What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime. It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset.—Crowfoot

Memorial Photo by Andrew Councell

Two weeks ago, I cleared away clutter to make way for more life. Instead though, life brought bitter news. The largest avalanche in Colorado in the last 50 years wiped out five young men, and one of them was Rick Gaukel, my boyfriend’s brother. We had just read about the avalanche online, he sent a text to his brother, and we watched a video of Rick mountaineering in the Sierra Nevada.

Then, the phone call came.

There is a time in life when words will not suffice. This was one of those times. I didn’t write anything last week, because I honestly could not think of an adequate response. Some trite quote or cliché can’t encapsulate the full life of the spirited man, who I’d just begun to know. Instead, I showed up in Colorado and in California, hopefully at the right times. I read about how to care for people in the midst of grief. One article, in particular, clearly articulated the role of a community and of individuals in helping others out.

Dr. Phyllis R. Silverman suggests, “We must know how to listen, to not recite platitudes, or be fearful of other people’s pain. We need to be able to say ‘I am sorry’ that this person died. We need to be able to ask about the person who died and to learn something about what was lost.”

So I’m listening. I’m learning. If there is any solace here, it’s this: Rick Gaukel lived one of most full lives I’ve ever heard about, and I’m now retroactively experiencing it. He climbed, he snowboarded, he sailed, he surfed, he biked, he hiked, and he taught others about the outdoors. He shared his greatest passions freely, among competing sports and friends. He listened often. He loved many, and he was a generous man. There aren’t too many people like that on Earth. Of course, we like it when those people stick around.

What can we do? We can come together. In his honor, we’ll be climbing, surfing, hiking, biking, talking a lot, sharing often and eating a lot of spicy Mexican food, with a healthy dose of Tapatio Sauce.

Be a rainbow in someone else’s cloud.—Maya Angelou  

Wealth is the ability to fully experience life.—Henry David Thoreau

Letting Go of Stuff. It Feels Good. Eventually.

Time to move again. Time to get rid of stuff . Yuck. Why is it hard to face the junk drawer? I’m a low clutter person. I can fit all my stuff into one small room and dance a jig in it. But each time I move, I manage to fill a bag and head to Goodwill. Where did I get this stuff, and why is this process so uncomfortable? Spring cleaning sounds sweet, but feels subtly stifling.

Some psychologists say that we have an irrational conviction that our stuff has a potential future value, which we’re somehow losing. I suppose some of my stuff might have a value, but I don’t really need a Marilyn Monroe costume and a platinum blond wig, and I probably don’t need the Chiquita banana hat either.

Apparently, super hoarders feel empathy with everything around them; they believe stuff has feelings that can be hurt. But I have another theory; maybe, we’re simply misplacing our love of this world, with the love of stuff, which doesn’t translate well. Surrounding yourself with innocuous gadgets does more harm than good. Even a messy desk can make you feel disorganized, anxious and even helpless. (Hear what George Carlin has to say about stuff.)

And what happens when you get rid of the excess? I couldn’t find a legitimate scientific study that articulated the joy of de-cluttering, but there are eight separate studies, which show that experience-related buys lead to more happiness, as opposed to buying stuff. Why? Experiences grow larger in the brain over time. We savor them. We remember our best moments and relive them again and again. Less stuff = a more enriching life (more or actually less).

I don’t believe people are looking for the meaning of life as much as they are looking for the experience of being alive.—Joseph Campbell

Be wary of the man who urges an action in which he himself incurs no risk.—Seneca

Dr. Adam Grant, 31, is the youngest-tenured and highest-rated professor at Wharton Business School. According to a fascinating New York Times article, “He is also one of the most prolific academics in his field, organizational psychology.” He’s a helper and he advises that you help others too. He goes out of his way to aid people all day, which sounds great. I agree with the general idea. But when I read that he gives life advice easily and often to students, I immediately began to be wary of his touted wisdom. College is a confusing time; it’s tough to know who you are and where you’re headed.

After my first quarter, I distinctly remember sitting down with my father. I said, “Dad, I don’t know what to do with myself. What do you think I should do?”

My father is cantankerous and highly-opinionated. I’m sure he would’ve loved it if I studied science or mathematics, like him. But instead of offering a pat answer, he paused for several minutes and then quietly said, “You have to figure that out on your own, dear. I can’t answer that for you.”

And you know what? I didn’t like his response—at all—but I understood the essential truth of it.

The fact that Dr. Grant provides quick answers to tough questions makes students happy. He often receives 40 thank-you letters a week. But that does not bode well for quality of his advice. Yes, it is generous. But consider that Grant admits that he must have something scheduled at all times, or he will think of death, which he deeply fears. It makes him anxious. That should be a warning to him and to students that his own motivations have gone un-examined.

Our best advisors don’t provide answers. They ask the right questions.

Consider an essay published the next day. Dr. William Hood had a profound conversation with Martin Luther King Jr. who simply asked him, what he thought art could accomplish that other forms of communication could not. King died soon after, but the question lived on in the mind of the young Hood, and it ended up changing the primary force of his career.

Rarely do we find men who willingly engage in hard, solid thinking. There is an almost universal quest for easy answers and half-baked solutions. Nothing pains some people more than having to think.—Martin Luther King, Jr.