Jason Stadtlander

Originally from Ohio, Jason resides in northern Massachusetts. He’s had an affinity for writing since he wrote his first story in sixth grade. Since then, he has written more than two hundred short stories. In addition to his novels, Jason has published numerous articles and columns in newspapers and magazines and is also a columnist at the Huffington Post. He enjoys connecting and philosophizing with his readers through book signings and speaking engagements .

[jpstadtlander]

The Notes

"Sit down over here" Michael's mother instructed him as they walked along the balcony of Symphony Hall. His grandmother had bought him and his parents tickets to the symphony in an effort to help him to become more 'cultured'. He was wanting no part of it though. He could watch the symphony on YouTube if he really wanted to. What was the point of coming here? The lights dimmed a little and Michael sat up a bit looking toward the stage. There were still people gently talking all around the hall. Then a group of musicians came out carrying instruments and sat down. A few tuned their instruments and remained still. Finally, a man came out and stood on the platform in the spotlight and held up his hand high in the air, then looked at all of the musicians and waved his hand, and simultaneously, they began playing the Theme from Jurassic Park as John Williams directed them in tempo. It sent a chill up the boy's spine. He was instantly mesmerized. Michael watched the musicians playing, each individual but all part of a greater voice. That was when Michael saw it. The boy watched from the balcony as the little girl in the summer dress slowly inched closer and eventually sat next to the large amplified speaker sitting next to the stage. She had long auburn hair and fair skin, both a stark contrast to the pale blue dress she was wearing. The girl had been sitting three seats over from him before the concert began and although the boy had noticed her, he did not speak to her. He had no idea when she had gone downstairs. Now she slowly reached out and touched the speaker, the sounds of the orchestra pouring out of it as John Williams's right hand swiped from left to right in the air while his left changed pages on his music stand less than fifty feet from her. She closed her eyes and placed her head on the side of the black box and was clearly moved as was the boy sitting a hundred feet away above her. A kettle drum bellowed and she smiled, eyes still closed as the orchestra neared the crescendo of Star Wars. The girl, so small next to the massive speaker, the boy couldn't believe that the sound wasn't too much for her to handle. He noticed a few people looking at her and briefly wondered if she was doing something against the rules. The little girl's smile was illuminated as if lit up by heaven. She had an ethereal beauty about her and an innocent discovery that he wasn't completely sure he understood. The girl looked back and up at the balcony, seeing the boy looking down at her and smiled warmly, then pointed at the black box she was leaning on. The boy smiled and shrugged his shoulders, not understanding what she was trying to convey. He stared at her, his blue eyes locked on her brown eyes and for a moment, the room was empty, save the boy, the girl, and the music. For a fraction of time, it made sense to him and the moment passed. Then the girl looked to the boy's right and moved her hands in front of her face, making gestures at the woman nearby. The woman looked over at the boy and smiled, causing the boy to have a puzzled reaction, feeling like he was missing something that had transpired between the two of them. The woman leaned across the aisle and whispered to the boy, "She wants to know if you feel the music." He looked confused, "Feel the music?" "My daughter is deaf, she's never heard music before. This is the first time she has ever experienced a concert and is listening to the orchestra by feeling the vibrations in the speaker down there." The boy smiled and looked down at the girl who was eagerly anticipating his response. He nodded and delighted, she went back and put her arms and head down on the box, feeling it vibrate as the next piece in the Star Wars ensemble played out. Suddenly, the concert was no longer interesting to the boy for the girl was so much more fascinating. She felt the music and she talked with her hands, from across the room. He yearned to understand more. During the intermission, the girl came back up to her mother gesturing excitedly. The boy stepped across the aisle to the woman. "Why does she move her hands like that?" "It's how she talks. It's called sign language." The woman made a sign with her hand off of her forehead in a motion, "This means 'hello'." The boy looked at the girl and gestured 'hello'. The girl signed some more gestures, to which the woman translated. "Her name is Kasmira. She wants to know where you're from." "We live in Chestnut Hill." he replied, to which her mother translated, speaking aloud as she signed, "He lives in Chestnut Hill, not far from where we live in Cambridge." She nodded, "What's your name?" her mother asked. "Michael," he replied, looking over at his own parents who were watching patiently. The girl's mother signed out the letters of his name. "She would like to know if you want to come over for a play date this weekend." Michael looked toward his parents and his mother nodded. "Sure, sounds good. Just let me know your address." his mother said. Over the next several days, Michael spent over an hour each day watching how to sign on YouTube, he was amazed that there was an entire language that existed where you never had to say a single word out loud. Saturday finally came and Michael and his parents stood on Kasmira's step. The door opened and the little girl stood on the step and smiled at Michael. He made the sign for "Hello, thank you for inviting me." She smiled and said in sign language, "You're welcome. Would you like to play hide and seek?" Confused he looked up at her mother who was standing behind her, "She wants to play hide and seek." He nodded and ran in after her. ~ Check next week for the conclusion ~   Read the full article

