ships (Aker), trendy clothes (Urban Outfitters), and butterscotch krimpets (Tasty Baking Company) as Philadelphia-based firms with Navy Yard addresses.

It should also make for a fascinating experiment. Buildings are a huge energy consumer, of course: some 40 percent in this country, by some accounts. And a major needle-mover in terms of energy consumption by buildings will take a massive collaborative effort, since the present fragmented nature of the building industry often offers insufficient incentive for any one actor – the developers, the architects, the materials suppliers, the contractors, the occupiers, or the governments in whose jurisdictions they are located – to invest in more energy efficient solutions.

In other words, many eyes will be on this effort. Yay for Philadelphia that it will be housed within our boundaries. Now if only a certain baseball team was hosting games up the street on South Broad . . .

Call Me a Fool for the Right Reasons

Evangelical Christianity has taken a beating in the mainstream of late. Pundits and their audiences have jumped all over Tea Party candidates for viewpoints deemed hilariously primitive, like that evolution and climate change are hoaxes and masturbation is wrong. Though a majority of people in this country claim the Christian faith, many would qualify their affiliation as "but not like those wackos."

You may be surprised (or not) to learn that what I wish for Christians in America is not that we are not called fools, but that we are called fools, but for reasons that are consistent with lives that are consistent with the Bible. Consider what the typical person considers a reasonable life: striving for physical and material comfort, doing right by one's children, having some sense of moral decency and fairness and love and charity. If only Christians would fall neatly within those agreed upon norms, it is thought, we wouldn't have such strife, such zaniness, such bigotry.

To be sure, we Christians can be guilty of beliefs and behaviors that are truly destructive, from the standpoint of strife and zaniness and bigotry. Worse, we can claim that our foundation for such beliefs and behaviors is our faith, further cementing our intolerable and hard-headed attitudes. I am not excusing us when we are in the wrong in those ways.

However, would that the world see more Christians who look at the description above of the reasonable life and say instead: "Seems to sound good. But that is not the standard set for us in the Bible. That standard presupposes we remain the center of our world, and we make choices to do good deeds and maybe even practice a little religion along the way. But the Bible presents a far more dividing fork in the road. The Bible describes one road in which we continue on our way as our own lords, and a second, far narrower and less traversed road in which we forsake lordship of our own lives and call someone else Lord, ordering our thoughts and desires and actions and words until they are perfectly in line with his plans for our lives and this generation."

To be sure, Christians can follow this line of thinking to the extreme, until we are no better than the jihadists, cultists, and militia men who have had their identity swallowed up by someone or something else in a way that is dehumanizing and violent and detrimental. What I am describing does not cause us to vanish, but paradoxically fulfills more fully who we were meant to be: creatures made by God for great pleasure and great purpose, pointing not to trivial things but to a grander mission and a more glorious name. For those of us who have made that choice (though we fight against our own desires every day), it is indeed a freeing and exhilarating and life-giving way to go.

And yet it can look like utter foolishness to the world. Fools who are otherwise well-credentialed people choosing into inglorious lives in order to fulfill whatever arena of service they feel they have been called to. Fools who risk life and limb, family, status, and comfort, and not only so but considering it an honor to so suffer for what they chosen to commit fully to and to so affiliate with those in our society who society heaps scorn on but God has a special heart for. Amid a sea of self-professed Christians who continue to be the lord of their own lives and simply clothe themselves with the trappings of the Christian faith, fools choosing to say that this is no Christianity at all and instead subsuming their agenda for that of their Maker.

The world has plenty of examples of easy-to-ridicule Christians, fanatical Christians, and self-professed Christians whose faith is bland to the point of having no taste. Would that the world see some examples of Christians who could be properly called fools, but for the right reasons.

Lazy Linking, 28th in an Occasional Series

What I liked lately on the Internets:

* Eco-aware consumers should focus on how you got to the grocery store, not just how your produce got there.

* On that note, what it costs to move something depends more on demand than on distance - "atoms might be more mobile than bits," since we get more bottled water than music albums from Fiji, even though it's a heckuva lot more costly to move water than music.

* Sam Harris once again argues that religion is not a force for good.

* A headline from the Frum Forum - Restore Sanity: Draft Mitch Daniels.

* Megan McArdle's aptly titled blog post - The Gentrifier's Lament.

* Ta-Nehisi Coates shares about almost coming to blows with some punk blogger, thinking he'd held his own in the confrontation, and then hearing his buddy tell him not "you showed him" but "you dumb m-----f-----."

* Used book arbitrage. [Ht: Marginal Revolution.]

* I haven't been following the Pennsylvania gubernatorial campaign that closely, but here's one reason why Corbett has my vote.

* Are today's sitcoms supplying us with the deep friendships we demand but don't have time for?

Post-Game Wrap

So that we can dispense of the obvious questions:

* Yes, I'm bummed the Phils lost. Aaron will have to wait at least a few months for his first championship parade down Broad Street.

* No, I'm not happy the Giants won. Even though I'm from the Bay Area, I don't particularly like the Giants.

