You Can Change   
The World

—Even If You're A Nobody—

© 2018 Dennis Edward Green

Published by Boulevard Press

Table of Contents

Introduction

1. A Taste of Heaven

2. Innocent Cries

3. Deserving Souls

4. The Visionary

5. Meaning of Survival

6. Autograph Please

7. Unconditional

8. BDO

9. The Producer

10. Oh, Baby!

11. Don't You Think?

12. All You Need to Know

13. Who Cares?

14. In This Together

15. Now, What's Wrong?

16. Secrets

17. Miss Direction

18. Ascot & Red

19. The Emancipator

20.Author's Notes

21.Thank You

22. About The Author

Introduction

One evening, my wife Mary Lou and I saw a movie that made me think about changing the world. It was a violent film filled with murder and mayhem in a future world gone mad. That wasn't the only thing that elevated my feelings that night. On the way to the theater, we heard on the car radio about a two-year-old girl who drowned in the family's backyard swimming pool. Another story described a multiple-victim killing in a high school.

Every day we hear about earthquakes, hurricanes, or tornadoes that decimate towns and villages and kill hundreds, even thousands, of people. It's hard to understand why we have so much death and destruction in our world.

People say they don't know how God can let these terrible things happen. I understand that feeling, yet I don't believe God has anything to do with our problems. God doesn't cause earthquakes, or car crashes, or any of the crazy stuff that humans can dream up to hurt one another. Still, that doesn't preclude me from wanting to intercede and stop the insanity. I wanted to do something to make life feel more hopeful. After the movie, I felt this need in an exceptionally strong way.

Mary Lou and I stopped at a little pizza place in Palm Desert, California near where we live and talked about the film. I told her how it affected me. She shared my feelings; then she asked the question that led to this book.

"God doesn't meddle in our lives," she said, "but what if you could? How would you change the world? What would you do if you had that power?"

I thought about her question for a moment but didn't answer.

"I'm serious," she said. "What would you do?"

"Well, I guess I would start with the impossible and work on the big problems like war, disease, hunger, poverty and hatred. What about you?"

"I'd have a similar list, plus I'd clean up the environment and deal with climate change. I'd also work on some personal things."

"Such as?"

"I'll call it the 'less-impossible,' like self-esteem. I'd give everyone the confidence to succeed and feel good about themselves."

We went back and forth like that for a while, then Mary Lou suggested I ask our waiter, a young Latino, how he would change the world. When he came around to our table, I said to him, "Can I ask you a question?"

"Certainly. Can I get you something?"

"I would like to know how you would change the world, let's say... if you were God."

"I'm sorry?" he said, his brow furrowed.

I repeated, "If you could be God, what would you do to make the world a better place?"

He grinned nervously. "What do you mean?"

I asked the question one more time.

Finally, he said, "Do you mean what would I change if I could be God . . . you mean God, God?"

"Yes, God, God."

He glanced up toward the ceiling as if hoping for an answer from God. He sighed and said, "I don't know, maybe I would give poor people some money."

I was curious. "How much?"

"I don't know," he said, "enough, I think." Then he added, "That is a really interesting question." He walked away, his eyes scrunched up, probably wondering why he always gets the weirdos at his tables.

Mary Lou and I talked about his answer. What if all of the poor people in the world suddenly became rich? Who would work in a restaurant? A few minutes later the waiter returned.

"I would give every poor person I know ten thousand dollars," he said. "I mean, why not start with that and see what happens?"

Soon, another waiter, a young woman with straight, ash-blonde hair came by the table. I guessed she was mid-twenties. She said, "I wouldn't change anything."

Obviously, our waiter had shared my question. "Really?" I asked. "Why not?"

"Because the world is too complicated. Once you change one thing, you can't predict what will happen because of it."

"Is it important for you to predict the outcome of every change? You can't predict the future now."

"You can't play God with the world. Nobody is smart enough. Look at the lottery winners. A lot of them say they were happier before they had money." I assumed she was referring to the other waiter's idea of giving money away.

While we were eating, the male waiter kept walking by and smiling, like he was pleased with his decision. We talked more about this idea of changing the world; then we finished and went home.

***

That night I stayed awake thinking about what it would mean to be God, to have the power to fix anything. Most of the ideas Mary Lou and I kicked around at the restaurant were pie in the sky. I didn't have any delusions about suddenly waving a wand and ending war or curing cancer. So what was the point of thinking about the impossible? The exercise was interesting, but I didn't know how it would make a difference.

About three in the morning, I realized I was working on the wrong problem. Mary Lou and I had been in business for many years. We invented consumer products together, and we learned the hard way not to overextend ourselves. We had a lot of grand ideas, but we didn't always have the resources or the technical knowledge to turn them into viable products. Now I was doing the same thing with this idea, overextending, tackling all of the world's problems at once instead of focusing closer to home on something I had the power to change. Changing everything feels impossible. Changing myself, my behavior, is a different story. In fact, it turned out to be the motivation for writing these stories.

***

Later that morning Mary Lou and I were sitting on the couch having coffee. I told her I had an idea for how to change the world. I would write a book about what people say they would do to change the world if they were God. The book would focus on the sort of problems people can solve by imagining the impossible.

"Why start with the impossible?" she asked

"Because, that makes it easier to imagine and achieve what you called the less-impossible."

"You've lost me."

"I remember something Mother Teresa said, 'Not all of us can do great things, but we can all do small things with great love.' Charles St. John has a Lao Tzu quote at the bottom of his emails. It says, 'Great acts are made up of small deeds.' I believe that's true. We can change the world by making small positive changes in our own lives. But I think we can benefit from a higher starting point. In other words, dream big but start small. In business we always say think global, act local."

"Changing our personal lives as a way of changing the world is not a new idea."

"I know, but that doesn't make it any less worth writing about."

"How will you do it?"

"I'll ask people to imagine the impossible things they could do. That will expand their thinking. What would they do if they had absolute power to change the world? Then I'll bring them back to earth to look for small changes they could make in their own lives. I'll evaluate the responses and use the best stories to inspire more people to change their lives in positive ways. The changes we all make as individuals will change the world for the better."

"You're saying you'll inspire me to think big before I think small?"

"Yes, I want people to look at their lives in a new way."

"So, your stories will be the catalysts to start me thinking about how to address my own personal, everyday problems?"

"Yes. I will write about how others crossed conventional boundaries and changed their lives—starting out by imagining they had unlimited power."

"Interesting. I can't wait to see what kind of answers this question sparks. When will you begin this quest?"

"This afternoon."

***

A few hours later I began asking friends and acquaintances at our health club, if they could be God, how would they change the world? I wasn't surprised to hear that virtually everyone was passionate about curing cancer and other diseases, because those problems often hit close to home. People also wanted to end starvation, prevent wars, clean up the environment, even fix potholes in the streets. Before long, I worried that if I kept hearing the same ideas over and over, my stories would all be the same and not much of a catalyst.

Then a conversation with a young woman who worked there pointed me in a new direction. After she identified the usual problems, I asked if there was anything else she would do, perhaps to change her personal life. She confessed that if she could be God, she'd send her manager to Hell for how he treated the employees.

Revenge was not the kind of good idea I was looking for, but from that day on, when anyone finished telling me the usual things they hoped to do, I asked if there was anything else. This book is a collection of the answers that fit the anything else category, what Mary Lou called the "less-impossible."

While researching the category of impossible problems, I discovered a video interview with Dr. Brian Mullany, a man with strong feelings about changing the world of medicine in poor countries. Dr. Mullany works around the globe solving health problems. In an interview he gave on the Big Think–YouTube Channel, he talks about world health problems.

"When something comes along that's correctable," he asks, "why don't we solve it? The idea is that global health folks and the huge foundations prefer to chase problems like AIDS. Or they want to invent the miracle vaccine. They don't want to solve diarrhea, which is an old mundane problem, but it kills millions of children every year. They don't want to do cataract surgeries that were perfected in 1949 because it's old news. You aren't going to win a Nobel Prize for doing cataract surgery or correcting cleft pallets."

Dr. Mullany says if he were in charge of global health, he would make a list of the biggest problems. Then he would have one column with a checkbox signifying whether the problem has an existing cure or not. Next, he would go down the list and choose to solve all the ones that already have cures such as cataracts, blindness, burns and clubfoot.

"We could save and change a lot of lives with just a little bit of money in that area," he adds. "In 2015 there were 20 million children and adults that are blind solely because they couldn't afford a surgery that takes as little as five minutes and costs as little as thirty-five dollars."

Dr. Mullany makes a compelling case for solving the less-impossible problems that cause suffering for millions of people. Likewise, I hope these short stories show that you don't always need to tackle monumental problems or leave home to make a difference in this world. Sure, big sexy projects get media attention, but you don't need to bathe in a spotlight to add your brand of good to the world.

The characters in these stories imagined achieving the impossible. That allowed them to see less-impossible problems they had never noticed but were staring them right in the face. They went dreaming above the clouds, but surprisingly, they discovered many possibilities for change on their way down to earth and in their own backyards. They showed you don't have to be a celebrity or a politician to change the world.

The people that inspired these stories discovered naturally that the focus on solving impossible problems made them think outside their own box. As God, they could solve any problem, but as themselves, they knew they didn't have that ultimate power. Still, starting with the impossible opened their eyes to the less-impossible challenges that felt within their reach.

Each story in You Can Change The World was inspired by an actual conversation or situation I encountered. I changed the names of the people and dramatized each story to make it readable and provide a beginning, middle and end. I also added my thoughts about what each story means to me. If you prefer to interpret the stories in your own way, feel free to skip my observations. Nevertheless, I am interested in your impressions of the stories and the people. Please email me here to let me know your thoughts: dennis@BigIdeaSchool.com.

One last thing. You can change the world simply by writing a review for You Can Change the World. How will that change the world? No matter how you rate this book, reviews increase awareness of the subject, and that can motivate others to think about how they could make a difference—even if they're a nobody.

1. A Taste of Heaven

He said, "Don't you think we'd all be more considerate of each other if we knew for sure what was waiting when we passed on?"

At first, it wasn't easy for me to walk up to strangers, and ask what they would do about the world if they could be God. But some of the most interesting answers came from people I didn't know at all. Here is an example.

While standing on a street corner one afternoon, waiting for the light to turn green, I noticed a guy about twenty yards away standing by the side of the road holding a sign. I couldn't make out what was written on the sign, but the fact that he was dressed in clean casual clothes, like an office worker, piqued my curiosity. I watched him walk away from the curb and settle down on the grass in the shade of a tree.

Perhaps he was a campaign worker, or maybe advertising something. I decided to investigate. As I approached, I noticed his eyes were closed like he was enjoying a break. The sign lay flat on the ground beside him. In bold print, it read, "Will Work For Free." You can understand why that grabbed my attention.

You don't expect to see someone dressed like him standing by the side of the road holding a sign, let alone advertising he's willing to work for nothing.

He opened one eye and offered a tentative smile. I introduced myself. He told me his name was Kevin. I guessed he was maybe forty. We chatted for a few minutes, then I asked him about the way he was dressed and about his sign.

"You know," he said. "I'm not sure I need or even want a regular job anymore. I sent out resumés, made calls to friends—all the usual stuff." He sighed and shook his head at the futility. "Didn't accomplish a thing. But I like working, so here I am. I think people are more willing to trust me when I'm dressed for work. By the way, you're standing in my conference room." He smiled.

Nice sense of humor, too. "What about your offer to work for free? How can you make money giving away your time?"

"Reciprocity."

"Can you explain that?"

"Somebody gives you something, you feel obligated to give back. When I give freely, people naturally feel like returning the favor. I don't ask for money, but ninety percent of the time people pay me anyway, and usually more than I might have charged. I trust people, and people always need help with something. They see me standing here with my sign, and they pull around the corner into the parking lot. They ask if I can help them move a bed or cut down a tree or solve a problem with their computer. That's my specialty and why I wear this." He pointed to his baseball cap with the word "GEEK" boldly printed on the front panel.

"One thing leads to another. I come back to this corner when I'm not helping somebody. A lot of traffic passes this intersection. Word of mouth. I'm the guy on this corner that can do just about anything you need."

He described a few of his strange jobs. Then I told him I was writing a book and explained the premise. I asked him what he would do if he could be God. He didn't answer right away. He closed his eyes again and leaned back against the tree like he was seriously considering my question.

After a long pause, he said, "You know what I've always wanted to do?"

"What?"

"I know this sounds crazy impossible, but I'd like to fence off a big chunk of the Mojave Desert, turn it green and create a model of Heaven on earth—like the Garden of Eden. Then I'd give everybody a chance to try it out."

"Try it out?"

"We think Heaven is a paradise. But we don't really know for sure, do we? Why not create somewhere to go so you can see for yourself? I used to be in real estate. Before the recession, my thing was building model homes. Model homes sell houses, you know."

"I'm sure. Are you saying you think people would live better lives if they could get a taste of Heaven on earth?"

"Precisely. I think we'd all be kinder to each other if we knew for sure what was waiting when we passed on. That is our greatest fear, isn't it? We don't know what happens when we die. A model Heaven would clear that up."

I was amused by this idea. Wacky, but fascinating!

"How long would they get to tour your model Heaven?"

"Three weeks, and I'll tell you why. When I was a builder, I worked seven days a week. My wife was always trying to get me to take her on a vacation, a real vacation. She wanted three weeks. Finally, we saved enough. Things were a little slow, so we went to Hawaii. We had a marvelous time. It really is paradise. We could build a model of Heaven there, but it's a little far to go for most people on the mainland. Here's my point about three weeks. The first week I was wound up like a Swiss watch, worried my developers would go to one of my competitors to build their model homes. Then the second week I started to relax. By the end of week three, I didn't want to go home. That's why I think three weeks is about the right amount of time. It would really sink in that Heaven is worth waiting for."

"How would people find out about it?"

"I don't know." He thought for a few moments. "Social media. Ads on Craigslist saying, 'Visit Heaven Now.' " He sat there for a moment, almost in a trance, then he looked up and pointed at the sky and shouted, "Yes!"

He jumped to his feet, brushed off his pants and said he had to run. "Thank you, thank you!" Then he shook my hand.

"What are you thanking me for?" I said.

"You gave me a great idea, and I'd love to continue our conversation, but I gotta go."

"What about your potential customers?"

"They can wait. Right now I need to get to my computer. I can have the website built by Friday."

"What website?"

He grinned and pumped his fist in the air and shouted back to me as he hurried away. "It's called Visit Heaven Now dot com."

Seeing his enthusiasm as he hustled off, made me hope his idea would turn into something. I had no idea what he might accomplish, but he is a perfect example of how imagining the impossible, turning a desert into heaven on earth, inspired him to conceive the less-impossible---a website to spread his idea. His fantasy of building a Heaven on earth was to show what awaits us if we will be kinder to one another. I was curious how he would manifest his philosophy in a website.

***

What I learned from Kevin was the power of reciprocity, counting on the kindness of others to reward us for honest work. It occurred to me that reciprocity works the same way in life that we count on it to open Heaven's gate. Kevin's philosophy was simple: do good work, ask for nothing in return, and you will have a good chance of being justly rewarded---in this world and the next.

2. Innocent Cries

She said,"Behind your question is an assumption that I could be God. To assume that is terribly arrogant, wouldn't you say?"

Los Angeles to New York is a five-hour flight. I was shoehorned into the middle seat of a three-seat row. A nun sat in the aisle seat on my right. I assumed that from her white headband and the rosary beads laced between her fingers.

When I saw a young mother coming down the aisle with a baby in her arms, I knew she was destined for the window seat next to me. How did I know this? Because that's the way it works when you are six-foot-four and hoping for a nap.

Her baby was an angel now, but at takeoff, when the air pressure changed inside his little sinus cavities, he would complain the only way he knew how. That had me a little on edge.

Once she settled in, the young mother smiled at me and introduced herself as Trish. She apologized right away warning me that her baby didn't like to fly. His name was Jake. Trish was originally from New Jersey, and they were flying back there to be with her family for Jake's baptism. She said her husband was in the Marines and had recently deployed—she didn't know where but prayed he was okay. They had been stationed near Palm Springs, California at the Marine Corps Air Ground Combat Center also known as Twentynine Palms.

We took off and sure enough, Jake woke up and began to protest the pain in his little head. They were innocent cries, and I didn't take it personally. Fortunately, I had just read Dina Proctor's book, Madly Chasing Peace, showing how three-minute meditations can counteract stress.

An hour into the flight, Jake was still crying. I was on the verge of a few screams myself. Trish looked like she hadn't slept since her husband had deployed. I remember what sleep deprivation was like years ago when my son was colicky. I was in college, and there were times when I wanted to jump out the window and end it all, but as the old joke goes, it's hard to commit suicide leaping out of a basement.

Don't get me wrong, I love babies, and my son, but Jake had the lungs of a tuba player. I think every parent fears their crying child might get them thrown off the plane, or even banned from flying by the International Airline Passengers Association. Of course, I'm kidding. That's not a real association. But guess what. There is an actual National Rail Passengers Association. I doubt they have any jurisdiction on a plane, but you never know.

I noticed Trish fiddling with her seat belt like she wanted to get out. She raised up in her seat, looked toward the front of the plane then to the back. I guessed she needed to use the lavatory and wondered what to do with Jake.

It's hard enough to walk down the aisle of a plane dragging a rolling bag, but toting Jake and maneuvering inside an airplane lavatory would require Wonder Woman powers. I'm certain I couldn't accomplish it. I had a feeling Trish wasn't looking forward to the challenge, either.

She looked at me, her eyes pulsating like distress beacons. The nun was asleep. I was her only option.

"Let me take him for you, Trish," I said, feeling good about myself.

Her face brightened. At that point, I don't think she cared if I was a serial killer. She needed out! I woke the nun, apologized for disturbing her, and explained I needed to stand so I could hold Jake while his mom visited the lavatory.

I stood in the aisle swaying with Jake and returning all of the sweet smiles I was getting from other passengers. It's nice to feel like a minor-league hero.

Trish returned, and we all settled back in our seats. She looked pleasantly surprised to hear that Energizer Jake had gone to sleep. I doubt it was anything I did. He was probably exhausted from an hour of pleading for relief. I wondered when it would be Jake's turn for a trip to the lav.

I told Trish to take a nap, and I would hold Jake. I mentioned I had a granddaughter to assure her I had the chops to handle whatever came along.

"Are you sure you don't mind?"

"Everything will be fine. You get some sleep."

To be honest, I loved the silence. I noticed Trish reach down to retrieve her purse. She took out a rosary made of hand-carved, wooden beads. I was sandwiched between rosaries. Maybe I would get some spillover benefit, like spiritual second-hand smoke.

Trish rested her head on one side and closed her eyes. I watched her fingers work on the rosary and imagined she was praying for her husband's safety—or maybe some sleep. A few minutes later her fingers stopped moving.

The nun said, "That was nice, taking Jake."

"Self-defense," I said, in a very soft voice.

The nun nodded and smiled. "I heard you say that you have a granddaughter."

"Yes."

"I sometimes wish I'd had children."

Wow! That was a shocker. No way could she mistake me for a priest, but I swear I had just heard a confession. It wasn't long before we were whispering like conspirators. Her name was Sister Mary Ignatius. I wondered how many nuns took that name. She had just returned from Guatemala where she was ministering to a tribe in the western highlands. She had been assisting a group of Catholic doctors and dentists who had traveled there to help the locals with various health problems. Her role was to convince mothers to let the doctors treat their children. She had been involved in this capacity for three decades.

