Keepin' it Light | Words on the Bright Side
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# How to Give Free Hugs: A Case Study in Being Wholly and Fully Present.

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“Brothers don’t shake hands. Brothers gotta hug!”
– Chris Farley, Tommy Boy
love

It’s not easy to put yourself out there. It never is. And because of that, many people hide, ignoring their truth, choosing to play it safe. Even these words can carry a bit of hesitancy, not much, but just enough to possibly hold someone back: Do I write from my head or do I listen to my heart? In the best interest of both my writing and the reader, I’ve chosen the latter.

If you were to tell me a few years back that I’d be holding a “Free Hugs” sign along the southern California coast (with a t-shirt reading “BOULDER”), I may have dropped dead. I would’ve assumed one of the following things: Either I was on drugs. Lots of them. Or I’d lost a bet. A really shitty bet.

But believe it or not, the muse was voluntary, enacted on behalf of my God-given (Nature-given, Universe-given, Source-given, whatever you may) ability to choose. I witnessed the gesture on multiple occasions during visits to New York City and graciously participated in the operation. What a simple, yet profound idea. I loved it. One day, I would reciprocate.

That day came recently on The Strand (a busy beachside walkway) in Hermosa Beach, California. My morning nerves dissipated quickly when my brother and I decided our purpose was simple. All we were doing was “sharing love”. That’s it. And that was our response to everyone’s question of “Why?” That coupled with a thick layer of my innate sarcasm, “Well, why not?” Aside from “sharing love,” Free Hugs was about taking action. It was about showing up, even with extreme malaise.

In the spirit of “truly” giving, there was no attachment to the outcome. There was nothing to take personally from the critical stares, glares, snide comments, laughter, and questions of our sexual orientation. I knew the idea held a higher purpose and that was enough. By expressing more of myself, I’d open the door for others to do the same. Plus, the other end of that spectrum held a much more powerful element: the beauty of the human spirit. A spirit filled with genuine gratitude, pure smiles, and a willingness to Love.

The most rewarding part of all was the diversity the experience held.

Some hugs came with one hand.
Some hugs came with both.

Some hugs were drive-bys.
Some were feature films.

Some came instant.
Some came delayed.

There was “Immediate Response Lady.”
And “Immediate Tears Lady.”

I had a sweaty hug,
and an international hug.

There was a “thank you,”
a “God bless you,”
and even an “I love you.”

One child read “Free Bugs,”
while a skateboarder thought “Free Drugs.”

Most came from women, but there were a few brave men. Each was unique, yet each was the same. They all felt good. Really. Fucking. Good. The sign said “free,” but most I would have paid for.

“Free Hugs” proved a tremendous success due to the abundant and extraordinary courage of all its participants. It also helped to have a golden stallion of a Labrador retriever sitting by my side wearing a sign that offered “Free Sniffs.”

Research indicates we need four hugs a day for survival, eight for maintenance and twelve for growth. If we desire to grow, that means we need twelve hugs every twenty-four hour period.

To most, these stats may carry a level of ambiguity, but my level of truth does not. These are facts I lived. On Sunday, July 10th, 2011, by giving I received. And by giving, I grew.

love

# Fetch in 50: A Short Film

Fetch in 50 from Trevor Olwig on Vimeo.

# On Knowledge, Wisdom, And Jesus As An Undergrad.

Knowledge isn’t power.

(A stream of ewws and ahhs flood the just-a-second-ago positive aura of the audience).

Heresy! Blasphemy! Traitor!

Blasphemy? What is this a 14th century beheading? (I haven’t even done my Jesus bit yet). But before you throw fruit at my head, allow me to continue. Now, where was I, oh right…

Knowledge isn’t power. It can be powerful, per se, but it’s not power in and of itself because it cannot walk itself. And since it can’t do that, of what use can it be?

For knowledge to be of service, it requires action – Right Action for that matter – which is marinated in our intuition and experience. In other words, Our Wisdom.

Let’s peel the curtain, shall we?

KNOWLEDGE + WISDOM

knowledge: acquaintance with facts, truths, or principles, as from study or investigation.

wisdom: knowledge of what is true or right coupled with just judgment as to action; discernment, insight.

Knowledge is the acquisition. Wisdom is the application.
Knowledge collects. Wisdom connects.
Knowledge thinks of change. Wisdom is the change.
Knowledge can be forgotten. Wisdom evolves and evolves… and evolves.
Knowledge proves (head). Wisdom soothes (heart).
Knowledge reaches for the past. Wisdom is the present – the Right Here, the Right Now.

