We live in a culture of competition where the best of the best are celebrated.

There’s nothing wrong with striving to be the best, but it leaves little room to be average. And more importantly feel good about being average.

Average means you’re neither the virtuoso musician nor the artist showing at the Met in New York. You’re neither the mathematics whiz who earned the millions nor the latest hot designer wowing the runways in London and Paris. And you’re neither a Heisman Trophy winner nor a gold medalist. Average isn’t sexy.

I grew up comparing myself to the best and found myself... Continue Reading

5:23 p.m. Wednesday

The phone rings in my office with a bleep, bleep. That means an outside call is coming directly in. Most of the front office was gone so they come through.

I pick up.

“Hello, this is John McIntyre”
“Where is my Damn paper,” a scruffy sounding female voice bellows out.
“I am not sure. What does it look like?”
A long pause.
“I am Mrs. M (shortened by me) and I usually get my paper on Wednesday and It didn’t come.”
“You must live in Delmar Mrs. M. We had a problem at the post office last night, but everything is fixed and you will have it... Continue Reading