* I do tip my cap to the guys in the orange and black. Flying across the country and winning Game 1, and then doing it again in Game 6, is pretty gritty.

* The real winner out of all this is Amy, who, when I told her earlier this morning that the Phils lost and the season was over, said, "Thank God; now I can have my VCR back in the evenings."

2010-2011 NBA Predictions - Final Year of Production

Every year I get further and further removed from pro hoop. What was once my favorite sport is now something I might spend a grand total of 15 hours a year watching, and probably less reading about in newspapers and online.*

* Love the VCR + treadmill or stationary bike combo. It is well established that very little of a 3+ hour telecast is actual action. I can get in football and baseball games in 30 minutes, and basketball games in 45. So here's the annual rough estimate:

Basketball = 10 regular + 10 post x 45 min per = 15 hours (+ maybe 10 hours online)
Football = 40 regular + 10 post x 30 min per = 25 hours (+ maybe 25 hours online)
Baseball = 10 regular + 10 post x 30 min per = 10 hours (+ maybe 50 hours online)

But that doesn't make predictions any less fun. Or, in my case, any less accurate. That said, I'm probably dropping this from my annual routine.

E/ATL 2 Celtics, 7 Knicks
E/CEN 3 Bulls, 6 Bucks
E/SE 1 Magic, 4 Heat, 5 Hawks, 8 Wizards
W/NW 3 Thunder, 5 Nuggets, 6 Blazers
W-PAC 1 Lakers, 8 Clippers
W/SW 2 Mavs, 4 Spurs, 7 Rockets
RD1 Magic, Celtics, Bulls, Heat, Lakers, Mavs, Nuggets, Blazers
RD2 Magic, Bulls, Blazers, Mavs
FINAL Magic over Mavs

Tracking Eyeballs

Though I write for myself as much as others, it is interesting to monitor traffic to my site on a periodic basis. Thanks to the good people at StatCounter, I give you two bar charts of page views by month: one of Huang Kid Khronicles (top) and one of Musings of an Urban Christian (bottom). (These counts don’t include people viewing my posts through Facebook; my posts get automatically posted there, but the counts don’t get picked up.)

Huang Kids is pretty easy to interpret: there’s a spike up when we got Jada, another spike up when we got Aaron, and then a tiny spike up as a result of my parents’ car accident. Musings shows a much bigger spike up as a result of my parents’ car accident, and another spike up last month that I’m not sure I have any explanation for.

That’s all I got for now. However often you come check me, thanks for your attention and consider musing with me by leaving a comment.

Random Events from the Week

My response to a household of two adults, two kids, two jobs, and two schools is to get really structured with schedule. It seems to work for our clan – we have a rhythm going, everyone knows what’s next, somehow it all fits into 24 hours and 7 days. And yet, no week is complete without a little randomness. And so, here are some random facts about unusual occurrences from this week, which may be of no interest to anyone but which I record for the sake of my own future self’s enjoyment.

* One day I woke up at 2a and went to bed at 12a.

* We kicked on the heat for the first time. With a timed thermostat, we really only have it on for four hours a day during the week (two in the morning, two in the evening), and six hours a day on the weekends (three in the morning, three in the evening, and barely on during the day).

* By 8p most nights, I am in bed reading and not far from being asleep. Three times this week, at that hour I was a combined 10 miles away from home - at a small group Bible study, with a college buddy of mine, and in a business meeting.

* We got word from his teacher that Aaron might be moving up from his Transitional Pre-K class into bona fide Pre-K.

* Amy was so tired one evening after work that she went to bed at 6:30p.

* Jada waited all week for Mulan to come from NetFlix, and when it arrived it had a crack in it, which caused her to sob inconsolably for several minutes.

Selling Out, Keeping it Real

I picked up a distinct running theme in this month’s issue of Fast Company. See if you pick it up too:

• Somalian hip-hop artist K’naan blows up as a global star as his “Wavin’ Flag” song, a jingle for and about Coca-Cola, hits the World Cup

• The creators of Phineas and Ferb, an edgy animated show in the mold of Spongebob Squarepants, aspire to the same marker of universal acclaim – mega-licensing opportunities

• Joe Penna will take $50 to $60 G’s a pop to come up with a series of YouTube shorts for advertisers, but he won’t just pitch for anyone, since his productions have to be authentic

Fast Company celebrates these stories for epitomizing entrepreneurship, innovation, and creativity in this new, wired, socially networked world. But people from a generation or two ago would have had another label for them: “sell out.” And they would use that label with disdain.

How is it that in the span of just a few decades, what was once reviled is now celebrated? Five or so years ago, when my friend and I first saw Dr. Dre shilling for Coors Light, we laughed at him and made note that there was now no more shame when it came to musicians and commercialization. Now, no one seems to blink an eye. The very profile of people – musicians, animators, YouTube mavens – you’d think would care the most about not sullying their street cred with commercial crossovers are now the very ones trying the hardest how to figure out how to get embedded in Guitar Hero, sell ring tones, and hawk wares with their image on them at Walmart and Costco.