[jpstadtlander]

To Be Human Is To be Damaged

When I write a story and create a protagonist, it's easy to create a hero. Someone flawless that comes sweeping in to save the day with superpowers or a methodical detective that can solve any case. But, readers don't fall in love with the flawless. We can't relate to that. It wasn't the fact that superman could fly across the world in a minute or pick up an entire building that made him alluring. It was his vulnerabilities. The fact that kryptonite could damage him or his heart could be broken by Louis Lane. There isn't a superhero (or a super villain) out there who didn't have a flaw. We need those flaws. We have those flaws. Every single one of us. True, small children likely have fewer flaws, but it is part of human growth - part of growing up to accumulate these flaws. The older I get, the more I realize that we are all damaged, all of us. It is how we choose to embrace our damage, understand what is under our own skin and use it to better ourselves rather than allow it to rot us - that truly defines who we are and how we connect with others. Those who claim they are not damaged have simply not come face to face with their own damage and have not come to understand what that damage is. Don't get me wrong, I am not saying that the damage is necessarily something catastrophic. It could be something as small as a bullying incident early in your life that causes an unknown level of anxiety or a fall when you were a child that you forgot about that causes a fear of heights. Damage is damage. Coming to terms with our own damage (in public or in private) is extremely important, and it really is the only way to move forward in life. There are some people I know that wear their damage on their face but have never come to terms with it and may live their entire life without ever understanding it themselves. Yet, others I know finally came to terms with their damage when they were in their 80s and 90s. We all live life on our terms, and we all live through our damage on our own terms. The most important element to gain from this is that our damage is key. It makes us interesting, unique, often relatable, and sometimes holds us back. When you walk down the street and look at that person in the crowd that seems so well put together and overconfident. Just know, it's only a face they are wearing, and they may just be better at hiding their damage. Show a little love and help where you can. Read the full article

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Grief, Its Impact on Those Left Behind and The Moments That Count Most

Grief is defined as:

Deep and poignant distress caused by or as if by bereavement (ref. Webster's Dictionary) What is grief really? I lost my grandfather this March. He was a man that was my moor in the turbulent sea of life, and most importantly, my best friend.

