Franklin Taggart's Unconventional Life Blog

A young boy loved stones, and had a burgeoning collection. On hikes with his dad he would fill his pockets and backpack until they were brimming with rocks of every shape and size. He loved collecting rocks so much that he asked his mother to sew him a special outfit just for rock collecting. He asked her to make him a pair of pants with six pockets on each leg, and a shirt with four pockets on each sleeve and three on each side of his buttons. When his mother had finished her sewing, he immediately put on his new togs and ran to the door, slamming it in haste. He sped to the trail behind their house, and began to find every rock that he could, slipping them one by one into each of his many pockets. When all of his pockets were completely filled, he opened his back pack and began to stuff it, too. Gradually his load became heavy to the point that he had to stumble beneath the weight. He decided to take the shortcut home, so that he would be able to take his new additions for his collec

For their wedding, a couple decided to ignore the environmental concerns of the day, and have their guests release helium balloons as the couple was leaving in their limousine for the delights of their honeymoon. Each balloon was tied to a small bag of rice that weighted it just enough to keep from following it's natural inclination to rise and float away. The rice was thrown toward the couple as they left the church, as tradition dictates, and then all of the guests released their balloons as the limo departed. They each then went their own way and left the church. One lone balloon was left behind. Naturally it strained against the weight of the rice bag, but to no avail. The weight was too heavy, and the helium was beginning to lose its buoyancy as the balloon began to sag. Just then a small bird flew into the church driveway, and it spied the small bag of rice. Being hungry, it began to peck at the rice bag, repeatedly working its beak into the small lace package until finally o

Trauma. The relationship ends, the baby dies, the firing happens, the illness takes over, the collectors call, the accidents happen, the abuse, crime, and calamity all take their toll. The nervous system goes into hyper-protective mode, senses heighten, adrenaline courses through the body, focus narrows, and for the time being, my defenses are up. Strangely enough, the pain doesn't arrive until later. When the dust has settled, and I'm left alone to process what has happened, then the pain comes. My mind is flooded with thinking - thinking about the loss, thinking about an unknown future, thinking about who's to blame, thinking about revenge, thinking about how I can manipulate the Universe, thinking about putting a gun to my own head. All this thinking keeps the pain alive, and feeds it. Behavior becomes impulsive. I yell at my kid, I curse at my wife, I become self righteous, I power up, I justify my actions because I'm in pain. My compulsions ultimately become futile

In conflict, I take on one of three roles: Victim, Rescuer, or Persecutor. In Victim mode, I fixate on the injustice, the wrongdoing, the trigger; pointing my finger at the persecutor, avoiding responsibility for the emotional state that my own fixation is creating. In Rescuer mode, I step in to  help, overstepping my boundaries, and taking on responsibility for feelings that aren't mine, trying to fix. In Persecutor mode, I shift into anger; blaming, raging, powering up; heaping shame and contempt upon the Victim. As the drama unfolds, I dance from role to role, and as I dance the conflict grows, the pain that I'm attempting to avoid grows, and the elephant in my room shits all over the floor. All of it, every role, all the pain, all the drama are products of my own perceptions. They don't exist in an objective reality. They are purely constructs of my own mind. As long as I'm in the drama, there is no relief. Like the old movie War Games, where the hacker and the comp

I believe that that core concern of our time is not political or religious at its root. I believe we are in the midst of a worldwide crisis of consciousness. If we look back over the relatively short history of humans on Earth, our recorded history is particularly minute. We've only been able to keep track of things for about 5000 years, but paleontologists are finding indications of the presence of humans that spans back into the hundreds of thousands of years, possibly even longer. Every generation learns more about our existence than the one that preceded it. Where 5000 years ago, myths and stories were used to relate histories and worldviews, now we have a much more complex understanding of where we've come from, where we've been, and where we're going. Even so, there are a large number of humans who are clinging to a worldview that doesn't take into account much that we've learned over the past 2000 years. In the course of my own lifetime I've experienc

The day I started first grade my Dad took me to my favorite store in the town where we lived, Scott's. Scott's was owned and run by a cousin of his, Scott Taggart. Scott's was a stationery store, but that wasn't all they had. The candy counter was world famous, or at least I thought it should be. The store clerk, Libby would fill up a small bag of whatever treats you wanted...Swedish fish, pixie sticks, cherry coins, Sixlets, and my favorite, Smarties. A quarter bought a bag full. But the reason for this trip wasn't the candy counter. The purpose of this excursion was to purchase something that continues to be one of my favorite things to shop for, school supplies. This first time is still etched in my memory because it was the first time I'd ever needed school supplies of my own. In preschool and kindergarten if you needed paper or something to color or paint with, the teacher had a pile in her tall cabinet by the rest room door. This time I was getting my