Please don’t misunderstand me: I don’t say this from a high perch, heaping scorn on any who would “sell out” in this way. If anything, monetizing your talents and uniqueness are something I’ve always admired rather than looked down on. You’ll not often find me among the apologists for the countercultural, anti-commercialism crowd.

Rather, the reason for this post is to ask: why is it so much easier, so much more pervasive, so much more accepted now, than before? Is it that the returns to commercialization are so great that not going that route is so much more costly now? Is it that because everyone else is doing it, there’s no shame factor? Is it because we really have “sold out,” hollowing out in our souls after a generation of reality TV, materialistic excess, and me-firstism?

What’s particularly curious to me is that not only is there no stigma to going commercial; it seems it is now the cool thing, rather than the opposite. “Selling out,” it seems, is the same as, and not the opposite of, “keeping it real.” At least that was the vibe I got from reading my Fast Company. What has wrought this incredible turnabout?

And, one more question, this one directed to my fellow people of faith. What is the word we are to say to such a generation?

This one baffles me, so I hope others have some insights they would be willing to share. In closing, I’ll only add this: while you’re driving in your Ford Escape, make sure to buy a Starbucks coffee and a Big Mac on your way home, and then tune into this week’s episodes of Mad Men and Biggest Loser. (Or else you can catch them on your iPhone or on Hulu later in the week.)

Don’t Subsidize Me, Charge Me More

Paradoxical as it may sound, I will sound the trumpet again on this message: if you want greener behavior, don’t ask the government to subsidize you, ask it to charge you more. Here are a couple of recent articles I came across – one from a fairly left-leaning source and one from a fairly right-leaning source – on the ineffectiveness of subsidies to effect wholesale behavioral change.

Here I’m not even talking about (nor are these articles) our present toxic political atmosphere, in which one side wants to give out goodies and the other side wants to paint those goodies as give-aways we can’t currently afford. I’m simply referring to basic human behavior: massive outlays for next-generation infrastructure or heavy subsidies of alternative energy systems simply aren’t going to move the needle.

Here’s what will: seeing the real price tag on what it costs to drive our cars, heat our homes, and take our showers. If we bore even a fraction of what it costs society as a whole, all-in, to provide gas, electricity, and water, we’d all make far greater effort to do sensible things that are good for our pocketbook and good for the environment.

It isn’t sexy, but riding your bike to work, installing a timed thermostat, and not running the water when you’re shaving are all easy to do and hugely impactful for resource conservation. Alas, in our current regime, underpricing causes us to squander what are actually scarce and/or costly resources.

It may sound outrageous to posit that the solution to our mess is not subsidies but higher prices. No politician in their right mind would campaign on such a platform. But that’s what it will take to really get this right. And the longer we get this wrong, the more costly it’s going to get.

Obituary: Paul Steven Miller

A fellow British American Project fellow of mine, Paul Steven Miller, passed away earlier this week. Here is a link to an obituary and an article about his accomplishments.

Others who know him better can speak more thoroughly of his many, many professional accomplishments, as well as his inspiring life story and many commendable characteristics. As for me, I simply recall fondly his kindness and wit in reaching out to this newbie at my first BAP conference and making me feel welcome in the BAP family. We share an alma mater (Penn), which served as our ice-breaker, although if you knew Paul you know he didn't need much of an ice-breaker to engage in hearty conversation with you and make you feel accepted and energized.

I was really hoping to see him at the 2010 conference in Philadelphia next month. He will be missed terribly.

Piazza Party

It’s been open for a minute now, but I finally got around to seeing the much-acclaimed Piazza at Schmidt’s. It truly is a remarkable public plaza, and just begs for packing a lunch and a blanket and making a day out of people-watching and cozying up in front of whatever they’re showing on the big screen.

Alas, speaking of that big screen, this first foray of mine was cut abruptly short by me when, upon arriving with my kids, I saw that they were airing the Eagles game, which I was taping and planning on watching the next morning. My kids insisted on running around on the cobblestones, so I stuck my fingers in my ears and turned away from the screen to avoid hearing anything that might give away the outcome of the game.

I quickly surmised that I was looking like an idiot, and so quickly shooed my kids out of the courtyard and back out into the streets. When they protested, I promised them I would bring them back, this time with food and with intentions to stay much longer. I plan to keep that promise in the near future.

Lazy Linking, 27th in an Occasional Series

What I liked on the Internets lately:

* Instead of thinking that people that toggle between English and another language just don't know their English well often, consider that sometimes the other language captures what you're trying to say better than any available English word or phrase.

* While the right says "less less less" and the left says "more more more," David Brooks and I both hope for politicians who have enough brain and spine to say "this but not that."

* How about Philadelphia #30 in the world (and #6 in North America) in innovation!

* What's a more contentious assertion: that campaign contributions don't matter or that steroids in baseball didn't?

* My boss makes the case in WashPo for federal infrastructure investment.

* And, finally, a double-dose from Urbanite, a really good mag I always pick up when I'm in Baltimore - Gladwell digs cities and RelayRides is billed as "car sharing meets speed dating."

