Mindful Television

Ah, television. The opiate of the masses (although in this day and age, I would argue that opiate itself is the opiate of the masses). It's never been that for me. Television has actually been a source of great comfort for me, ever since I was a kid.

Growing up in a family where there was a lot of drama and a lot of tension was quite stressful for this little kid. The proverbial shoe could drop at any minute, and often did, usually, more than one at a time and in rapid succession. Metaphorically, it was like living in a shoe store (maybe that explains my foot fetish). The only place that tended to be a "No Drama Zone" was the family room, where the television was. And the only time shoes weren't dropping was when me, my twin brother, and my parents (often accompanied by my Aunty Yu-Yu and Uncle Mike) would watch television together. 

It was a cozy and safe environment for a kid who rarely ever felt cozy or safe. We all sat on two couches, and Mike and I were usually next to Aunty Yu-Yu. We snuggled right next to her. She was warm and fuzzy. All of us were engaged in what was happening on the screen, so there was a communal focus. There was a ritualistic element to watching television, especially that one Sunday a month when the new episode of Columbo aired. Whenever we all watched TV together, there wasn't a whole lot of talking; a welcome break from the action. But that could also be a bit stifling. If you talked too much, my dad would get aggravated. And that was never good. But, overall, it was a beautiful experience. In a house that sometimes felt more like a broadway show gone awry, with lots of lies, a lack of emotional safety, and more than enough yelling, the family room with the TV on was a sanctuary for an over anxious kid like myself.

I still find television comforting today. I'm still drawn to it when I feel down. When I was depressed, I could literally watch the boob tube all day, becoming a boob in the process. So I guess, when I was depressed, TV was my opiate. Along with opiates. A Double Whammy. 

There remains lots of complete tripe on television. But there is also plenty of quality programming. I go for shows where I can learn something, or see something created. Discovery Channel, National Geographic, The History Channel, The Learning Channel. Documentaries are especially fascinating. And football. I love watching football. Especially re-runs of Patriots Super Bowl victories. 

As a kid, Saturday morning cartoons were like having Christmas once a week. And I still remember the very first show I saw in color, on our very first color television set (an RCA): Ultra Man. It had monsters, fantasy, dubbed dialogue over bad acting, and shit loads of color. It was glorious. 

And of course, there were Looney Toons, or as we simply called them, "Bugs Bunny". I still watch those shorts today and bust a gut. Even more than when I was a kid. Because not only does the visual action still break me up, but I get the adult humor that's all over those cartoons. The sarcasm, the subterfuge, the subtext, the absurdity, and the more "mature" references. Along with Mad Magazine, Looney Toons formed the very foundation of my sense of humor.

During the fall and winter seasons, my twin brother and I would get our homework done in time to watch the Bruins and Celtics games on channel 38 almost every night. I have very fond memories of Mike and I sitting too close to the television, absorbed by the action, and discussing the intricacies of the game (as much as was possible for kids still in grade school). During the breaks between periods or quarters, we would head down to the cellar, which was covered by a linoleum floor. We had these slipper socks that had vinyl bottoms, so you would slide and skid all over the place you when you ran around. That inspired us to create our own game, "Ice Basketball", a combination of the Hockey and hoop games we watched upstairs. 

The ritual of watching those sports on television, and playing together in a game we invented was a powerful bonding experience for my twin brother and I. Not only did we make up the game, we made up the teams (with cities and logos), the players and their names (including backstories), and everything else along with it. 

Our experience of watching those games and playing in between created connection between us, flexed our creativity, sharpened our intellect by analyzing and discussing the games, and fostered exercise. It was a very complete experience, made possible by television. 

Like any form of media, Television can serve us or it can cripple us, depending on how we use it. Today, the true Opiate of The Masses is the combination of internet and "smart" phones. And, just like opiates themselves, this can be dangerous or helpful. 

It comes back to mindfulness. Are we using these amazing tools and technologies mindfully or mindlessly? Are we staring at our phones 24/7 while life is happening around us? Or are we skillfully using them to add to our lives? Like fire, which can cook our food or cook us, it all depends on our application. 

I encourage us to bring mindfulness to our lives, especially in the addictive practice of web surfing, texting, messaging, face timing, and all the nifty things we can do with our technology. Use social media mindfully, as a way to truly connect to others, not as a detached substitution for connection itself. 

All tools are powerful instruments. Use them accordingly. Television, the internet and the smart phone, are scalpels. Not sledge hammers.

