Seizing the day: When a dream becomes a wake-up call

oakgray“Because, you see gentlemen, these boys are now fertilizing daffodils. But if you listen real close, you can hear them whisper their legacy to you. Go on, lean in. Listen, you hear it? – – Carpe – – hear it? – – Carpe, carpe diem, seize the day boys, make your lives extraordinary.” John Keating (Robin Williams) The Dead Poet’s Society

Last night I had a dream about my career. It woke me up with a start and I sat on the edge of my bed with my eyes wide open. I sat there staring at my sleeping wife and pondering my life. The digital clock’s red numbers ticked by slowly until sleep finally revisited me a half-hour later.

I woke up thinking about that dream. How to I prevent it from coming true? How can I change? Then I got Debbie’s note about her friend Larry’s passing from melanoma. His recurred. Mine hasn’t. My scar burned painfully. I feel like a ticking time bomb.

My high school yearbook quote reads “why put off until tomorrow what you can postpone indefinitely.” Those are childish words of a boy who had no value of time. Twenty-eight years and a burning scar on my back have taught me that value. But I still suffer from procrastination. That has to stop. Not tomorrow. Now.

Larry’s death is also reminder of a fact that is true for all of us: We are all living on borrowed time. It’s up to us to make the most of it.

So that’s what I plan on doing today. I’m going to take a hard look at what I’m doing. What am I doing right. What I need to do differently. It will be tough to face what I need to change. Change is never easy — it pushes you out of your comfort zone.

It’s time to adjust my mission. To refocus my efforts. To set out a plan for this week. This month. This lifetime.

It’s time to seize the day.

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Melanoma must be stopped

CancerFour years ago, Debbie Wallace McCollum sent me a nice note about her friend Larry. Doctors had found a melanoma on him, excised it and everything was clear. She asked for prayers. I gave them and four years passed.

This morning she let me know that he had just passed away from the disease. In January, doctors found a recurrence on his face. On January 31st, surgery determined that it had spread to his brain, lungs, colon and liver. He fought with courage and bravery –but he was facing a brutal and swift monster. Within seven months, he was gone.

Melanoma is not “just skin cancer.” It’s a very tricky and devastating form of cancer. It is easily treated if caught very early (think of the rock-ding on your windshield). I highly recommend that you get your skin screened by your doctor or at a screening. But as in Larry’s case, it can and does come back. As Ben Franklin said, “And ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.” Wear sunscreen. Avoid the sun during the peak hours between 10 and 4. Wear protective clothing and stay the heck out of tanning beds.

Larry, like my friend and cancer hero Jimmy Riley, faced my worst nightmare and lost their lives. Please take care of your skin. I don’t want you to face it yourself.

Prayers go out to Larry, his friends and family. And I pray with all my might that that melanoma can be stopped once and for all.

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How an Oak Tree Taught Me the Importance of Standing Out.

TreeAt about two miles into my Saturday morning long run, there’s an oak tree. It sits near the Reservoir on a grassy slope right off the Natchez Trace Parkway. It’s a magnificent tree and beautifully shaped. Yes, if you are familiar with my Facebook page, you’ve seen many photos of it. One person thought I had a relationship with the tree. I don’t, but I have to admit, I’m quite fond of it.

It’s the highlight of my run.

Forty-yards away, there’s another oak that’s equally magnificent — and you’ve never seen it. I can’t remember photographing it even once. You want to know why? It sits tucked safely among other trees. It just doesn’t stand out like my favorite oak.

That’s a powerful lesson. I think of all the people who have found success. They offer something unique to this world. They stand out. And for it, they are rewarded for taking the risk of stepping out alone.

Every Saturday I run past my favorite oak and am reminded to stand out and be different. To not seek the “safety” of the crowd. I even will occasionally stop, look at it and take its picture. Then I keep running, never giving the other oak a second glance.