21 Dads

Here's an unsolicited plug for 21 Dads, which was created by a family friend of mine to be an online resource by dads and for dads. You know my pet peeve about parenting mags presuming they are read exclusively by moms and treating dads like deadbeats. Here's a resource for the men that gets to the point in getting you what you need to be a good dad: ask a question, post an answer, reviewing what others are saying. Check it out.

The ABCs (Anything But Car) of Urban Life

This post's title could have been used for either or both of today's other posts. I wish I could say my aversion to cars is borne of some deep commitment to green living, because that would make me seem more noble. But I must confess that while I do try to live out a lifestyle that is environmentally conscious, my "anything but car" approach to moving around stems more from a combination of wimpiness in the face of traffic, fear of accidents, frugality, convenience-seeking, and a sense of adventure.

I did not realize how much the last reason mattered to me, but it does. It has almost become a game for me to avoid getting in a car, and then to look back at whether I was able to pull it off and what sorts of trouble I got myself into to do it. Whether this psychosis rubbing off on my kids is a good thing or not remains to be seen, but no doubt my kids will internalize this and perhaps play it out in their own adult lives. Maybe that makes a difference for Earth. And maybe it will make for some hilarious stories along the way.

Charmed Anew by the Charm City

I had a very labor-intensive gig in Baltimore last summer so went down there four times in the span of four months. By the end of the engagement, I was pretty Baltimored out, having pretty much seen everything touristy that I wanted to see. So when business brought me back to Baltimore yesterday, I wasn't expecting much out of the little pockets of free time I had.

Ah, but the Charm City is charming. I knew from looking it up that there was a bus that would take me from the train station to close to my conference hotel, but I would only have two minutes to catch it. When my train rolled in three minutes, I resigned myself to having to either hoof it (a good distance even for me) or taxi it (I hate spending money). But I was in luck: the bus pulled in just as I got to the stop. It was an easy breezy ten-minute ride to near the convention center, and within minutes I was at my destination. All for just $1.60.

But you know what's even better than $1.60? How about free? After my morning presentation, I met with a colleague of mine at Downtown Partnership of Baltimore, who told me about the Charm City Circulator, which are free bus loops through all the major parts of Baltimore. Sure enough, after I left my colleague and had returned to the hotel for lunch, I exited the hotel and only had to cross the street to get to a Circulator stop. Even better, an electronic display told me the next bus was coming in three minutes. It then proceeded to count down to zero, and on cue, a bright, low-emission bus pulled up. Quietest bus I've ever ridden in, and I'm talking about the engine, not the passengers. I enjoyed the ride so much I made note to use the other line to get me back to the train station, which was a major save for my aching feet (if you know Baltimore, you know that the walk from downtown to the train station is basically straight uphill for about a mile and a half).

But enough about free transit. I was also enchanted by one of Baltimore's crown jewels, the Walters Art Museum. There's something about the place that really refreshes me. Maybe it's the beautiful works, maybe it's the silence, maybe it's the feng shui . . . who knows? All I know is I love walking through it. As a bonus, I got to the Asian Art wing, which was closed all the other times I was there, and which in addition to featuring some pretty cool pieces, was housed in a historic house from the 1850's, which the museum had restored and connected to its main exhibit halls in a very well-done way.

Believe it or not, I found myself wishing time hadn't moved so quickly. Soon enough, it was back on the train and off to Philly and over to my kids' schools. But though I had not anticipated it, a day in the Charm City left me refreshed, for which I am thankful.

News Flash: I Locked My Bike in a Public Place Overnight and It Did Not Get Stolen

I suppose I am asking for it when I tweet "try and steal my bike now, thieves" and then proceed to lock it outside in a public place overnight less than a week later. But that is indeed what happened. And it was planned. Sort of. Here's the story.

With "heavy rain" featuring prominently in Thursday's forecast, and Amy unavailable to assist with pick-up on account of a later work shift, the wheels began to turn in my mind. (Sorry for the pun.) I decided on a plan. If it was not pouring torrentially, I would gut out the bike ride, in the knowledge that it was at the end of the day and I could throw the kids in the bathtub and throw the clothes in the wash. But if it was pouring, I would call a cab and have it meet me at Aaron's school and drive us to Jada's school. Since I was taking the train the next day to Baltimore, and would need my bike to pick up the kids that evening, I knew I would need to stash my bike close to the train station if it was left overnight, and close to my workplace if it wasn't going to be left overnight, and either way I'd have to find a somewhat sheltered place to shield it from the rain. Got it?

I decided on a covered area outside a building on the Drexel campus, especially convenient because I was attending a conference on the Drexel campus that morning. So I locked up my bike and helmet real good, went to the conference, and then walked straight to work, leaving my bike there.

That afternoon, it started to rain, hard at first, but then tapering down. This was easily within the realm of biking in. But Amy called me and said she was able to get out of working late, and so would pick up Aaron and then me and then Jada. So we all stayed relatively dry in the car, and the bike would in fact have to spend the night outside.