Virgil McConnaughey lived to be 92 years young and went on to have three children, ten grandchildren, and many great-grandchildren. He served in the Army in Tokyo and traveled the world with his wife Doris. He worked for Ford as a Tool and Die maker, retiring and having a chance to spend more time retired than he worked. These are the facts of his life, but are we just merely the facts of what we accomplished in the end? No, I  don't believe so. There is a depth to our existence that cannot be defined in words. If someone asked me who Virgil was, those facts listed above would not be the first thing that came to mind. To me, Virgil was a friend. A man who was not afraid to tell me his true feelings and perspectives on things, even when he knew I might not have the same view. He owned his strengths and his flaws (good or bad). He was not afraid to take on challenges that were far beyond most people in his position or point in life. He had a way of looking at anything mechanical or electrical and could tell how it went together, even if he did not see it disassembled in the first place - this I get from him. He could visualize things in 3D and look around them without doing so. Virgil had a love of all things nature, birds, and dogs especially. He would sit in his solarium (a room enclosed by glass) for hours, photographing, studying, and detailing the life in his small window of the world. He had his prejudices, most likely because of his age, but I loved him regardless. He taught me that one of the wisest things you can say is "I don't know." and that truth is more important than acting like you know what you're talking about. Virgil loved with all his heart those that he felt would reciprocate it, but kept those who might hurt him at arm's length. Family was his gold and his fortune. Even those in the family that did not maintain communication with, he still loved them, he just felt at a loss on how to reach them and confused about why they wouldn't talk to him. He could be the warmest man you have ever met, and the coldest person if you crossed him. He loved new technology and enjoyed meeting new people and the small moments in life that make life worth living. He was rigid in most of his views and unwavering in his perspectives but still managed to be flexible when it came to learning or understanding the world around him. My guess is, that this rigidness is what drove him away from some people. But, I have learned in my own life that not judging others and accepting people despite their flaws, allows you to truly get to know them better. It also allows you to accept the good things in people - and there are always good things in people. The thing that I learned most from my grandfather was "the moment". The present - right now, this very second. You can't go back and replay it. You can change some things in life but once you've passed this moment, it remains in the past. My grandfather is gone, forever. However, the thousands of singular moments that time paused for us and I learned something, heard something, or simply gave him a hug... made it all easier for the "past" that it is. Grief is more than just the words that define it. It is a hole in our souls. The emptiness of what is missing. For me, it is those "present" moments that are missing. I cannot pick up the phone and call him anymore. I cannot text him and tell him I love him. But it really is okay. It was his desire that I (and everyone) treasure those individual moments that he had with all of us. One day, we all will reach a point where we do not have any more moments left in our lives. Hopefully, between now and then - We can provide everyone we care about with those moments. Because "grief" is not nearly as intolerable as leaving behind a life that is not grieved. Read the full article

[jpstadtlander]

The Bulgarian Martinitsa, Baba Marta and The Dawn of Spring

Many cultures have Spring related traditions. Growing up I remember everyone saying that March could come in like a lion and go out like a lamb. I drew countless pictures of how March would behave each year. And of course, the "April showers bring May flowers."  Spring in Thailand celebrates the Songkran Water Festival which involves going to a Buddist monastery, visiting elders, and throwing water. In India, they celebrate Holi where Hindus throw colored powder at one another for the many colors of Spring.

One of my recent favorites of Spring traditions is Baba Marta and the Martinitsa which comes out of Bulgaria. A Martenitsa is a small bracelet made of white and red yarn. They typically have little people made of yarn hanging from them or are adorned with beadwork. My wife (who is Bulgarian) describes her childhood where she used to get quite serious about making Martinitsi and I can completely see how it must be fun for children to make their own Martinitsa to hand out to family and loved ones. Beginning on the first day of March, Martenitsi are given as gifts to loved ones, friends, and those you feel close to. The wearer wears one until they see a stork (although we don't see them in the U.S., storks are very common in Europe), swallow, or a blossoming tree, and then they remove the Martenitsa. The tradition is related to ancient pagan history in the Balkan Peninsula. According to Bulgarian folklore, Baba Marta ("Grandma March") is a grumpy old lady who has rapid mood swings. The belief is that by wearing the red and white colors, people ask Baba Marta for mercy. They hope to make winter pass and bring spring. The coming of the stork, blossom on trees, or a swallow are the harbinger of spring and evidence that Baba Marta is in a good mood and about to retire for the season. Wearing one or more Martinitsi is popular in Bulgarian tradition and upon removing their Martinitsa, some people tie them on the branch of a fruit tree - thus giving the tree health and luck that the wearer experienced. Now, this is the tradition that was explained to me by my wife and several close Bulgarian friends. It should be noted that I have also found some (unverified) evidence that the Martinitsa may have roots with the Khazarian tribes attacking the Bulgarians in the 7th century B.C.. A story tells of Bayan who accept Khazarian leadership and stayed with his captive sister. Their other brothers sought out new land for the Bulgarians. There was an agreement that Asparuh (one of the brothers) to send a birth with a golden strand tied to its leg, which would be a signal to escape their captures and follow the brothers. One day the brother and sister saw the bird with the golden strand and escaped. The two reached the lands near the Danube river but had no idea which way to go. To send a sign, Bayan caught the bird and tied a white wool strand on its foot next to the golden one. While tying it, the Khazarian tribe reached them and attacked with arrows. Bayan left a red mark of blood on the white strand. After the Khazarian tribe was defeated, Asparug took the thread of white and red and tied it around the wrists of each of his people, and called it a Martinitsa. There are similar traditions in North Macedonia (which has similar roots to Bulgaria), Greece, Moldova, Romania, and Albania. So, this spring, pick up some red and white string and help your children make their own Martinitsa and keep Baba Marta at bay. Read the full article

[jpstadtlander]

Getting Inside The Mind of Spoofed and Scam Emails and Texts - What to Look For and What to Avoid

Spoofed emails have been a problem for quite a while now, but recently there has been a surge of spoofed texts, fake phone calls, and spoofed emails. Today I'll dive into this ever-increasing problem and what you can do to identify this blatant fakery.