©2017 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.

Charlie And Me

Charlie and I have been friends since 1982, our sophomore year at Villanova. We've enjoyed more good times together than I can possibly recount. More importantly, we've shared a lot of love. We've shared a lot of life.

In college, Charlie was part of an extend family of life shakers, trouble makers, party players, and risk takers. He was rather unique in our crowd. Most of us were business majors. Charlie was studying to be a civil engineer. That meant we had a lot more free time than he did. Somehow, he kept pace with our full throttle social agenda and managed to get outstanding grades. Charlie is one of most intelligent men I've ever met.

When my college band, The Albino Skunks, came up with the marketing and PR ploy of having completely unnecessary "security guards" to accompany the band at a talent show (which we won) and at gigs, Charlie was a proud member of a crack four man squad known as "Skunk Security". When I invited a bunch of Jerseyites to cape cod for The Fourth of July in 1984, Charlie made the trek along with Kevin, Mike, and Harry. At one point during the long, alcohol laden ride, as the conversation turned philosophical, Charlie made the now infamous comment, "Ya know, we're just great people."

Sophomore year, many of this extended family all lived in the same wing, on the same floor, of the same dorm. Sullivan 3rd West was more like a carnival of tumultuous mayhem than a housing establishment. Charlie was always in the thick of things. Inevitably, at some point late on a weekend night, Charlie would grab Harry's boxing gloves, and, knowing I was on the boxing team, inexplicably challenge me to spar. Within 30 seconds, I was pummeling him so bad he would hit the floor, laughing and crying "Uncle!". 

Senior year, after upsetting Georgetown in 1985 to win the NCAA Basketball Championship, a few of the more rowdy members of The Albino Skunks completely destroyed three floors worth of wooden railings at Charlie's apartment complex. He was understandably pissed at us. For months. And he got over it. 

Less than 10 years after graduating, Charlie started his own construction company, becoming so successful that he's now "retired" (a relative term, considering how much he still oversees his labor of love). When he was considering striking out on his own those many years ago and needed some advice, he called my father, who also owned his own constuction company. They spent hours on the phone. Charlie has never forgotten that. Neither did my dad. Neither have I. 

As we've gotten older, Charlie and I have gotten closer. We share our struggles, our triumphs, our thoughts and feelings, in conversations that would not have been possible years ago. Our friendship has deepened, and, even though we don't see each other nearly as much now as we did in our college days, we are closer than we've ever been. Unlike real estate, intimacy is not about location. It's not about geography. 

Intimacy is about our hearts, about ourselves, about our lives, and how much of that we are willing to share. I know Charlie, and he knows me, far better than ever. I see a beauty in him that is only made possible by experience, wisdom, and openness. I know his wife, his kids, and what's important to him. Our reciprocal love and respect fuels our relationship.

Age, time, and lots of work have gotten me closer to the core of my being, and that is reflected by a life more in harmony with that core. That path is not a linear one. It's not a path I can plan. It's had bumps and detours and lots of pain. It's had periods of time where I regressed, not progressed. But ultimately, all of those twists and turns bring me closer to being in my life more fully; of living a more enriched, more authentic, more fulfilled life. A life full of love. I realize that now like never before. 

Connection has proven, time and time again, to save me when I was drowning in my own sea of despair. Connection to myself. Connection to others. Although I'm physically further away from many of my oldest friends, I'm closer to them in the the ways that matter. So when we do get together, the times we share together strike my heart like a harp, and my heart sings.

I love Charlie. He was just in Los Angeles with his whole family. When I saw him, I snuck up behind him, put him in a loving head lock, kissed his cheek, and told him I loved him. He laughed and gave love right back to me. Two grown men, acting like a couple of kids. That gives me goosebumps. 

We all have this capacity to more fully develop ourselves and our relationships. But it requires us to open ourselves up and risk our hearts. To risk being hurt or rejected or growing apart from people we love if they aren't on the same wavelength. That's happened to me with some people I used to be very close to. That has been the cost. But the benefits of stronger and more loving connections to those willing to risk the same with us is more than worth it. Always.

Take those risks. Open yourself up. Actively Love with wild abandon. Share. There's only one of you, and the world needs you. In the unfathomably vast history of the universe, there is only, there will only ever be, a YOU; that unique combination of heart, soul, mind, and body. 

That gives me goosebumps too. I'm getting a lot of those these days.

©2017 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.