Given that the only other time I've ever left my bike outside overnight I got a wheel of it stolen off me, I feared the worst. I decided during my run the next morning to swing by and ride home with it. Thankfully, it was there. I rode home in the stillness of the early morning, gave it a good spray-down with degreaser, and it was ready for service for the day's needs. I'm not sure I'll pull that one again; there's a reason why locking your bike in a public place overnight and having it NOT be stolen is newsworthy.

Love Life, Time Management, Comparative Advantage, and the Two-Career Household

We are a month into our new rhythm as a two-career, two-school household. It has been the norm for awhile for many of our closest friends, who I compare notes with to see how it can be done without losing one’s sanity. Common answer: fat chance.

All kidding aside, it has been interesting to see how Amy and I have adapted to the swirling maelstrom that is our life of two stressful jobs and two stress-inducing children, and to hear about the experiences of others in similar straits. One couple leans heavily on in-laws, another on babysitters, and yet another on kid-free getaways to stay healthy and invest in the marriage.

For Amy and me, I’d say it’s three things. First, we’ve made an effort since the beginning of this month to get on our knees and pray once the kids have gone to bed. Sometimes it’s just for two minutes, and sometimes it’s borne of more desperation than other times. But having even this short moment of contact and shared spirituality seems to give our partnership the necessary connection and refueling.

Second, we respect each other’s need for space. Being introverts, we need alone time, and know what it means for the other to need quiet space. Perhaps it is strange to suggest that our marriage is stronger because we make sure to leave each other alone, but for us it’s essential.

Third, we give ourselves fully to the household tasks that we’re good at, relieved that the other will do what is draining for us to do and glad to do our part to avoid our spouse having to do it. The fact that I do most of the dishes and finances and that Amy does all the cooking/cleaning/laundry/shopping is not a source of insecurity on the one hand or bitterness on the other, but rather a tangible way we can serve and be served. It helps that we both think we’re getting the better end of the deal.

The months to come will bring more level of difficulty than this first 30 days. Someone’s going to get sick, business trips or instructional conferences will throw things off, and colder weather may make the commuting routine more challenging. But, we pause to breathe a sigh of relief that the first month went OK, and that our marriage is intact and perhaps even a little stronger for it.

Vote for David Oh in 13 Months

As a follow-up to a post from last month about David Oh's first fundraiser for the 2011 campaign, I wanted to continue to urge those of you who can vote in Philadelphia to vote for David. At a time when public cynicism and politicians behaving badly are at an all-time high, here is someone who is ripped from the storybooks: earnest, honest, smart, savvy, hard-working, and committed. He works across the aisle, he knows the story of Philadelphia and America, and he wants to contribute to that story as a true public servant.

We have a long slog to go until the November 2011 general elections, and much work to do between now and then. Our reward, if successful, is more long slogs and more work to do. But, David is willing and able, and so am I to support him.

Father and Son Bonding, the Urban Version

Here's a tweet from me from the middle of yesterday: "early dismissal + gorgeous day = huang boys bike downtown for #1 & smoothie @ reading terminal mkt during my lunch." Indeed, the confluence of events just begged for some father-son bonding, city style. Aaron's school is right off a bridge that takes you right down the Ben Franklin Parkway into Center City, and minutes before his school closed down, I arrived and whisked him off for downtown adventures.

Though I am downtown all the time, I am only there with kids on weekends, and almost never there on bike. So it was a fresh experience. The bad news is it's not very bike-friendly: very narrow lanes, bike lanes that suddenly disappear, lots of one-way streets, and plenty of construction projects and parked trucks to make things even more fun.

No matter. We made a beeline for Reading Terminal Market, and I think Aaron enjoyed having a #1 and smoothie all to himself, without having to share with his big sister. A pit stop at Rite Aid seemed like an innocent errand along the way, but it became fraught with difficulty when there was no place to park our bike except to jam it in between bikes on a long bike rack near the University of Arts campus: I say "fraught" because I had to lift my heavy bike over, around, and through a sea of handle bars and U-locks and pedals, all of this over a steam grate (almost dropped my keys a couple of times!) while trying to keep an eye on Aaron lest he be snatched away in broad daylight on a busy street.

Soon enough, we were on our way to our next destination: a little alcove off South Broad where Blick Art Supply was making lots of fun items available to decorate your bike with, as part of the 11-day-long DesignPhiladelphia event. While Aaron took turns picking up rocks and then throwing them, I found the gaudiest colors and materials to further trick out my bike, not so much for aesthetic purposes as much as to deter a would-be thief who, if he or she made off with our ride, could not possibly avoid being stared at.

The ride home was tiring (made slightly funner by my first time on the dedicated bike lane on Spruce Street) but eventually we made it, had a quick snack, and Aaron was off to nap time and then TV time so I could get in another few hours of work at home before we had to go down the street to pick up Jada. Not sure how often the boys will get to do something fun like this just the two of us, but you can bet I'll take the opportunity if the stars align like they did yesterday: our tantrum boy was on his best behavior during our whole excursion, happy as he was to take in new sights and have a little guy time with his dad apart from the women in his life.