A gloomy side effect of knowledge is that it’s often accepted as is and as some kind of independent life shaper. It may be for some, but it’s not a one-size-fits-all approach. We’re conditioned to assume that the accumulation of world news, irrelevant classroom facts, MBAs and PhDs is part of our earthly duty. Just like thunder only happening when it’s raining, that, too, is patently false.

(Think: the New York Times article about families preparing for the end of the world or the pop-quiz that asks for the capital of Estonia (and you’re a music major) or what that silly politician posted on Twitter or who the general was in such n’ such battle in such n’ such war that took place in such n’ such country 700 bleepin’ years ago).

If this was the case, they would’ve been named the Three Smart Men, not the Three Wise Men. And instead of gold, frankincense, and myrrh, they’d have gifted a World History tutor, a protractor, and the application fee to the college of Jesus’s choice.

Teacher: Mr. Christ, is it?
Jesus: J.C. is cool.
Teacher: Listen J.C., I hope you’re free this summer…
Jesus: Well, I was planning to liberate humanity with sermons of Oneness and Love.
Teacher: (Holding a red-inked piece of paper to J.C.’s face). Not with these algebra grades you won’t! It’s summer school for you mister! And by the way, would it hurt to use a razor every now and again?!

Speaking of math, let’s rewind to the 11th grade.

I’m in an afterschool study session because I was struggling with algebra-trig. Here we are, me, Mrs. Lindsay, and a quiet, empty classroom. She’s teaching, hunkered over the equation at hand. Me? I checked out long before we sat down. Through the open window, I can hear the blaring music of my classmate’s cars driving away from school property. And then, out of nowhere, something rose from Within Me. I turned to her and kindly, but firmly, spoke.

“Mrs. Lindsay, you’re a fantastic teacher. I admire your passion and support, but I will never use this as long as I live. It’s just not for me.” She respected my honesty and conviction – my wisdom in knowing myself, that is – and helped me pass the course.

Truth be told, I wasn’t bad at algebra. My subpar grade was a direct reflection of being markedly bored out of my mind. I was wholly and fully uninterested. Furthering my disinterest was the “system” telling me this course was essential to my education and growth as a human.

Peeled back, the root of education comes from the Latin word educare which means “to draw out.” Traditional education – the stuff we’re used to – loves to “put/jam/pile stuff in” rather than extract the Beauty of what’s already there – (aside from their skill at withdrawing from bank accounts, that is). BADOOM CHHH!

The globalization of information has tricked us into believing that if it’s in the newspaper (never have I ever regretted canceling my USA Today subscription and clear mind that ensued more than a decade ago) or trending on Twitter (i.e. sugar-coated in algorithmic fear), it’s valuable – or better yet, important to our evolution and service to the world.

What do you mean you’re not watching the Capitol Hill hearings all day?!?!
I mean I’m not watching.
Wait, you’re not worried about a nuclear attack?
Where is the wisdom in worrying?

You didn’t get your bread and milk?! Susie Weather Lady is calling for six-and-a-half snowflakes overnight. Can you even imagine if that level of accumulation sticks? #blizzard2K22
I’m lactose and gluten free.

Nevertheless, we stockpile information, binge on Facebook feeds, and study extraneous subjects as though an externalized something could ever “draw out” the tune of our Truth, or better yet, remind us of the pre-packaged Spark that every last one of us was born with.

A friend once shared a terrific analogy regarding Bill Gates. He has amnesia and has forgotten everything. He needs business consulting. What do you do? Do you get him behind a computer, teach him code, polish him with skills and strategy?

### Or do you wake him up to the fact that he’s Bill Gates?

This in mind, wisdom, then, just needs a little fine-tuning. A rebranding, if you will.

### KEEPIN’ IT LIGHT meaning:

wisdom: the constructive use of knowledge as per individual soul; mind + heart in action; inner-sight, divine direction, God knowledge.

Mother Mary: But Joe, he’s the Messiah.
Joseph: And that’s going to put food on the table?!
Mary: (Pausing) Did you miss the five loaves, two fish thing?
Joseph: (Talking over Mary) That’s just horseplay, dear. He’ll work with me in the woodshed this summer. Come fall he’ll hit the books. The job market is thin enough without a diploma.
Mary: But Joe!
Joseph: And don’t get me started on this inflation crisis!

Whether you go for the masters, backpack across Europe, riff a mean guitar, pull an epic shot of espresso, study Art History or are totally, crazily fulfilled in telling your child or partner how much you love them every day, it doesn’t matter. Skip the static and stay guided.