Awhile into our conversation, she said to me, "And what keeps you awake most days?"

"Excuse me?"

"What is your purpose in life?" she said.

I must admit my life purpose felt quite less important than hers. I told her a little about myself and eventually mentioned the book I was writing. I asked her, "If you could be God, is there anything else you would you do?"

"About what?"

"Anything. Your life. Airline food. Something to make the world a better place. If you had ultimate power, what more could you do for the children of Guatemala?"

"That is a strange question!" she said. "I am not sure it's appropriate."

"Excuse me?"

"Behind your question is an assumption that I could be God. To assume that is terribly arrogant, wouldn't you say?"

"Not really. I think it's our responsibility to care for the planet. I don't expect God to solve our problems. It sounds like you don't either based on your work in Guatemala. I'm just asking you to dream about the possibilities for improvement."

She stared into the seatback in front of her and sighed. "Well, yes, there are things I would change, but I wouldn't presume to be God."

"I understand. The question is just a way to get people talking." She gave me a disapproving teacher look. "So what would you change if God gave you carte blanche? Imagine you had God's blessing to do anything."

"That's a clever rephrasing. Why are you asking me this question?"

"As I said, to start you talking—to unleash your imagination—so you can change your life, or do something you assume is impossible."

She didn't respond for a few moments, then she said, "As long as you put it that way, I will think about it."

A few minutes later she closed her eyes. I wondered if she was sleeping, or thinking about my question—or wishing she could move to another seat.

About halfway into the flight, everyone, including Jake, took their turns at the toilets, then we all settled back in. Trish had Jake now. All was right with the world.

An hour passed when I heard Sister Mary say something in a soft voice. She was a small woman—the top of her head only reached my shoulder—and it was noisy. The pilot was on the intercom sounding like a tour guide.

"Excuse me, Sister, what did you say?"

"You asked me what I would do if God granted me the right to change the world, and now I am going to tell you what I would do."

"Great! I'm listening."

"Good." She paused while the flight attendant passed by collecting garbage. "This is what I would do. I would sell eighty percent of the assets of the Church, including a number of Vatican buildings, and I would create an endowment to help the poor. It would be a foundation like Bill and Melinda Gates have."

"Sounds unlikely, don't you think?" I was being provocative to see how far she would take this impossible idea.

She looked at me with a disappointed frown. "If the Good Lord gives you the imagination to try something different," she said, "he has a very good reason, wouldn't you agree?"

"I can't argue with that."

She laid back against her headrest and looked up at the ceiling. "I know that the Pope will never sell the Vatican. It would never happen. But now you have me thinking."

"About what?" I asked.

"What if the Pope made the Vatican Bank extend micro loans to the poor to help them start small businesses? They could become self-sufficient and export their crafts all over the world."

"Sounds like a plan to me."

"Fine," she said. "Can I count on your support?"

"What do you want me to do?"

"Talk about this idea in your book."

"I will. Is there anything else?"

"Yes. Pray that God will mention this to the Pope."

***

Sandwiched between two women on a plane from Los Angeles to New York, I learned something about service. From the personal to the global, Trish and Sister Mary Ignatius were devoted to caring for others.

A young mother's devotion is focused an inch wide (on her son) and a mile deep (on his specific needs). Her commitment to her child is singular and intimate. Her reward is the pleasure of feeling her child's breath on her neck, sharing the rhythm of his heartbeat against her own, and believing that his future is unlimited.

Sister Mary's devotion is the opposite. It runs a mile wide (helping many children) and an inch deep (limited to the time she has with them). Her commitment is spread over countless children and their families. Her devotion is to humanity. She will never feel a child growing within her, but she will feel the joy of dedicating her life to improving the quality of life for scores of children. I asked Sister Mary Ignatius what more she could do to achieve her mission if she had God's power. That question inspired her to step outside her role and imagine selling the Vatican's assets to create opportunity for those in her care. It was a huge leap of faith—an impossible idea.

Still, by imagining she had God's blessing, Sister Mary was free to consider the outrageous. She pictured the impossible, which led her to the less-impossible—finding a way to inspire the Vatican Bank to grant micro loans to the poor. Who knows where her idea will lead? Maybe Vatican micro loans won't work, but now she is thinking about what else she might do to make a difference for the people in her care. Trish and Sister Mary were changing the world every day by addressing the innocent cries of others in need.

3. Deserving Souls

"He had me worried when he used the words 'rightsize' and 'targeted.' I urged him to continue even though his bizarre ideas made me uneasy."

Fundraising dinners are good for charities, which is why I attend them from time to time. The food and the conversation aren't usually very interesting, but this particular day was different, not because of the food, but because of the conversation I had with the guy sitting next to me.

His name was Sandy. I guessed he was in his late thirties. He told me he had worked on Wall Street but had moved to California about eight months ago to work for an investment fund. He asked what I did. I explained the book project.

"What would I do if I could be God?" He frowned, sighed, then took a slow drink of water. He put the glass down and held onto it for a moment, then answered, "I can't, so what's the point?"

I doubted he was trying to solve the homeless problem or invest in a cure for cancer, but you never know. I shouldn't prejudge people; it's a nasty habit, like smoking or feeling superior.

"The point," I said, "is to unleash your imagination so you can do things you hadn't thought were possible. I believe that if you can let yourself dream the impossible, you can discover the less-impossible, and that will help you achieve something worthwhile."

He stared at me without blinking. I got the feeling he was trying to decide if my question deserved a response. Finally, he said, "I would make the planet twice the current size. I mean, how are we going to support the ten billion people that will be running around thirty years from now? Although maybe I shouldn't worry. Life on earth is like the stock market, ripe for a correction. No doubt we will accidentally create some sort of super virus that will cut the population naturally."

If regret had a face, his nailed it. He had sad eyes. His thin upper lip curled into his mouth, forming a knife-blade line. I may have been reading too much into him because of the Wall Street thing, but he felt damaged and sounded bitter. I waited, sensing he had more to say.

"On second thought, why wait for nature to correct our numbers? If I were God, I would rightsize the population, now."

Did he actually say...rightsize?

"I'd cut back on our numbers, not like in the Old Testament with a flood or a plague. I wouldn't be a one-size-fits-all God. I wouldn't resort to natural disasters or viruses, either. I would be much more targeted."

"Targeted?" I was sitting there a bit stunned. Who was this guy?

"I would pick those souls that I knew would eventually dwell in the bottom of Dante's Nine Circles of Hell and target them for immediate removal. This would include sociopaths, killers, liars, cheaters, and the worst of the greedy—and medical professionals."

Medical professionals?

"If I were God, I'd know who they are. I would be the ultimate judge, jury, and executioner. Save society the expense. I wouldn't waste time letting them foul the planet and ruin the lives of good people. That would leave room for people who deserve to be here. Who knows? Maybe then we might survive with the planet in its present size."

The words "rightsize" and "targeted" raised flags, but including "medical professionals" in his list blew me away. Was he referring to rogue pharmacists dealing drugs out of their cars, or what? This was a very strange conversation. Still, I am a glutton for weird, so I urged him to continue even though his bizarre ideas made me uneasy. I was too curious to leave it alone.

"Anything else," I asked.

"For the virtuous, I would redesign the human body," he went on, "which should have been done in the beginning. I would make our bodies more fuel-efficient, so we could consume fewer resources. I would also make us disease-resistant and heat-and- cold-resistant. Then I would deal with lifespan."

"Meaning?"

"Why do good people need to die? Natural elements last for thousands of years. Why shouldn't humans who live a good life get to live forever? Aren't we more important than rocks or salt?"

I wanted to mention that rocks and salt aren't living. I was also concerned about population growth if no one ever died. I was tempted to ask if he saw new births in this future world, but I wasn't sure how serious he was. Plus I didn't want to interrupt.

"If I could start from scratch," he continued, "I would design life for better adaptation. If I could be God for just one hour—I don't need six days—I would eliminate all of the mistakes I made the first time around, eliminate everything that didn't work out like I planned. I would clean up the planet to make it work for the people who earned the right to be here."

This guy was waaay out there. I wondered if his life experience drove this fatalism. Was he married? He wore a ring. What about kids? How did he sound around the house? He didn't seem to be what I would call a "fun guy." I asked him if he had a family. He looked uncomfortable with the question.

He took another drink of water and wiped his mouth with his napkin. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button on his shirt. He cleared his throat. "As a matter of fact, my wife died a year ago. We didn't have any children."

"Oh, I'm sorry." I wondered about the ring he still wore.

He waved off my condolence like he wasn't asking for sympathy. I didn't say anymore. After a lull, he started talking about his wife.

"We were married for twelve years. She was an amazing woman. A beautiful person, inside and out."

"May I ask what happened to her?"

"Cancer of the white blood cells . . . promyelocytic leukemia (APL) a rare and very nasty form." His voice increased a couple of notches. "You know what, they actually have a treatment for APL. It's called all-trans retinoic acid (ATRA). It fought the cancer for a while but the side effects damaged her lungs. Ironically, it was the chemo that caused bleeding in her brain. That's what killed her."

He looked directly at me, his eyes intense and angry. It hurt me to watch him reliving the tragedy. I regretted opening this can of pain.

"There is no reason that should happen to such a wonderful person," he said. "If we were properly designed in the first place, this would have been accounted for. Perfect blood shouldn't be hard to create—if you're God."

Before I could say anything, the master of ceremonies at the front of the room tapped the microphone and started making announcements. Sandy, the fund manager, stared at me; I should say he stared right through me. I had a feeling he was picturing his wife. He looked away for a moment, then turned back to me and said, "How can we understand a world where the good die young and the bastards live forever? Maybe your book can make sense of it. I can't—even if I were God."

At the front of the room, the speeches began, but I was still thinking about the look on his face. He was angry, but it wasn't a revenge anger, it was a wish-I-could-do-something-about-it anger, the kind you feel when you lose the person you love most in the world and can't do a damn thing about it.

When the speeches were over, we got up to leave. He handed me his business card as we were walking out. I read the name of his investment fund, which was innocuous enough. But beneath the company name, I saw something that surprised me. It also lifted my spirit and my estimation of this man for how he was dealing with his anger. I watched him walk down the hall, then I reread the card. It was a description of the company's purpose: Funding Leukemia Research.

***

It was clear to me, now. Sandy couldn't bring back the woman he loved, so he committed to doing something less-impossible. His pain became a motivator. The suffering caused by circumstances beyond his control didn't stop him from fighting back. Yes, he was angry. He had every right to be. But he turned his anger into a quest to help others.

We've all been told not to judge a book by its cover, that people are more than they appear to be on the surface. It's a lesson I forget from time to time. Then I meet someone like Sandy and I'm reminded how easy it is to pass judgment on people before you know their dreams and their pain.

4. The Visionary

"At the present time, children learn too many useless facts, often simply because facts can be tested. We must stop teaching to the tests and stop testing the irrelevant."

A book publisher in Rancho Mirage invited us to a party in honor of a friend of ours who published a memoir about growing up in the shadow of her movie star mother.

When we arrived, most of the people were outside so we joined them by the pool. We saw our friend surrounded by well-wishers. I gave her a thumbs-up, and she waved back. It was late afternoon and the sun was low and bright; the temperature was a comfortable eighty degrees.

Mary Lou saw a friend and excused herself, leaving me to roam. I drifted over to a small group talking about the dire state of public education. I noticed one of the women wore the same style of sunglasses as mine—the kind with the leather cups on the sides to keep the sun from making crows-feet around your eyes. Not that I care about wrinkles, but I don't see many women wearing that style, so I felt a connection. In this Facebook era, it doesn't take much to feel tribal callings.

This woman's voice was high-energy. One of the other women called her Andrea. She sounded confident and expressive, loaded with interesting ideas about how teaching and learning needed to change to keep up with evolving technology and social media. I eventually got around to joining the conversation. After we exchanged names, a guy named Ed asked me if I was in publishing. I explained I was an author working on a new book.

Andrea with the cool sunglasses asked what the book was about.

"It's about the answers I get when I ask people how they would change the world—if they were God."

"I see," she said. "Tell me more."

The other people smiled and nodded knowingly at Andrea. I didn't know why. At the time I thought it was because of my cogent blurb. "If you could be God," I went on, "you could step outside your box and see a world with unlimited possibilities, ones that aren't apparent if you're just sitting around waiting for something to happen. Being all-powerful helps you imagine the impossible."

"What is the point of that?" asked the woman to Andrea's right. Her name was Jan. "Isn't it better to focus on what is possible?"

"If we begin with the possible," I said, "we get the same thing we've always had. When we start by imagining the impossible we stand a good chance of achieving what my wife calls the less-impossible and that may ultimately lead to doing the impossible."

Ed asked, "Can you give us an example?"

"Sure. Let's take Sir Richard Branson and his Virgin Galactica. Before he talked about flying passengers into space, he built an airline. But he didn't start with a fleet of planes. He started with one airplane. And he got into that business by accident. Over time, he achieved what at first seemed impossible to him. My point is, when we start dreaming above the clouds, we have more choices about where to stop on our way down to earth. For example, Andrea, if you could be God, how would you change the world of education?"

"If I could be God?" She looked at me and tilted her head back with a laugh. "Oh, be careful what you ask for if I'm in charge."

"This is your chance to fix everything that's wrong with education. No limits. What would you do?"

She smiled. "How much time do I have?"

"As much as you want. Tell me, what do you think is the greatest challenge to public education?"

"Money!"

"Money for what?"

"To start with, unfunded health care and retirement liabilities for teachers and administrators. In California alone, it's in the multi-billions and rapidly growing, and it's going to demolish virtually every state budget over the next ten years. Then there is the cost of educating people. Already, few people can afford a university education. School construction is another problem. Retirees will be the largest population group in the next decade. They aren't going to support special school bond offerings forever."

"What's the solution?" I asked.

"The current approach is to cut costs and then cut some more. Cutting budgets is nonstop, but where does it end? When there are no more teachers and only the administrators and school boards remain? We have to be more creative in how we acquire knowledge."

"How would God solve this problem?"

"As God, that's easy. I would embed our cumulative knowledge into DNA, so we could focus on the present and the future. If all existing knowledge were in our genes, like instincts, everyone would start life on a more equal footing."

"What a wild idea!" Jan said. "Imagine newborns as smart as their parents. Scary!"

"Here's another idea," Andrea said. "I would give you a videographic memory. Call it VM. If you had a recorder in your brain, not a flawed memory, you could replay what you learned whenever you wanted. Best of all, your memories would be accurate."

Jan said, "That's definitely starting in the clouds. In reality, though, how do you get from the impossible to the less-impossible?"

"VM already exists," Andrea said. "It's YouTube, Facebook, Pinterest, Instagram, Vimeo and virtually every website archived in the cloud. Our lives are available to the world as permanent VM."

"Or BM if you ask me," said Ed.

No one acknowledged his toilet humor, including me, until Andrea smiled and offered an approving touch on his arm. Then everyone chuckled.

Andrea continued talking about how more learning should be based on video. She mentioned Kahn Academy, Udemy, Skillshare and Creative Live and the free massively open online courses, MOOCs, where anyone can learn from others how to make, build and create just about anything.

"With so much recorded knowledge," she continued, "we need to re-examine the idea of classroom teachers delivering lectures. Students can watch a YouTube lecture at home or at school and work one-on-one later with the teacher in class to answer questions related to the lecture. Moreover, these lectures can be created by the best communicators in their fields."

Jan said, "Andrea, so you would change how subjects are taught in the schools?"

"Yes. I would hire the best producers, actors, and writers to make videos on every subject and make them available worldwide to all schools. Why not get our best communicators, artists, and musicians teaching using the Internet? Forget textbooks. Create a lot more interactive projects to engage kids and gamify lessons when appropriate."

"What is gamify?"

"It's using games to teach complex relationships. One of the oldest games is SimCity. It helps us learn about interdependence by simulating the real world. Games challenge us to think, not regurgitate facts. Universities and businesses use games to teach. Private schools use them; why not public schools? Pick a subject, any subject, and use storytelling and games to deliver learning disguised as entertainment."

"This sounds like Sesame Street for all ages," I said.

"Exactly. One of Sesame Street's secrets to learning is anticipation and repetition. They discovered that repeating information from one day to the next and adding something new each day taught children to anticipate the material and predict outcomes. That held their attention and helped them feel successful and enjoy learning.

"In our current system, if the student doesn't grasp a concept in the first lesson or lecture—too bad. Teachers don't have time to repeat lectures. They have extensive material to cover. They have to move on. In the teachers' defense, it's not easy to deliver the material knowing that some children are falling behind. But when we put the lecture in the hands of students, they can pause and rewind the information until they've mastered a concept. It works wonders. As an added bonus, if a student is dyslexic, he will learn better by watching and listening to a demonstration rather than reading a textbook.

"Classroom teachers could be the moderators, curators, and tutors. They would have more time to guide individual children to achieve mastery. We can design our own individual shoes and shirts and jewelry online, why can't we individualize education? Once we ignite an interest—any interest—curiosity will take its natural course. All knowledge is connected, but we don't do a very good job of making the connections for students.

"Years ago, a TV series called Connections on PBS showed us the way. It was a ten-part series based on a 1978 book and narrated by James Burke. It showed an interdisciplinary approach to the science of invention, and it taught math, science, language, politics, religion and history all connected in context. We've been talking about using an interdisciplinary approach to education for decades. Some teachers use it and some don't, but it must be built into the curriculum to be widely effective.

"Social media is turning us all into visual and auditory learners. We need great storytellers to keep students engaged. We must stop educating children the way we mass-produce pigs and chickens."

I asked, "What about the content, Andrea? Will that change, too?"

"Children still need to learn basic math and language skills, but any subject can be supplemented using mind maps. Mind maps can show connections between writing and reading, grammar and storytelling so students get a clearer picture of language and how it will help them express their ideas. Mind maps increase learning speed and retention. Mind mapping can improve creative problem-solving and critical-thinking skills and better prepare students for the future, the unexpected. Mind maps can help students combine convergent and divergent thinking. That will improve their problem-solving skills and will make them better citizens and more informed voters and more able to separate fact from fiction.

"Education is the foundation of a democracy, and I'm afraid our foundation is beginning to crumble because too many young adults are tuning out because of our outdated teaching methods. They are forced to learn too many useless facts, often simply because facts can be tested. We must stop teaching to the tests and stop testing the irrelevant.

"There are two essential skills I want our schools to stress.The first skill is how to listen to understand opposing viewpoints. Listening to understand, not to debate, will foster respect and empathy, which is vital in this age of diversity. If our democracy is going to last, we must be able to see through inclusive lenses. Second, students must learn how to communicate their ideas clearly and passionately so others will listen, understand and care about their message. The Internet is turning us into a nation and a world of entrepreneurs, making listening and communicating essential to success."

She was holding an empty glass. I was about to offer her a refill, when a man approached and whispered something to her. She nodded and asked him to wait a minute.

"I want to finish here, she said. "Then I would be happy to meet with them."

I didn't know who she was, but she seemed important. She was clearly in demand.

She turned back to me and said, "We all have our abilities and disabilities, but when we stuff all children into the same box, we turn them into numbers. That's not effective! We can't let learning be about test-score politics. We shouldn't punish dyslexic children who struggle to read words on a page. People aren't stupid because their brains are wired to see patterns rather than words and letters."

