He Was a Prisoner of Hope

My dad always takes a moment during his annual Thanksgiving Blessing to welcome his guests, acknowledge all the year has provided for which he is thankful, and then offer a token of wisdom for the younger generations. The kind of wisdom that can only come through the experience of living a few quarter centuries of life.  This year his toast was especially poignant, calling to mind our beloved grandfather – who passed away 15 years ago this month – and his eternal optimism. 

“A prisoner of hope,” my dad called him.  Pop Pop was a champion of ‘what is possible’, and never beholden to simply ‘what is.’  Sure, life brought its setbacks and disappointments. But even in his darkest times, Pop Pop remained firm in his belief that goodness was always just around the corner, and reaching that corner required taking that next first step. There was no time to dwell on what was already behind him.

“A prisoner of hope.” I’ve been a prisoner of that term for 5 days. There’s just so much to unpack from that term that needs to be understood in this moment of our existence. The last few months have been painful for a lot of people. It seems every day we are forced to bear witness to some new shade of tragedy. The tragic death of a young friend(s). Watching someone we care about fall into the throes of addiction. The worldwide devastation and vitriol brought on by an unfathomable and murderous evil.

But every day we are given a choice. It is not an easy choice, but it is our choice. We can choose to focus on our fears and struggles – and there are days when it’s just so damn easy. Or we can choose to remain hopeful that tomorrow will be better, and start taking steps that might make it so.

Helen Keller brilliantly suggested that “no pessimist ever discovered the secrets of the stars, or sailed to an uncharted land, or opened a new doorway for the human spirit.”

But hope. Our brightest future exists in hope, and it’s painted by our ability to dream. Hope is where we will awaken our creative genius. It’s where we will find the strength we need to stand tall when the world tries with all its might to knock us down.  

Sometimes it will be hard, but today I choose to be a champion of what could be. I want to be a prisoner of hope. I will strive to not let ‘what is’ get in the way of my brightest future. I choose hope.

And I will work my ass off.  Pop Pop would want you to know you have to work your ass off.

30 Life Lessons from a Soon-to-be 30-year-old

     

1.  Fulfillment can't be found in a career.  It won't be discovered in a relationship.  It's not the result of a good deed.  It is the sum of all parts.  Fulfillment is a lifestyle.

2.  All my favorite life memories involve mistakes.

3.  Work to improve your weaknesses, but build a life and career around your strengths.  Otherwise, you will never be the best possible version of yourself.

4.  Never cling to dignity at the expense of a worthwhile laugh.

5.  It is better to say "I love you" too early, rather than too late.

6.  Embrace the weird.  It's just more fun.

7.  It's true - things happen.  It's up to us to determine the reason why.

8.  Within each of us is the power to inspire, but that power is never so strong as during childhood.

9.  We can either choose to be noticed or choose to fit in.  No one ever made a difference by trying to fit in.

10. Any good plan for the future requires embracing every moment as it comes.

11.  If kids made the rules, we'd all pick our noses and fart in public without judgment.  And we'd all be really happy.

12.  No one person can change the world.  But one person can inspire 100 people to action.  And 100 inspired people working together towards a common goal can do anything.

13.  The things that get us picked on in junior high and high school often become the things that make us cool when we're adults.

14.  We give words far too much power.  Don't allow yourself to be easily offended.  It gets in the way of progress.

15.  Words are really powerful.  Use them wisely and sensitively.

16.  There is no such thing as altruism.  And that's ok.

17.  Holding back is normal.  Honesty is good.  Authenticity is better.

18.  Every hero has the ability to break our hearts.  We are best served to live as the hero we wish to look up to.

19.  Hard times suck, but they always come to an end.  When they do, I'll either be a better person or I'll be dead and won't care.

20.  The lack of a solution should never get in the way of doing things a better way.

21.  Doing things a better way should never be confused with being the solution.

22.  The 2nd most important people in the world are teachers.

23.  The most important people in the world are their students.

24.  Sometimes it's just as important to learn what we DON'T want in life.

25.  Take chances.  Try new things.  Put pineapple on your pizza.

26.  Love cliches are true.  And they're awesome.

27.  The most important things we learn in school rarely come from a book.

28.  Sometimes lost causes are the causes most worth fighting for.

29.  Among the many balances required for life, it is important to balance every moment as a learning opportunity with equal knowledge that every moment is an opportunity to teach.