First, let's look at a couple of questions:

- Why am I getting these to begin with? In a nutshell, the primary reason you get any spam (be it text, phone call, or email), all boils down to money. Generally, there is always something they are trying to gain from you and when it comes to all the 'little people' out there, it is usually either your money or your identity (which also equates to money). Typically, people that take the effort to send out spam are trying to get you to: - Buy their product (masquerading as someone you trust) - Give them your login details for an account - Attempt to set up a trust relationship (get information from you by acting like someone you trust) - Install a virus or ransomware on your computer - Be scared and con you into giving them money - How do I get so many spam texts, phone calls, and emails? Why me? The answer is simpler than you know. At some point in the last 1-20 years, you have probably either subscribed for something, been part of a data breach or been the lucky recipient of a random information guess. In the dark web, nothing is more valuable than large lists of accurate contact information. There are massive lists containing millions of PII (Personally Identifiable Information) such as phone numbers, email addresses, usernames, passwords, and social security numbers (just to name a few). There is probably an extremely high chance that you are not directly being targeted. You are just a number and one of the millions of poor saps they are counting on to click that link or pick up that call.

How the data collection works and why it is important NOT to pick up that call or click that link

As stated above, there are massive databases (collections of data) out there that contain your information. Probably a lot more private information than you think. What can you do to get yourself out of those databases? In short, not much. However, if you continue to not click links, not answer fake calls and not respond to fake texts, then you won't be considered a "valid" contact and might eventually drop off some of them. The spammer gets these lists of contact information and puts it into a program on a computer or a series of computers they have set up as a network. These programs have templates for email, text, and even voice calls and they essentially war dial you, which means they transmit out the template to you or call you and wait. When you get a fake text or email and click the link, it sends a message back to the software and marks you as a "real" person. If it is a phone call you are getting and you pick it up and hear some generic record message, it detects that the line was picked up. You don't have to say a word or press a button, all you have to do is pick up the phone. That then automatically marks you as a "real" phone number. Now, it gets a little trickier with phone calls. When you validate that your number is real, not only does it know that someone will pick up on the other end because it knows that the number is real it also adds your number to a spoof list. Later, when it tries to call out, it can use your phone number as the outbound number in the hopes that someone you know might pick up the call. I know, scary, huh? The reason for this setup is that spammers know establishing trust is the most important thing. Showing as a phone number that someone might trust or showing as an email address that others might trust, enhances the potential for buying the product, downloading the virus, or replying to the contact.

How to recognize and how to avoid spoofed / spam communications

- Question all links - especially if they are coming through text. Very few companies will send a link via text.  If you're on a desktop and it is an email, float over the link. This will show where the link is really pointing. If it does not make sense or looks fake, it probably is. - Shortcodes and Phone numbers - Large companies do not use phone numbers, because they are too easy to spoof. If a marketing text comes through from AT&T or Amazon and it is coming from a phone number, it's fake. Shortcodes are special numbers 5-6 digits long that identify with a registered company. Unfortunately, I have not been able to find a (valid) directory for shortcodes. But if I do find it, I'll edit this article to include it. - Email addresses are frequently spoofed. If you float over the name of the sender (in most email programs or websites), it will display who the email is truly coming from. Sometimes they don't even bother to masquerade and just count on your freaking out about the money due or the content of the email. Some interesting examples of emails and texts are below. I've highlighted and explained the proof of each.