Andrea's friend was urging her to go with him, still anxious to introduce her to someone.

I didn't want her to get away, yet, so I asked. "How do you learn best?"

She smiled. "Now, I am mostly an auditory learner, and I read Braille. You know, these days we can read computer screens and other electronic supports and use Braille printers. By the way, I hope your book is a big success. I'll be listening for it." With that, she took her companion's arm and walked away.

Mary Lou appeared beside me and slipped her hand into mine. "I heard a little of what she said. "I love her passion. Is she blind?"

"I'm not sure. She said she reads Braille, so maybe she is. I had no idea listening to her."

***

We learned later from our host that Andrea was blind, but not from birth. She suffered from Retinitis Pigmentosa or RP, a genetic eye condition causing progressive degeneration of the retina. According to the National Eye Institute, people with RP often find bright lights uncomfortable, a condition known as photophobia. Its progression differs from person to person, because so many gene mutations can cause the disorder. Some people retain central vision and a restricted visual field into their 50s, while others experience significant vision loss in early adulthood. Eventually, most individuals with RP will lose most of their sight. I can't imagine what it must feel like to slowly go blind.

I believe we take many things in life, including our senses, for granted—until we lose them—making the need that can't be satisfied the one that matters most. Maybe that's why she evangelized for video learning.

For this interesting woman, normal vision was impossible, there was no fix. Nevertheless, she had mastered something less-impossible, the ability to listen and communicate her vision of the future.

5. Meaning of Survival

"You don't just wheel up to the SS office and put your hand out. The money comes from somewhere out there in the cloud."

I was standing in line at a Jack in the Box waiting for a #1 Combo, when I noticed this fellow in a wheelchair roll by the door and park in the shade of a Palo Verde tree.

Looking at the menu above the counter, I read the damage for my favorite meal ran about a thousand calories. I wasn't as concerned as you might think I should be, because I only occasionally eat here. I also get the Classic Coke because it helps me keep my blood sugar up. Counterintuitive, I know, but it works for now. I'm starting the Dr. Gundry diet next week so this behavior will be in for a big change.

Here is something else that's counterintuitive. It's cheaper to order the combo than to buy the sandwich, fries and drink separately. I don't eat all the fries, but it's still less money to buy the combo. I don't grasp the economics, but who can?

They called my number. I picked up my burger and fries and found a seat. I was about to bite into the burger when I looked out the window and noticed the guy in the wheelchair slumped over. I couldn't tell if he was sleeping or passed out. His hair was long and stringy. His mustache, scraggly beard and desert camouflage jacket made him look like he had spent forty days and forty nights in the desert. A large plastic garbage bag hung off the back of his chair. Crushed soda cans looked ready to spill out. Watching him sitting there alone made me feel bad. Looking at my burger, then back at the wheelchair guy, then back at my burger, my guilt shifted into overdrive. Finally, disgusted with myself, I went back to the order counter and got a sack. I stuffed the fries, burger and napkins into the sack and walked outside to offer it to wheelchair guy.

He was still slumped in his chair. I stood there for a few seconds waiting for him to look up. I didn't want to wake him, so I laid the sack on his lap and placed the drink on the pavement next to his chair. I started to walk away when I heard him say, "Thank you." I looked back, and he was staring up at me. I asked him if he was okay.

"Just resting my eyes," he said. "Like to join me?" He motioned toward the grass next to his wheelchair.

I felt uneasy as I took a seat, actually worried the automatic sprinklers might come on.

He opened the sack and looked inside, then he lifted it to his nose and took in a deep breath as if the sack were an oxygen mask and he was on life support. He lowered the sack and looked at me and said, "Never get tired of that beautiful aroma. Have you eaten?" Now he was worried about me. He didn't sound as I'd imagined.

"I was going to eat the burger," I said. "But you looked like you needed it more."

"Feeling sorry for me?"

"As a matter of fact . . ."

"You can say it. I'm not offended. But I don't feel sorry for me. No reason you should." He gave me a wry smile. "After all, who has the burger and fries?"

He had me there. He picked out a couple of fries and held them out for me. I looked at his hands, caked with black grime. He saw my hesitation, reeled in the offering and stuffed them into his mouth. Then he reached into the sack and pulled out the paper sleeve full of fries and offered it to me.

"Sorry," he said. "I'm a little off my game at the moment. Having a hard time keeping my hands clean. I had gloves, but yesterday they gave up the ghost. Wore out right here in the palms." He put his palms down on the wheels, and I understood.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Terry. Yours?"

"Dennis. Mind if I ask what happened to you, Terry?" I motioned toward the wheelchair.

"Sure, but first you tell me what happened to you!" He smiled at my surprise. "Just pimpin' you," he said, grinning.

He made me laugh. He offered me a bite of the burger, but I declined. "You know what?" I said, "I think I will get another one. I'll be right back. Hold my seat, okay?"

He was chewing, so he just nodded.

I returned with a sack and drink of my own. I changed my order to the Ultimate Breakfast Sandwich, another one of my favorites.

We sat together eating, sipping our drinks, nodding our approval for the tasty food. He was mostly skin and bones, so I knew he wasn't worried about cholesterol. When he finished eating, he wiped his mouth with a napkin, patted his stomach, and thanked me. I nodded as I ate.

I pointed at his camo jacket and asked if he had been in the service. He said he had not, but got the jacket for a few bucks at the nearby Goodwill Store.

I asked him again, "So what happened? Why are you in the wheelchair?"

"Motorcycle accident."

"How long ago?"

"Six years this fall."

"Is this how you live, collecting cans?"

"Yeah, mostly. But I eat pretty good—sometimes." He smiled and held up the empty sack.

"You get any disability payments?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"Long story."

"I've got a few minutes."

"Okay," he said, but he sounded a little irritated by the question. I was curious about why he didn't get any government help. It was there to assist people like him. At least that's what I assumed

"Don't have a bank account," he said. "No address, either."

"Where do you live?"

"Lemon orchard."

"Lemon orchard?"

"Yeah. Sounds odd, huh?"

It sounded more than odd. How does someone live in an orchard? The desert was prime lemon and orange growing property, but it was a hundred ten degrees plus in the summer. "The owner lets you live there?"

"Sort of. We pick up lemons that fall on the ground. Keeps fruit rats away in season. We trade the lemons for different stuff."

"So what about Social Security? I think you could be getting disability payments and food stamps."

"If you don't have a bank account or an address, you can't get anything," he said. "You don't just wheel up to the SS office and put your hand out. The money comes from somewhere out there in the cloud. He waved his hand up toward the sky. "Besides, I'm doing fine."

Talk about survival. "You don't have anyone to receive your payments for you? No family?"

"Nope." He looked around nervously and rocked his chair back and forth like he was finished with the small talk and ready to go.

"You need to be somewhere?"

"No, I need to go, like in GO!"

I realized he meant the toilet. "Let me open the door for you," I said, thinking he'd use the men's room inside.

He shook his head and reached behind the chair to a little wire basket and produced an empty, wide-mouthed sports bottle. He pointed toward an opening between buildings in the strip center across from Jack's. "I'll go back there. And hey, man, thanks for the meal. It's worth a whole sack of cans. Good thing I don't need gas for this buggy." He handed me his empty sack and asked me to toss it in the trash for him. "Thanks again for the #1 Combo. It's my favorite."

"Hey, Terry! Listen. Let me help you with Social Security. Maybe I can..." Before I could finish, he started rolling away. With his back to me, he raised his hand and waved goodbye.

***

I see Terry from time to time rolling his wheelchair down the highway or at a gas station, rummaging in the trash bins by the pumps. I buy him a Gatorade® or a Coke® now and then. He said he prefers soft drinks in a can because he gets a few pennies for the empties.

I didn't ask Terry how he would change the world if he could be God. We never got around to that. Anyway, he didn't seem to want to change anything. That was his choice. Still, I wanted to help.

Terry fell through the cracks when it came to government assistance. I was curious how people qualified to get what we used to call food stamps. I learned it's now done electronically, managed by the U.S. Department of Agriculture through their Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program known as SNAP. Individuals or families that qualify receive an Electronic Benefits Transfer card or EBT that is electronically loaded with money each month.

Terry would need to apply for the program through the State of California. Someone could apply on his behalf because he's homeless. I had no doubt Terry would qualify, but he would need a way to receive his EBT card and check his balance on the Internet.

The program is designed for people who are able to buy food at the supermarket or even a farmer's market and cook it at home. That means you need something that passes for a kitchen. The last time I looked there were no kitchens in the lemon orchards.

You can't use the cards in places like Jack's. I guess the government doesn't think they sell food. California has a program called CalFresh where restaurants can sign up to take the EBT cards. However, finding a list of these qualified restaurants is just about impossible. Few restaurants want homeless people hanging around, and anyway, SNAP doesn't provide enough money for more than a half-dozen meals a month in a typical restaurant.

In other words, it's impossible for people like Terry to enjoy the benefits offered in the SNAP program.

What would I do for Terry if I were God? I would do the less-impossible. I'd certify places like Jack's and Mac's and accessible convenience stores to sign up homeless people like Terry and manage their SNAP cards for them. The store managers know who the needy are. This would help people who don't have an address, a phone or a car to get a square meal.

I know, I know. How can we be sure the EBT cards wouldn't be mismanaged? It seems to me if we really cared about homeless people, the folks that run SNAP would figure out the details.

6. Autograph Please

"God?" he said. "How could I be God? That's weird. What kinda question is that?"

One Saturday evening I was standing in the lobby of the Philadelphia Marriott Hotel. Mary Lou and I were attending a conference, and she was at a table consulting with a client about an editing project. We hadn't decided where to eat dinner, but I was hoping she would finish soon because I was hungry.

I noticed a young black kid sitting by himself in the lobby. He looked about twelve or thirteen and wore a Phillies baseball shirt bearing the number 35.

He was rolling a baseball over in his hands, checking his grip on the ball, pretending to pitch it. He looked bored. I was curious, so I walked over and sat down in a chair at a ninety-degree angle to number 35. He sneaked a peek at me but didn't say anything. I could have picked any one of the other ten empty chairs in the lobby. When I looked over at him, he nodded, warily.

"How's it going? I see you're a pitcher," I said.

His cautious eyes opened wider. "How you know that?"

"I used to be a pitcher when I was your age. I can tell the way you grip the ball: two fingers on the seams, then across the seams. Infielders and outfielders don't do that."

He nodded and studied his grip."You any good?" he said.

"I was okay, for a small town kid. Not like you big city boys."

Again he nodded agreement. "Where you play?"

"In Wyoming. A town called Sheridan."

"Yeah, I know Wyoming. Guy from my neighborhood went to Wyoming. Point guard. He was gooood! I wanna go to St. Joe's. My dad's in the Marines ...so I need to be home now...take care of things."

We didn't talk for a minute or so. Then he said, "I'm waitin' on Cole Hamels. You know him?"

"He used to pitch for the Phillies."

"Right. My momma said he be here today. I want him to sign my ball. He's old now, but his name still worth something. I think."

"You collect autographs?"

He nodded. "I'm saving to buy this hotel."

"Really. Why do you want a hotel?"

"For my momma."

"Why does she want a hotel?"

"She work here. Once I own it, she don't need to work no more."

"Interesting plan." I thought, how's that for an impossible dream? "How long have you been waiting for Hamels?"

"Time you got?"

"Little after six."

"I came 'bout lunch. She off at eight. She clean the rooms. You should see our house. It's sooo cleeean. I gotta make my bed every day—she wants it to look like she do it here."

I was surprised at how engaging he was—even more surprised that he had heard of Wyoming. I decided to ask him my favorite question, but I had a feeling it would come out a little less weird if I made it sound like a game.

"You want to play a game?"

He shrugged.

"It's a question and answer game. It might sound like I'm coming out of left field on this, but you seem like a bright guy, so I'm interested in what you have to say."

He sat up and looked at me. "Baseball question?"

"No, it's a God question."

He wrinkled up his face like he hadn't heard me right. "Say what?" He sat forward in his chair.

"Here's the question. You ready?"

He nodded.

"If you could be God, right now, how would you change the world?"

"God?" he said, sitting forward in a challenging pose. "How could I be God? That's weird. What kinda question's that?"

"But what if you could...be God?"

"Can't happen. God is God. Can't nobody be God."

"Okay, let me ask the question in a different way. What if God gave you a chance to do anything you wanted? What would it be?"

"You mean like the genie? Three wishes?"

"That works for me. What three things would you do?"

Without hesitation, he said, "Well, first, like I said, I'd buy this hotel so my momma don't have to work."

I wanted to tell him that was a good choice. "Okay, what else?"

He thought for a minute. "I already wished God would bring my dad home safe. He's in the Marines"

I nodded.

"I'm gonna ask God for that again."

"I think that's a fine idea."

"Hope so."

I waited a moment because I could tell he was giving extra consideration to his final wish. "You have one more wish."

"I know." He slumped back in the chair and looked at the ceiling for a few beats. Then he sat up and tossed the ball in the air and caught it a couple of times. He was definitely thinking hard on this one.

"What's it going to be?" I said.

He looked at me, then at the ball. He held it out to me and he said, "If I was God, I'd sign this ball. How much you think that be worth?"

I wanted to say it would be worth a lot more than a hotel, but all I could say was, "Priceless!"

***

Mary Lou finished her meeting, collected me, and we headed off to dinner. I hoped my young friend was able to secure a Cole Hamels autograph.

Of course he would never earn enough money from autographs to buy the Marriott Hotel. That was impossible. The good news is, he didn't know that. His goal was the less-impossible—getting one autograph at a time. And by the time he discovered he'd never make enough money with this plan, he would have another less-impossible plan to express his love for his momma. As so many entrepreneurs learn from chasing a dream, the important part is finding a dream worth chasing.

I think helping his momma fits the requirement.

7. Unconditional

"When you came into the store and asked me what I would do if I could be God, I thought about how much I'd give to redo the last two years."

One afternoon Mary Lou asked me to go shopping with her. We went to an anniversary event at a small boutique she likes in Palm Desert. When we walked in, the salespeople greeted her by name. I had a pretty good idea why. Five minutes later it was a party. Mary Lou was soon trying on clothes, drinking champagne, and chatting with other customers. Women know how to shop, how to live.

I started talking to one of the saleswomen that I'll call Jessie. She seemed a little down and wasn't taking part in the fun. After a few minutes, she asked me if I liked shopping with my wife. I told her I did. She wanted to know what I might be doing that day if I weren't shopping. I told her I would be working on a book I was writing. She asked what it was about, and I told her the idea and asked her what she would do if she could be God.

She stiffened and her eyes fluttered, not like she was flirting, or had picked up some dust, but like she was startled. I wondered if it was something I said.

"Did I say something wrong?" I asked.

"Wrong? No." She shook her head, touched her nose with the back of her hand and looked about to cry. "I'm sorry," she said and hurried away.

That felt awkward. One of the other salespeople came over to me and asked what happened. I just shrugged. She chased after Jessie. I waited, wondering what had just happened. Then I picked up a magazine and thumbed through it.

After I watched a few rounds of Mary Lou modeling clothes, Jessie reappeared. It was obvious that she'd been crying. She told me she thought about my question and wanted to know what other people said when I asked them. Now I was reluctant to say anything, worried about upsetting her again.

"Well ... I get a lot of the same answers and a lot of different ones. Most people want to stop wars, heal the planet...and feed the hungry."

"Has anyone ever said they wanted to save someone?"

"Do you mean one person's life as opposed to a lot of lives?"

"Yes."

"No, I haven't heard that, yet."

"Do you think that's being selfish?"

"To want to save someone's life? Not at all."

"Even though it wouldn't change the world or prevent war?"

"You know what...I think you should do what makes you feel best."

She nodded a couple of times but looked like she was going to cry again. I didn't know what to say. She rushed off again into a back room, leaving me with the mystery.

When Mary Lou was finished we paid the bill. One of the saleswomen walked out with us, stopping a few yards outside the store entrance.

She said to me, "I want to thank you. I don't know what you said to Jessie, but she has been so depressed since her sister died. This is her first day back. She wouldn't talk to any of us about it. She told me you said something to her that helped. She called her brother-in-law. She's still on the phone."

"Is she okay?"

"She seems a lot better. At first, I heard a lot of crying, but that stopped. Now she's just talking."

Mary Lou asked me what I said to Jessie.

"I asked her how she would change the world if she could be God."

The woman frowned. "Why did you ask her that?"

"I'm writing a book based on the answers I get. I ask everyone I meet. Please tell her I'm sorry if I upset her."

The lady paused and stared at me. Then she said, "That is an interesting question—about being God. I need to think about that." Then she added, "Well, thanks for coming in. I will tell Jessie that you asked about her." She hugged us both and we left.

As we walked away, Mary Lou said to me, "I dropped into the store a few days ago, and someone asked me if I knew that Jessie's sister had died. I didn't think to mention it to you. Sorry."

"No, no reason to tell me,"

"It sounds like you helped her. Maybe there's a reason you were supposed to come with me today."

***

Two days later I stopped at Starbucks to get a coffee and was surprised to see Jessie sitting at a table by herself. She was stuffing a card into an envelope and looked up at me just as she licked the envelope. She hesitated for a moment, then she smiled and motioned for me to join her.

I approached, feeling a little apprehensive. I didn't know her, but she seemed okay, now.

She rose from her chair and gave me a warm hug like we were old friends. "I can't believe you just walked in here. This is amazing!"

"Really," I said. "Do you live around here?"

"No, but I love the stationery store in the back of this shopping center. I can't believe you appeared right at this moment."

"Why is that?"

"Because I just finished writing this note to you. I wanted to thank you for helping me the other day. I can't believe what a coincidence it is to see you here. When you walked in, I wasn't sure it was you. But here you are." She handed me the envelope. "Don't open this until you get home."

"Well, thank you, though I have no idea what I did to deserve a card. You're not a bill collector or a multilevel marketing maven, are you?"

She laughed. "No. It's nothing like that. Do you have a moment?" She motioned for me to sit down. I pulled up a chair and joined her.

"I wanted to talk more the other day, but I was on the phone with my brother-in-law when you left. I was going to thank you for what you said. When you asked me what I would do if I could be God, I thought about my sister."

"I'm sorry. I heard about it as we were leaving the store."

Jessie picked up a Starbucks napkin and used it to wick away a tear that was forming in one eye. "She was hit by a car when she was on her bike. They took her to the hospital, but she had really bad internal injuries. She was gone in less than four hours. I never had a chance to say goodbye."

"Oh, I am sorry."

"Angela was my only family. I was so depressed because I didn't have the money to fly out to the funeral. My brother-in-law couldn't afford to buy me a ticket, either. I have been so worried about her."

She paused as if she was expecting me to say something. I waited.

She continued, "For the past two years I have been trying to get her to go back to church. A year ago she said she didn't believe in God anymore. I quit talking to her so she would get the message to shape up and hold on to her faith. But instead of turning her around, it split us apart. It was so stupid on my part and so wrong. When you came into the store and asked me what I would do if I could be God, I thought about how much I'd give to redo the last two years. So when I was in back, at the store, I decided to call my brother-in-law and tell him why I hadn't returned any of his calls."