30.  Sometimes it's okay to leap before you look.

And one to grow:  31.  Life is thoroughly entertaining.


Now it's your turn.  What advice do you have for my next 30 years?

The Real Nespo's Guide to Not Being An Asshole

1. If you’re about to do something that you’d call someone else an asshole for doing to you, whatever you’re about to do will make you an asshole.  Stop.  Do something else.  Buy them a cookie.
2. If you make generalizations about someone in association with stereotypes regarding race, gender, sexual preference, ethnicity or age, the following happens:
1. Your statement immediately becomes inaccurate.
2. You, as a person, look and sound ignorant.
3. Everyone within ear shot who has any sense of reasoning or humanity will think you’re an asshole.
4. They will be right.
3. When you don't agree with something someone says, if you call that person an idiot and attack them personally instead of providing a substantial counter-point to the argument, chances are good that you're an asshole.  Or in over your head, in which case you should abstain from speaking.  Personal attacks are not conducive to conversation or solutions - just more asshole behavior in retaliation to your personal attacks.
4. Act only in good faith, with good intentions.  But understand we’re all ignorant to some degree.  Acting with good intentions alone does not guarantee we do the right thing.  Further, we can’t guarantee our actions are perceived the way we intend them.  Which brings me to guideline 5.
5. If you find yourself being an asshole by accident, you are still being an asshole.  Own up to it, apologize, and – when possible – make up for it.
6. Doing something in the name of faith, country, or some other “altruistic” reason, does not make an asshole action acceptable.  It makes you a hypocritical douche.  Don’t be a hypocritical douche, asshole.
7. Revenge is not a synonym for justice, but integrity is. 
8. Don’t act or speak in anger.  Everyone is an asshole when they’re mad. 
9. Learn tact.  "I'm just being honest" is not a free pass to say hateful, hurtful things.
10. "Get a job" is not an acceptable response when someone living on the street asks you for change.  Instead, look that person in the eye and say "sorry ma'am (or sir), not today."  
11. If you begin a statement with the phrase "Does it make me an asshole if...," the answer is yes.  Add whatever follows that phrase to the list of things you shouldn't say or do.
12. If anything on this list makes you feel defensive, that should be a sign.  It means you're probably, on some level, an asshole.  Review guidelines 1-11 and try to be a better human being.

Am I missing an important guideline?  Email me: JoshNespoli at Gmail.com

Fate is nothing but the opportunities life places before us. Destiny, on the other hand, is determined by what we choose to do with those opportunities. Our character determines our destiny. It's our choice. Choose wisely....second chances are not guaranteed. Rarely even promised. Almost never deserved.......

How Long Should We Mourn the Death of a Dream?

Have you ever been wrong? I don't mean wrong like stating that Wilt Chamerbalin was the greatest player of his era, when it is very clearly (and rather undebateable) Bill Russell. I'm not even referring to someone asking you a question that you think you know the answer to but you're just flat out incorrect.

I'm talking about never being so sure of something in your entire life - so sure, in fact, that it was an important factor in many of your life decisions - only to find out that everything you thought you knew...was wrong. Everything you thought existed was an illusion - a lie. Have you ever been THAT wrong?

Wow... What then? What comes next?

How long do we allow ourselves to mourn for the death of a dream? To lament the loss of our last thread of innocence before complete sinicism assumes control?

How long do we get to feel sorry for ourselves for being a fool before it's time to pick ourselves up and find a new dream?

Is one day enough? A year too much?

It's interesting what the freedom of being wrong can bring with it. When we are THAT wrong we can suddenly find ourselves with absolutely nothing to hold us back from pursuing some of the life paths we have put on hold. No ties. No obligations. No longer paralyzed by a false sense of hope.