Things to remember:

- Take a breath and keep your cool - Do not react - don't click, don't call, don't reply. - Contact someone you trust (yes, you can even contact me personally). Ask them to validate it and help you figure out if it is real. - Make sure you have a solid Antivirus / Threat Protection software such as Sophos on your computer (yes, even if you have a Mac)   Read the full article

[jpstadtlander]

Write Me a Letter - The Lost Art of Writing a Letter

I recently wrote a friend of mine a letter. You know, the old-fashioned way, with a pen and paper? It occurred to me on page two, about the time that my hand was killing me... that my penmanship was terrible. Well, no, that isn't exactly what was going through my head. What hit me was how lost an art it truly has become, writing a letter by hand. Words scrawled on a paper stating how much you miss someone. Receiving a letter that smells like perfume from the woman that wrote it. Newspaper letters cut out neatly to create a ransom note stating that.. wait, what? No, no, no - I'm talking about handwritten letters. Aside from the casual birthday card, I cannot remember the last time that I got a handwritten letter. We have grown so accustomed to instant email, the instant text or phone calls, that a lot of us have lost touch with that ancient art of writing a letter to someone. There is something tangible, something real - that comes from that handwritten letter. Holding that piece of paper and knowing that it came from someone else. The other person physically held that paper and took the time to scribble a message on it in their own hand-script. That hand-writing defines a unique person. The font that cannot be duplicated. I can remember as a child, writing another child who lived in Scotland as a 'pen pal' through a program that our school offered. It was amazing, to know that this boy four thousand miles away had actually written on the paper that I held in my hand and had mailed that letter to me. I raise a question to you; When was the last time you wrote a letter to someone? For that matter, when was the last time you received one? So, I challenge you! Write me a letter. It doesn't have to be anything fancy or long (I mean, make it at least a paragraph... Hopefully, I'm worth that much effort). And I will write you back. I can't promise you a long letter back or that my writing will be legible, but I promise I will put thought into it. Jason Stadtlander P.O. Box 434 Swampscott, MA 01907 United States of America Let's see how many of you are willing to stand up to the challenge! Read the full article

[jpstadtlander]