She suddenly stopped talking. She looked at me with glassy eyes and touched my hand. She apologized for tearing up, then took a tissue from her purse. She wiped away her tears. Then she said, "When I told Justin, my brother-in-law, how afraid I was that Angela wouldn't be in heaven, he told me why he kept calling me. He wanted me to know that just before she passed, she asked for a priest to give her the last rites. Oh my God! I was so happy! So relieved! I can't tell you how happy I was ... even though she was gone, now I know she's okay." She paused a moment and took a breath, then she continued. "You asked me what I would do if I could be God, and I never answered you," she said. "But now I know what I would do. I wrote it in the note I gave you."

I waited for her to continue, but she said everything would be explained in the note. We talked for a few more minutes and then said goodbye. After she had gone, I opened the note she'd given me. This is what she wrote.

Dear Dennis, I thought a lot about your question, and I want you to know it helped me dig really deep into my heart and ask myself how would I change the world if I were God? Here is my answer. I would tell the world—I would tell everyone—that nothing is more important than love. And I would never, ever, make anyone's belief in me, God that is, a condition for loving them. Thank you for making me see the world through God's eyes.

Sincerely,

Jessie

***

I believe we all desire unconditional love, but too often love comes with strings attached. No act is more loving than accepting each other in spite of our differences. Jessie learned that love is not a carrot or a stick to impose her beliefs on her sister even though she thought it was in Angela's best interest. Trying to control her sister's behavior deprived them both of time together. While Angela was alive, changing her seemed impossible for Jessie. In the end, however, both Jessie and Angela achieved the less-impossible. They changed themselves.

8. BDO

"If I could be God," he started in again, "I would give   
everyone a BDO."

Mary Lou got up early one Saturday morning and decided to wash all of the windows in our house. They needed it, and I had been talking about doing it since a dust storm had spotted the glass a few weeks before. Window washing is normally my job, but she knew I hadn't been sleeping well lately, so she wanted to surprise me. I felt like a sloth, not cleaning them myself; however, during our 40 years of marriage, I have found that it's better to let her know how much I appreciate her than to feel guilty about shirking my duties. I promised myself I would reciprocate, but that's another story.

On this particular day, I decided to work on this book, so I called a friend to see if he could give me any ideas. His name is Alvaro, which means "noble guardian" in Spanish.

He picked up the phone after three rings. I usually get his voice mail. "Hey!" I said. "You picked up!"

"The magic of caller ID. You even have your own ringtone. Did I tell you that?"

"Yes, and I'm flattered—the theme from The Exorcist. Hey, I need to ask you a question. Do you have a few moments?"

"It's Saturday. I have all the moments you need, my friend."

"Great. I am writing this book about how people would change the world...if they could be God."

"Really?" he said. I could hear him thinking. Not because he thinks louder than other people, but he had a tone in his voice that said, I am really wondering about you.

I said, "I am curious. What you would do?"

"If I could be God? Why do you want to know this?"

"Because you are a unique person, and I'm looking for unique points of view."

"I see. Is this another one of the ways you fill your time while you are waiting to die?"

"Exactly."

"What if I don't want to be God? This is a position of great responsibility."

"It's just for today. I think you can handle it."

"Do I have to cure all the ills of the world?"

Alvaro is a high school teacher. I imagined him writing lesson plans on his computer or grading papers. "No," I said, "You can just make me a burrito the next time I come over."

"Hmmm. Hardly worthy of my godly abilities. What if I thought of something slightly more meaningful?"

"Whatever you want."

He was quiet for a moment, which is normal. I know this is a hard question to answer. Some people don't even want to answer. Some want to solve every problem in existence, and others get very specific and personal. Most don't know where to start. Maybe they think I'm judging their choices. I try not to give that impression, but I realize it's a heavy question.

"Okay," he said. "Right after I took care of war, starvation, cancer, and my ex-wife, I would banish Netflix and video games."

"Why?"

"Because they're poisoning families."

"How so?"

"People never talk to each other anymore. They rarely spend any time together. People are hiding in their own little cocoons. I would also require all texting to be done in complete sentences and limit it to five texts per day. I would require kids to play outside at least two hours a day. I would eliminate all snack foods and sodas. And I would make both the girls and the boys hike their pants back up to their waists so I don't have to look at their underwear. I forgot to ask, would these changes just last for one day, or would they be permanent?"

"It's up to you. Your world."

Alvaro has been teaching for more than twenty years. He complains a lot about distractions, about how hard it is to hold students' attention in class. I have heard these complaints many times. The fact that he would use his supreme powers this way did not surprise me. But I was looking for something bigger from him.

I asked the magic question. "Is there anything else?"

"Yes," he said. He paused for a moment. "I would find my daughter. I know that's selfish, but ..." His voice was spiked with sorrow and a hint of anger.

"Alvaro!" I said. "Imagining you have the ultimate power doesn't mean you can't do something personal. It's a metaphor."

His daughter would be sixteen now. She left home about a year ago, leaving a note saying it was impossible for her to live in their house anymore. She needed to feel free. I don't know any more than that. He hasn't heard from her since. His wife said Tanya ran away because Alvaro was too strict. He said it was because his wife was too permissive. He had experienced a lot of heartache with family issues—I won't go into all of them here. It sounded to me like he was trying to get more control of his life.

"If I could be God, I would..." His words trailed off. I waited a moment, but he didn't say anything more. I regretted stirring up his pain.

"If I could be God," he started in again, "I would give everyone a BDO."

"You want to explain that?"

"Best Day Over. BDO. When things feel like they are just too much, too painful, you can invoke your right to live your Best Day Over. You can summon the joy you felt from the best day of your life. You can use this whenever you want, as many times as you need it."

"Nice," I said, trying to imagine what would be my best day. Then I asked him, "What is your BDO?"

"Hasn't happened yet."

"Really? You haven't had the best day in your life?"

"My best day will be the day Tanya returns. I pray she is okay. I am reserving my BDO for that day. When she comes home, I want to enjoy that day for the rest of my life."

***

I thought about what it might be like to feel the pain of not knowing where your child is or even if they are still alive. Unless it has happened to you, there is no way to know. Still, I could feel Alvaro's pain. I have no doubt that he has searched his heart wondering if his wife was right, that Tanya ran away because her parents were impossible to live with. I wondered what would happen if Tanya did return. Would Alvaro become less-impossible? If so, perhaps that day would also be Tanya's BDO.

9. The Producer

"Now if I could make that into a relationship picture—everybody in the business would think I was God."

Palm Springs is a weekend escape and second home for Hollywood producers, writers, and other film industry people. One morning I called an acquaintance, a movie producer, to ask him what he would do if he could be God. He already acted the part, so I thought it would be easy for him to come up with something I could write about.

"Make it quick!" That's how he answers his calls.

"Hi, Jerry! It's Dennis."

"Hey, how's it hangin', buddy? I thought you died."

"Different Dennis." You have to get right to the point with Jerry. "I know you're busy, but I'd like to ask you a question."

"Okaaaay. You getting divorced?" He says that every time we talk. It's a running joke. The chances of it being true are pretty good in his business. Fortunately, I am not in the movie business.

"Jerry, if you could be God, what would you do to make the world a better place?"

"I've already got two God scripts in development, one from a young guy in Encino. Helluva writer. Maybe you've got something here, maybe not. We could do a treatment—see where it goes. What else you got?"

"I'm not pitching scripts. I'm writing a book. I'm asking people what they would do if they could be God. How would they change the world? So, how would you change the world...if you were God?"

"What's the point?"

"To help you step out of your box and unleash your imagination."

"The only box I care about is the box office."

"Meaning?"

"I know it's hard for me to believe, but you make relationship pictures."

"So?"

"So they aren't big box office. If you cared about the money, you'd make comic book movies."

"You're right. If I could make Dead Pool into a relationship picture—I would be God in this town." He laughed, but I knew he was serious. "By the way, what do you do all day?" he added. "You sit around thinking up nutty stuff like this? Why don't you bring me something I can sink my teeth into?" He delivered the last line with an acceptable Kirk Douglas imitation, revealing his generation.

"I'll work on something for you," I said.

"My uncle has a piece of Black Panther." He said it like he had invested in the film himself. It was the Hollywood way. Anyone who actually made money investing in a picture was a rare bird indeed. It also meant they had "juice." In Tinseltown, it's all about who you know or are related to.

"Lucky him," I said. "What have you done lately?"

"By the way, does this pay?" Jerry said.

"Does what pay?"

"This idea of yours."

"You mean does it pay you?"

"Time is money, my friend."

"Jerry. It's a simple question. I'm not asking you to rewrite The Ten Commandments."

"Now that was a picture!" Pause. "Okay, okay! Call Sally, and she'll write something up for you."

Sally was his personal assistant or assistant producer depending on what he needed.

I said, "You want Sally to tell me what you would do if you were God?"

"To Sally I am God. Look, I gotta call, gotta go."

Minutes later, I sent Sally an e-mail summarizing my conversation with Jerry. I wasn't expecting much, but you never know.

I worked a couple hours then decided to make a sandwich and watch the news. Coincidentally there was another story about how hard it is for independent producers to get films green-lighted by the studios. Netflix was the thousand-pound gorilla and working with a slew of independent producers. What a brutal business! I finished my lunch and did some work on Five Star Love, a book about marriage that Mary Lou and I are writing together.

Later I checked my e-mail and saw a message from Sally. The subject line read—If Jerry were God.

I opened the message.

Hi, Dennis,

Your question about being God is interesting. When you asked me what I thought Jerry would do if he were God, it made me smile because, as I'm sure you know, Jerry already thinks he's God. And whatever impossible project he dreams up, he expects me to make it possible.

Why don't you call Jerry back and ask him what he would do if I were God.

Warmest regards,

Sally

***

Working with a Hollywood movie producer is a little like trying to hammer a nail into a wall with your forehead; it's very painful and unlikely to penetrate beyond the surface. This is why so many writers in Hollywood work with assistant producers like Sally. I didn't actually think Jerry would give me a brilliant answer to my question. He was too busy changing the world to waste time talking about it. There's much to be said for both the dreamers and the doers. It takes a combination of Jerry's self-confidence and Sally's management skill and good humor to turn impossible dreams into less-impossible movies.

10. Oh, Baby!

"It doesn't hurt me, so why should I mind? I love him. He's a great guy." She paused and smiled again. It was a wry smile. "But he is fun to watch."

A close friend, Stephanie, came to visit us one day. She and her husband Chris live hours away. Stephanie brought their son, Tommy, to show him off and stay with us for the weekend while Chris was out of town. We hadn't seen them in months. Tommy was born at a hospital near our house. He had arrived a few weeks early while she was visiting, and his doctors had kept him at the hospital for an extra week to gain strength and weight. During that guarded period, Stephanie and Chris stayed with us so they could be closer to the hospital. As a result, we feel especially close to all three.

Stephanie was filling us in on Tommy's latest feats. I asked her how it felt to create something so magical as a human being. She laughed and said the process was a bit harrowing, but she was lucky to have a fabulous coauthor to share the adventure.

She marveled at how everything was a first for Tommy—first time he smiled, first time he grabbed her finger, first time he crawled. She loved being a part of his discoveries. She is a teacher, passionate about learning and about her students. During a lull in the conversation, I told her about my book. I asked her what she would do if she could be God.

Being a thoughtful person, she said she would have to think about it. So, we continued talking about other stuff. I asked her how Chris was doing working from home. She was amazed at his discipline—keeping phone appointments, making sales calls, talking to customers like he was in an office downtown.

"You know he does everything in fives," she said as if it were common knowledge.

"No," I said. Chris is one of my favorite people, but this was news to me. "What do you mean, he does things in fives? "

"Oh, you didn't know?" She was clearly surprised that we didn't know everything about Chris. She explained, "If he is emptying the dishwasher, he will remove five things at a time."

"You mean he will put five forks or five knives away, or five glasses and then five plates in some kind of order?"

"No, he puts away a total of five things, no matter what they are, then he cleans the counter, then he might go in the bathroom and clean that counter, then sit down and read one chapter in a book or one magazine article. Then he might walk the dog. After that, he'll come back into the kitchen and take five items out of the dishwasher, put them away and begin another cycle of fives."

"When did you discover this?"

"I first noticed it after we started living together. One day he was clearing out the dishwasher, and he put a few things away—five to be exact. Then he went into the family room and started watching a football game on TV. I followed him into the room and asked him if he was going to finish unloading the dishes or should I do it? He said he wouldn't do it right then because he had already done five pieces. I told him I didn't get it, so he explained how he does everything in this pattern of five things at a time." She held up her hand with five fingers spread wide to emphasize the number.

"I never noticed," I said. "He's a fascinating guy."

"He is!"

"Does this bother you?"

"No," she said, smiling. "But it was a surprise. At first, I wondered why he didn't finish things, but I realized he actually did. It might take all day because he does a little of one chore and then moves on to the next. He's very organized. He reads books according to a schedule of genres. One fiction, then one biography, one sports, one history and so on. He's very well-informed and well-rounded, as you know from spending time with him."

"Do you ever jump in and finish something because you want it complete?"

"Sometimes."

"You know that Mary Lou and I are writing a book about marriage, too, right?"

She nodded. "Five Star Love. How's it going?"

"It's going well. One chapter is about how difficult it is for many couples to tolerate each other's quirks. I think we all crave some kind of order, and we try to impose it on one another so we feel more comfortable and in control. It sounds like you understand his routine and are fine with it."

"Why not? It doesn't hurt me, so why should I mind? I love him. He's a great guy." She paused and smiled again. It was a wry smile. "But it is fun to watch him and try to predict what he might do next. Or it used to be, but now I don't really think anything about it. Sometimes I finish up something he started, and he comes back later and finds it's done. That's okay with him, too. He just finds something else to complete his fives."

Later that evening we started talking about the time she bathed Tommy in our bathroom sink. She had used a thick towel under him as a cushion. He laid back at an angle like he was in a big tub. His round tummy made him look like the Buddha in his own private spa. He splashed away with his arms and legs pumping and palms slapping at the water. We were laughing about how perfectly the sink fit him.

Out of the blue, Stephanie asked me, "So far, how many people have answered your question about being God?"

"Quite a few. Why?"

"I'm guessing that you have the big stuff covered then, right?"

"If you mean disease, famine and wars, yes. A lot of people have said they would take care of that. What are you thinking?"

"If all of the big stuff is covered, I'm thinking...if I could be God, I would make it possible for every baby and every husband on earth to be loved as much as I love mine."

Stephanie watched Tommy as she talked, never looking at me. My gaze was fixed on her face glowing with absolute, complete and perfect joy. I thought about her decree and imagined all of the mothers' glowing faces and all the happy babies and lucky husbands around the world who would thrive in that kind of love.

***

Unlike God, we humans have a limited capacity for who to love and how to love them. Loving the world is too abstract to be meaningful. And loving everyone in the world is impossible. It's even hard to love our neighbors when they don't look like us or think like us or act in ways that meet our approval.

If we are lucky, we get to feel the less-impossible love reserved for the people in our lives that matter most. Unfortunately, too many never experience consummate love and are incapable of giving it, and that is sad. That's why it is such a joy to witness love in its purest form, in a mother's love for her child. If only we all could bottle that love and share a sip of it every day.

11. Don't You Think?

"God gave us free will," she said. "We are the ones who can screw up this world, or make it better. Don't you think?"

Marylin owns a hairstyling studio in Palm Desert, California. Because of her positive nature and listening skills, I call her my "thairapist." No matter what I tell her, she nods and smiles, even laughs at my bad jokes. I doubt that psychotherapists get to hear a lot of jokes—most likely because their clients have worse problems than thinning hair.

According to Mary Lou, Marylin does a great job of styling my so-called "look." When I close my eyes, I visualize my flowing mane. When I open them, I see a receding glacier. Climate change. I am thankful that Marylin does her best with what she has to work with.

I was sitting in her chair, and she was clipping away like the thairapist she is when I asked her what she would do if she could be God. She is used to me asking strange questions, but I was surprised when she turned silent. Several moments passed until she spoke. "I, uh, I don't feel comfortable with that question."

"Really? Why?"

"Well, I just don't think that we should ever imagine we can be God."

I was curious. "Why? Does it feel blasphemous?"

"Yeah, I think it does." She didn't elaborate. The frown told me I had struck a nerve. Didn't mean to.

"It just doesn't feel right. I was raised to be respectful."

"I understand. Let me ask this. Have you ever created something?"

"I like to think so. I mean, that's my job. It's what I do."

"And wouldn't you call God the number one creator?"

"Yes," she said. Her voice was cautious like she was driving happily down the road and suddenly entered a fog zone.

"So whenever you create something you are doing the same thing that God does, right? You're being like God."

"I guess so." She sounded unconvinced.

"What if I put the question this way? How would you feel about emulating God, doing things that God would approve of, like creating a good life for yourself and for others? Does that feel blasphemous?"

"I have no problem with that. I'm sure God wants us to be creative. Playing God just sounds strange, like we're cloning animals or something."

Interesting analogy. I had to smile at that one. "Okay, if you were a guy and you were asked to play God, or Jesus, in a Christmas pageant, would that feel like blasphemy?"

"No."

"So if you could emulate God's nature, would that be okay? Would you feel all right about creating a better world or a better life for yourself or your family?"

"Well, sure." She was quiet for a moment, then she said, "Now I understand what you're saying. How would I improve things, make a better world? In that case, first I would cure all diseases. Next, I would stop all the wars and make sure the hungry were fed."

She was on a roll. Then she suddenly stopped talking and looked at me in the mirror on the wall in front of my chair. I think she was waiting to see my reaction. Had she done enough? Not with my hair, but done enough in her role as the chief problem solver. So I asked my extra question, "Is there anything else?"

She answered. "That's a lot already, don't you think?"

I wasn't sure if she was asking for my approval or making an observation. Sometimes I don't think, so it was an appropriate question. I said, "It's a lot to wrap your mind around, but you aren't limited to big things. You could do anything. What about giving everyone in the world a good haircut?"

She scrunched her face and gave me a look that said cutting hair was beneath her status—not as Marylin, but as God. I decided to push her. "If you cured all of the diseases in the world, what disease would you start with?"

"I would do all of them at once."

"What do you think would happen if you ended all disease, all wars, and all starvation? Everything at once?"

"Everyone would be very happy."

"I understand, but how would the world be different if all of those things were taken care of?"

"It would be great—don't you think?"

This question seemed to be weighing on her; maybe she was worrying that I didn't agree with her.

"Makes you wonder," I said.

"About what?"

"About why God doesn't do all of those things already, all at once."

"That's not how it works. God gave us free will," she said. "We are the ones who can screw up this world, or make it better. Don't you think?"

"But you said, if you could be God, you would fix all of those problems. Why do you think God hasn't done it?"

She was cutting around my ear, so instead of answering my question, she told me a story about one of her clients who had a chunk missing from the top of his ear.

"He just sneezed," she said, throwing her head back and forward to imitate a sneeze. "It happened at a different studio where I used to work. I didn't do it. His stylist was clipping around his ear, and—sniiiiiip—cut a chunk right off the top. There was blood everywhere. I had no idea we had so much blood in our ears, did you?"

I imagined blood and hair pooled on the tile floor. "Is that a hint for me to stop asking questions?"

"No!" she said with a little laugh. "I'm just warning you not to sneeze when I am snipping around your ears."

I shut up while she was trimming. I had no idea haircuts could be so dangerous. When she moved to the top of my head I asked, "Are we finished talking about God?"

"I'm thinking."

"While you are thinking, here's another question. Do you think God has a plan?"

"If you mean a plan for everything...yes, I think so."

