About Clair Norman

Writer. Communicator. Wellness Advocate. Nonprofit Leader. Public Speaker. Ironman Triathlete. Marathoner. Half Marathoner. Wife. Mother to 3. Sister to 5. Aunt to 17.

Is Kanye a Turkey?

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I only caught a glimpse of Kanye’s conversion as I walked through the kitchen while the evening news was playing. Some people are flat out interesting whether you actually interested in the content of their reality (show) or not.  The conversation about $170 Jesus is King hoodies and Kanye’s taking the stage with Joel Osteen could beg some SELF reflection, a question about how authentic your connection is to your internal King  or your hoodie graphic.  Maybe none of it matters to you and you are hungover with gratitude from a day of turkey and pie and family and friends.  I hope it’s the latter.

Kanye confessed his mental health issues when he disclosed his bipoloar diagnosis.  I admire his courage to SpeakUp.

His exhuberant profession of Christ allegiance could come from an authentic well of Holy Spirit also currented by his diagnosis.  If your hoodie professes Compassion and One Human Family and Kindness and Coexisence make sure you extend it to Him.  Capital ‘H’.  Or if you prefer lower case ‘h’ or any pronoun.  Or any living being.

Because then YOU are not a turkey.

As for Kanye, who knows?

You be the judge of that.  On second thought, don’t.

 

 

Birds, Rams, Two Coasts, and the Mind

Two big things happened this week in sports on oppostie coasts with roots in Richmond, Virginia. Read on for a common denominator you might not expect.

Birds

The Seattle Seahawks took down the only undefeated team in the NFL, the San Fransisco 49er’s on Monday night in overtime.  Quarterback, Russell Wilson who is up for the league MVP led the charge.  He is from Richmond. He is my boyfriend.  I am a cougar.  My husband knows.

Can you blame me?  The term boyfriend is a euphemism for ‘I love people with big talent, big charimsa, big heart.’  I have lots of boyfriends, including my husband and Beth Risdon. 

Rams

The VCU Rams beat the LSU Tigers in basketball, 84 – 82 at home in Richmond Virginia.  How sweet it is.  Geaux on back to Weezi – Anna. The Division 1A Rams are really something.  They always come to play. 

One common element to these two victories is the Richmond connection.

The common demoninator as I see it, is:

Alex Peavey

Alex serves as the Team Consultant & Mindfulness Coach for VCU Men’s Basketball, as well as a number of other college and professional athletes across the country.  He gave  Russell Wilson his mindfulness start in high school and they remain good friends today.

Common Denominator = Mindfulness Practice, delivered by beloved hometown expert.

Mindfulness practice focuses the mind on the present moment, clearing the noise of unecessary distraction. It works on the field, on the court, in the board room, in the mind to create clarity and flex the mental muscle.

Alex is also the Mindfulness Coach for the Cameron K. Gallagher Foundation.

Mindfulness practice works to change the relationship to stress in life and in individuals too. To learn more, email clairnorman@ckgfoundation.org.

 

My Top 3 Podcasts This Week

I am a podcast advocate.  What a marvelous opportunity to listen to engaging dialogue between respected thought leaders and doers in life on topics you choose.  As the listener from afar, in the car, during a long run, or while making your way from one place to another in any fashion. You can try on ideas for size and discern your relationship to the concepts all from the privacy of your own earbuds.  If you connect and disconnect from the flow because of the pesky wandering mind, you have the option to rewind and catch the point a second (or third) time.  It’s like graduate work toward personal professional certification in your life.  You are the advisor.  You build the curriculum. You change teachers at will and most of the time it is free.

score. Score. SCORE.

I thoroughly enjoyed these three.  I hope you will too.

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Rich Roll with Chase Jarvis.  Creativity is your birthright. Listen here.

Dan Harris with Kristin Neff, PhD. Kryptonite for the Inner Self Critic. Listen here.

Peter Attia, MD with Jason Fried on optimizing efficiency and work-life balance. Listen here.

Happy listening.  Happy living.

 

 

 

Fifteen Fatherless Years

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Today is fifteen years since my sister called me and asked if Mike was home.

Her next statement was: “Dad died today.” He was 66 and in perfectly good health.  A slender and active, golf obsessed, 8-year widower.

This is the call nobody wants.  Out of the blue.  No warning.  It happened in his parked car while running a simple errand. Massive MI. Myocardial infarction.  I like to think his heart was pushed beyond capacity.  It couldn’t bear the weight of love; given and received, the miss of his bride, and a life so well lived.

My Dad supported a family of eight and bore the grief of losing their infant son, the seventh of their  seven children.  Life was not easy for him but it was good.  He puffed his chest with pride at the many, many dance recitals, sporting events, school honors assemblies, high school and college graduations and the birth of eleven of their nineteen grandchildren.  His bride saw one, our beloved Andrew.  My parents ran a tight ship with accountabilities and consequences.

His most proud moment was every single time he walked into a room with my Mother. Peacock proud of her beauty, her soul and her character.  She was his queen.

He was not perfect.  Life pressed hard on this man with many responsibilities.   Sometimes unpleasant, his compass stayed calibrated.  God first.  Then family. Then work.  Everything else will work out.

Two days before his sudden death, I asked him how he was doing.  He said: “Clair, I have no problems.”  I was struck at his uncomplicated view on his sometimes complicated life.

I am utterly grateful for the 34 years I had my Dad around.

As for the fifteen years since, well, for him I am living a life full of love.

Hopefully with many years to go.  However, heaven will be quite a homecoming.

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My Nicholas. My Dad. Our Cameron.

