tag:davidlewis.svbtle.com,2014:/feedDavid T. Lewis2014-09-26T20:56:41-07:00David T. Lewishttps://davidlewis.svbtle.comSvbtle.comtag:davidlewis.svbtle.com,2014:Post/how-memory-works2014-09-26T20:56:41-07:002014-09-26T20:56:41-07:00How Memory Works<p>When someone dies it is strange to think about them. You don’t remember them in the last moment you saw them, you remember them all at once. All the time you spent together comes back as a flood of memories. Images rush back in, as your brain struggles to make sense of the crushing loss. </p>
<p>What I keep coming back to with Rick starts with this idea of a boy: so sweet and simple. Just a child. We are skateboarding, playing ball, talking, laughing. Then I get hit with this blur of moments. Nothing specific, but through them I get a sense of the man. The picture becomes clearer until I finally get a glimpse of him and a memory pulls into focus:</p>
<p>It is just this past Spring. After my Father’s death and I remember Rick’s hand on my arm. We were standing outside in my backyard and I was sobbing. He was so sensitive, so aware. He looked me in the eye and said, “I am so sorry.” But it was the fact that he held my arm that shook me. It was just a little longer and a little tighter than it was required to be. He meant it. He understood. </p>
<p>As the memory unfolds and he touches my shoulder it quickly morphs and contorts into something new; as quickly as it appeared my mind moves on:</p>
<p>Now, we are building a fort in the woods behind his house. We start running because we flipped over a log and uncovered a hornet’s nest. We are running for our lives. Screaming. Goofy kid stuff. We collapse in his backyard. He looks at me and laughs, “I hope this summer never ends.” And I want to tell him, “it doesn’t have to…it never does.”</p>
<p>My moments are not your moments, but I’m sure you have you own. In our memories we are left with the essence of Rick. The purest notion of his impact. It is that profound sense of goodness, of gentleness that stays. This is his legacy and his fingerprint on the world. </p>
<p>Time only exists so that we don’t feel everything all at once. The best way to honor Rick is to hold on to those good thoughts and slow our own time to allow him to settle into our hearts and minds for the beautiful moments we did share. In that way he is not gone and, those great memories we all have can live on for a summer that never truly ends. </p>
tag:davidlewis.svbtle.com,2014:Post/a-fond-farewell2014-08-12T19:47:29-07:002014-08-12T19:47:29-07:00A Fond Farewell<p>I lost my father and I miss him dearly. </p>
<p>Clearly this happens to everyone in some stage, at some point in their life. In some cases it is all too early. Sometimes it comes after much suffering. In his case neither was true. My dad died quickly after a life full of laughter and wine. I am totally grateful for that. </p>
<p>What I’m left with (beyond the stunning loss) is the question of, why? Not why did he die, but why do we live? I know that lots of people have written about grief and loss and this kind of existential crisis is part of the process. I just can’t help myself. </p>
<p>I always lived for my mother’s love and worked for my father’s admiration. That is to say I wanted him to be proud of me. And I know he was. Though not always: like the time I pierced my tongue to impress a girl but wound up getting a mild infection and going to the doctor. His exact words, “you are a fucking idiot Dave.” Or when I jumped off a wall to impress a friend and wound up with a broken leg. Again, “you are a fucking idiot.” He was right, but with his impish smile I knew he was secretly impressed with my awkward fumblings through life. </p>
<p>And that is how it all started; all the things I’ve strived for have been held up against those benchmarks of his life: my children, my marriage, my friendships, my career, my accomplishments. In my dad’s passing that urge to impress has faded. I’m rudderless. <br>
The sensation is that of stumbling around for purpose. My whole notion of stability or success has vanished. It’s inconceivable to me, how you rebuild after something like this. </p>
<p>Yet, here I am digging out and moving forward. My best hope is what was once a want for approval is now much more about honoring a legacy, a continuum of his great good. His immense kindness. I like the idea that we are all part of some larger throbbing machine, as one piece fades away we all step in to fill the vacuum. I only hope I can do my part to carry on his important work as a father, a husband, a friend, a neighbor, a compassionate thinker (and a heavy drinker). </p>
<p>Maybe his energy is still here just in other forms; his breath is the breeze, his spirit the birds. Not sentient or conscious per se but enough to keep me wondering, to keep me honest and to give me a sounding board for my bad ideas (no more piercings I promise). I lived my whole life hoping to make my dad proud, but in the end need to say how truly proud I am to be his son. </p>
<p>I lost my father and I miss him dearly</p>
<p>Thank you so much. </p>