A couple of months ago I took my aging Dad to the DMV office to get a new state ID. He uses a walker now, and I'd gone to the door to hold it open for him. He was still quite a way from the door, and another man was coming up the walk at the same time. I motioned for the fellow to come on in since Dad was moving slowly. So the man went ahead and went to the desk where you get your number before going to the waiting area. He received his number and sat down. Dad made it to the number station, and I went to find a couple of seats, knowing that he usually wants to sit close to the counter. I found two seats together at the end of a back row of seats directly in front of him. The row was too narrow for the walker to fit through, but Dad started to push his way through, shoving chairs aside as he went. I had pointed out to him that since this was the back row, there was plenty of space behind the chairs to walk without obstacles, but he insisted on pushing through the narrow aisle.

"C'mon kid...JUMP!" the kids behind me on the diving board shouted. As their pleas became more urgent and demanding, I looked over the edge and trembled, partly because I was cold and wet, and partly because of the terror I was feeling in that moment. At 6 years old I was already a pretty good swimmer. I'd taken two summers worth of lessons, and I could easily get from one end of the pool to the other, but this was the latest in a growing string of false starts in my quest for conquering the diving board. I was the last of my group of friends to accomplish this particular rite of summertime passage. It wasn't for lack of desire; I'd wanted to jump off the diving board since at least the Summer before, and I'd been thinking about it almost to the point of obsession throughout the present Summer, which was nearing its end. I'd come close to jumping twice before this time, and I'd gotten as close as the end of the board before running back to th

I listened to a podcast the other day in which two women were talking about their success online, which apparently had something to do with something called content. In the course of the 50 or so minutes they were talking, the word "content" was spoken between 5 and ten times a minute. Content, content, content. Creating content, content marketing, content, content, content, more content. This generic term has come to mean less and less, and it leaves a taste in my mouth comparable to that brought about by the generic beer I tried after the high school football game all those years ago. I can still bring the taste to mind, and it isn't a fond memory. It used to be that people wrote articles, or stories, or songs, or screenplays, or they made films, or wore out their dad's Super 8mm camera, spending their hard earned lawn mowing cash on getting those films developed, then splicing their masterpieces together on the kitchen table with a pair of scissors and Scotch

Many astronauts have talked about the experience of looking at Earth from space, and a cognitive shift that has been called the Overview Effect. There is a great video that highlights this effect. It features one of my childhood heroes, Edgar Mitchell who died a few months ago. If you have 19 minutes to enrich your life, please take the time now, and enjoy!(full screen viewing recommended) OVERVIEW from Planetary Collective on Vimeo . This Wikipedia article has more information. There is one being. Our sense of separation from everything else is a thought created illusion. It doesn't exist. Our experiences of individuality, with a personal mind, personal awareness, personal thinking, identification with the body, and sense of self importance all fall away. They're sentient. Life itself is held within a greater context of being. That context shows us the folly of our quests to dominate, manipulate and control nature.

Long's Peak and Mount Meeker in the distance Yesterday I gave a talk at Unity of Fort Collins on the common thread that is shared by creativity, service, and thriving. I'll post the talk another time, but for now I want to share a parable that flew in as I was preparing. Before the Western U.S. was settled, an explorer made his way across the plains and found himself approaching the Rocky Mountains. He'd run out of water the day before, and he was looking for a water source. As he walked he met a trapper whose canvas water bag was full to almost bursting. He asked the trapper if he wouldn't mind filling his canteen. The trapper agreed. The explorer took a long drink of water, and he'd never tasted anything so fresh in his life. He immediately felt restored, and he asked the trapper where to find the source of the water. The trapper pointed at a faraway peak and said, "At the bottom of the highest peak there is a lake. That is the source." The explorer expr