Lazy Linking, 26th in an Occasional Series

* I love love love Exhibit 2 of this McKinsey report on whether it is in fact export that is driving China's meteoric economic growth. Now that's a good visual.

* Oops on going green - reusable grocery bags get germy after a while. The responses, which are to toss them or to wash them periodically, put a bit of a damper on the greenness, I think.

* What do you get when you cross Derek Jeter with the Phillie Phanatic? A damn good SportsCenter commercial.

* This article about athletes and sphincter control in ESPN's "Body Issue" just slayed me.

* What's our most powerful weapon against our most powerful enemy? Why, singing, of course.

* Why do we love reality TV so much? How about the ability to engage in fantasy while mocking it from a distance?

Passing it On

Another successful fundraiser at The Enterprise Center earlier this week. Passing the Torch, our annual event celebrating the handing down of a business from one generation to the next, has become one of the city's feel-good gatherings. As Mayor Nutter emphasized in his remarks, the creating and then passing on of business clout in the African-American community is so significant.

But the thing that got me misty-eyed this year was not the economic piece of it. No, it was parents working tirelessly to grow something of significance so as to be able to entrust it to their children. And, more so than a physical venture, the passing on of certain values, like persistence and hard work and devotion.

It was the daughters who cried because of the momentousness of the responsibility they had been given and the grandness of the recognition they were receiving. But I wonder how the fathers did not shed a tear either. I imagined myself in their shoes, working their whole lives, in a sense, for this very moment. What pride, love, and sense of accomplishment must have been felt.

Whoever cried or didn't cry is not the point. What mattered was good people doing good works, against all odds, and all of us gathered at The Enterprise Center earlier this week to witness a moment to take it all in and be thankful. Well done all around.

Philadelphia Trending Up

In the aftermath of his historic no-hitter against the Cincinnati Reds, Roy Halladay was, not surprisingly, the talk of the town here in Philadelphia. He was also a "Trending Topic" on Twitter, which of course I had to check out. Interspersed with shouts-out from Phils fans and gracious applause from Blue Jays fans were some snarky tweets to the effect of "Halladay no-no makes Phillies fans feel good . . . until they realize they live in Philadelphia."

That's OK, haters, we don't mind that you're stuck in your misguided impression of the City of Brotherly Love. Some day, you'll wind up in Philly - your buddy from Temple insists you visit him this year, or the association you are a part of holds its annual conference at the Convention Center - and you'll be pleasantly surprised at how vibrant, friendly, and fun this city is, and how many kinds of ways you can have a good time.

You may even feel a little jealous when you find out that as nice as the place is to visit, it's an even better place to live and work. Did I mention to you that I pay less than a grand a month for mortgage and property tax for a three-story, 2,700 square foot house, or that our family of four people and two jobs owns only one car that gets driven less than 8,000 miles a year?

Remember, too, that the man of the hour had the chance to do what he did last night because he decided last off-season to forgo a higher salary in exchange for the chance to pitch in the postseason. That's right, the franchise that barely four years ago was best known for being the first professional sports team in the US to reach 10,000 losses has now spun off four straight playoff appearances and is on its way to a third straight World Series (and, dare I say, a second parade in three years down South Broad Street), and as a result is a destination of choice for the game's very elite players.

So haters can hate on Philly. But Roy Halladay made a choice to come live and work here, and look where it has gotten him. Here's hoping other twenty- and thirty-somethings that are the best at their craft make a similar move.

Pinch Hitters for Jesus

When we read the Bible, it is not hard for us to imagine things proceeding at a fast pace. We forget that the Bible records the highlights of a faith story, not unlike how ESPN shows us the key plays on SportsCenter instead of running the game in its entirety. We read the book of Genesis, for example, and forget that in between visits by God, Abraham and Sarah had to wait a long time in their childlessness, or that Joseph had to wait a long time before his brothers' betrayal made sense as part of a grander plan for his life. Especially in America, we can want the action to be non-stop. But sometimes being faithful means biding your time, being ready for the right moment, and making the most of that confluence of divine appointment and human opportunity.

It is October, so I cannot help but make a baseball analogy for the Christian faith. We are like pinch hitters, trying to keep warm as the game proceeds, weaving its distinctive arc like any good story. We have a sense that we might get in the game, and we may even have a sense of when and in what situation, but ultimately it is an unknown to us until that moment actually arrives and we hear the summons from our manager. We take a few practice swings, and then suddenly, the spotlight is on us: the fans are cheering, the game is winding down, a fierce pitcher stares us down, and the outcome hangs in the balance.

Maybe some of us are, to continue the baseball analogy, the starting pitcher or the star shortstop: we are constantly at the center of the action, our every move playing a part in the final result. But this is not the role for many of us, who instead are pinch hitters for Jesus, biding our time until our name is called. We dream of the perfect situation to deliver the game-winning hit, but think about the scenarios also with the dread of knowing we are facing the best who is going to give us his best, and if we fail we let down our teammates and the manager who called for us in that situation.