"Do you think God planned for us to fight wars or get sick or starve?"

"I think God planned for us to love each other, to share what we have, to take care of our planet, and eat right so we don't get sick."

"Why do you think the plan got so messed up?"

"Any plan can get messed up when you are dealing with people. Don't you think?"

"I can't argue that point. If you were God, what would you do to encourage all of us to do those things, like share, take care of the planet and eat right?"

"I would send a message that free will isn't going to be free anymore if you don't start making better choices."

"Will you take away my free will if I don't shape up?"

"No. I won't take it away. You will lose it automatically by how you live. I'd just warn you that every freedom has a cost. If you don't learn to share, you won't have any friends. If you don't take care of the planet, it's going to die and your kids will suffer. If you don't eat right, you'll get sick, spend your life savings on health care or die sooner than you should."

"Like haircuts, I never thought free will could be so dangerous."

"It might be time for all of us to think again. Don't you think?"

***

Sometimes I think life is soooo complicated. Then I listen to Marylin and it sounds simple. The question is, why don't we respect our freedom? Marylin has a point. Free will isn't going to be free anymore if we don't start making better choices. We will lose it through our actions. She says every freedom has a cost. We are free to share what we have and if we don't, we won't have any friends. This applies to countries as well as neighbors. If we don't take care of the planet, our children will suffer. If we don't eat right, we'll get sick and spend our life savings on health care or die sooner than we should.

When she puts it that way, life seems less complicated and changing the world feels less-impossible. Don't you think?

12. All You Need to Know

"God is a concept, and that concept is very personal and different for everyone. It explains why we have thousands of different religions in the world."

Alison was a friend visiting us from Dallas. We were talking about writing and as usual the conversation drifted to my big question. I asked her what she would do if she could be God.

She said this for openers, "I would return to the Garden of Eden and start over."

"Aren't you going to think about this question for a moment?"

"Don't need to. I wrote an essay on the Book of Genesis back in college. I was already imagining what I would do if I were God. I rewrote the story of creation and took Satan completely out of the picture. Why did God create Satan in the first place? That was one of the major points in my essay. In my Eden, an apple was just another fruit, not the object of an obedience test. I also never understood why God was always testing people's loyalty in the Old Testament."

"I can't answer that one. But if you excluded the Devil in your essay, what did you do about Original Sin?"

"We don't need it if we're born in a state of grace."

I asked, "What about the Seven Deadly Sins?"

"Gone."

"We wouldn't feel greed, or envy, or gluttony, or any carnal desires?"

"Nope! If we started over without the snake, we could remain in Eden, enjoying life without fear of death. We would have everything we ever needed. Isn't that a better version of Genesis?"

"I don't know. Every good story needs a villain. Without the Devil, your story has no conflict. The creation story wouldn't be compelling without a villain. I'm having a hard time imagining the story without a bad guy."

"I didn't."

"What grade did you get?"

She laughed a big laugh. "I got a C+."

I laughed with her. "See, no villain no story."

"My professor said it was a ridiculous premise, but he appreciated the fact that there were no typos."

We laughed some more.

Alison added, "I was an econ major at the time, and I was enamored of Adam Smith, the social philosopher."

"I read the Wealth of Nations many years ago."

"Smith also wrote the Theory of Moral Sentiments years before Nations. I used one of his moral sentiments in my essay's closing." She looked at the ceiling searching her memory, then she said, "His desire was to instill in every man, woman, and child the moral ability to love the good fortune of others, even though they would get nothing from it except the pleasure of seeing it."

"That was for your econ class?"

"No—it was for my comparative religions class. I included it in my Genesis story. I thought it added a touch of altruism. I wanted to represent God as big-hearted."

"If you had it to do over, would you write the same essay, maybe add a few more footnotes, see if you could get a B+?"

"Not a chance." She laughed again.

"Okay, seriously, what would you do now if you were God?"

She said, "I used to think that God should join all religions together so we could find a way to accept each other. First, we wouldn't argue about faith or disagree about the religious nuances that make people want to kill each other."

"And your second reason?"

"Together, we could direct massive coordinated efforts toward ending starvation and eradicating disease on a worldwide scale."

"If you used to think you would join all the religions together. Does that mean you wouldn't do it today?"

"I wouldn't. I think now that one world religion would be as bad as one world government."

"Because . . . ?"

"At some point, I realized the reason we have so many religions is that God is not out there." She waved one arm in a big semicircle. "God is in here." She placed her hand over her heart. "And here." She pointed to her head. "God is not a being with shape or volume. God is a concept, and that concept is very personal and different for everyone. It explains why we have thousands of different religions in the world. We can't see God. We can only feel God's essence. I don't know how God feels to you or how you perceive God, but I don't refer to God as 'him.' My God can't be represented by a pronoun. My God doesn't have a gender. In fact, when we imagine God in human form, we open the door to wondering where his mother is."

"You mean Mary?"

"No, not Jesus Christ's mother. I'm talking about God the Father, Allah, Yahweh, Brahman, Adonai. Where is God's mother? If we give God the Father a male form, don't we have to explain his origin?"

"Interesting perspective."

"Not everyone would understand my version of God. The Romans and Greeks had god smörgåsbords, one for every fear or desire. Christianity popularized God in the human form of a young man with a beard and flowing robes. But it's hard for billions of people to relate to this particular image, especially if you are Chinese or African."

"How would your God look?"

"My God is the sum total of all the ideals we call virtues. That's all I need to believe. I don't need God to be a Jew, Gentile, Muslim or Hindu or to have a body."

"Do you think a formless God helps or hurts most people's chances of relating?"

"Giving God a form isn't necessary for me. The Holy Spirit has no fixed form."

"Which is why people seldom mention him—or it. It's hard to wrap your mind around a spirit."

She grinned. "Or angels without wings. I get your point. I believe that Christians created Jesus Christ to have a concrete image of God. I don't need a concrete image. In the Old Testament, it says God told Moses not to look at his face or he would die. Your theory about starting with the impossible and achieving the less-impossible is sort of like trying to imagine God. It's impossible. So, we believe in Jesus because it's less-impossible."

"I never thought of it that way."

"I believe God is the organizing force in the universe, the glue that holds everything together. God is present in every star and every molecule and atom. God is the energy in every plant and animal including ourselves. When people say we are made in God's image—to me that means atoms, molecules—not flesh and bone."

"You sound like a Navajo."

Alison nodded and sat up on the edge of the sofa. "I have a t-shirt with a message screened on the front: 'I would rather spend my time in the mountains contemplating God than be in church contemplating the mountains.' "

She paused and adjusted herself on the couch. I sensed she had more to say so I waited. Moments later she began again.

"When I feel something deeply, or see someone doing something that makes me feel good—such as showing true courage or integrity, standing up to injustice, caring for someone who's ill, or building aqueducts over mountains to bring clean water to people living in poverty—I feel like God is a part of the transaction. In other words, God is pure goodness that fills us. Know what I mean?"

"I think so."

"One definition of the word 'God' comes from the old English word 'good.' When I do something good, I feel God in me. A neurologist might say that feeling is chemically induced by neurotransmitters and hormones. That's fine. That's how we feel rewarded for doing good. If someone wants to go to a church to worship, pray, and share the experience, to feel close and be part of a like-minded community—that's great. But I don't require a church to feel God. I feel God's presence in my own individual way, in the good things I do. I know that sounds like a greeting card, but it is how I relate to God."

"Actually, Abraham Lincoln also said that 'good' was his religion. I think people would be interested in how you can feel a personal relationship with God, yet not practice any religion."

"As I said, my God is not a 'he,' a king that demands tribute or worship. God represents goodness. When I do good for someone, I feel God. When I witness an act of kindness, I feel God. When I am loving, I feel God. When I am being fair, or generous, or virtuous in some way, I feel God. When I do something I'm not proud of, I feel God is missing. But I crave to feel the God, the good, in me."

"You make God sound like a drug."

"When I do something positive, it can feel like a drug. When I do something great, it can even border on euphoria. I say that goodness is a gateway drug to God. Psychologists would probably tell me this is my conscience, and that's okay, too. I equate conscience with God and with the soul. God is present in universal human virtues. Doing good is how I express the God in me."

"It sounds like my kind of religion. Clearly, you separate God from religion."

"Yes. I relate spirituality to moral values. That makes it a belief system, which is the core of any religion or culture. But I don't have any rituals or dogma or prayer books or icons. No tithing. My God doesn't care about what I eat or whether I should pay homage once a week—or ever. My God doesn't possess human faults, like being insecure about being praised or honored or even denied. My God is a reflection of all the virtues that we find important and necessary for a functioning society."

"How do you distinguish good from bad?"

"I live in a Judeo-Christian culture, so my morals begin there. We need shared moral values to get along with each other. The human race won't survive unless we cooperate. On one side you have people who believe that morality comes from God. On the other side, you have people who believe morality is an evolutionary imperative, that we developed rules and laws to be able to survive, not destroy each other."

"What about a culture that advocates murder or suicide bombing? How does someone from that culture feel God?"

"I have no idea how anyone can feel good about murder. And I can't explain the actions of zealots or criminals or psychopaths, either. They are perversions. My idea of good wouldn't condone murder, suicide, or any of the Seven Deadly Sins."

"Does your God love you?"

Alison said, "My God is not watching me and approving or disapproving. My God is in me, a part of me. If I could do anything to change the world, I would tell you to do what is right, what is kind, what is honest and caring, and you will never have to worry about what you think of yourself or be looking over your shoulder. Don't do good because someone is watching you. Do good to feel God. That's all you need to know to make the world a better place."

***

Alison stayed another day and we explored the subject of virtues. I respected her ideas about God and goodness and asked her if she thought it was ever possible for the different religions of the world to become one. She thought it would be less-impossible to agree on what all religions have in common such as the four prime virtues: prudence, justice, temperance and fortitude. She thought we might be able to build on that, but she had her doubts.

I know this feels more like an essay than a story. It doesn't fit the classic form of a beginning, middle or end. Nevertheless, she did answer the question, what would she do if she were God. Her answer was easy. She would do good.

13. Who Cares?

"During the entire time with her, I felt like a tea kettle with the top glued on, ready to blow. I resented feeling that I was being taken for granted."

Nancy and Joe recently started a small group home for people with Alzheimer's and dementia. Our nation's aging population is presenting families and societies with enormous challenges, so they decided to tackle the problem in their own way. They bought a new house and made all of the improvements and changes required by local laws to provide 24/7 care for five women.

I was talking with Nancy one day, asking how their challenge was coming along.

"You would not believe what I went through last week," she said, shaking her head. "Remember when you asked me awhile ago about what I would do if I could be God, how would I change the world? I said I thought I was already doing it with our board and care home. Now I would like to add a few items. Do you have a few minutes for me to grouse?"

"Sure."

"Well, this is how last Tuesday began. One of our placement partners sent us a prospective client. I didn't have a chance to vet her, you know, to make sure she was a good fit for us and the other ladies in the house. I was told she was a seventy-five-year-old woman with slight dementia who couldn't live alone anymore. Her brother lives in Nebraska so he made the arrangements by phone with the placement agency. Two weeks ago the placement agency sent Anna to meet with the woman. Anna said the woman seemed like a good fit for our house, so I went along with her judgment."

Nancy took a deep breath and shook her head. "Then...yesterday, the client's brother called me and said his sister was being discharged from the hospital—that day. I told him I didn't know she was even in the hospital. She must have been admitted after Anna met with her because Anna didn't mention any hospital. The brother asked if I could pick up his sister from the hospital and bring her to our place. He would make all of the arrangements with the hospital and phone his sister about me."

"But you hadn't met the woman?"

"No. I relied on Anna. Her job is to check out the clients and then bring them to our place for an interview. We all decide if it will work for everyone. We give the prospect or their family a tour and go over the costs, because the price is different for a private room versus a double room. We ask a lot of questions to learn more about their health and living preferences. However...in this case...I wasn't able to meet with Anna or the client, and the brother couldn't come because he was working and lives so far away. I told the brother I would take her based on Anna's recommendation."

"But it sounds like you had some problems."

"Oh, did I ever! The hospital was unbelievable. I went to get her, and they had already discharged her, but she didn't have any clothes." Nancy raised up her arms and shook her fists in protest. "All she had to wear under her hospital gown was a pair of Depends.®" She rolled her eyes. Can you believe that?"

"Let me get this straight. Your client has mild dementia but no clothes? And she's leaving the hospital wearing only Depends and one of those gowns that opens in the back?"

"You got it!"

"What did the hospital say about her clothes? She must have been wearing something when they admitted her."

Nancy rolled her eyes again and told me the discharge nurse didn't know what had happened to the clothes. According to another one of the nurses, the patient was drunk when they admitted her. They didn't know how the woman got there. She had been in detox for the past four days, which Nancy also knew nothing about. All the woman had with her was a giant purse.

Nancy continued, "When I walked into her room, she was sitting there in a wheelchair, waiting for me."

"What did you do?"

"First, she didn't have any paperwork. She is supposed to have certification for immunizations, like for TB, to live in a group home. When I learned she didn't have that, I phoned the agency but couldn't reach Anna. Then I called the brother and got voicemail. The discharge nurse was barking at me that he needed the room. So what do you think I did?"

"You took her."

"Of course. I had to. What was she going to do? She was skin and bones. Her hair looked like a Halloween wig. I couldn't leave the poor woman there. But I was so worried about the others in the house. This could upset a good thing. It's not easy to orchestrate five women to live together in one house. And the four we have now are working well together, so I was worried."

"I'm sure it's not easy. Why wouldn't the hospital keep her until you could figure something out?"

"They said they needed the bed. I had no choice but to take her and make the best of it. A nurse's aide wheeled her down to the front boarding area while I got my car from the lot. Picture me holding her hospital gown together in the back while guiding her into the passenger seat—as she's announcing she wants to go home and get something to wear. Fortunately, her discharge papers listed an address. How they got that I don't know, probably from her brother. She lived an hour in the opposite direction from my place.

"When we finally pulled up in front of her house, she asked me for the key. I told her I didn't have any keys to her home. She seemed a little paranoid, too. She wouldn't let me search her purse for a key. She thought she'd hidden one somewhere outside but couldn't remember where. I searched the usual places, like on the ledge over the door, under the doormat, under some large rocks in the flower bed. She even had one of those fake stones where you can hide a key—but it was empty."

"What did you do? Did she ever get any clothes?"

"Well, first I tried the neighbors. But no one was home."

I waited for a few beats and shook my head, wondering where this story was going. Nancy took a tissue out of her pocket and blew her nose, then she continued telling the story.

"I called her brother but got his voicemail again. I was flustered because I had another appointment—in an hour and a half—so I told her I would take her to her new home, and I would keep trying to reach her brother. Well, she would have none of that. She wasn't about to go someplace new wearing a hospital gown and a pair of Depends. Plus she needed new Depends. Hers were soaked by now...and I don't want to tell you how glad I am to have vinyl seat covers in my car."

None of this was funny to Nancy, but about this time I was suppressing a laugh.

"She demanded that I take her to Target and buy her a muumuu—you know, one of those loose-fitting housecoats—plus new Depends. But she had no money. Okay, I can handle that. I left her in the car and went into Target. It took me twenty minutes. I half-expected to come out and find her gone, but she was still there, sitting in the passenger seat smoking a cigarette—in my car, which I just had detailed. I never let anyone smoke in my car, so I was going nuts about that. I asked her where she got the cigarette, and she said it was from the guy in the pickup who was parked next to me. I can't even imagine what that conversation was like."

I'm picturing this as a movie and trying to imagine who would play the characters. "So did you finally get her back to your home?"

"I did, thank God, but that wasn't the end of it."

I felt Nancy's pain, and I was getting a picture of what the group home business must be like. I wouldn't have the patience for it, but I admired Nancy and Joe for taking on the responsibility. I'm pretty sure they didn't do it for the money. I realize it's a business, but Nancy and Joe aren't a multinational corp. It takes caring people to do this on a personal scale.

Nancy went on, "I get her changed into her new muumuu and have her sitting on the bed while I try to reach her brother. She jumps off the bed and says she won't be able to sleep until she pays what she owes. Her word is everything to her. Okay. She says she needs to go to the bank. Okay. Then she walks out the front door while my phone is ringing for the brother. Not okay! I'm chasing behind trying to stop her, but she'll have none of that. She gets in my car and sits there in her new muumuu. Then she gets back out of the car and hollers at me to bring her a cigarette. This very moment I see the daughter of another potential client, plus Anna from the agency, pull up in front of the house. It's the appointment I set up a week ago."

"What did you do?"

"You wouldn't believe the rest of it, and it would take me another ten minutes to tell the story. The upshot is, her brother flew in and took her home to live with him and his wife in Nebraska. That's the last I heard. But, I just wanted to tell you . . .as a result of that experience...if I could be God, I know what else I would do."

"What?"

"Have you ever heard the saying, 'I know God will never give me more than I can handle, but sometimes I wish he didn't have so much confidence in me?' "

"Yes, I've heard that."

"Well, after last week, I'm not sure God has any confidence left in me. I didn't handle things very well. As I am telling you the story, I'm feeling mad at myself because I didn't handle the woman's problems very gracefully."

"Are you kidding me?" I said. "You should hear yourself! Think about what you did for her, not what you didn't do. And I'm sure you didn't get paid for your time."

"Thanks for letting me vent. I did get actually get paid for the muumuu. And I can use the Depends for other clients. The brother was a prince. But, I guess what I am saying is...during the entire time with her, I felt like a tea kettle with the top glued on, ready to blow. I resented feeling that I was being taken for granted, and I hate feeling that way. I want to care for people and not resent them for needing me. But, to be honest, Joe and I are feeling some financial pressure right now."

"I thought you were doing well. I know what you do is a business, but the service you provide is essential. I read recently that some people are calling aging an epidemic."

"And the hard part for us is, we want our service to be affordable, but it's hard to keep costs down with all of the regulations, even though I know regulations are important to keep the scammers from setting up shop. The big assisted living companies are charging thirty percent more for the same services we offer, but they spread their costs over a lot of clients. We are barely making any profit with our four or five clients. If we go more than a few months without being full, it hurts."

"But why wouldn't you be full with all of the demand?"

"It's a timing issue. When someone leaves, for whatever reason, we drop a month until we can get the next person in. We didn't think that would be a problem, but it is. If we have an empty room for three months out of the year, we lose over ten thousand dollars. We still have to pay the caregivers on staff. Anyway, you don't want to hear about my business problems."

I said, "I hear people—who haven't had to face the problem—say we all need to buy long-term care insurance. But that's not all it's cracked up to be either, is it?"

"It depends on how long you live. A typical LTC policy might cost you a hundred dollars a month, twelve hundred a year. Let's say you took that out when you were sixty-five and paid it for twenty years until you are eighty-five. That's twenty-four thousand dollars you've paid into the policy. Then you get sick and can't take care of yourself—and there are strict requirements for how sick you have to be before it starts paying. Anyway, let's say it starts paying for your long-term care at the rate of a hundred dollars a day or three thousand a month. Many, if not most, of the responsible people who take out these policies, don't realize how benefits are paid and whether the policy has a dollar cap on the total amount it pays out. Or the policy might have a period cap, meaning the number of years it will continue to pay. On the policy example I just used, the dollar cap might be seventy-five thousand dollars over its life. So, if it's paying you thirty-six thousand a year, that will continue for about twenty-six months. Okay, then what? If you live another ten years, to ninety-five, your long-term care policy isn't going to help. You see what I'm saying? Who's going to pay for the last ten years?"

