I love to watch football, a game I once played (emphasis on the once). I’ve shared this story before but today, on the eve of a new year, I find it appropriate to share it again.

When I was sixteen years old I participated in a five-week speech program at Northwestern University in Evanston, Illinois. I travelled from Los Angeles and arrived early Sunday afternoon. Since I weighed more than two hundred pounds, I was immediately recruited to play in a game of “touch” football as a lineman.

On the first play the boy opposite me blew right past me, knocking me on my ass.

Second play. Same result.

Third play, I was not so lucky.

This time I tore a tendon in my leg. The good news is I had an excuse not to play any more football. The bad news is that each day I had to hobble from the dorm on one end of the campus to the classrooms on the other end — a distance of what seemed like at least ten miles.

At first I was accompanied by Becky, a girl from Indianapolis, but I think she got tired of walking slowly so I could keep up.

My proudest accomplishment was winning an award for discussion, though I still wonder about the significance of that award in a competitive speech program.

Also, in my defense, or lack of defense, I later discovered that my friendly football opponent, who so ably dispatched me to the ground multiple times, did have football experience.

He was an All-State guard from Tennessee (although only third string).

I have never pretended to be a football player since.

So why am I retelling this story now? Because the beginning of a new year is a time for reflection. This year I encourage you to double down on being your most authentic self. Trying to fit in by pretending to be someone you’re not will never serve you. And, as I discovered in my very brief football career, it might even set you back in ways you can’t even anticipate

I hope you’ll ring in the new year surrounded by those who love you for who you really are.

Alan

If you have children, or have ever been a child, you know the excitement of Christmas. And integral to the holiday excitement is the imminent arrival of Santa.

Imagine — one elderly gentleman sliding down every chimney on earth and doing it in a single night. No wonder he stays home at the North Pole every other day of the year. In fact, an unauthorized (elf) source has confirmed to me that after he loads his sleigh and takes off, Mrs. Claus has been heard to mutter under her breath, “Finally! I have an evening to myself.”

We all know that the idea of Santa is a fable.

Or is it?

I want to be a source of happiness for the holiday season, not some sort of Scrooge. So, let the children remain naive. And perhaps, as adults, a part of us should remain naive as well. Perhaps we should each remember our own childhood.

On Christmas Day, Daveen and I are hosting an open house for friends and family. Unfortunately, all the chimney sweeps in Los Angeles are busy (yes — both of them). Fortunately, we only use gas logs in our fireplace so, as the late basketball announcer Chick Hearn often said, “No harm, no foul.”

Santa, we welcome you to Sherman Oaks.

In the spirit of the holiday, I will posit an alternative view of Mr. Claus. Years ago, I flew in a small plane that landed on ice nine tenths of a mile from the true North Pole, (or so the pilot informed us).

I saw no elves, no sleigh, and no red costumes anywhere. And yet, in my lifetime, I have met Santa many times.

And he comes in many forms. I’m still grateful to one of my law professors, Leonard Ratner, who gave me the gift of being able to take the Bar Exam with the rest of my class, despite the fact that the final paper I submitted was, well, far too short.

Here’s the secret.

Most of us find the greatest pleasure, especially on Christmas, in the giving.

So if you’re wondering where Santa is right now, I’ll tell you.

Santa is reading this blog. Because Santa is you.

Wishing everyone a fulfilling and Merry Christmas.

Alan

I’ve always tended to be physically sedentary. I’m comfortable sitting for hours. At long concerts or plays, I will often remain seated through the intermission while everyone around me gets up to stretch their legs.

When we are young we might take risks and play dice with our lives.  When we are older, with a single misstep we can break a hip and trigger a downward health spiral that will be hard to recover from.

For about the past five years I’ve done something that has improved my health and might also extend my life.  I walk every day. Initially, I was walking 7,000 steps a day until, I needed to cut back due to plantar fasciitis, a condition that causes pain in the arch of my foot.

Now I still walk 3,500 steps every day, though I’ll never catch up to Daveen who has probably walked more than 12,000 steps before she turns off the lights in our kitchen and heads to bed every night.

Since I like to accomplish two or more goals at the same time, as I walk, I practice my social skills, spreading good cheer throughout my neighborhood. I smile and hail my fellow walkers with a nod and cherry “hello”, even though they are walking, from my perspective, in the wrong direction. (Unless I turn left in leaving my front door).

I don’t see many nods in return. Easily understandable, since my neighbors are busy folk generally communing with either their iPhone or with their two dogs. (Never an iPhone AND a dog.  Seldom a single dog.)

And that leads me to the leaves of grass along the way.

I’ve started noticing individual blades of grass. What a miracle!  The real grass, and even the fake – excuse me – ornamental – grass is simply a marvel, whether created by man or destiny.

I fear that if I further explain this I may be tampering with my own pleasure or, possibly, diminishing the mystery. As in reading a mystery novel, I want to be pleasantly surprised at the end. But isn’t it wonderful to retain a sense of awe, to walk through our lives still astonished by the beauty and nature of the world around us?

Hey, Walt Whitman, I hope we meet along the way. You could share with me your philosophy, and I could fill you in on modern communication.

Where can I find you on Zoom?

Alan