We have a rule in our house that whoever doesn't cook the meal does the dishes. While it seems fair on the surface, I'm not so sure. I'm a one pot kind of guy, and I tend to clean as I go most of the time, so that by the time I serve, there won't be a sink full of dishes other than the ones we eat from. My wife is a chef. The table is her canvas, and the kitchen her palette. We own three generations worth of cooking utensils of every variety, and I'm pretty sure that she uses most of them whenever she cooks. Now the bellywaddin' that I cook is comforting and filling. It won't show up on any Food Network shows, but for a hungry family it'll do just fine. Monica's meals are much more of a craft. She never uses recipes, except to bake, and she follows her whims and inspiration until there is a hearty, world class meal on the table. She's Italian, so most of the time it's Mangia! time around our house, which means that when she cooks, I do the di

I spent years trying to find myself, know myself, be myself, realize my best self...self, self, self. It almost feels like I spent my growing up years trying on clothes, and forgetting to take the suits off that didn't fit until I was left with a walking closet of layer upon layer of who I thought I was. The weight was unbearable, and carrying all the layers for the years that I did created problems to solve, situations to figure out, relationships to control, dominate or avoid, and the more I thought I knew, the more lost I really felt. The peeling began in 1998. It wasn't external circumstances that demanded the change, it was completely internal. I had good things, good friends, good work...all the stuff that I thought would make me happy, and I felt miserable and empty. I had carried a deep belief for many years that finding a mate was going to fix the emptiness, so I had been on a quest to find such a one. I felt such an urgency and pressure, and ultimately a lot of pain a

In 1993 I went through a divorce. I was 30, restless, scared, and clueless. All of the crutches I'd leaned on - relationships, friendships, church, work - were one by one being removed, some by my doing, others by fate. In the midst of all the instability I rediscovered my love of music. One Sunday I went to CT Pepper's in Broadripple and signed up to play in the blues jam. That was the night I met Phil. Phil was the bass player in the house band for the jam. He was a tall, charismatic guy who made me laugh, and he was also instantly encouraging me to play the guitar like I meant it. I played a set, and had a blast. It was the first time that I had played in public in several years. Since there were a handful of bass players there that night, Phil didn't have to play much, so we hung out, had beers and talked. We became fast friends. It's impossible not to love a guy who hands down had the best Harry Caray impression. One of the things we found in common was that we

No one knows your whole story. What people know about you is usually limited to knowing the role that they've seen you in, or that they've heard about you. For the students at my kid's school and their parents, I'm known as Bodhi's dad. At Unity I'm known as the music director and occasional speaker. People who have seen me play music at breweries and bars know me as a singer who covers other people's music. People who have seen me play in concert settings know me as a songwriter. Some people know me as a guitar teacher, and some people know me as a coach. One challenge I see frequently for the clients I work with is that it's hard for people who already know them in another context to see them in a different way. It's almost easier to start building a new audience from scratch than to attempt to get people who already know you to see you in a new light. Sometimes we're passed over for opportunities that would be a great fit for us only becau

Self doubt, insecurity and uncertainty have been frequent visitors to my psyche for as long as I can remember. I can remember feeling these things all the way back to my earliest memories. They're not necessarily tied to any particular circumstances. I just felt that way. I still often feel that way. For a long time I thought that these frequent feelings were an indicator of some personal deficiency. Why the hell couldn't I just be more confident, self assured, and secure? If I felt this way there must be something really wrong with me. Therapy ensued. I found little relief. Talking about my past, my upbringing, and social patterns didn't help. Nor did positive thinking, rationalizing, or emoting. Hitting the bed with a pillow only damaged the pillow. I also tried to fix the feelings by seeking solutions through relationships, sex, religion, spirituality, work, money, and anything else that I believed could repair me. Nothing worked. Nothing. Several years ago

At Unity yesterday, Peggy asked me to give a short reflection on raising your vibration. I kind of giggled when she asked me because that language automatically taps on my woo woo button. I've had an ambivalent relationship with the Law of Attraction over the years. It seems to work really well for the people who teach it to others, but for those who are taught, I wonder??? In any case, I've had more than a few head scratching moments over the LOA. The idea that your vibration attracts your reality is an interesting one. I see friends who get so worried that having a low emotional state is going to wreck their entire lives that they don't realize it's the worry that's wrecking their lives. And the correlation that having a high vibration attracts to you all the stuff you want is also a bit strange. I know plenty of horribly miserable people who have everything they want. Their vibration appears to have nothing to do with it. So I decided to steer clear of the LOA in