"What about Social Security or Medicare?"

"For most people Social Security will cover a fraction of the cost. Medicare won't pay anything. Medicaid will pay a minimum amount, about half of what it takes for a home like ours."

"So the family has to cover the rest? What about people without kids, or whose kids may be out of work or are sick themselves or even have passed on?"

"If you literally have zero assets and no income, medicaid will pay for very basic care in a nursing home. But what if you don't have anyone to escort you through that bureaucratic maze?"

I said, "Now you've got me worried about my own situation. What's going to happen to all of these people who haven't prepared for living longer, or had their assets slashed in the Great Recession?"

"Most people don't realize the financial problems posed by living longer. We didn't realize some of the problems until we started this business. We should have done more research."

"Now I understand why aging is called an epidemic. You know, when we sat down a few minutes ago, you said that you've been thinking about my question, what you would do if you could be God. You said you might add a few items. What were you thinking?"

"I'd do a bunch of things, but I don't want to be a pig, so I'll boil it down to three things." She paused. "First, I would send all caregivers in the world unlimited helpings of patience, so they wouldn't get discouraged like I sometimes do."

"And the second?"

"Second, before I would allow anyone to become a parent, I would show them what happens when you don't treat your children with love and respect when raising them."

"Why—and how would you do that?"

"Why? Because the most difficult and saddest people we care for seem to have unhappy and difficult kids who rarely visit or call them. And the happiest people have caring and responsible kids who love their parents the way they were loved. And that makes such a difference at the end of life."

"I can imagine. Is that always true, I mean about caring parents having caring kids?"

"Not always, of course, but it's definitely a pattern."

"I admire you for what you're doing. I mean, I know it's also a business, but you had other options for starting a business. Why did you pick this one? Did you have caring parents?"

"Both Joe and I did. They were wonderful. They are all gone now, but yeah, they were the best."

"You said you had three things you would do if you could be God. What's the third?"

She laughed. "I know this isn't something God should be worried about, but after my recent experience at the hospital the third thing I'd do is...create a hospital gown that doesn't leave your bare butt hanging out the back when you need to get out of bed and walk."

***

After talking with Nancy, I did some research on the Alzheimer's Association website and found some worrisome statistics. The National Institutes of Health spend over $6 billion a year on cancer research, $4 billion on heart disease research and more than $3 billion on HIV/AIDS research. That's great. I'm sure they need it. But get this, the government spends only $480 million on Alzheimer's research. Here's why that's not enough.

From 2000-2008, the percentage of deaths due to HIV, stroke, heart disease, prostate cancer and breast cancer all decreased, while deaths due to Alzheimer's grew by 60%. Alzheimer's is the only top ten cause of death without a way to prevent, cure or even slow its progression.

Living longer is both a blessing and a curse, and for those who can't afford to get old, and for a society that isn't prepared for the fallout, it's a coming nightmare.

Nancy and Joe can't do the impossible. They can't do the research necessary to find a cure, or even find out what causes Alzheimer's or many other forms of dementia. Nevertheless, they are doing the less-impossible, caring for five people at a time.

14. In This Together

"When we say anyone can succeed if they work hard enough—it's all relative. How often do you hear a poor person say anyone can succeed?"

Hank is a successful, independent financial manager. I have watched him start and grow his business over the past thirty years. His story is about hard work, the nature of success, and the luck of the draw.

Hank began his business career following his dad in the banking business. After ten years working as a loan officer, then a vice president, he struck out on his own to become a private money manager. Getting started wasn't easy. Many times he wondered if he had done the right thing quitting his steady job. Now, by himself, Hank manages an impressive amount of his clients' money and produces exceptional returns.

You might expect him to be a conservative thinker, and he is when it comes to managing money. In his personal life, however, he is a passionate progressive.

I told him about my book, and explained my theory about dreaming the impossible to discover the less-impossible. Then I asked him what he would do if he could be God. He took a few days to think about it, then we got together over lunch and he told me his ideas.

"What concerns me is the same thing that worries a lot of economists," he began. "It's the growing gap between rich and poor. Most of my clients come from stable families, a few from old money. They are intelligent, educated, and they are able to imagine their futures. Many also had a lot of help achieving those futures. Contrast that with being born as a minority in the inner city or trying to find work as a migrant laborer coming from Mexico or Central America."

"So, if you could be God, what would you do about it?"

"I know this will sound naive to some, but you asked me to step outside my box. So this is what I would do if I could be God. I'd take all of the people who have had the breaks in life and the support to help them succeed, and I would swap their lives with people who never had opportunities or help, but who work their asses off just to stay afloat."

"You mean like the Eddie Murphy movie, Trading Places?"

"Right!"

"What would that achieve?"

"Empathy. It would teach the wealthy how hard it is to succeed in this world when you are born poor. People who live in gated communities are cloistered, disconnected from the poor. They have no way to feel the desperation of not being able to pay the rent or buy new tires for their 15-year-old car. Most people have no idea what it's like to live on the streets, or in a shelter. The wealthy don't ride the bus to work or walk to work or even worry about work."

"What do they worry about?"

"They worry about losing their wealth. They don't want to be poor. Nobody does, and that fear says a lot. The definition of success for people who live at the poverty level—and that includes forty million people according to the latest census numbers—is a high school education. Very few can afford anything beyond that, including a community college education. Poor people don't have the connections to get into an Ivy League school or afford the cost of a state university. Sure, there are exceptions, but I'm talking about the masses of poor people, not the few dozens who get into Princeton on a Gates scholarship."

"Would this life switch you're talking about be permanent?"

"No, but I would make them believe it was, otherwise it wouldn't have much effect. I'm not inclined to punish people. I just want people of means, those who have always had means, to know what it's like to struggle. You can learn empathy by walking a mile in someone's shoes, but all that means to some people is that you are now a mile away and have a new pair of shoes. Becoming suddenly poor is only instructive if you feel trapped."

"You said there are exceptions. What about people who succeeded from nothing? I know a lot of people who believe that success is possible for anyone who is willing to work hard enough. What do you think about that?"

"Let's say I become mayor of my city. A mayor's term is four years. In a hundred years only twenty-five people can be mayor. Anyone with a brain can see how absurd it is to say anyone can be the mayor of their city. It's equally absurd to say anyone can succeed if they work hard enough. Barack Obama became president. That doesn't mean every black man has the potential to become president. In the history of this country, that office has been held by a tiny number of people. When we say anyone can succeed if they work hard enough—that's also relative. How often do you hear a poor person say anyone can succeed? Most can't imagine such a thing. And for others, success may be going to college or buying a modest home, which are also becoming unaffordable."

"You said you aren't out to punish the rich for their success. What do you want them to learn."

"I want to alter their belief system, to discover that success has a lot to do with the luck of the draw, not just hard work. Much wealth in this country has been passed down through generations. And it is highly concentrated. We have four hundred billionaires in this country. Did you know that?"

"I didn't."

"Eighty percent of the stock market value is owned by twenty percent of all investors. That concentration of wealth is dangerous to the future of this country."

"How so?"

"Too much power controlled by too few. You know the Golden Rule."

"He who owns the gold makes the rules."

"Forget about 'power to the people'. Have you seen Les Misérables? Or read the Victor Hugo book?"

"I've seen both the play and the film."

"Then you know it's not about the music. It's about the dangers posed by a concentration of wealth and power."

"Wasn't Les Misérables published after the French Revolution?"

"Yes, about ten years after, in 1862, but Hugo began writing years earlier around 1832, because he deplored the trend he saw in France. The French Revolution happened in 1848, and the chaos opened the door for Napoleon to rise to power in 1852. Hugo lived in self-exile for seventeen years after Napoleon came to power. The French Revolution was caused in part by the disenfranchisement of the middle and lower classes. Only landholders were permitted to vote. The country was ruled by the financial aristocracy including bankers, stock exchange magnates, railroad barons, and landowners. Does that sound familiar?"

"It does. Didn't de Tocqueville write about the growing problem of inequality in France. I recall he said the French were sleeping together in a volcano."

That's right. He predicted that the lower classes would erupt in revolt."

" Are you worried about that happening here?"

"It happens in every society that is out of economic balance. A few years ago we called it the Arab Spring. The desire for economic equality is burning around the world. Natural ecosystems seek balance and so do human societies. Russia is dominated by oligarchs who bought up that nation's resources for pennies on the dollar from the peasants when the Soviet Union was broken up and the assets supposedly divided. Now, the average Russian owns next to nothing. Read Red Notice to learn how that happened."

"I'll check it out. First, I'd like you to go back to what you said about wealth being the luck of the draw."

"Most wealth is about being in the right place at the right time. It's about where you were born, the parents you got or maybe a lucky investment your parents made. Your success could also result from a chance meeting with someone who knows someone with influence who can help you. Friends take care of friends. But what if you don't have any influential friends?"

"You must have some clients who came from meager beginnings. Were they just lucky?"

"Many of my clients are doctors and other professionals, and some with trust funds. The professionals made their money from hard work, but very few came from nothing. It takes money to pay for medical school or law school or to get any kind of college degree. I am willing to bet that luck was even more important for the ones that did raise themselves out of poverty."

"What kind of luck?"

"Exceptional intelligence or talent—or sitting on land that was worthless until a petroleum engineer invented fracking. If you were lucky enough to own land in the Bakken Formation in North Dakota, you receive royalties from the oil companies drilling for oil and gas on your otherwise worthless property. Who could have imagined that? If you own farmland and grow corn, who could have dreamed you would receive a government subsidy to produce corn to power cars? These things have nothing to do with your talents or hard work. It's the luck of the draw."

"But you started with nothing and now you're successful. That wasn't luck."

"Sure it was. I had great parents and a father who educated me about money. I was lucky to be born with a good mind, but I didn't earn my intelligence. I'm naturally curious. I didn't choose curiosity. Maybe I was born with a curiosity gene. My parents definitely encouraged me to explore. We know that some people are better equipped to succeed. We're not all playing on a level field with the same equipment. IQ is not a function of hard work."

"What about people with average IQs? Won't hard work help them succeed?"

"Of course. Bill Clinton reportedly has an IQ of about 140, and George Bush has an IQ of about 125. I don't know if these numbers are factual, but assuming they are true, it shows that IQ is not the only factor determining success. Whatever you think of their politics or their character, both men had to work hard to reach the presidency, but one had a substantial head start. I'll let you decide which one.

"The average IQ in the U.S. is 100. Imagine how many folks are below 100 to make 100 the average. How does someone with an IQ of 70 compete with a 130? Nature is not fair. That's why we need to feel empathy for people who are entering the human race thirty yards behind the starting line."

"How important is liking what you do? Being passionate?"

"Liking what you do is a huge factor in success. You and I may feel that we work hard, but would you trade what you do for working on a numbing assembly line or bent over on hands and knees thinning sugar beets or picking lettuce or stacking hay in a dusty barn or unloading railroad cars by hand? Or coding? It's very difficult for a poor person to make enough money to reach escape velocity to transcend their circumstances and enjoy the luxury of doing what they love. It's one of the reasons middle America is turning to drugs—to numb the lost sense of purpose."

"What about supply and demand? Isn't that how the marketplace works?"

"Sure, and there is a lot of luck involved in beating the market. Why should you get more of the pie because you're inordinately lucky? The 'strong survive' is a philosophy that works in the jungle, but we are supposed to be an evolved species."

"What about lottery winners? Should they have to share their winnings with the rest of us? Didn't they take a risk that paid off?"

"Sure, and the government does take half of the lottery winnings in taxes to share with the rest of us. But, how tax money is spent is also decided by rich people, many of whom resent giving it to poor people. I have to laugh every time I hear rich people complain about income redistribution. The greatest income redistribution goes to the wealthy through low long-term capital gains tax rates."

I said, "The lottery winner also shares his good fortune by buying things that other people make and need to sell. The money gets spread around naturally."

"Of course," Hank answered, "and the lottery winner is more proof that luck plays a role in success. Some neuroscientists also think ambition may be a function of hormones and brain chemistry. That's luck, too. But what if you are born without ambition, or have parents who never cared about you? When all is said and done, people do what they want, and some will make bad choices regardless of their opportunities. But if I were God, I would make sure that everyone had enough opportunity to overcome the bad luck of being born in the wrong place, at the wrong time to the wrong parents."

"That sounds like social engineering," I said. "I thought you were a libertarian."

"I know my plan of swapping lives is an impossible idea. It just makes me feel better to think I'd be doing something to decrease the indifference some rich people feel for the poor. You're always talking about using the impossible to discover the less-impossible."

"What is your less-impossible?"

"Empathy. I know it's impossible to swap lives. It's less-impossible to choose to support fair tax rates. If we can empathize with the poor and especially the homeless, we'll have a better chance of understanding their needs the next time someone brings up increasing the minimum wage or expanding Medicaid."

"I don't know many wealthy people who feel superior to the poor."

"But you know people who think people are poor because they're lazy or believe unemployment compensation discourages people from finding work. I'm sure in some cases it does, but some people make it sound like being out of work and collecting an unemployment check is a vacation. In most states, these payments amount to less than half of what recipients were making in their jobs. Could you live on that? If you're working for minimum wage and you get laid off because a company is cutting back, you collect half of your minimum wage. Would you willingly take a fifty percent pay cut? Would you trade places with somebody who couldn't find a job? What about health insurance? How would you pay the rent? What if your child needs a tooth filled or glasses or expensive medicine? The things we take for granted are monumental problems for poor people."

"I understand."

"I can't even imagine what twenty million unemployed people would do if they had no safety net. How would they live? Can you see the legions of beggars hanging out at freeways on the off-ramps? When we are hit with weather disasters, the victims need help, and we understand that. We don't blame them for the storms. But many people blame the poor because they think poverty is their fault. In many, if not most cases, it's the luck of the draw, but people quote the exceptions to make a case that poor people just made bad choices, and that's absurd."

"What about people who abuse the system? They could work, but would rather scam the welfare programs."

"The people who scam the welfare system are not your average poor people struggling to make ends meet. These scams are perpetrated by professional thieves and medical personnel that know how to cheat on a massive scale. These criminals exist among the poor and the rich alike. Scam artists like Bernard Madoff and Charles Ponzi exist at every level of society."

"What about the two Boston Marathon bombers? Their family received all sorts of government assistance. Was that right?"

"That is such an isolated case, such an anomaly, that it isn't worth discussing. It's a sound bite used to stir up resentment for immigration policy and to tarnish programs that help immigrants settle in this country. Besides, who do you think profits most from that government assistance?"

"Who?"

"The supermarkets and merchants like Walmart and all the various dollar stores that provide goods and services to immigrants."

"So, you're saying we are okay compensating victims of disasters, or investors who lose money, so why not the poor and immigrants?"

"Of course. The only real difference is that we feel justified compensating victims of natural disasters because we feel empathy for them. They own houses. We own houses. We belong to the same economic tribe. We can imagine ourselves needing similar support at some point. But we also pick and choose who receives aid based on their guilt or innocence."

"What do you mean?"

"Someone who buys a house on a hill may not readily empathize with someone who buys on the banks of a river, where there is a risk of flooding. Some people believe if you lose your job because of a bank meltdown or a merger, you should have been more careful about where you worked, or you should have seen a disaster coming and stepped out of the way. If a tornado cuts a swath through your living room, you should have lived somewhere else. But the fact is, we are a society reliant on one another. We are all in this together, dependent on one another."

"How do you feel about paying higher taxes because of your empathy?"

"I hate taxes, but given the choice between landing in the highest tax bracket or the lowest, I'll take the highest."

"You care to explain that?"

"If I'm paying a lot of taxes, it means I'm making a lot of money."

"You earned that money, too. You worked hard, educated yourself, took a risk leaving a safe job. You sacrificed to get where you are. You're a self-made man."

"Self-made? No such thing. 'The cream rises to the top,' is another silly cliché. Where would the cream be without the milk to support it? Don't let anyone kid you. We all stand on the shoulders of those who came before us and struggle beside us. We're all in this together. The wider the divide between rich and poor, the harder it is for the poor to feel life is fair. In the same way, inequality between partners can destroy a marriage. If one partner feels the other isn't doing their fair share of caring for the home and the children, what happens to the marriage?"

"Either they work it out so everyone is happy or they divorce."

"Exactly my point."

***

Talking with Hank is always interesting. He makes connections I don't always think about. He's a capitalist, but that doesn't make him heartless. In a world of seven billion people, he is a nobody, like you and me. But in his community, among the people he serves, he is a giant celebrity. His clients depend on him for their futures.

We talked a little about what is called rampant consumerism, the need to buy things that we don't necessarily need, but want. He asked what would happen if people stopped buying stuff? The result is, people would stop making stuff, so a lot of people would be out of work. Who pays for their food and housing and education?

He said we are stuck in this merry-go-round of making and buying because we don't have a desirable alternative. Yes, if we stop making cars we can all ride bicycles to work or to the park, but what about the people who used to make cars? Where do they work? When the merry-go-round stops, everyone will have to get off.

Hank is a pragmatist who thinks like an idealist. He knows it's impossible to change a person's point of view by artificially flipping their station in life. His less-impossible vision of the world is easier to comprehend. In Hank's world, we would all get equal helpings of success and compassion. He says not everyone will have the ambition, the connections or the resources to achieve their dream of success, but compassion is a choice open and free to all of us.

15. Now, What's Wrong?

"I have been shopping at Ralphs for years, ever since they set up their club program, so why didn't my number work?"

Friday morning was the time for trash pickup in our old neighborhood. I used to retrieve the empty cans around noon. That was about the only time I saw my neighbor, Harry. One day he was also collecting his empties, and I waved to him. He held up his hand, signaling for me to stay where I was. He hurried across the street to me.

Harry likes to get in your face when he talks. A couple of feet away is close enough for me, but he stands almost nose to nose. When he goes off on something, I back up and he glides forward. He also spits, making a conversation feel like an unwelcome dance in the shower. This used to bother me until Mary Lou told me he is hard of hearing. I suppose that is an explanation, if not an excuse, but I wish he would invest in hearing aids so I could engage him rather than just listening to him complain.

"Have you had any trouble lately with the cable company?" Harry asked me. He never asks if you have a minute to talk. He just starts in.

"What kind of trouble?" I asked, practically shouting.

"With your DVR! I just had a nasty phone conversation with customer service. My DVR isn't working. My kids are coming tomorrow for the weekend, and my grandson wants to watch football. All of a sudden I can't get a picture. I know it's the DVR. Everything runs off it. The woman I talked to told me they could send out a technician next week. I told her that's too late, but she said it was the best she could do. I reminded her I have been a loyal customer for ten years. She had my account right there in front of her on the computer, so she knew I paid my bill every month. I reminded her that I could switch to Direct TV. 'When you need me,' I told her, I pay the bill. When I need you, I get zip. Why is that? Do you want to lose me as a customer? I'm sure Direct TV would love to have my business.' "

As he talked, I thought about my own digital recorder. I know they are prone to bugs that seem to show up during my favorite program or a big game. Still, our cable provider, does a good job for us. Harry, on the other hand, lived a few doors down and seemed to have a lot of trouble.

At one time in my life, I was constantly dividing the world into two kinds of people. I guess I was trying to make sense of life. Categorizing felt comfortable, if not meaningful. Anyway, I would say things like, "The world is divided into two kinds of people: those who should have kids and those who shouldn't," or "those who complain about everything and those who don't." Harry is a chronic complainer.

