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Posts Tagged ‘strength’

Whoever heeds instruction is on the path to life, but he who rejects reproof leads others astray.

Proverbs 10:17

Last Friday I wrote about the myth about human trafficking and the Super Bowl.  It was my response after reading this by this “health” blogger.  The blogger and I have had our philosophical differences in the past, but to me, this was pretty cut and dry.  I left a few comments with links to groups that are in the trenches of human trafficking, pointing out that they, these advocacy groups for the victims of human trafficking, were saying that this myth was hurting, not helping, the victims of this horrible crime.

Her response?  Nothing.

I pointed out that some of the very sources she linked to at the bottom of her post had altered their opinions on the matter, so shouldn’t she?

Nothing.

The very people she is claiming to care so much about are asking her to change her stance and her response is…silence.  Now, I don’t doubt that this blogger’s heart is in the right place, but when you let pride overwhelm what is right, what does that say about you and everything else you supposedly stand for?  What does that say about all of the “out of the box” remedies and life style choices (some of which are brilliant) she advocates for?  If she can’t go back and admit she is wrong on something like human trafficking, how can we trust that the health choices she advocates for haven’t been debunked or even classified as unsafe?

Pride…it can make you do stupid things.

***

The other day fitness model and personal trainer Bella Falconi posted this on her Instagram Feed:

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Inspiring, right?  I used to feel the same way until someone pointed out to me years ago that although everyone does in fact have the same 24 hour every day, some must work 2 or 3 jobs, through no fault of their own other than life, just to put a roof over their children’s head and food in their children’s stomachs.  After a 16 hour day, as a parent, would you choose to go work out or spend some quality time with your children?  I said as much in the comments section, noting that perhaps until one is a parent, one cannot understand.  I can’t actually tell you exactly what I said because Bella Falconi’s response was to delete and block.  Now granted, this wasn’t the first time I had called her out on something.  It was the second.  The first was when she used the term “retard” in a derogatory manner.  Then, just like the blogger above, the response was silence.  At 27, this may simply be the immaturity of youth or that she has lived in the bubble of her success for too long.  I don’t know her, so I can’t say.  What I can say is that the response, much like the one above, seems to be rooted in pride.

***

A few month ago, Autism Speaks held a “March on Washington” event.  Leading up to it, Suzanne Wright wrote her now famous op-ed about lost children, broken families and cities build for autistic people.  As Autism Speaks patted itself on the back with a lavish party in DC complete with a Broadway review, thousands of autistic individuals and their families tried to make it clear to Suzanne and Autism Speaks that in order to truly speak for autistic people, the organization needed to let those people actually speak…but more importantly, Autism Speaks needed to listen.

The response?  Nothing.  Autism Speaks continues to believe that autistic individuals should not have a voice in how the world’s largest autism advocacy group operates.  One doesn’t have to have a Ph.D. to see just how wrong this is.

***

This all led me to posting this the other day:

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And maybe that is what it comes down to.  Perhaps Sarah, Bella and Suzanne all feel that admitting that they are wrong on something will be perceived as a sign of weakness.  Perhaps they are afraid that if they admit they are wrong on something that people will call into question everything that has come before.  I believe the exact opposite to be true, because if you are willing to admit that you make mistakes, it shows me that you actually care about what you are putting forth; that at some point, you will go back and double-check and triple-check your work; that if someone says, “hmm. I don’t know about that…”, you’ll go back, see if there are new facts or new science either backing or refuting what you say, and you will act appropriately.

Admitting you are wrong, when you are wrong, is a sign of strength.  As my friend Allissa said, “Knowledge + Humility = Power”.

***

Whoever heeds instruction is on the path to life, but he who rejects reproof leads others astray.
Proverbs 10:17
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Today I have my very first guest-blogger.  She is none other than my lovely wife, Jess.  I hesitate to let you read further only because she is a much better writer than I am.

***

[tweetmeme source=”luau” only_single=false http://www.URL.com]

All right, so you can pick your jaws up off the floor now. Seriously, it’s impolite to stare.

I know how implausible it is to find me here. Me – of “I only run when being chased” fame. Me – who once announced to the world that I was going to run a half-marathon, got three weeks into Dante’s third ring of Hell training, decided for the millionth time that I DESPISED running, then spent the next six months trying to hide from anyone that had been within earshot when I’d made the declaration. Me – who would sooner chew glass than run, no less spend my time reading a blog about running (Sorry, honey, you know I love you, right?).

And yet, here I am. And I have a story to tell. And it’s about running. I know, what are the odds?

Here goes.

In another lifetime, when I was thinner and taller er, um, younger and richer oh, Hell, let’s just go with just out of college, I lived in Manhattan. Long before Luau and I met, and a good many years before I would become a running widow, I would periodically head over to the finish line of the New York City Marathon. Friends and I would go to share in the revelry of the day. We’d whoop it up and cheer in the runners as they ran along Central Park South. We made it our personal mission to help push them over the last hump as they neared the finish line in the park.

I loved being there and I always found that the energy and inspiration lingered long after I’d walked away.

One year, after cheering in God knows how many runners, I headed over to the West Side for dinner with a friend. We tucked into a window seat at a favorite restaurant and ordered a bottle of wine. We talked about everything under the sun. We chatted and laughed and watched the people go by. We ordered slowly and ate even more slowly. Why not? We were living in the days of nowhere to be. It was long after nine o’clock when we finally paid the check.

I headed out into the night, amazed at how dark it was. I walked across town, making my through the park and back down to Central Park South. I was changed by what I saw along the way.

A lone runner was making his way along the same path that had been lined with bodies hours earlier. Where there had been rows of fans five and six deep. there was now nothing but a few stray barricades still waiting to be collected. There was no fanfare now – no one screaming or urging him on – no one there waiting to hand him a banana or a mylar blanket. There was no one to put a medal around his neck, offer him a massage or even give him a handshake. There was nothing at all but him and the place where the finish line had been. It was nearly ten o’clock at night.

I stood in the dark watching him with tears streaming down my face.

One at a time, he pulled his forearm crutches around his body. At awkward angles, they kept time with his feet until he finally stopped to raise them above his head.

I felt like a voyeur. I didn’t say a word. I didn’t move. I just stood back in awe of the human will.

Finishing that race was for no one but him.

Running is intensely personal. Whether you’re obsessed with running a qualifying time for a marathon (ahem), looking to beat a personal record (ahem again), or just hoping to make it in before the course closes, unless you’re an elite runner, it’s for no one but you. Running for a cause or running against the clock; running two miles or running twenty six miles, if you’re really going to do it, it’s got to be for YOU.

If you’re running New York this weekend, I wish you luck and I wish you strength.

And while you’re there, if you start to falter, keep your feet moving toward the park. Because there, you might just find the spirit of the man who finished HIS race long after the spectators had gone home.

***

Jess can be found at Diary of a Mom where she writes about our life, our beautiful daughters – nine and-a-half year-old Katie and seven and-a-half year-old, Brooke, and our up and down journey with autism.

She also runs the Diary of a Mom Facebook page, a warm and supportive community of parents, friends, adults on the autism spectrum and some random people in her life who cared enough to hit ‘Like’ and probably now wonder what they got themselves into.

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