This past Sunday my blog turned 5.
Two years ago I explained what blogging means to me. Those words still ring true:
It is the collegiality, the friendships that have sprung up across geographic distances. It is the pleasure of mutual discovery, of interests shared. It is the sparks struck and the ideas that ignite when viewpoints collide.
And so it remains.
Thank you so very much, readers, for your support – thanks to those of you who’ve been there since early days and to those of you who’ve just tuned in. I’m sure looking forward to continuing this conversation.
The start of a new year spurs many of us who observe the Gregorian calendar to take stock of the year just gone and to set goals for the year ahead, whether personal, financial, business, or spiritual.
In looking back on this past year, one event stands out: I lost my beloved friend Maureen last April when she died after a two-year battle with cancer.
What kind of friend was she? Here’s what kind:
Quite a few years ago, my career headed in a new direction, I was about to depart on an out-of-state business trip that would take me many miles away from home and well out of my comfort zone. (I also have to confess that I was terrified of flying.) Knowing how important this first trip was, how much was riding on it, and how absolutely petrified I was about getting on that plane, Maureen mailed me a card filled with handwritten words of encouragement, optimism, and love. I immediately put it inside my briefcase so that it would be with me on my trip. The trip was a success, just as Maureen predicted it would be.
Her card’s my good luck talisman and travels with me to this day, no matter where I go. The envelope that contains it is frayed around the edges, and the card itself is battered and worn from holding it in my hands so often, but the words, in Maureen’s handwriting, remain clear.
Maureen was an extraordinary, luminous soul, lit from within by all the qualities of character she possessed. She let that light shine brightly into the lives of those fortunate enough to have known her. Like that card I carry with me, Maureen’s love still travels with us, packed up safe inside our hearts.
I will always remember how much that simple and sincere gesture meant to me. A card, a stamp, a few handwritten words. That was all. Friendship is built upon such foundations – the thoughtful deed and the stalwart heart.
And so, in Maureen’s honor, there’s one resolution I set for myself this year: to be a friend like her.
With best wishes to you all for a joyful and healthy 2010, and may you be blessed with loyal friends.
Thanks so much for reading.
Sad news today, friends.
One of the very best of the ADR bloggers is closing up shop.
Geoff Sharp has announced today that Mediator Blah…Blah… has ceased publication for now. Other projects beckon, and time with family matters. Geoff writes,
We’ve had fun, you and me. Thanks for reading, I remain grateful that you took the time.
We did indeed have fun, Geoff, and we are the ones who should say thanks.
Geoff wrote with honesty and straight from the heart, as posts such as “Rehearsing in poetry, practising in prose” will attest.
I’d been blogging for just under a year when I first met Geoff. His reflections on practice have been an important part of my online life for over three years, and I will miss him very much.
Best wishes, Geoff. Thanks for everything. And I’m really glad we’re friends.
If we are fortunate, mentors await us along our path, reaching out a hand to guide us when the road grows rocky or shining a light on the way ahead. Later our lives lead us miles and years from our own beginnings. In keeping our eyes on the path ahead, it’s easy sometimes to forget to look back and remember the ones who steadied our steps.
I received an email this week that reminded me how important it is to stop and look back, to recall our mentors and the difference they made to our work and our lives. The email was from my friend Ericka Gray, who shared with her colleagues reflections and memories on learning of the death of a champion of ADR and justice, whose wisdom and encouragement influenced the direction of Ericka’s own life. I thank Ericka for allowing me to share her message with a wider audience:
Dear friends and colleagues;
I just learned of the recent death of my first mentor in the field of ADR, retired judge Martin L. Haines. I wanted to share my knowledge of him with you.
He taught me to always challenge the status quo when the status quo wasn’t good enough and to always question things that I thought needed questioning. At my interview to become the director of the 4th multi-door courthouse in the US, he asked me what I thought my job might be. I responded, after having listened to his ideas, that it was to challenge the court system to do better and to make people think about things differently. I was hired even though I wasn’t a lawyer, as the job supposedly required. After working for him for several months, I revisited the question of my job and told him I thought that it was my job to cause some sort of trouble at least weekly. He smiled, thought for a moment, and said that he was inclined to agree. His eyes sparkled as he added that he often caused trouble and it seemed that he had the most fun when he was doing so. Since he wrote many controversial decisions and was known to routinely be questioned by those above him, he truly enjoyed what he did! I resigned when he announced his retirement since I couldn’t imagine working there for anyone else.
Judge Haines was an incredible man who had the respect of all, even those who didn’t agree with him. He was truly a gentleman. I will miss him. He has left an indelible mark on my soul and encouraged my passion for pursuing justice in both process and outcome for all. I wish that you all could have known him.
Is there a mentor you’d like to thank? Let them know while there’s still time.
What we need in the United States is not division; what we need in the United States is not hatred; what we need in the United States is not violence and lawlessness, but is love and wisdom, and compassion toward one another, and a feeling of justice toward those who still suffer within our country, whether they be white or whether they be black.
Forty years ago today Robert F. Kennedy spoke those inspiring words as he announced the tragic death of Martin Luther King, Jr., to an African-American audience gathered in Indianapolis, Indiana.
Forty years later these words remain relevant. If you’ve never heard this speech before, or long to hear it again, read it or listen to it now.