How many times have you been hungry, but you couldn't decide where to eat? So you jump in your car, or open the phone book, or Google, and you start just looking. If you get hungry enough you might just stop at the first restaurant you see. Then sometimes you might just spot something that appeals to your hunger. Other times you may get an idea for dinner that seems to drop into your mind from out of left field. What you realize is that there's no right way to figure out what you're going to have for dinner. You just look until you find something. Your career is much the same. In all the years I've worked with people on career direction, I've only met one who knew from a very young age what he wanted to be. The rest of the people I've worked with have had to look for their path, sometimes finding that one path isn't exactly what they were looking for then moving toward another. Starting a business is much the same. You can write it all down ahead of ti

Yesterday when I was walking Vinnie, I realized that for the past several years I've been entranced by a fixation. This particular fixation is money. For at least the last 8 years I've been thinking about money, even when I haven't been thinking about money. Most of my waking hours are spent trying to figure out how to make more. It's the first thing I think about when I wake up, and the last thing on my mind as I go to sleep. This isn't the first time I've been fixated on something. In my late 20s through 30s I was focused on love and sex. My thinking was that if I just had love, my life would be OK, and love was translated as lots of sex. So I had a lot of relationships. I think the longest lasted about six months. Most were one date or one night. There was a flip flop pattern that went on for the duration in which I'd either be fleeing from someone clinging to me, or clinging to someone who was fleeing from me. I read a ton of books on getting and keeping

A friend asked me what I believe. I had to think about that for awhile because over the past almost 20 years, I've not put a lot of stock in believing. I've been more inclined to let go of beliefs than hold onto them, and I can't say as I miss them. I spent a number of years learning how to articulate what I believed, mostly so that I could impress people with knowledge, and be seen as a leader in the evangelical circles I was a part of. It was a big game of approval seeking, both on a human scale and on the divine. Those beliefs have all been challenged to the core by life itself until I can say without irony that I don't believe in believing. That's one shade better than not believing in anything. I'm not an atheist, but I'm not convinced that believing in God is necessary. It would seem that God is self evident. Believing or not doesn't make it real, it just is. And I'm not agnostic either. I don't need to wait and see. I don't really have

The Earth's atmosphere is a marvel. This layer of gases that are drawn close to the planet by it's gravitational pull makes life possible. It sustains and protects, providing aspiration to biological life, and shielding the planet and all of us from extreme radiation, allowing through just enough light and heat to make the planet habitable. Within the atmosphere, there is a constant fluctuation of pressure and temperature and energy. These forces manifest as different kinds of weather patterns. In Colorado it's not uncommon to see a change in temperature of 50 degrees or more in a few hours time. The weather can go from a blinding blizzard to calm, clear and sunny in a matter of minutes, and then back again. Atmosphere and weather patterns come to mind as a metaphor to understand the relationship between mind, consciousness and thought, and how these principles work to create our personal experiences of life. There isn't really a well defined boundary between the atmosp

Vinnie is our Teacup Yorkshire Terrier. Four pounds of world domination that has me wrapped around his tiny paw. Up until we got Vinnie it had been many years since I'd had a dog, and I'd forgotten some of the perks. Of course the main benefit is the love. He's always happy to see me. And I'm happy to see him. Coming into the house feels so good, every time. He is also an amazing watchdog, though only as intimidating as a little guy can be. He thinks he's way bigger than he is, but his bark is loud and shrill enough to wake even me at the slightest strange sound. Tonight I'm appreciating another sweet aspect of dog ownership, a greater frequency of going outdoors. I wonder sometimes if half of Vinnie's body size is his bladder. Given how much he pees on his walks, you'd think that he might have more than one storage unit. Tonight before he goes back to join my early to bed wife, he comes and nudges me, his sign that it's time, and we go out to the ba

Whenever a new year rolls around many are inclined to declare resolutions, or set intentions, or set measurable goals for the coming year. I declare that I will lose 10 pounds a month. I intend to make a six figure income. My goal is to be number one on the New York Times Bestseller List. While having a number in mind might be useful in terms of ease of measuring, I think there is another useful way to resolve that gets overlooked; qualitative goals. A qualitative goal is not concerned with the number of things you accomplish, or how much weight you lose, or how much money you make, but it can be fuel for all three quantities. A qualitative goal reveals a few things: What really matters to you. The kind of world you want to live in. The depth and breadth of your imagination. The difference you want to make. Speaking only for myself, I have a difficult time being motivated by how much money I'll make, or how many people I'll reach. I'm more motivated by a feelin