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Learning to swim

The spot where I nearly drowned on the Buffalo River. I wasn't wearing a life vest and it nearly cost me.

The spot where I nearly drowned on the Buffalo River. I wasn’t wearing a life vest and it nearly cost me.

When you’re first thrown into the water, you feel shock. It might be from the surprise. Or the cold. But whatever the reason, panic and inaction freezes you. It’s very easy at that moment to sink and not recover. But most of the time, your survival instinct kicks in. You begin to thrash around in the water as you struggle to keep your head above it. I can tell you from experience it’s exhausting. You can’t do it for long. If you want to survive, you have to calm down and start swimming. You must have coordinated action (measured strokes with your arms and legs) Proper breathing. A goal. Then you have a fighting chance.

I think of the world since the Great Recession began. So many people have been thrown into the water. They’ve been kicked out of their comfort zones and their jobs. I watched good people give up and slip beneath the surface. But others have learned to swim and have moved on to better lives.

We’re all going to get wet. The question is will we be prepared for when it happens. I know when the fishing boat tipped over on the Buffalo River, I wasn’t wearing a life vest — that lack of planning nearly cost me my life. The same goes for your life. What’s your plan B? Are you wearing your life vest? What are you doing to learn to swim?

Don’t worry about change. Prepare for it.

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The Quiet Old Man

16299_10154534039645721_3727348983777803260_nThe road ran along a bluff that kissed the Mississippi River. I was on the highest point in the county; a rise so mighty that even old man river couldn’t conquer it during the great flood of 2011. My feet crunched the gravel and sank slightly into the sand. Bugs made the temperature seem hotter than it was and the humidity made the eight miles seem like at least twice that. The thick, lush Delta growth wrapped my senses in a thick, green wool blanket. And the orange eye of the sun peeked over the Mississippi, setting the river on fire.

I looked down at my running watch and felt sweat drip off my nose: 7.5 — only a half-mile left to go. The finish was near.

Thanks be to God.

I walked up to the house and sat on the porch. Mopping my brow, I watched the muddy water continue to slip its way to New Orleans. I was struck by the quietness of the river. A dog barked in the distance but the river flowed by without a sound. You could see the strong current — particularly when a barge was heading downstream or when a random piece of flotsam shot past. It didn’t scream, look at me. It just didn’t it’s work.

And that’s when it struck me.

The Mississippi River is like the great people I know: Strong. Deep. Powerful. Swift. Bold, yet quiet. It quietly moves a continent with confidence. A small babbling stream has to let the world know of its greatness with its sound. Not Old Man river.

It’s about action, not words. Something I knew I should strive for. More water flowed by. There was something mesmerizing about it all.

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An Uncle’s Prayer

My nephew Bryce moves into his Ole Miss dorm this week — and my sister’s nest is now officially empty (except for a very spoiled cat.) He’s moving to Mississippi (from Atlanta) and will join his brother Blake in the Magnolia State. I’m Uncle-proud and extremely pleased he’ll be here. I swear he was born yesterday.

Time flies — We just hang on for the ride.

As he settles into his new life, I have a simple prayer for him: I pray he treats his time on campus as the adventure it is. I hope he seizes every opportunity college has to offer and refuses to let go. I hope he has the time of his life (within reason for the sake of my sister.)

Of course, today, I’m reflecting on my move-in day at The University of Tennessee. I think of the loads of stuff. The nervousness. Watching my parents drive away. The blank slate of opportunity ahead of me.

If I had to do it over again, I would’ve taken more advantage of the opportunities outside of the classroom. Because that’s where so much of my education took place. Hiking in the Smokies. Hearing President George H.W. Bush speak. Working on the Student Newspaper. Drawing cartoons. Playing harmonica in a bar. Meeting Alex Haley and Senator Baker. Sitting in my advisor’s office as she helped me chart my career. Meeting the cartoonist at the local newspaper (who is my mentor and friend). Being challenged by amazing faculty to do better. Getting to know the Dean of Students personally. Serving as a Resident Assistant. Serving on Student Government. Running on campus. Going to UT football and basketball games. Playing intramural football. Seeing plays and concerts. Going to guest lectures. Making friends. Friends who I still cherish today.