Does God Exist? One Man's Journey into his Existence

It's going to sound like I'm getting religious here, but I'm not. What I am writing is not about religion at all, but it is about faith. And regardless of what belief you have, you have faith, even if it's faith in nothing. So bear with me. As I sit, staring out the windows at the clouds as they move across the sky, now working from home thanks to COVID-19. This day is unique, it is new, unblemished and a chance for a million possibilities,  The same as the day before and the day before that and the day before that. These same thoughts have gone through my head for the last year, two years, five years, ten years, even twenty years. What is my purpose? What is the point of this daily routine and this repetitive day? Perhaps these are questions that will always haunt me. I have a purpose. I am a colleague, a father, a son, a friend, and a husband. But that does not define me, each are merely hats that I wear at one time or another. The core of what I am, my heart - and I don't mean the organ that pumps in my chest, I mean that which is deep in my brain - that which gives me sentience and brings my soul to fruition, that is what I am. That inner part of me is my constant struggle, my constant companion, and my constant enemy. It is that which drives me to seek an understanding of God and what part He plays in my life if any part at all. I know, some of you are saying to yourself, "There is no God. It's ridiculous to think that some higher being created everything and that we just evolved to what we are." Believe me, no one knows better than I do, how you feel. I refused to believe that there could be some omnipotent creature sitting upon some throne, cloud, whatever, staring down at us and seeing us as nothing more than a pet. I have always considered myself a man of science, requiring theory, proof, and evidence to show empirically that something is, or something is not. But that all changed for me on a beautiful Saturday on Memorial Day weekend in 2005. Before that day, I was a man who did not truly believe in God. Who felt that true belief in God was nothing but a fictitious figment of the imagination of a people who have no faith in themselves, so they must create something that makes them whole and has a purpose. That fateful day I became a man who knew without a doubt that there was a God, a creator, and a higher consciousness that drives everything around us. On that fateful day, a baby was born, a person that was half of me. I held that baby boy in my arms, stared down at him for minutes, hours, unable to take my eyes off of him. And here it was, in my arms, eyes closed, sleeping soundly, breathing in and breathing out. A tiny heart beating deep inside. Another person has come into this world through my own DNA. That something so complex as an entire human being can come into existence from two cells dividing and multiplying and create bones, blood, organs, a brain. This was it, this was the empirical evidence that I had been looking for to prove to me that there was a God. Yes, I know biology, I know chemistry, physics… But this transcended them all. I knew from that point forward that I could no longer ever look at either of my little boys and not know in the very core of what I am that there was a God. Now, does that mean that I pulled the Bible out of the drawer next to me and slammed myself up on the forehead, and said "Praise the Lord, Jesus is risen!" Um, no. On the contrary, knowing that God exists is just a first step and a massive one at that, I might add. In coming to this realization, I was however forced to ask myself one other question; If I was wrong about God and I now know that without a doubt there is God, what else could I be wrong about? I started studying the Bible, the Torah, the Qur'an, everything - to try and grasp a better understanding of what everyone else around me has seemed to see that I could not. I would like to say that I did process it all and suddenly had the epiphany that everything now made sense... but that is not the case. It simply confused me more. It's one thing to know what the bible and all religious texts say, it's something altogether different to feel what they say. So began my exploration of my own faith and my own internal struggle to understand things around me. Do I pray? Yes, but not all the time. Do I still believe in God? Absolutely. Do I believe that Jesus is our savior? That he died on that cross to save us from our sin? I'd be lying if I said yes I do believe all of that with all my heart. My faith is a journey. But what really makes me different than I used to be, is that I can sincerely say that I'm not willing to rule it out. When it comes to Jesus, I don't believe He is not. Did he exist, yes? I believe that fully. There is too much historical evidence. Do I believe he is the savior of mankind? The jury is still out (for me). Unfortunately, that evidentiary proof has been harder to come by than my belief in God. For me, it would require evidence other than that fabricated by man (i.e. books). To me, God is not a man who sits high in the heavens and looks down upon us, and points us to go in one direction or another. I believe that to do that would negate the point of free will, and free will defines us. There is a logic to our world. The fact that you can take two atoms of hydrogen and a single atom of oxygen to create water, and the fact that it is the interaction of electrons that bind these elements together is science. But why do these electrons bond? Why do elements have electrons? What force created it to do so? Scientists will claim that it is just a case of electrons interacting with one another, but even that is faith. Faith that science is as it has been proven or faith that nature just works that way. One must have faith that things 'just are' that way. Can you really tell me that there is no intelligence at work in the creation of such things? Even Einstein once said "Every one who is seriously involved in the pursuit of science becomes convinced that a spirit is manifest in the laws of the Universe-a spirit vastly superior to that of man, and one in the face of which we with our modest powers must feel humble." The Bible doesn't ever use the term 'science' because it did not exist at the time the bible was written, but Proverbs 25:2 states: "It is the glory of God to conceal things, but the glory of kings is to search things out." What I do know, without a doubt is that there is a God. That the fog that rises from the fresh-cut grass is more than just a collection of molecules. That the trees and plants are more than just a collection of well-grouped cells, that music is more than just a repetitive pattern that is pleasing to the ear, and that real love cannot be defined by any words. Until then, I will seek to understand. I will reach to be more and I will dig down deeper to understand my soul and my own existence. I do not know how deep human faith goes, what powers it or if there is ever a point that it is complete, but the comprehension of my existence and our existence is a journey. And I will do my best to continue to explore it with open eyes and an open heart. Read the full article

[jpstadtlander]