Being a pinch hitter is not for the faint of heart. Thankfully, we succeed not by our cunning or brute force, but through the strength of our God made perfect in (and not in spite of) our weakness. And, thankfully, the final verdict of this most important contest is decided: however fearsome is our enemy, he has been mortally wounded, his cause decisively vanquished. And, therefore, our role is ultimately one that contributes to a victory, our participation is on a team that will one day celebrate the ultimate accomplishment.

"Pinch hitters for Jesus" may not seem so glamorous a way of thinking of the Christian journey. But I think it is a useful analogy. Now, let's get some practice swings in and keep our minds and bodies ready for action. For when our name is called and we get to dig in against our opponent, we want to be ready to strike a decisive blow and make our contribution to victory.

There is Crying in Baseball

Like many Americans, I eagerly awaited Ken Burns' four-hour addendum to his 1994 video series on baseball. I set my VCR for consecutive nights last week, and then watched each two-hour set the next morning, once while running on the treadmill and once while doing push-ups and sit-ups. But even exercise could not keep me from shedding tears freely at times, laughing aloud at other times, and getting goose bumps still other times.

There is something about baseball that taps into something really deep for me. And I know I'm not alone. Why, much of this documentary is about people's intersection with our national pastime. There was the Boston father who wondered what he done to his kids in raising them as Red Sox fans and watching them get crushed by disappointment after disappointment, only to see them beam with pride when their beloved team finally won it all in 2004. There were thoughtful comments about our conflicted reaction to the game's steroid scandal in the midst of record home run years and record attendance. And there was the speaking, in hushed tones, of the reverence and comfort of sitting in a ballpark on a hot summer evening with 40,000 other fans.

I'm not sure where my tears were coming from, although the 9/11 segment certainly brought back memories. Upon further reflection, I think the emotion is because baseball channels me back to my childhood days, and channels me forward to the days when I will no doubt tell my kids and grandkids about the grand old game. There is an innocence to baseball that, even in the midst of greed and deception and abuse, it can conjure up earlier days for me when I didn't have to worry about a job and a mortgage and two kids and college savings and the stock market. It is a purity and a continuity I long to share with my kids, and that longing reminded me how much I love my kids and how much joy I will get in sharing with them some of my greatest childhood memories.

As if on cue, two little critters pawed at the door to our living room at 5:45 on the second morning of watching the documentary. They were up early, yes, but they had put their clothes on all by themselves, and just wanted to say good morning to me before they headed back upstairs to watch Sleeping Beauty. Such purity, such innocence, such childlikeness. I gave them an extra special hug and told them I loved them.

I was still thinking of them when the documentary ended and I headed back into my bedroom. I looked at myself in the mirror. I was wearing a suit, my hair graying a little on the edges. Behind me was a painting my sister did for me a number of years back, of me and my mom at the beach when I was but four or five years old. It was around that time I began my love affair with baseball. It's around the age of my kids right now. And that's what baseball means to me: it's a portal back to that age of purity and innocence, when all I cared about was being able to make that catch or did Rickey Henderson get any stolen bases the night before, a portal I can now connect my kids to so as to build that connection for them.

I'm not explaining all of this very well, because the thoughts are just tumbling out now. But suffice to say that there is a lot of emotion in all of this. Baseball, like America and like all of us, is beautiful in its flaws and flawed in its beauty, and beautiful and flawed nonetheless. Put it all together, and you'll get me tearing up even as I pound out the miles or the push-ups on a September early morning.

Seeing Stars

Here's more proof our kids are city kids: when we drove out to America's Keswick for our church retreat starting on Friday night, Aaron and Jada emerged from the car and exclaimed, "Whoa, stars!" Yes, they saw more stars that night than all year, by a factor of about a thousand. Between that, noticing how much darker it is in the woods at night than it is in the city, and marveling at Saturday night's bonfire, this past weekend was full of new sensations.

Run, Satan, Run

I will not share the details of the situation that is the topic of today's post. All that matters is that we in the church are claiming out loud that one of our own, who we prayed for this weekend at our annual retreat, belongs to God and God alone, and no longer to the demons that have shackled and tormented for so long.

The enemy of our souls is far more fearsome than we are. One on one, we would tremble and cower, and not stand a chance. But, on this battleground, there are more actors than just the devil and ourselves. There is also God, as well as angels, more than the eye can see or the mind can count. We all hold our breath as we look to God, the biggest and baddest actor in the whole place, bigger and badder even than Satan.

And God says, "this one, who has felt bound for a lifetime, this one belongs to Me." At that, the angels cheer an uproarious and deafening cheer. And Satan slinks away, knowing he is defeated.

He will try again with this child of God who we have prayed for, but he will again hear God's decisive pronouncement and know he no longer has an in. After a while, the enemy of our souls will be put to flight for good, fleeing fearfully from the scene he once dominated and from the child of God he once assailed. Run, Satan, for your days are numbered.