Twenty-eight years from now, Bryce will probably watch his nephew move into a dorm, too. I hope that when he does, he as no regrets.

Godspeed, Bryce. And have the time of your life (within reason for the sake of my sister.)

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MRBA Free-For-All

Happy Monday! Hope you’re having an amazing week so far.

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Conquering #$%$

My running watch said 5:43 a.m. and my window to get into the shower was slamming shut.

Thus is life at the Ramsey house on a school morning. It’s orchestrated chaos. You have to hit your marks.

photo copy 5I was about a quarter of a mile from the house and the shortest route back was the hardest — it was straight up the biggest hill in my neighborhood. I have an affectionate nickname for that hill, but I won’t share it here. This is a family blog after all. Let’s just call it #$%$.

I looked at the time. I could go straight (the flatter route) and risk throwing the shower schedule into chaos. Or take #$%$.

Another glance at the watch.

#$%$ it was.

One of the most important things I’ve learned from running is that hills are 90% mental. And isn’t that true in life as well? I broke the hill into 10-yard mental segments. “If I can only make that mailbox.” “If I can make it to that driveway.” “If I can make it to the next house.” I looked at the ground in front of me, concentrating on each step I took, not the steep rise ahead of me. How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time.

Exactly one minute later, I had crested the hill. My heart rate was screaming but I had done it. I sprinted down the other side and into the shower. I had finished my 3.16 mile run, peace was saved, avoided a shower by garden hose and all was right in the Ramsey world.

I had conquered the hill known as #$%$. And now, I’m ready to conquer any other hill life throws my way. One bite at a time.

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Life’s Puzzle

Spin-Out - Comparison-1The best gift I ever received was one I didn’t want.

I unwrapped the gift from my sister and found a puzzle consisting of two pieces: A metal slot and a piece with oddly shaped knobs. You had to turn the knobs a certain way to make them all small enough to slide out of the metal piece.

So that was it. Turn the knobs and remove the piece. But it wasn’t that simple. I guess life never is. To solve it, you had to make two steps forward and then one back.

Why was that the best gift I’ve ever received?

Because it is a huge metaphor for my life so far. I haven’t just started at A and gotten to Z. It has been two steps forward and one back.

That little metal puzzle taught me that “setbacks” are just resets for opportunities.

I need to get around to thanking my sister for that gift. She has sneaky ways of proving she is the wisest person I know.

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Living with all your Joy

10609573_10154507965585721_3842358384045068740_nThe call caught me off guard. I guess calls like it usually do.

A son of a friend of mine wanted me to know about his dad’s health condition. So I quickly called my friend’s wife. My friend, a man respected in this community, had served on a church board with me. He reminded me of my father. I look up to him. We both had been diagnosed with early melanomas. Melanoma is cancer of the melanocyte. You want to catch it early. Otherwise, it’s deadly.

Two months ago, his leg went numb. A scan showed three brain lesions. Melanoma that has spread is nearly impossible to beat.

I spoke with him yesterday. He’s had two months of radiation and is on a new drug from Europe called Yervoy. His voice was full of hope. I hung up the phone feeling the burn of fear. Fear for him. Fear for me. There but for the grace of God go I. Melanoma is a monster that can come back at anytime.

But as I look at the brilliant blue sky this morning, my fear has been replaced by something else. I feel a fresh urgency to live.

Just read the news. The world is a dark place. But we’re above the grass. Fight the darkness with joy. Live with all your heart.

Melanoma may kill me someday. Or I could get hit by a falling meteor. But in the meantime, I’m going to defy fear by living with joy.

We are blessed with the gift of another day. Make something of it.

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