Your Body, Your Beauty, Your Booty – Treasure it

Continuing my "Positive" posts, today I'd like to focus today on our bodies. I can remember being in middle school and other kids making fun of me for the size of my feet. At around age ten, my feet were the same size as my age. Size ten at age ten, size eleven by age eleven… all the way up to age thirteen. It was my first experience with body shaming. There was no denying, I had big feet. I was awkward, nerdy and I was going through a very difficult time in my life with my parents divorcing and a few close family members dying. For many years I felt like I had a skinny, wimpy look and even after I started to work out in my late twenties, I continued to feel dismayed when I looked in the mirror. And then, one day – I didn’t feel dismayed. Several things dawned on me all at once about fifteen years back: - This is my body, the only one I have. Why have I spent so many years being ashamed of it? When I look in the mirror, why do I choose to look at the bad points, instead of the good? - What right does anyone have to criticize the way my body is shaped I cannot change the body I was born into, any more than anyone can change the body they were born into. Sure, we can have plastic surgery or dye our hair. But that is not really us. It is not what your DNA was programmed to create, it’s a mask, a façade that one chooses to pull over themselves because a particular element doesn’t look right to them. It all boils down to society’s constant need to find balance, symmetry, and beauty. It is in our nature to look for beauty in others (and often do not see it) because we often cannot find beauty in ourselves. What do I mean by balance and symmetry? We are programmed (from birth) to look for symmetry. If you look at a face and one side does not look even with the other side, it feels off, like something needs to be corrected. Symmetry and beauty are so interlinked, we don’t even realize we are looking for it when we look for something we consider beautiful. Balance in society simply means balance as a whole. If someone feels bad about the way they look or their appearance, they will most likely try to balance themselves by looking for flaws in others. The same applies on a much larger scale. The beauty industry rarely shows you photos or videos (male or female) of people that are overweight or have acne or have a misbalanced body in one way or another. They work hard to make sure that only the perfectly balanced are portrayed, but real life is anything but perfectly balanced. We cannot relate to that perfect model in the Victoria's Secret ad or the dark and mysterious man with large arms and chest in the GQ magazine, but we want to be like them. We want to have that physique, that look. When we look in the mirror, we look for what we would want to change in ourselves to look like that. The reality is that model that you see in the magazine or online looks way different without their makeup or touchups and in another twenty years, they will not look like that. I am not body shaming the model in the magazine, I can guarantee you that they get body shamed all the time (believe me, I know what that industry is like). What I am trying to point out is that they are as human as you and I. They are just wearing their own mask for you. Do not get me wrong, I am not saying that we should not try to take the best care of our bodies we can. As I said earlier, it is the only body we get, so it is critical that we take care of it. What I am saying is, internal image and external appearance are almost always two different things. From a beauty perspective, it does not matter if you are skinny or fat, old or young, unsymmetrical or misproportioned. You are you, and that is the single greatest thing you have to offer this world. From a physical perspective, I encourage you to work out, even if it is only going for a walk each day. Your body (regardless of its size or shape) is the greatest instrument you have and at the end of the day. It is the only thing you have to live with forever until the day you die so take care of it as best you can. But never equate your physical self with your beautiful self, because you already are beautiful, you just need to see it. Read the full article

[jpstadtlander]

NPR's Three Minute Fiction - "The Desk"

In September I submitted a story for NPR's "Three Minute Fiction" series titled "The Desk", which sadly did not win. I actually wrote two stories; The Desk and The Oath, but chose "The Desk" as I felt it had a thread that ran through three different presidents So, I thought I would post The Desk for your enjoyment anyway. Let me know what you think: “The Desk” by Jason Stadtlander Jared remembered the trip with his fifth grade class from Philadelphia to Washington D.C. His mother had told him about it two weeks prior, and he began marking off the days leading up to the trip on his calendar before bed each night. Jared’s presentiment of seeing the famous buildings from his history books was overwhelming. The Pentagon, Capitol Building, Lincoln Memorial, and White House were swimming in his mind. The tour of the White House had been magical, the spirits of famous men and important decisions made within those walls creating a buzz of excitement in Jared’s brain. The tour guide led his class down the halls where presidents had walked, passing through various rooms and finally stopping at the Map Room and Oval Office. The historic room looked different than expected. The only real view Jared had seen as a television viewer was the desk with the window behind it. Five classmates walked about the periphery looking at paintings on the wall while he stood separately on the red-orange sunbeam carpet emblazoned with the presidential seal. Jared remained staring at the impressive Read the full article

[jpstadtlander]

I Am White, You Are Black, And I Can See The Color

I did not grow up in what I would call “White privilege.” I grew up in Columbus, Ohio in an ‘average’ low to a middle-class White neighborhood. I was bused to inner-city schools in predominantly Black communities as part of the desegregation programs, and fellow Black children were bused to schools in my home area. Later I would go to high school with most of those children along with many of the children I went to school with. As I started off – I did not grow up in what I would call “White privilege”. But here is the problem. What I consider White privilege and what my fellow Black classmates would consider White privilege most likely are two very different things. I never understood that until recently. It took me forty years to understand this because I wear my White privilege on my body. I was born with it. I can do nothing to remove it, and because of this, I have been blind to it. As a White person, growing up I was taught to see no color, to blur the lines between black and white, that there is no race. This is known as 'non-racist'. We, as white kids, embraced our Air Jordan's, Rap music, and Thug Life but this isn’t understanding what it means to be Black, it's simply appropriating some of Black culture to seem cool. The moment it is no longer cool, we discard it. But what we (as Whites) have been unable or unwilling to accept up until recently is that we cannot understand what it means to be Black unless we have lived in the shoes of a Black man. Read the full article

