Let Loose in the Park

Driving to Loose Park this past week for Ultimate Frisbee pick-up, I noticed, for the first time, the full name of the park: "Jacob L. Loose Memorial Park." Well, I figured there just had to be a story behind this Jacob guy, and sure enough, there is, and of course I have some commentary to go along with it.

What Loose Park, biscuits, and the pyramids share in common

Mountains talk to me. No, I'm not crazy.

Last week I ventured into the wilderness. Ok, I guess since the trailhead parking lot was full, the path was well trod, and we passed more than a dozen fellow hikers, wilderness is not exactly accurate. It was, though, far from the sights, sounds, and smell of the city. We hiked up to Conundrum Springs, natural hot springs at the peak of a valley (do valleys have peaks?) not far from Aspen, Colorado.

One of my aspirations for this trip was to leave behind me, even if temporarily, the stress and anxieties of the daily grind. Is that really possible? Can we shed our worries as we shed our tailored clothes, makeup, dress shoes, and all the other accessories of life back home? Is it truly that simple?

Yes, yes it is. With each foot of elevation gain my heart felt a little lighter, and it wasn't just the thin air going to my head. As we approached two miles above sea level, my worries may as well have taken up residence on another planet.

Day two of our trip afforded us several hours of silent contemplation while relaxing the the hot springs overlooking the valley on one side and lofty mountain peaks on the other. It was then that the mountain spoke to me.

"I will remain here forever," it said, "or at least forever in

comparison with your brief life. No matter what mistakes you make, what troubles befall you, what riches find you, I don't care. Year after year I will stand here. You may come back to visit, you can even bring your children. Or, you may never return again. Either way, it doesn't matter to me, because here I will stand."

This reminder of my insignificance, instead of sobering me, relieved me. What I had thought so important, so life altering, now seemed puny. This freed me to breathe easier, to take in all that surrounded me. It allowed me to relax in the mountain's gentle cradle. It asked nothing of me but my presence, and I took nothing from it but its peace.

In one week I will return to the classroom. I look forward to another year of teaching, of the laughter, frustration, joy, and weariness it will bring. Yes, I anticipate helping my students move toward discovering and achieving their goals and dreams, but my life will not depend on it.

For I know that no matter what, the mountain stands there still, waiting for my return. Or not waiting. It doesn't really matter.

General McChrystal: major blunder or brilliant strategy?

Along with the basics of reading and writing, I try to teach my students the rules of the game- those unwritten rules that your employer, banker, parole officer, professor, expect you to know and to follow.

Recently one of my students asked me to proofread a document she had written. I suggested one addition. “But I don’t really feel that way,” she protested. “It doesn’t matter,” I explained, “it’s the rules of the game. They’ll expect this to be in your document, and no matter how good and sincere the rest is, without this, it won’t work. I don’t care whether you really mean it, and frankly, they don’t either. They just want you to say it. It’s the rules.” In the end, she discovered how right I was, and was able to include the suggestion and achieve her desired results.

She faced a critical decision. She could play by rules she didn’t completely buy into for long-term benefit, or she could refuse to compromise her integrity and leave the organization. Either choice presented its own challenges, and I would have supported and respected her whichever she chose. What was important to me was that she was fully aware of the situation, that the choice was truly hers so that she was not a powerless victim to the system.

Which brings me to Gen. McChrystal. What we have on the surface is a highly decorated, highly experienced officer with tremendous responsibilities and under a great deal of stress who, unfortunately, made a few off-hand, stupid remarks that lost him his official position: in charge of the war in Afghanistan.

I have a hard time swallowing that story. Here’s a man who, better than 99.999% of the population understands the rules of the game. And anyone who’s served a minute in the military, or knows someone who has served in the military, or has heard anything about the military, knows that in order to achieve the rank of general, a person must demonstrate time and again an extraordinary measure of discipline, self-control, patience, and strategic thinking.

So what are the chances that one of the most highly respected generals in the U.S. military, with enough experience and success that he led an entire war effort, oops, slipped up and said something stupid during an interview with Rolling Stone magazine.

Is it possible that McChrystal knew exactly what he was doing? Was this a strategic move rather than an amateurish blunder?

If so, it was genius. He was removed from a position of responsibility with which he was completely frustrated, but removed in such as way that he was able to retain his rank and his honor with no disciplinary action while bringing to the nation’s attention the major challenges our military faces in Afghanistan. Heck, he was even commended by the president for all the good work he’s done up to this point.

I can’t help but admire him as a strategist. He didn’t just play by the rules, he owned the rules. He made the rules submit to his authority. Assuming, of course, that my humble theory is correct.

I think I’ll invite him to be a guest presenter to my class.