"Harry," I said, "I have an extra DVR in our guest bedroom. We won't need it over the holidays. You are welcome to it."

"I don't want to put you out."

"It's no problem. I can get it right now."

"No, I have no idea how to connect it. I have this hi-tech system the Geek Squad put together. I don't know what they did. You will never figure it out, either. That's why I wanted a cable guy to come out and bring a new box. He should set it up; unless he's like the idiot they sent last time."

"You're right," I interrupted. "I shouldn't mess with your system."

Harry went on, "They told me I could drive to one of their offices and pick up a new box, but why should I have to do that? I pay for service. I want service. Don't you think that's right?"

"I do appreciate good service," I said.

"Besides, I don't like to drive with all of the traffic on the streets during the holidays. I went to the market yesterday, and I couldn't believe the cars. I got cut off by this kid and almost ran into the median. I'm sure he was texting. People drive too fast on that street. The speed limit should be thirty miles per hour, not forty-five. Don't you agree?"

"I haven't really had a problem."

I don't think he even heard my reply. He kept on without skipping a beat.

"And the clerks in that store are impossible to deal with. The lines are too long, and they won't open another register. I can't believe how much garbage people pile into their baskets. That's why we have such a problem with obesity and diabetes in this country. I can't understand all the junk. I finally got up to pay, and I gave them my club number so the little Mexican checker would give me my discount. She said the number was not in the system. I told her I wanted to talk to the manager. She said he was on break, but I told her I wasn't moving until she gave me my club discount. Then she left to find the manager. She came back and instead of her telling him the problem, she wanted me to explain it to him. I felt like I was in the hospital. You have to repeat your story to everyone that comes in to look at you. You ever been in the hospital?"

I nodded.

"They were supposed to enter all of our health information on a computer. Wasn't that the big new thing? What ever happened to that?"

"Was the line of shoppers behind you stacking up?"

"What?"

"Were people in line behind you getting angry... while you were waiting for the store manager?"

"I don't know, why?"

I let that go. "What happened with the manager?"

"The manager! I told him my wife and I have been shopping at Ralphs for years, ever since they set up their club program, so why didn't my number work? It's the damn computers. Or it was that clerk. She didn't enter it right. I don't carry a card around with me. My wife has the Ralphs card. I told him to look her up. Then he says I'm not at Ralphs; I'm at Albertsons."

Harry shakes his head. "Of course my club number won't work at Albertsons. It's a Ralphs number. Why couldn't they have told me that in the first place instead of wasting my time? Nobody pays attention anymore."

He looked down at my trash can and said, "Where did you get that?"

"Home Depot."

"Home Depot? I hate that place. I tried to buy a trash barrel with a lid attached, and they said that size doesn't come with a lid attached. But yours is attached. So they lied. They do sell them with attached lids."

"No, I attached the lid myself with some plastic ties. Look. The lids have little holes already punched in. Just run the twist ties through the holes and around the handle on the can. They won't get separated and lost when the wind blows the whole thing down the street. In fact, when the lid hangs off the side, it won't roll at all."

"Well, you see. Why didn't they tell me that?"

"I don't know, Harry." About then I was not in the mood to listen to more of his complaining. I thought maybe I could encourage him to be more positive. I told him I was working on a new book, and I asked him what he would do about all these problems if he could be God. I know, I know, I shouldn't have started on that, but I'm not perfect.

"I don't believe in God," he said. "Religion is a bunch of crap!"

"That's okay. Just pretend you have unlimited power. What would you do? What would you change?"

"Don't get me going on God."

"Pick one thing. What one thing would you do to change the world for the better?"

He thought for a moment. Then he said, "This world would be a damn sight better off if people were just more tolerant."

***

Thinking back to when Mary Lou and I were in the pizza restaurant talking about the movie that motivated me to write these stories, I recall one of the things she said she would do if she could be God. She would give people a measure of self-esteem. Now, talking to Harry, I wondered if that would help him see that most people try to do their best to serve others, not their worst. I didn't know how to relieve his anxiety, except listen to his rant. I wasn't even sure listening was all that helpful, but I didn't feel anything could be gained by pointing out to him that his own lack of tolerance was working against him.

Wanting Harry to see life differently wasn't going to change him. He didn't recognize the need. In a word, Harry is the kind of person even my loving mother-in-law would call impossible. If I could be God, I would infuse Harry with one vital ingredient---a sense of humor. Maybe seeing the comedy in things like mixing up his supermarket club cards might at least make him a little less-impossible.

16. Secrets

"Of course God has a point of view. Why else do you think he made humans? He likes to watch us fall crazy in love."

Liz is what marketers call an "experiential." In plain language, she wants to experience life to the fullest. She's twenty-six and likes to skydive, teach yoga, travel the world, and generally chase life. She is also in love with Tim, her boyfriend of three years. Liz told us Tim wants to get married and raise a family. But, she has more life to experience and doesn't want to be tied down right now.

Mary Lou and I were sitting with her in an outdoor cafe, talking about her love dilemma. I thought I might shake things up a little by asking her what she would do about her choices if she were God.

"God? How would that make a difference?"

"Maybe thinking about it from a different perspective will open you to more options. You could turn Tim into your fellow traveler. He could live an adventurous life along with you instead of hoping you will settle down with him in Chicago. Imagining that you have the power to do anything may help you find a solution."

She shook her head. "I couldn't manipulate Tim. I respect that he loves Chicago."

"What do you love?"

"I want to move to Brazil and teach yoga."

"But, you also love Tim. You said you've been playing this cat and mouse game for three years."

"It's not a game. We are two different people, that's all. But I still love him just the way he is."

"Why don't you break it off and go separate ways?"

"We can't. I can't."

I said, "So you want to eat your cake and still have it, too. But you don't like how this cake tastes. Maybe you would be more satisfied if you gave Tim the cake and moved on."

Liz picked up her fork and just stared at me without answering. I was a little concerned about what she might do with the fork. I was trying to motivate her to consider the impossible, but she wasn't picking up on it.

"Have you told him all of this?" Mary Lou asked.

"Not exactly."

"After three years together, he doesn't know what you want?"

"He knows I don't want to live in Chicago."

"How about kids?"

"I haven't told him anything about kids."

Mary Lou and I looked at each other with amazement. I asked, "Why?"

"Because I'm hoping I will change after I've had a chance to experience life."

Mary Lou waded in, "That's a lot of anxiety to carry."

"I would rather live with the anxiety than lose him."

"What about Tim?" Mary Lou said. "It sounds like maybe you want him to make a choice for you. If he decides to move on, how will you feel?"

She put the fork down and I breathed easier. She carefully folded her napkin and set it aside."I have to use the ladies' room."

She rose from the table and headed off. I motioned for the waiter to bring us more coffee. While we waited for Liz to return, we talked about when we were dating and felt pulled in different directions.

"She's right," Mary Lou said. "If she changed Tim, she might not find him attractive anymore. Maybe they are drawn to each other because they're different. He's an accountant. You can't get much different than that—I mean compared to her. I think there is something to the theory that we pick our partners to complete ourselves."

I said, "I was just curious about what she could do if she looked at her choices through a wider lens, a different filter. Being God is just a metaphorical way to think differently. It never hurts to try another point of view."

"Does God have a point of view?"

"Of course. Why else do you think he made humans? He likes to watch us fall crazy in love."

Mary Lou laughed and took my hand.

Liz returned. She sat down and looked at Mary Lou, then at me. "You guys seem so well-suited for each other. Was it easy for you to settle down and get married?"

Mary Lou and I looked at each other and smiled. In unison, almost in pure harmony, we said, "We dated for three years."

"I didn't know that." Liz sat up in her chair, looking eager for more information. "So there is hope for Tim and me?"

"I think three years is the breaking point," I said. "Or, in the case of love, we could call it the breakup point. "

Mary Lou had a slightly different take."Three years is actually about a year past my breakup point. I was almost ready to do something drastic when he proposed. I never thought it would happen. I wasn't going to wait any longer."

Liz smiled and then her face lit up. "I know!" She looked like she had discovered a new line of yoga pants. "I know what I would do if I were God!"

"Great!" I said.

"You said your breakup point was three years. If I were God, I would extend my breakup point to four years. Maybe I will want kids by then. I just need Tim to wait a little longer."

"Why don't you tell him how you feel?"

"Because he wants three kids and wants to start now. What if he decides to look for someone else when I tell him I don't?"

I said, "And what if he says he understands and is willing to wait until you're ready?"

"I can't take that chance. And I can't promise him I will ever be ready."

Mary Lou said, "If you don't tell him what's holding you back, he may think you don't love him."

"He knows."

"Are you sure?" I said.

"Positive."

"Then why are you afraid he won't understand that you don't want kids right now?"

She didn't answer right away. She took a drink of coffee and slowly set the cup down. She took a deep breath. "Maybe I am afraid."

"Of what?" I said.

In a quiet voice, she said, "That he doesn't love me enough to wait."

Silence.

Finally, I said, "Wouldn't it be a relief to find out one way or the other?"

"I don't know," Liz said.

Mary Lou said, "Why did you want to meet with us today?"

"Because I want to know your secret. You've been married for forty years, right?"

We nodded and looked at each other as if to say, Do we have a secret? Then Mary Lou said, "Our secret is that we don't try to guess what each other is thinking. We talk about our fears and worries. We are honest with each other, knowing that our love is strong enough to overcome anything."

I said, "When you put your head on the pillow each night, wouldn't it be better to know that your secrets aren't holding you hostage?"

Liz looked at us. Tears welled up in her eyes and staggered down her cheeks. She blotted the tears with her napkin and didn't talk about her feelings after that. We talked about nothing important for a few minutes, then we paid, hugged, and said goodbye, wondering how it would all work out.

Two days later Liz called. Mary Lou answered the phone and motioned for me to get on the extension. Liz sounded excited, happy. She told us she had decided to move to Brazil for one year. Mary Lou asked her what had happened with Tim.

Liz said, "I confessed my feelings about not wanting kids . . . and told him I wanted to go to Brazil."

"And?"

"And he asked me if there was room for two Americans in Brazil."

"Does that mean he wants to go with you?" I asked.

She squealed with excitement. "Yes! He said he wants to experience what I want to experience. He said kids can wait, but his love can't."

"That's wonderful!"

"I'm going down to find us a place. He's quitting his firm. I thought he loved accounting, but he said as long as we were being honest about what we wanted, he had a secret to reveal to me. He's always wanted to write a novel, but he was worried I would think he wasn't serious about us. I never knew he wanted to write."

"So it sounds like everything is great."

"I can't thank you guys enough. I kept thinking about what you said about hiding secrets. I don't want to feel like I'm hiding something . . . and you asked me that question about what I would do if I could be God."

"Uh-huh."

"At the time I thought it was a bizarre question. I didn't understand what you were saying. Then I realized if I were God, I wouldn't be afraid of anything. I wouldn't be afraid to tell the truth or know the truth. It made me feel powerful. I think it gave me the confidence to accept whatever might happen. I just didn't want to live holding back."

"I'm glad it worked out," I said. "I have a question for you."

"Okay."

"I don't want to throw cold water on what happened, but I am curious. What if Tim had not embraced your dream?"

She paused a moment before answering. "I thought a lot about that and decided it wouldn't be fair to Tim if I didn't tell him what is in my heart. I prepared myself for the worst. However it worked out, I wanted it to be fair for both of us. I learned something I hope I never forget."

"What is that?"

"Never assume I know what is in another person's heart."

***

Fears of rejection and loss of love are honesty inhibitors. They block us from revealing our true desires and ambitions, and they hindered Liz from voicing her secret desire to move to Brazil. She wasn't able to openly express her need for freedom, or her choice not to have children, out of fear she would lose the man she loved. She wanted to move to Brazil and have Tim, too, but she feared that wasn't possible, so she was stuck in a holding pattern with no place to land.

Fearing the worst keeps us from recognizing the so-called elephant in the room. On the other hand, hoping for the best gives us the confidence to welcome the elephant and find out what it has to say. We can be deceived by an assumption we must give up something to gain something.

Liz found the confidence to overcome her fear by hoping for the best and accepting the outcome. In the end, she got to eat her cake and have Tim, too.

17. Miss Direction

"Ben looked like he was about to tackle her as she pranced off like one of those Victoria's Secret Angels. But she was no angel."

Ben is a volunteer high school football coach. Mary Lou and I have known him and his wife Carol for some years. They don't have any kids, so Ben's coaching is a big part of his life. He is a civil engineer, and he loves deciding how things should be done. Ben says when he was eight, his dad asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up. He said he wasn't sure, but he knew he wanted a pointing job. His father asked him to explain what he meant by a pointing job. He answered it was a job where he pointed where to dig the hole, and somebody else did the digging.

Engineering is not the reason Mary Lou and Carol and I were laughing at Ben one night. You see Ben, the football coach, engineer and pointer, is a born pedantic and is willing to point out the correct action to take in any situation. And he is especially good at instructing Carol about football strategy. It's obvious, nevertheless, that they love and know each other well and have settled into their compatible roles—at least that's what we thought until we heard their story about buying a car.

We were sitting on the couch in their family room watching a video of Ben's recent football game. Ben focused on the plays as if we were all standing on the 50-yard line.

Ben's sophomore running back fumbled on their opponent's 10-yard line. Ben abruptly paused the video and turned to Carol and said, "Now you see, when you are in this situation, you need to cover up, wrap both hands around the ball."

Carol nodded and went back to her knitting. "I know, honey."

Ben looked at Mary Lou and me like we were on staff, and we nodded. "We got it, coach!"

Ben turned back to the TV and continued reviewing the game. Two minutes later he paused the video again and turned to Carol. "See that? We have them backed up on their five yard line. In this situation, you can't let them out of the hole."

"Yes, sweetheart, I see. If you hold them and they have to punt, that flips the field. She turned to us. "That means we'll have better field position, possibly inside the forty."

Ben nodded, "But here's where you need to watch for a misdirection play."

She looked at us and shook her head. "Misdirection reminds me of last week when we were buying a car."

Mary Lou said to Carol, "You got a new car?"

Carol nodded. "We had quite an experience. We were at the Honda dealer and Ben was coaching me on a car buying strategy—even though I once worked at a dealership in the finance department and know pretty much everything about buying a car. My problem is, I still hate doing it."

"I hate dealing with salespeople." Mary Lou said. "What was he like?"

"It was a woman, Carol said. "She was in her late twenties, blonde, wearing a deliberately low-cut top, plenty of cleavage. So I dubbed her Miss Direction. "

I laughed. "What happened, Ben?"

Ben turned toward us. "What happened to what?"

Mary Lou said, "What happened at the Honda dealer?"

Carol said to Ben,"The salesgirl at the auto dealership." Ben shrugged. Carol went on, "We told her we wanted an Accord, so she led us to one of those little offices and asked us if she could get us something to drink. She only looked at Ben when she asked. It's like I wasn't even there, even though she should have known that women are the ones who bless the purchase." Carol paused and looked over at Ben to see his response. Ben let her continue without interrupting.

"Ben told her he would like some water. So Miss Direction excuses herself with a flourish and a cute baby smile—at my husband—and says she will be right back. She has him sitting where he can watch her bend over and pick up her purse, then walk away so he has a great view of her 'end zone.' Ben looks like he's about to tackle her as she prances off. I didn't need to watch her. Watching Ben was more entertaining."

"I wasn't watching her." Ben said, not taking his eyes off the video.

Carol raised an eyebrow at Ben, then she continued, "Anyway she comes back with Ben's water, and we start haggling. It irritated me that she never looked at me when she talked."

"Did you get a good deal?" Mary Lou asked.

Carol said, "The base price looked okay, but then she started adding the extras. No matter what Miss Direction wanted to load onto the base price, Ben just nodded okay and said, 'We can do that.' But I'd heard enough when she said we should probably upgrade the steering wheel. I told her to forget all the extras. We didn't want them."

Ben interrupted Carol to explain his buying strategy. "I let 'em load me up on the extras. Then I tell 'em we don't want 'em, so they throw 'em in anyway."

Carol said, "You know how it works. They ask you how much you want the monthly payments to be. So I low-ball her at $199 per month. She says that sounds low, but they might be able to do something. She needs to clear it with her manager. I knew they couldn't do it at that price, but it's a game. They'll push it higher from wherever you start. And I know they have wiggle room on leases based on where they set the residual value."

Ben added, "And you know how women are expected to be unreasonable, so I just let her run with it." He laughed.

Carol returned a whatever-you-say-honey smile and went on with her story. "Anyway, Miss Direction leaves, and Ben asks me what's the max I'm willing to pay. I tell him $199. And he says, 'That's impossible. We'll never get that.'"

Ben said, "We sat there waiting for at least fifteen minutes."

Carol added, "I know Miss Direction is waiting back in the sales lounge watching Housewives of Beverly Hills while we are supposed to be sweating bullets, praying we'll get our price. She finally returns and says she fought for us and was even willing to drop her commission in half to make the deal work, but the boss won't go any lower than $399."

Ben said to Mary Lou, "I thought that was still a good price, but Carol just shakes her head, and you'll never guess what she says to the salesgirl."

Carol interrupted, "I said to her, 'If you could be God, would you give us this car at my price?' "

Then Carol turned to me and said, "Miss Direction looked at me the way I looked at you when you asked me what I would do if I could be God. Anyway, I sat there, stone-faced, waiting for her answer. Ben looked at me like I'd completely lost it. Miss Direction said that if she could be God, she'd give a free car to everyone. So I said, that sounds great. Present that offer to your boss. She looked out the window like she was actually considering it. She was good. She knew I was working a little misdirection of my own, so she said she'd see what she could do for us."

Ben explained, "This time she comes back in about five minutes and says her boss approved $349, but we have to add $1900 cash up front. I was thinking we might take it, but Carol gets up and walks away without saying a word."

"What did you do?" I asked Ben.

"I went with her. Hell, I didn't know where she was going."

Carol said to me, "I thought the price was still too high, but you said that if you start with the impossible, it could lead to the less-impossible."

Ben said, "I still thought she was dreaming. Now we are standing outside the building, waiting for the salesgirl to chase after us. Sure enough, here she comes. She says she has an idea. So we go back inside."

"Long story short," said Carol, "we got the lease for $349 with no money down."

"How did you work that?" Mary Lou asked.

Carol said, "I held out for the less-impossible."

Ben shrugged and smiled.

Carol returned to her knitting, her slender fingers working away. Then she stopped for a moment and looked over at Mary Lou and me, then at Ben. She said, "Believing I have the power to face any challenge head-on is like going into a football game with a good plan and the confidence to carry it out. I hate buying cars with a passion, but all the time we were haggling, I kept telling myself to breathe, relax, and stay composed. I guess in that sense I had a godly power."

I asked Ben how he felt about the car-buying experience.

Ben looked at Carol. Then he said to us, "I gotta admit, Carol made me see the light. Lately, I've had this defeatist attitude. She thinks it's because my team isn't playing well. We lost the last two games by some big numbers. Now I'm wondering if my play calling is indecisive and my players are losing confidence in me and in themselves because I'm so tentative. We're playing Palm Springs next week. Last week I thought it would be impossible to beat them."

"But you don't think so this week?" Mary Lou asked.

"No. This week it feels less-impossible...to use your words."

"What's changed?"

"My attitude, mostly."

"Because of your car buying adventure?"