“The more you know” is an ode to self-knowledge. It’s a wisdom thing, really.

That’s where power lives.

###
love

# Roadless Travel or (How to Join a Bahamian Choir)

    A memorable trip requires immersion and spontaneity. Sometimes that means going to church.

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The beach and view right outside of church.

hel
I’ve traveled more than the average person. When I set out, I wasn’t super adventurous – I spoke English my entire semester in Madrid and ate McDonald’s for dinner my first trip to Paris. (Phew! I finally said it).

Eventually, my curiosity grew and I began to open up.

Like most travelers, I started with guidebooks and went where they told me. The itineraries were safe and easy to follow. I stared at historical sites and photographed famous things. And despite my stance on foreign soil, I was unfulfilled. My cookie-cutter route left me with the same souvenir, and even worse, the same story every other tourist imported home.

Since then I’ve shed the guidebooks and rarely consult with the internet. An authentic adventure – for this traveler, at least – means venturing without a script. I’ve let my guard down and developed an attitude of “yes.” If the sign points left, I’ll often turn right. The moment I forged my own road and followed my curiosity and nothing else, travel magic began to unveil.

Like the time I shared potato chips and a soda with a group of Indian children on the banks of the Ganges River.

Or the trip to Macau when I ditched an obligatory “press” tour to gamble on a soccer match with a Chinese bookie in a dimly lit backstreet and won $100.

Tales like these can’t be found on TripAdvisor.

Travel instantly became a way to not only explore the world, but an opportunity to trust what’s “out there” and relentlessly test one’s comfort zone. A day in a distant land offered more of an education than the fifteen-plus years I sat inside a classroom.

As my happenings accrued, I began to document the effortlessness in which they occurred. Case in point, a recent jaunt I took to the Bahamas.

It’s a hot Sunday morning on the island of Bimini when I make a sweaty half-mile trek to the local Catholic church. Religion is big in these parts – or so I’m told – and this is my Bahamian attempt to “do as the Romans do.” I pass a couple of conch stands before shadowing the entrance to the beachfront structure.

To say the church is toasty would be quite the understatement. My iPhone says it’s 80 degrees outside which means God’s House has no doubt eclipsed the century mark. Fortunately, I find an empty pew adjacent a fan that’s so dusty and rusty it appears it’s been pulled from a shipwreck. All this does is make me hot… and allergic.

The service itself fails to ameliorate the narrative. When Father So-and-So isn’t handkerchiefing his brow, he’s a healthy reminder of my innate ability to sin in a myriad of ways. Which, of course, doesn’t matter. If the good Lord reads minds, I’m a shoo-in for post-mass confession: I can’t shake the irony that this church is “hotter than Hell.”

With mass nearing its terminus – no more than an amen or two to go – Father So-and-So makes an announcement.

“In honor of All Saints Day, the men of our parish have a gift for the rest of the congregation,” he says. Hmm… what could this be?

Slowly, the ringleaders of the scenario rise from their pews and steer all men towards the front of the altar; parishioners I assume. The woman to my left, however, gestures me to join them. “No, no,” I think to myself. “This is a parish thing. I didn’t even chip in.” But she insists, so I walk forward.

Lest I remind myself that I’m not at church on a perfect Caribbean beach day during a weeklong visit to the Bahamas for health reasons, right? I’m here for that travel magic – which on this balmy morning has left me with nothing but a pitted-out white tee and a steamy crotch.

Now facing the congregation with a group of 20 Bahamian men, the ringleader hands us our “gift” to the church: a sheet of lyrics to “When the Saints Go Marching In,” which we sing together for a confused, wildly off-beat six minutes.

Someone recently told me that tourists collect photos and bring them home with the hopes of reliving the moment. (I’d argue they never really lived the moment to begin with, but that’s for another time). Travelers, on the other hand, bring back stories. They tell them and let you imagine.

So here I am singing my heart out with 20 of my newest friends and a pew full of children wondering what planet I arrived from. All eyes and photos were aimed my way; a detail that only seemed to power more electricity through my veins. Hello there, travel magic.

##### “Travelers bring back stories.
They tell them. And let you imagine.”

When I left church that morning, I almost asked a parishioner if they’d e-mail me one of their photos – you know, so I could give the story justice. (My grandpa likes proof of my tales abroad. He’s joking, I think.) But I decided to let the moment be.

Remember that scene in Forest Gump when Forest, played by Tom Hanks, is singing and clapping in his best friend Bubba’s choir?

Yeah, just imagine that.

hello there travel magic

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