Month: September 2025

Among my obsessions, I think about the notion of time frequently. I write about it from time to time (no pun intended). Right now, I am thinking about how quickly summer flashes by. Where did the time go? It was only yesterday….

In the Chicago music tune, the question was raised: “Does anyone really know what time it is? Does anyone really care?” I remember having a conversation with a friend one day in her college dorm room back in 1970. I am sure it was a deep philosophical discussion. A year later, she died of breast cancer. Neither of us had any idea about time– one more year for her and 55 more years for me.

Psychologists have written about why time goes more quickly when we get older. Children have new experiences and process massive amounts of information that require time. As we get older, we have progressively fewer new experiences. Equally importantly, our perception of the world often becomes more automatic. We absorb less information that takes less time. I understand that notion.

We cannot stop time. Nevertheless, I want everything to slow down. I want to resist the process of speeding up. The most obvious is to keep introducing newness into my life such as traveling, meeting new people, and especially for me, thinking about ideas that I want to apply to my own self help, and write about.

Another idea that is hard for me related to time is to simply slow down by living mindfully. Because I like having many activities going on in my life, I remind myself to recognize day-to-day experiences such as seeing, hearing, and feeling the world around me. Observing animals is one thing that I do that provides mindfulness.

On a more long-term basis, I am trying to cultivate conscious awareness through meditative practices (including meditation walks) that quiet the chatter in my mind. Further, I continue to focus on gratitude in daily living.

Part of me longs for more time to do more with my life. On the other hand, I am grateful for the opportunities and relationships that have sustained me for decades. Jim Croce wrote about “time in a bottle.”  I value the idea of a world where precious moments are saved in a bottle and revisited at any time, simply by pulling a cork. Remembering the moments does not make time slow down, but it gives me a perspective on the time I have had on this earth.

The bull elk lumbered slowly across the road in front of us as I engaged the brakes. His head slumped down as he looked our way with watery brown eyes. He looked disinterested as if he were saying, “Run over me. I don’t care.”

I feel sorry for the bull elk this time of the year. Their hormones push them to focus single-mindedly on attracting female elk for procreation. They do everything they can to appeal to potential mates-rolling in urine and mud to make themselves look bigger and more attractive along with their intermittent screaming bugles. The cows, however, have the last word in the mating plans. Many males get disappointed. They must confront rejection.

I read a daily blog about writing. These motivational pieces describe the tips and tricks for getting published with undertones related to dealing with rejection. I relate to that reality.

I had a successful career as an academic. I was a good (although not great) teacher and I hope, a supportive colleague. I was successful in writing hundreds of published academic manuscripts. However, I was not successful at publication in my early career. I had those sad eyes of a bull elk.

When I received a negative review on a paper I submiited, my initial reaction often was to mumble cuss words about how reviewers did not know what they were doing and then stash the paper and the comments out of sight in a drawer (back then these were paper reviews).

Rejection was painful and it resulted in sadness, anger, loneliness, and self-doubt. I often felt worthless and doubted that I really belonged in the academic world. It was frustrating, but I was a fighter and a survivor. I resolved not to let rejection define my academic life.

After a couple of days, I made myself open the drawer where the assessment of my writing temporarily lived. I got the courage to carefully examine the comments. I learned that even if I did not agree with an observation, it was important to think about why reviewers misunderstood my writing. I was not communicating as clearly as I thought. In other cases, it was obvious that my ideas needed deeper insight. If a manuscript was worth additional effort, I could improve it vastly. I learned to revise and rewrite with the comments in mind. I learned to do a better job in future writing when I paid attention to the reviewers’ comments. I became successful.

I wonder if the bull elk will learn from his sad moments just as I did. Rejection is not easy but there is always another year and another opportunity. Now I just need to apply this optimism to other issues regarding my fear of personal rejection.

Animals make me smile when I do not have much to smile about. I reflect on their mannerisms and wish that I could adopt some of those characteristics.

People have written about what they learn from their cats and dogs. I love the ideas expressed about cats such as how they keep fastidious grooming habits, eat healthy fish diets, get plenty of rest, express their individuality, and embrace curiosity as long as it isn’t too scary. People have written about what we can learn from other animals. I have my own set of observations that make me envious of distinct animal characteristics.

• I would like to have the agility of the deer as they bound stiff legged across green meadows.
• I long for the innocence of elk babies as they look to their moms for clues to behavior. I enjoy the unique communication between moms and their offspring. I wish my mom were still here to guide me when needed.
• I envy the swishing tails of the marmots as they sachet across the tundra in search of tasty tidbits so they can get as fat as possible before they hibernate for the winter.
• I admire the energy and tenacity of the pikas as they gather their food caches to hide under the rocks for their long wintertime. They never stop scurrying about as they labor to harvest for their stockpiles. I worry about the impact climate change might have on their habits in the future.
• The intense eyes of the coyotes are staring into my soul as I observe them.
• I am enthralled by the boldness of the dusky grouse when they think a mate may be nearby.
• If I had a tail like a beaver I could smack it in the water whenever I wanted to give warning of something not right in my world. That act would scare the begeebers of those annoying me.
• I marvel at the feet of a snowshoe hare when it strides across the top of thick snow in the woods.
• Swimming would be more enjoyable if I had the buoyancy of the ducks in the water.
• I swoon at the thought of being a snake that can absorb the warmth of the sun.
• A beak like that of a hummingbird would allow me to taste sweet nectar while staying in motion.
• I sometimes yearn to be a turtle who could crawl inside my shell when the outside world overwhelms me.

Alas, I am only human and can only try to emulate from time to time the behaviors I admire in animals. Bless the beasts who give me these inspirations.

I wrote almost two dozen textbooks during my academic career. One of the final joys of doing this work is including what is commonly known as a dedication to someone(s). I was reminded of that privilege recently when I was perusing one of my books to review an idea that I presented earlier.

Looking back over the past 40 years of thoughtful dedication acknowledgements provides a reflection about what was important in my life. My first collaborated book on women and leisure was dedicated to “our mothers, sisters, and children.” Our second revision was resolute “to all who seek the empowerment of girls and women in and through leisure.”

The first book I wrote as a solo author was about research methods and qualitative data. I was excited to dedicate it to three special academic mentors. Darlene Conover was a faculty member at Iowa State University who always encouraged me to be a “sky walker.”  Caroline Weiss was a professor at the University of Minnesota who acknowledged that I was a good writer and nurtured that creativity. Jerry Apps was my Department Chair at the University of Wisconsin who stood beside me during a challenging fork in my early academic career.

My co-authored text on evaluation methods was dedicated to my first cat, DJ–“she knew how to evaluate intuitively!” The second edition of that book was a professional focus on two colleagues who had supported and inspired evaluation efforts, Doug Sessoms and Betty Van der Smissen. The third edition spotlighted Marge Scanlin as an American Camp Association staff member who brought the value of research to the organization. We also dedicated the book to Jane H. Adams, a friend and formerly the consummate Executive Director of the California Park and Recreation Society.

My colleagues and I dedicated our co-authored book on Service Living to the four people we profiled in the book who inspired us “to live a life of service”: Frederick Law Olmstead, Jane Addams, Benton MacKaye, and Marjorie Stoneman Douglas.

My most recent introductory text was dedicated to my mom and dad. I indicated that they had “taught me about hard work so I could study and enjoy leisure.”

Other books I authored, co-authored, or co-edited also had dedications but these examples are my favorites and show to the world my thoughts and gratitude as I labored to share my ideas in these texts.