In a way, dreams can be blinding. Don't get me wrong, without dreams we have nothing. But dreams based on a fallacy or miscalculation (a dream of the worst kind - doomed to fail from the very beginning because of our own mistake) can blind us to any semblance of truth. These kind of dreams can allow us to create our own reality where anything can be taken as a sign that only pulls us in deeper. Where the truth, that we're on the wrong track, can smack us in the face over and over again - but in our warped state of mind, driven by blind ambition and certainty that we know something no one else does, we accept these truths at nothing more than another challenge to our goal. Just one more little obstacle to overcome. And how glorious will it be when we can show everyone just how wrong they were.....

I was wrong once. So wrong, in fact, that on far more than one occassion I let what I thought I knew get in the way of my ultimate life goals. A few years later I finally learned what I knew was wrong. It took me all of a few hours after that to realize how stupid I had been, and just how much time I had lost, before I started putting myself back on track for where I want my life to lead. Within hours I was planning the next phase of my life, and I was surprised to see how little it had to do with where I was actually at. Suddenly I was free - and motivated again - to retake the reigns of my life and start living up to the potential I was told I had.

But I haven't yet forgiven myself for my foolishness - for all of the time wasted. In many ways it saddens me. Which is why I ask the question: How long can we mourn the death of a dream? Is one day enough? A year too much?

Embrace the mysteries of life

Life is full of mysteries. Some are strange. Some are ordinary. Many people try to make sense out of the insensible. Sometimes I find myself wondering whether or not we really want to know all the answers. Do we really want to understand everything? I don't think I do.

These mysteries add excitement to our lives. Sometimes they garner a sense of awe. Why do we harp over understanding the unknown? The truth limits the imagination. Not knowing allows us to dream - to make-believe and to fantasize.

When I was a kid I used to lay awake at night for hours just looking at the stars through my bedroom window - completely captivated by their beauty, and enthralled by their possibilities. When my first close relative died, I comforted myself by imagining those very stars that watched over me at night were loved ones in heaven, shining flashlights on us to light our night sky. Learning that they're really just balls of burning gas didn't add one tenth of the value of what my imagination allowed me to believe was possible.

Everyone's got an opinion, to which their entitled. Here's mine: Too often people agonize over every little detail of life. I say why not just sit back and enjoy some of these gifts of mystery that have been given to us? Embrace the possibilities.

Reading Into What Others Say (or don't say)

It seems like some people are more inclined than others to read into what people say. You might think I'm talking about women (with good reason), but guys do it too. Including me. But why? Well, what if we didn't read into things? Imagine what wouldn't be understood or how much we would miss.

-What people don't say is often more valuable and more telling than what they do say-

Here are some of my observations as to why it is often necessary for us to read into what others say.

Why do people write testimonials, and do we have any responsibility?

I am a witness...

With the words on every page, seen through my own eyes, survivors tell their stories. They share with me their trauma, asking only in return that I validate their pain - that I accept their story as truth. I will not deny them their pain. I will not forget them. I am a witness.

It is a great paradox really: this idea that we, as readers of their testimony - witnesses to their pain - accept their story as truth. It is a paradox because pain exceeds the description of language, deeming its sufferers incapable of conveying its truth - all this, contrary to the very reason why they write. After all, according to scholars like Elaine Scarry, "'hearing about pain' may exist as the primary model of what it is 'to have doubt'" (Body in Pain). So if their pain cannot be literarily expressed, and to hear of their pain creates doubt in their audience's mind, then why do they feel compelled to give testimony? What obligations do we, as readers, have towards the writer?

I don't know why they write. Perhaps it is the weight of their grief, bearing down on them from within the depths of their soulds. Perhaps they write in hopes that we will relieve them of some of their burden. I once heard a metaphor made about the weight of personal anguish and stress. Though the name of the speaker has long escaped my memory, his words are fresh in my mind. He held up a glass of water to his audience, asking how much they thought it weighted. He said the absolute weight of the glass did not matter as much as the length of time in which a person holds it. If held for a short time it is no problem, but hold it for a long period of time and the arms will begin to ache. It is the same weight, but the longer it is held the heavier it gets. The same goes for the weight of emotional pain. We must set it down once in awhile. Otherwise the burden grows too heavy for us to carry. By sharing their stories with us, maybe the authors are trying to relieve some of their burden.