tag:davidlewis.svbtle.com,2014:Post/why-you-arent-just-lucky-to-have-a-job2013-09-10T19:55:00-07:002013-09-10T19:55:00-07:00Why You Aren't "Just Lucky To Have A Job."<p>Over the last 8 years I have been working with young artists on developing their careers. Many times they get stuck somewhere in the process and their hope turns to bitterness, “I’m just lucky to have a job.” I’ve heard this sad phrase uttered and muttered as some kind of self-fulfilling, defeatist mantra. Its wrong. If you are any good, any employer should be so lucky as to have you. The whole sentiment of the benevolent, single-sided employer is a twisted idea that has much more to do with our own crippled national ambition than it does our current downturned economy. (Though we most certainly should feel lucky for the opportunity to work, but that is another post.)</p>
<p>Watching Larry Smith’s TEDx Talk, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iKHTawgyKWQ">Why You Will Never Have a Great Career</a>, really reminded me how much of our work environment is a direct reflection of our own drive to innovate and demonstrate our merit in the workplace. Simply put, we are as valuable as we want to be. In our work. In our lives. </p>
<p>I’ve seen this ever since my first job, as a lowly video store clerk in 90’s suburban Connecticut. Those who brought a sense of themselves to their work, people with ideas, passion and excitement always moved onward and upward. The rest of the staff seemed to stand on the sidelines and toss grenades into the fray; complaining about why they didn’t get a raise or how some other employer offered better benefits or hours. Those same people always shrank the most when push came to shove. Never speaking up, “Oh well, I’m lucky to have a job I guess.”</p>
<p>And this is the issue, we are too complacent to see that it is our output that wins. No matter where we are in our careers you must care enough about your legacy to not be discouraged. Nobody owes you anything, yet you owe yourself everything. You must feel confident and proud of your work, so that you know you are the value in the proposition. </p>
<p>Making great and joyful work is all that matters, the reward comes in time and to scale. If you aren’t interested in the work, if you don’t want to actually move the needle, if you are too comfortable to try and fail at something new. Then maybe you truly are, “just lucky to have a job.”</p>
<p><em><a href="http://www.davidtlewis.com">David Lewis</a> is the Director of Career and Alumni Services at <a href="http://www.mcnallysmith.edu">McNally Smith College of Music</a> and the founder of <a href="http://riotactmedia.com">Riot Act Media</a>. He lives in Roseville, MN with his wife and two awesome boys.</em> </p>
tag:davidlewis.svbtle.com,2014:Post/speaking-up-speaking-out2013-08-27T21:36:37-07:002013-08-27T21:36:37-07:00Speaking up and speaking out.<p>On the eve of September’s Suicide Prevention Month, I’m reminded of how important it is to discuss the challenges that so many of us face in our mental health. If for no other reason than to attempt to normalize the loneliness that comes along with the acute discomfort of depression. </p>
<p>Very rarely do I post anything this private, but I think it’s important that I say out loud that I struggle with social phobia and anxiety …and have done for years. </p>
<p>This has been incredibly difficult, not only for me, but for my closest friends and family. It is something I have been really ashamed of and as a father of two beautiful children it is a constant reminder of no matter how adult we might look, how truly fragile we might actually feel. </p>
<p>In order to try to keep this panic at bay I’ve explored just about everything: avoidance, therapy, medication, drinking, denial. It has not gone away overnight, but with a lot of difficult work I can sense the fog lifting as I build better habits.</p>
<p>That said, as I get older I feel like I have seen too many young people too embarrassed and scared to speak up and seek help. I have seen too many adults paint a picture of mental health as some dirty secret or glimpse of weakness. </p>
<p>This is especially the case in the arts, where we have a delicate relationship with our emotions. The sensitivity of youth amplifies and perverts the stigma, so that very real issues get misconstrued in media and we come out thinking, “all great artists are crazy” or that, “depression is part of your gift.” </p>
<p>I want to say very loudly that the romance and glamour of emotional pain is total bullshit. You can strive to live a balanced life, you can find support, you should seek treatment and most importantly you must speak up and take care of yourself. </p>
<p>I’ve worked very hard on forgiving myself and believing that I am not perfect nor alone. Perhaps in saying something the pressure can lift, in reaching out and admitting something so deeply personal, that other people might be compelled to do the same. Then as we all ebb and flow, in-and-out of our darker days, that these confessions can stand to be a beacon of light for others that are struggling.</p>
<p>If you feel so inclined please share and speak up, but if you or someone you know is thinking about suicide, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK (TTY 800-799-4TTY). This number can be dialed from anywhere in the United States 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.</p>
<p><em><a href="http://www.davidtlewis.com">David Lewis</a> is the Director of Career and Alumni Services at <a href="http://www.mcnallysmith.edu">McNally Smith College of Music</a> and the founder of <a href="http://riotactmedia.com">Riot Act Media</a>. He lives in Roseville, MN with his wife and two awesome boys.</em> </p>