"No, not really....but okay, maybe. Carol is just loaded with confidence—as you have observed—and that rubs off on people including the players. So I asked her to be on the sidelines with me this week."

"What's Carol going to do on the sidelines?"

"She doesn't have to do anything. Just being out there will calm me down. And she's a helluva cheerleader. I look at her and I just feel more confident. I figure if she picked me I must be doing something right."

Carol raised an eyebrow and gave him a little smile. "I didn't pick you, Ben. Remember. You chased me around for eighteen months."

Ben looked at Mary Lou and me. "Either way that shows I know what I'm doing. Right?"

Carol said, "The first time we met , he pointed at me and told me I was the one. I thought he was crazy."

"Yeah, like a fox." Ben said to us. "My buddy Steve called Carol the impossible dream. I guess I saw her as a less-impossible dream. Again, to use your words." He laughed like he had just won something. "And here we are." He turned to Carol and blew her a kiss.

***

Ben and Carol always joke around like this. It's one reason we enjoy their company. When you see the way they look at each other you know their love is underpinned by friendship and respect. Their story about buying the Honda is an example of how they also work together as a team.

I called Ben after the Palm Springs game. I saw online that his team lost by a touchdown, so I assumed he would be down. I was surprised when he said they played better than ever but couldn't match the Springs' size or talent. He said that their car buying experience made a bigger impression on him than he realized at the time, and he thought it actually improved his play calling. He admired Carol for sticking to her guns going up against the dealership. It was a little win, but those little wins in life, or on the field, are what build the confidence and guts you need to go after the big wins.

18. Ascot & Red

Red said, "He's not asking you, Satan. He wants to know what a normal person would do if she were God."

The annual Palm Springs International Film Festival is held in January. Hollywood stars attend in droves. Film lovers like Mary Lou and me can watch movies from all over the world. You wouldn't think it was much fun standing in long lines waiting to get into the theater, but we have met some interesting people in those lines.

One evening a couple behind us in line was talking about one of the films they saw the night before.

"I liked it," the woman said. "Why didn't you?"

"It was just religious propaganda."

"No, it wasn't. It was sweet."

"I suppose you liked The Passion, too," he said.

"I didn't see it," she answered.

This seemed like the perfect moment for me to step in. I turned around and inserted myself into their conversation. "Hey, I saw The Passion."

They both looked at me as if to say, Why are you butting into our conversation? I was undeterred. "Can I ask you both a question?"

They glanced at each other. The young woman said, "You can ask me. He's in a bad mood."

She looked to be in her twenties. She had red hair and wore a fashionably mismatched combination of stripes and plaids. Her partner looked about the same age. He wore a little, brown Ascot cap, rimless glasses, and he sported a Van Dyke mustache and goatee. I stereotyped him as a writer, maybe a graphic artist. I addressed the young woman. "I couldn't help overhearing your conversation. I'm writing a book, and I was wondering if you could help me by answering a question."

She shrugged. "Sure. That sounds fun."

"I'd like to know what you would do if you could be God. How would you change the world?"

The guy piped in, "I'm an atheist!"

She turned to him—I'll call her Red—and she said, "That's not true! You don't know what you are."

"That's okay," I said. "You can be whatever you want. But how would you answer the question? What would you do about the world if you could be God?"

The guy—I'll call him Ascot—said, "The question is irrelevant. If there is no God, how can I imagine what I would do?"

Red said, "He's not asking you, Satan. He wants to know what a normal person would do if she were God."

Ascot said, "If there was a God, he would not care what you do."

Again, I asked Red, "So what would you do?"

Red looked at Ascot with a stare equal to a heavyweight punch. He held up his hands with palms toward her as if warding off her blow. She turned to address me. All this time Mary Lou is poking me in the ribs, whispering for me to leave them alone. But this was far too interesting for me to bow out now.

Red looked at Mary Lou, then at me. Now, Mary Lou suddenly seemed curious about what Red would say. She leaned forward to hear.

"If I were God, I would make a movie about myself for the people who don't believe in me," she said, nodding with her whole body.

Ascot interrupted. "She's a painter. She said that because she thinks nobody believes in her."

"I'm talking about God, not me," Red interjected.

"Really?" I said to Ascot. "Do you believe in her?"

"Of course!" he snapped, as if it should be obvious.

Red turned to Ascot. Her face brightened. "You really believe in me?" She said it like this was a revelation.

He took her hands and said loudly enough for us to hear, "You are the only thing in this world that I truly believe in."

***

Within seconds, their feisty eyes turned soft and caring. Mary Lou clutched my hand, and we turned around to give them their moment. I thought about what fragile creatures we are, and how much more possible it is to believe in ourselves when someone we love confirms our worth.

The movie we saw that night was good, but I will always remember Ascot and Red. Their two-minute scene outside the theater was worth the price of admission.

19. The Emancipator

"It takes courage to quit some things. So get out there and quit what isn't working. Then go fail at something. It will give you courage."

One day I was using my iPad to check the latest box office numbers for movies opening that weekend. I'm interested because I love movies, and I am curious about trends. I was sitting on the couch, enjoying a cup of coffee, when I got a call from Darren, a friend I hadn't talked to in months.

After catching him up on what was going on in my family, I asked him about his wife Janet and their two boys. He redirected, saying that one of our mutual friends had mentioned my book, and he wanted to talk about it.

He began, "I have given this a lot of thought, and I am prepared to tell you what I would do if I could be God."

"Great! Let's hear it."

"Do you have time to listen? I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"I'm all ears."

"Did you ever see Spielberg's movie, Lincoln?"

"Yes. I loved it."

"Well, here's the thing. Around the time it was released, I noticed a bunch of news stories about the Emancipation Proclamation. I'm quite sure God had no use for slavery and was no doubt pleased when Lincoln ended it."

"Uh–huh." I wondered where this was heading

"Lincoln did what he could in 1862 as Commander-in-Chief of the Union. But he knew the question of slavery had to be settled once and for all. Did you know The Emancipation Proclamation was not an actual law?"

"I think I knew a little about that, but go on."

"It was an executive order that applied only to the states that had seceded from the Union. He could invoke martial law in those states because they were in rebellion from the Union. The Emancipation Proclamation didn't apply to states that remained loyal to the Union. In fact, at the time, slavery was still technically legal in the states that remained in the Union, and it continued to be so until the passage of the Thirteenth Amendment three years later. But the point I was going to make is that this made me think about other forms of emancipation."

"Such as . . . ?"

"Something that will affect all people regardless of their gender, color, age, or national origin."

"Okay."

He waited a few beats, then gave me his answer, "If I could be God, I would emancipate the human mind."

"Emancipate it from what?"

"From fear, from prejudice, from superstition, and even from anxiety, guilt, and hatred. I think that would change the world, don't you?"

"Definitely."

"I'm talking about freeing your mind from fear to give you confidence to achieve. So you won't be afraid of failure."

"Are you speaking rhetorically, or because you think I'm afraid of failure?"

"Most people are."

"Why do you think that?"

"Because it's natural. But I think we would all be happier if we weren't so afraid to risk."

"Tell me more."

"Okay, here is an example. You are always worried that nobody will buy your next product or book. Think about all the things you could accomplish if fear didn't hold you back."

I didn't feel that anything was holding me back, but I didn't interrupt him.

He continued, "The Emancipation Proclamation is a perfect example of my point. Lincoln could have feared losing re-election. Instead he acted confidently and changed the course of history. His proclamation was a bold move, and it set the table for the passage of the Thirteenth Amendment that freed four million slaves. He was the modern day equivalent of Moses."

I answered, "But if you were a slave, it wasn't that simple. Living free is no doubt better than living as a slave, but freedom in 1862 came at a high price. Tens of thousands of slaves died because of the war, precisely because they were granted freedom."

Darren countered, "I understand, but overcoming fear means accepting responsibility for your life and your choices. My point is, we can be also be enslaved by our fears. Fearing the outcome can prevent us from pursuing our dreams."

"Fear also has a purpose. The fear of being burned keeps you from touching a hot stove. The fear of dying keeps you from leaping off a cliff. The fear of losing your life savings deters you from making risky investments. The fear of getting cancer can stop you from smoking. So fear can also be a good thing."

He went silent. I inferred from his silence that something was wrong. "You okay?" I asked.

"I'm fine!" he said. But I could tell he wasn't. His voice sounded off. He was trying to convince himself that I was afraid of something. I wondered if he was projecting a fear of his own.

After a few more moments of silence, he said, "Aren't you ever afraid?"

"Of course. I was just trying to distinguish between worry and fear, and also show that fear has a purpose...you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"You don't sound fine."

"Why do you say that?"

"For one thing, you haven't said a word about Janet. The last time we talked, you said you guys were arguing a lot. What's going on?"

"Nothing."

More silence.

I said. "Doesn't sound like nothing."

Finally he said, "If Mary Lou said she was leaving you, what would you do?"

"What are you talking about?"

Another silence. I waited.

"Janet took the kids and went to her mother's."

Now I was beginning to understand the real reason he called. "Tell me what's going on."

We talked for an hour about what was worrying him and what had happened with Janet. I listened and asked questions. I didn't want to criticize Janet. She was a friend, too.

"It's not easy," he said. "She doesn't believe in me. Hell, I don't believe in me. I hate my job. I want to start my own business, but I'm afraid I won't make it. She says all I do is complain, and she's right. Now I'm afraid of what will happen if I can't see the kids."

"I understand. But when you called me, you said you were going to emancipate the world from fear."

"What a stupid idea! You must think I'm totally losing it."

"You said if you could be God, that's what you would do."

"But I'm not God. I'm nothing."

"You think that's how your friends see you?"

He didn't answer. So I said, "If you could be God, would you look down at you and see nothing?"

"I have no idea."

"Okay. That's a good start."

"What is that supposed to mean?" he said now sounding defensive.

"If you are nothing, and have no ideas, you are a blank slate. You can think and become whatever you want."

He backed off. "What do I want? Please tell me."

"You want to be the Great Emancipator."

He let out a sigh of defeat, then he said. "But I'm not; I'm the Great Loser."

I waited, trying to think of something more to say. Then I recalled reading some facts about Lincoln. "Why do you admire Lincoln so much?"

"Because he wasn't afraid to do what needed to be done."

"Where do you think he got his strength?"

"I wish I knew."

"I'll tell you. He got his strength from failure."

"Failure?"

"Lincoln was born into poverty. He lost something like eight elections before winning the Illinois Senate seat. He twice failed in business, and he suffered a nervous breakdown. Yet every failure made him stronger. His resilience made him the man he was, able to take on the enormous challenge of the presidency in one of the most pivotal times in American history. In my experience, I learned a lot from success, but the lessons from failure burned deeper and lasted longer. I've failed more times than I can remember, and each failure taught me something that led to future success. If you aren't failing, you aren't trying or challenging yourself. Failure will make you better if you use it. That's why I don't fear failure."

"Do you think I'm a quitter?"

"Why would I think that?"

"I want to quit my job."

"I don't equate quitting with failure. If I quit smoking, I would consider it a success. If I quit doing something that is hurting me, I'd consider that a success. If I quit a job that was tearing me up inside, I would consider that a roaring success. It takes courage to quit some things. So get out there and quit what isn't working. Then go fail at something. It will give you courage."

"I already failed with Janet. That hasn't given me any courage."

"What did you learn from that failure?"

"She said I'm too critical and controlling. She said I'm too angry to live with."

"What are you going to do with that knowledge?"

"Do you think I'm angry and controlling?"

"It doesn't matter what I think. What matters is what she thinks. I'll ask you again. If you could be God, if you could change anything in your life, what would you do?"

He didn't speak. I wondered if my advice was helping or hurting.

Finally, after a full minute of silence, he said, "If I could be God, I would change myself. I would quit trying to control everything. I would get some balls and quit the job I hate. And I would show Janet I can change."

"Good for you!" I said. "Call me back when you've made it happen."

I didn't hear from Darren again for a month. I wanted to call him, but I decided to wait and let him contact me if he chose. Then one Sunday afternoon he called and we talked again. He sounded like a different man.

"I wanted to tell you that I quit my job."

"How does it feel?"

He laughed. "I feel emancipated!"

"You sound different."

"I feel different."

"What are you going to do?" I said.

"I have always wanted to open my own fishing gear shop, so I got a job at the Fishing Rod, a small store a few miles from home. I started last week and I love it. I am learning so much that will help me build my own place."

"That's great, Darren. How's it going with Janet?"

"I told her I quit my job. She actually congratulated me. She said it was a bold move—just what I needed."

"Any chance you are getting back together?"

"One thing at a time. I'm going to see her for a drink next week. Alone without the kids. Like a date."

"You sound happy."

"I am. Thanks, man. If you hadn't asked me that crazy question about being God, I would still be sitting in my office staring out the window. That question changed my life."

***

Fear of failure is a prison of our own doing, but it's often easier to recognize it in others than in ourselves. I learned this from talking with Darren. I told him I wasn't afraid of creating a new product or writing a new book, but listening to him express his fears made me feel the rustle of my own paper armor.

I told Darren I wasn't afraid. The truth is, that little voice in my head is perpetually lurking in the background, reminding me I have failed before and could fail again.

Anyone who says they have no fear is either kidding themselves or they haven't had kids, touched a hot stove or tried day trading.

I will make you a deal. The next time either of us, you the reader or I, fear taking on the impossible, let's take a page from Darren's book and start with something less-impossible and work our way up to the harder stuff.

20. Author's Notes

We all bring our own imaginations to stories, and we see the characters from subjective points of view. I have always wished, however, that authors would tell me what a story means to them. So I have decided to do a little of that here.

You Can Change The World\---Even If You're A Nobody is about inspiring those of us who are not celebrities to access the power and resources needed to solve the problems that concern us. From our perches in the clouds, we can dream with abandon, making the unreasonable and the impossible lead us to discover and accomplish the less-unreasonable and less-impossible.

As I said in one of the stories, when you start dreaming above the clouds, you have a lot more choices about where to stop on your way down to earth.

I want to help you jump-start the creative process in a way that will make a positive difference in your life and perhaps the lives of others.

Why not simply ask, "If you could do anything with your life, what would you do?" Here is the reason.

Images are powerful, so asking you to picture yourself as God creates a feeling of power and also of virtue. Being virtuous helps us feel good about ourselves. That gives us the confidence and the permission to do things we otherwise fear are beyond our capabilities. Imagining we have limitless power helps us visualize stepping outside our life box and become the person we want to be and able do the things we hope to do.

Thinking outside the box and stepping outside your life box are two different actions. We all build our own life boxes. Maybe you built yours by trying to live a blueprint drawn by your parents, teachers, friends, or spouses. Maybe you built a box that you don't like anymore. Whatever the size and shape of your box, you helped build it. You can blame or thank others for their roles in helping you construct the walls and the roof, but you are still the landlord. The walls are yours. They may represent safety, fear, or anything that prevents you from dreaming the impossible.

The walls also represent your inability to see yourself as others see you. They can't see in, and you can't see out. The walls surrounding your box can be made of concrete a mile thick and a mile high and seem impenetrable, but you own it. You can build it higher or tear it down and start over—or start by opening a window.

It's difficult to see solutions to many of our most difficult problems because we are trapped behind self-imposed walls. It's often easier for us to tell our friends how to solve their problems than to solve our own. Our solutions may be wrong for them, but it's easy to offer answers because we aren't behind their walls.

Sir Richard Branson, the founder of the Virgin Group of companies, didn't start his entrepreneurial life by imagining he would someday fly passengers into space. He started with something less-impossible. He dropped out of school to write about the music business. He was able to step out of his box and try something different not knowing where it would lead.

His Virgin Atlantic Airline got off the ground years later in 1984 with just one plane. And it was almost shut down by a nervous banker before it took off on the day of its maiden flight from London to Newark, New Jersey. Branson and his team went on to build the impossible, an international fleet of planes serving passengers on four continents. He and co-owner Burt Rutan plan to carry passengers into space on Virgin Galactic. Still, he started with the less- impossible—one plane—and a commitment to give passengers a great flying experience.

Life is filled with dreamers who achieved the impossible, yet began by executing the less-impossible. The Wright brothers dreamed of flying above the clouds, but first they had to prove they could get their flying machine six feet off the ground.

Henry Ford wanted to build a car that everyone could afford, but first he had to learn how to build an assembly line that would cut costs. He also paid his workers more than the going labor rate so they could afford to buy the cars they manufactured. That helped build his market.

Steve Jobs and his team at Apple dreamed of a music library in the cloud. First they had to convince record companies it was a good idea to allow consumers to buy their music one song at a time—for ninety-nine cents—when record companies made money selling albums for fifteen times more. Apple needed more impossible things to happen before they could realize their dream. But, they began by achieving the less-impossible—transforming an existing MP3 player into the iPod.

Before making deals with record labels, the iPod was just another music player. It took three more years to become the portal player for the iTunes library in the cloud, which in 2018 boasted almost 50 million monthly subscribers.

Many big ideas begin small. Imagining you can be God is meant to inspire you to dream larger than life before scaling your imagination back to a size you can manage with available resources. That's where it starts; only you can decide where it will end.

I am unable to change the world with the sweep of my hand, so I chose to start changing the world by telling stories I hope will spark a chain reaction of small changes that when joined would make a difference—like connecting individual computers to build a server farm.

These stories are meant to be entertaining, thought-provoking and useful. If necessary, read the stories again and look for ways the characters found answers by escaping their imagined boundaries.

Take stock of the walls that surround your comfort zone. Look at an old problem in a new way. Describe it in writing as if you were God viewing it from a distance. Then propose an impossible solution to the problem, one that only God could imagine. Let the dream simmer in your imagination for a few days or months and feel what happens when your creative power is unleashed. Don't listen to your interior critic. Pay attention to the artist in you.

Your imagination is in there. Release it. You will be amazed by how much more intuitive you become when you stand outside yourself and dream.

21. Thank You

This is the end of these stories--for now. Thank you for reading all the way to here. I sincerely hope you feel entertained and inspired by these unique characters and feel motivated to change what needs changing in your life and appreciate what is already working well. I promise if you keep reading, I will keep looking for interesting characters and life circumstances to write about.

You can visit Mary Lou and me here:   
Dennis@DennisandMaryLou.com   
Dennis@BigIdeaSchool.com

http://DennisandMaryLou.com

http://BigIdeaSchool.com

22. About The Author

Dennis Edward Green Sr. is a husband, father and grandfather. He is also an award-winning architect, artist, designer, entrepreneur, and best-selling author.

He was raised in Sheridan, Wyoming and attended Idaho State University on a basketball scholarship; he graduated with a degree in architecture and became a licensed architect, and practiced for a decade before turning his creative energy to inventing consumer products, writing, and painting.

Dennis and his wife Mary Lou have invented more than fifty unique consumer products and sold them to thousands of retail stores in the U.S.A. and around the globe. He and Mary Lou have been awarded fifteen patents and hundreds of copyrights.

Dennis and Mary Lou are now devoted to teaching and coaching entrepreneurs at

Big IdeaSchool.com and a second website DennisAnd MaryLou.com

Look for these books by Dennis Edward Green

SHARK PITCH: How to Sell Anything in Three-Easy Steps...Even if You Hate Selling.

FIVE STAR LOVE: How to Treat Your True Love Like a Customer and Get the Marriage of Your Dreams.

THE MARRIAGE STORY A Timeless Tale About Staying in Love for Life.