Maybe that's not the reason at all. Maybe they write for legitimacy. Going back to Elaine Scarry, she has a theory that the real power of torture is the denial of the victim's pain. The torturer objectifies the victim's pain, allowing the torturer to deny its existence. By writing a testimonial, the survivor gives life to his story, and he merely asks us to accept the reality of his pain.

I am a witness...

With their words they tell me their story. With my eyes I have verified their pain. From here it becomes my responsibility to share what I witness with others. It is not enough to feel sorry for what has happened in the past. It is the duty of the reader to recognize new instances of these same violations and put a stop to them. Americans are lucky enough to have a voice that our government must recognize. Those who bear witness would be remiss to let the world repeat what has happened in the past. Today there is Darfur. Who knows what we will see tomorrow. Individually it is difficult to affect change, but it can be done. Together, as a whole people, it must be done.



Scarry, Elaine. The Body in Pain. 1985. Oxford University Press: New York.

Snowflakes: A Metaphor for the Human Relationship

Each snowflake is something special all its own.
It is whole. It is unique. It is beautiful.
When it falls from the sky it is graceful.
It doesn't know where it will land, but each flake has its own destination.


But when it lands it meets another flake - like itself, yet unique in its own right.
These two perfectly whole and perfectly beautiful flakes combine and become one.
Together they join and make something even more beautiful;
A picture perfect scene.


Their union turns them into something new. They are changed forever.
Even if you separate them again they are changed forever from their original state.


This one snowflake was whole before it met another.
Then it met its other half, and together they made something magical;
a scene one solitary flake could not possibly make on its own...
forever changing them both.

Social Awareness, being "the white kid"

It took two years of being surrounded by people in the business world, and students concerned only with bringing in the big paycheck after graduation for me to realize that's not who I am, nor want to be. I always thought I wanted to be rich, but I became so disgusted with the greed and selfishness I was surrounded by that I wanted to transfer. Midway through my junior year I came to the conclusion that I want to do good in this world. I decided I wanted to get involved with non-profit management, and maybe eventually politics, though it was not an overnight change. It began with freshman year and my first exposure to new cultures and people.

I grew up in a small country town in Northeastern Pennsylvania. I was not given the opportunity to experience much culture beyond that of the blue-collar, white Christian kind. I can count on two hands the number of people I knew who came from a different cultural background. I was friends with most of them and thought I treated them like I treated all my friends. I never understood it when they would make comments about being outcasts, or complain about being watched everywhere they went. They would talk of racism, always being categorized, and being treated differently because of their skin color.

One issue I could never understand was the problem with categorizing. I believed in political correctness, but I could not understand the problem with recognizing differences among people. Why couldn't we call a stone a stone, or a brick a brick? I didn't see why there was a problem recognizing some people as black and others as white, but it was a big problem that resulted in a lot of racial tension in my school.

My freshman year in college I was introduced to a little more culture. Culture shock might be the more appropriate term. I lived with a Dominican from Harlem and a Haitian from Mattapan. Our backgrounds were about as different as it could get, but we became close firends and spent a lot of time together. One weekend we went to a party at an all-girls school in search of pretty. When we got there I realized it was a Black Student Union party. It was over 300 black students - and me: Mr. Hick from the Sticks. I thought about my friends from high school as I became increasingly aware of the fact that I am extremely white.

I felt like every eye was on me, like everyone was giving me dirty looks. Most importantly, I felt like "the white kid," - and I didn't like it. Even the girls who went out of their way to see if I was having a good time made me self-conscious, because I knew they were giving me attention because I'm white. For the first time in my life my race became something that made me different than everyone else, and I was treated differently as a result. At the end of the night I realized our roles had been reversed. I was categorized that night and it made me uncomfortable. Now I understand, to some degree, why it was such a big issue in high school, and remains a big issue today.