Support Asian Arts Initiative

Earlier this month, I got to spend a little bit of time at the Asian Arts Initiative at 1219 Vine Street with its executive director, Gayle Isa. At a time in which the memorable news locally as it relates to Asians is their victimization in and around schools at the hands of largely African-American perpetrators, I want to commend Gayle and her crew for creating a marvelous space, physically and metaphorically, for Asians and African-Americans (and Latinos and Caucasians) to come together around creativity and art and expression and identity. It is a truly remarkable organization and set of programs, and speaks to the power of art to cut across skin color and life experience, and to the tireless work of the staff and board of Asian Arts Initiative. I strongly encourage you to join me in giving them a hand clap, and ask you to think about strategizing, as I am, of ways you can contribute in more tangible ways.

Feeling Disconnected

Last week we lost Internet and then phone access for a period of about six days. I won't bore you with the details of my repeated calls to Verizon, but suffice to say there is a very small list of things I dread more than having to work with tech support.

Having authored a report on the cost to individuals and to the nation of 100 million people in the US not having always-on broadband Internet access at home, there was a delicious irony in living out some of those costs. In the grand scheme of things, six days is nothing compared to never; but I did experience something of the inconvenience associated with being disconnected.

Sadly for the state of my character, what ruffled me the most was not important stuff like not being able to pay bills or check the weather, but trivial stuff like not being able to read my econ blogs or see how last night's games went. My wife suffered the same withdrawals. The Internet, for us, has become this comfortable thing we tap into to help unwind at the end of a crazy day (for Amy) or to kick-start the beginning of a day (for me).

Interestingly enough, my week without Internet access at home coincided with my decision to buy a weekly transpass and take the kids to school via public transit instead of my bicycle. (To further illustrate my neurosis, this decision came as a result of the confluence of three things: 1) lots of rain in the forecast meant I would have been leaving the bike at home a lot anyway, 2) a bunch of meetings downtown further made the pass more economical than individual tokens, and 3) I happened to be near a sales location the weekend before so I could purchase the pass in the first place.)

For all of the convenience of Philadelphia's public transit system, relying exclusively on rails and buses to get around has its down sides. For example, did I mention there was lots of rain in the forecast? And, at the risk of sharing "too much information," Aaron's very recent conquest of all major potty training milestones does not yet mean he has any sort of sense of when he needs to go and how long he can hold it, which makes waiting for or on a bus feel a lot longer.

I connect my week of buses with my week without Internet because while it is the exception for me, it is the norm for many people in my city and across the country. And, maybe this week was crazy for me for other reasons, but due in large part to my morning and evening commute and to my lack of Internet connection, I found myself pretty worn out and pretty crabby.

It is a tough lifestyle, even for a week. That was the length of time I bore it, and while the Internet disconnect was not by choice, going all SEPTA was. For many, there is no choice on either side. And that can make for a pretty difficult existence.

I think I'm made of pretty good stuff, but after not even a week of it, I was pretty frayed and pretty thankful to be done with it. Now that it's over, I can look back with sophisticated musings and measured perspective. But I must confess it was a rattling experience. I think I needed to be rattled, for how else would I be reminded how charmed and privileged an existence I live.

And, in a global sense, even in this discombobulating week, I lived richer than most of the rest of humanity and history. I had access to clean water, the sanitation systems I am a part of never failed me, and I wore more than one pair of shoes, which places me easily among the top half of the world in terms of life comforts. Let my heart be grateful for these things, lest I need to have my life rattled some more to be reminded of how fortunate I am to have them.

Calling All Foodie Entrepreneurs

You heard about this from me way back in 2009, and now it's creeping towards reality: The Enterprise Center's Center for Culinary Enterprises is launching its technical assistance component a year ahead of its expected opening of its physical facility component. Calling all foodies, here's a one-stop place for all you need to turn your love for and gift in food into an actual business venture. I can vouch for the people that run this thing, that they are top-notch, eager to serve, and ready to run through a wall with you to get your business off the ground. Check them out and get to links in this nice article in Flying Kite's inaugural issue.

Thinking about Retiring

As much as I love my job, and as young as I am, yet I can’t help but turn a longing eye towards the retirement years. I recently added up the hours in my typical week schedule and came to the conclusion that I would have over 90 hours a week more of leisure time than I do now!

Retirement, after all, means you’re not working anymore, which currently takes up roughly 45 hours of my time each week; and, I work a second full-time job, called being a parent, which currently takes up roughly 46 hours of my time each week (see breakout below in italics). Not having either set of responsibilities frees up the equivalent of 13 hours each day! And this doesn’t even account for the fact that I’ll need less sleep in my older age than the 49 hours a week I currently get. That’s a heck of a lot of time for something, or for nothing at all.

Ah, but who am I kidding: I so enjoy working that it’s likely I’ll never retire. Still, here’s hoping I’ll be able to squeeze in a hobby or two by the time I reach that stage in life.

• M-F 4a-6a me 6a-8:30a kids 8:30a-5:30p work 5:30p-7p kids 7p-9p me 9p-4a sleep
• Sa-Su 4a-6a me 6a-7p kids 7p-9p me 9p-4a sleep
• Sleep Time 49 hr Kid Time 46 hr Work Time 45 hr Me Time 28 hr