Secret Time: I Just Started Cleaning Up After My Dogs

Before you put me a box with the rest of the criminal disorderlies – understand I live in a  quasi rural area of Goochland County.

Yes, it is a neighborhood with a name and an entrance.

Yes, there is landscaping that is not free.

Yes, there are patches of woods and natural areas between large lots that I hustle my dogs to with about 50% success rate.

Yes, I should not be so new to this neighborly practice of delicately (with pinched nostrils) scooping their aged poop.

My dogs are 10 and 12.

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For a decade we had an underground fence that gave them a toilet that was over an acre big.  Our lot is 2.5 acres.  We felt we were being generous yet choosy in their roam-ability. Luckily they are polite enough to isolate their business to the wooded part of  their domain. So, when the fence corroded and the college tuition bills loomed large, we decided to forego the $1,000.00 repair. I will spare you the details on the neurosis that resulted. You’re welcome.

Nobody likes poop. I know I should have been picking up after my dogs for the last 2 years but the thought of it literally made me gag.  So I didn’t.  Therefore, in the pre dawn hour as I walk my dogs in my pajamas, I would look around, hope everyone was still asleep (they weren’t) and skedaddle my way through a well worn path to their morning constitution and back.

Until my friend Ken Risdon, said, ‘Who doesn’t clean up after their dog?” Well, Ken – this girl.  Until the last few months.

Why the change? (Besides, Ken’s direct question….). 2 things.

  1. I got tired of sneaking around.  I am now proud of my little poop bags fwapping about as I waited the first drop so I could show my nabes how very communal I am.
  2. I took a core values test at work.

At the Cameron K. Gallagher Foundation we are in an exciting time of creating vision and strategic growth plans to match for the next 3 and 5 years.  You gotta know what matters to you to proceed forward. In this process members of our team are taking a core values assessment. I learned that there is a gap between my intrinsic and demonstrated value set and my professed ones.  For example, I feel overwhelmed at times and yet I don’t delegate or ask effectively for help.  I dream big and move things forward and don’t want to take personal credit. I move forward like an island yet I need and want my team. Bridging the gap is the rub. That gap is the where the magic of self discovery lies.  The gap is where the alignment and the progress happens.

I believe in community. I profess to want to get to know my neighbors and live less in silos and more in human contact. Yet I let my dogs shit on their grass.

More secrets:

I miss being with my friends and haven’t arranged one girls night out. I keep waiting for the phone to ring.

I ‘dream’ of more free lance writing but I haven’t made that long list of long term contacts to mine.

I believe in my children and have a strong faith but not strong enough to let them go.  Having a really hard time with this one.

I am working on the gaps.

The gap is where you scoop the poop even when it makes you gag.  Perhaps I am scooping more than just my dog’s poop each day.  Each day, I get to throw it away.  What a gift.

How I Know ‘Sweetpea’ Whitaker

In July of 1990 professional boxer, Pernell ‘Sweetpea’ Whitaker took a step aerobics class I was teaching as a green group exercise instructor in Virginia Beach. Sweetpea’s professional career began in Madison Square Garden after he won gold at the 1984 Olympics. In 1989, he was named Fighter of the Year by the Boxing Writers Association of America and The Ring magazine.  I called my Dad in Richmond immediately after class because he had boxed for the club team at Virginia Commonwealth University in 1958 (then, RPI). He was impressed.

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Six days ago, Mr. Whitaker died while crossing a wide intersection in that same town. Long gone from residency in VB, I happened to be in town this fateful day.  That intersection is a few hundred yards from the building where I started my post college professional career. All of these catch points have me catching my breath. I didn’t know Mr. Whitaker but when I learned of his death I remembered we crossed paths for 60 sweaty, stepping minutes to Funky Cold Medina, Casanova by LaVertand a little Jody Watley mixed in.

I still know zero about boxing but back then I knew who he was and his famous descriptor:  “Pound for pound, Pernell ‘Sweetpea’ Whitaker is the greatest boxer in the world.”

In reading about his funeral , I learned a lot about how deep Pernell’s impacts are outside the ring.  His community and his friends are forever changed for the better. I am grateful for the hope he gave many and the smile he gave me.

I hope my Dad gets to meet Sweetpea in heaven.  Maybe they will workout together.

I hear he was a pretty good boxer –

 

For Pete’s Sake, Look Up

In the weeks before he died, she and their sons spent a lot of time staring, eyes affixed on a face that graced the earth for 62 years.

“Will he eat today?”

“Is he comfortable?”

“What will we do when the moment comes?”

All questions natural to a family adoring of a man of faith and fun, adventurous, loyal and feisty to the core.

One day not too long ago when a spark ignited behind the eyes weary from pancreatic cancer, he said:

“Stop staring at me.”

Always gentle, he repeated. “No really, stop staring at me.”

It occurred to her today, just a two weeks after he died,  what he really meant.

Her Pete wanted his wife and their sons to look up.

Up to the heavens, up to the place his face would soon grace. Up to his and their Creator for strength and peace and love.

“It’s not me, it’s Him.”

Today, his Fran returns to work and I expect as she looks up, He and he is looking down on her.

Because I saw Fran on her brave morning walk – I have been blessed. I am reminded as I often was in the brief but impactful time I knew my neighbor, Pete; there is more – so much more than what is right before our eyes. And it is beautiful and wondrous and our gift from God.  Just look up.

On a day when I am full with worry of my children – each burdened with questions about the unknowns of a young adult life.  Answers to which can only come with wisdom and time and living.    Things over which I have no control.

I am reminded to stop staring at them.

I am reminded to look up.

For Pete’s sake, I will.

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Thank you, Fran.

Thank you, Pete.