[jpstadtlander]

The Oath - A New President

A while back, I submitted a story for NPR's "All Things Considered" Three Minute Fiction contest. The story had to relate to the President of the United States, it had to show a human element, and be under 600 words. This is one of the two stories I wrote. I loved both stories, but this one just wasn't quite as good as the one I sent in. It was written in my mental dream world of a time when being the "President of the United States" was truly an honor and a privilege and not a theatrical presentation as it has become in the last twenty - forty years. Perhaps it has always been a dramatic presentation, and it is just my perception that has changed? I pray that what is in this story will return to the office of the President of our country. I dream that our country will learn to appreciate, love, and respect the diversity for which it was founded upon. Only then can we claim that it is "great." It has not yet reached that. So to claim that it can return to greatness is an illusion, in my opinion. The Oath The young man in a dark suit, wearing an earpiece stepped forward. “Senator Reddington, we’re ready for you.” Jared Reddington hugged both his boys and his wife then proceeded around the corner and down the steps of the U.S. Capitol, family in tow. He looked over at his wife as she held his hand and for a brief moment, time froze. Read the full article

[jpstadtlander]

A Thirst Quenched

The thirst, the endless, desiccated thirst The pain of the heart, arid and unquenched, not beating Void of that camaraderie that it requires The loneliness that fills the void is like air within a canyon It is space filled but without substance The depth of isolation that can be reached by no other means than seclusion No emotions for oneself and empty within It is not depression as much as a missing piece of an incomplete puzzle Then there falls that first drop of rain That sight of her beauty Eyes that stare back with an impossible warmth A connection Another drop A link Another drop, another drop The contours of the puzzle piece perfectly shaped Another drop, another drop, another drop Each, space, each thought, ideal Now a trickle, it gently flows, slowly to every dry tributary Drop after drop after drop A trickle becomes a stream The intellect, the conversation, the humor A stream gains momentum as it flows gently from one branch to another The hands, delicate hands, the touch A stream becomes a shallow river feeding point after point A beat A small devil smiling at me. The lips, those precious lips, delicate and smooth Another beat The voice, soft, accented, beautiful Another beat, Another beat The flow becomes stronger a gush as the river flows faster Beat, Beat, Beat, Beat Her thoughts fascinate me, Her movements mesmerize me I am alive Read the full article

[jpstadtlander]

Final Moments - Step Back

Michael lay with his head on the soft, down pillow as he watched his wife’s chest. The rhythmic rise and fall of her bosom under the old, cotton nightgown. This ancient familiar warmth had given him the strength to start his day for the last sixty-six years. His eyes moved down toward her legs, which were covered under the white knitted blanket. Her old hands with skin now so thin that the form of every vein, ligament, and bone shown through them as they lay upon the cover. He could hear birds outside the open window but did not want to look toward it, did not want to take his eyes from the view before him. Slowly, he turned his head upward and looked at her face, asleep, so peaceful. Her white hair flowed down and around the edges of her face, framing it in ethereal beauty. Her flawless skin made her appear twenty years younger, despite the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. When she smiled, the lines disappeared, and the room was filled with light. She wasn’t smiling now, just sleeping, softly sleeping. He thought back to last week as they sat at dinner when she smiled at him before she passed out, and the pain struck him. Step back, it was her birthday as she blew out the candles with the number “88” on the cake. Step back, the boat ride on Lake Erie with their grandson and two great-grandchildren. Michael held Beth’s hand and sat as the wind blew their white hair, filled with the smell of the lake. Read the full article

[jpstadtlander]

Jack & Elaine - The Bracelet

A newspaper slapped the door and landed on the porch with the normal thud. Elaine turned her bike around and headed down the driveway in the cool early morning toward the next house. Thud—the next newspaper landed squarely where she threw it. She had a saddlebag over her, the front was half full of newspapers and the back had yet to be emptied, weighing heavily on her. Elaine had gotten the newspaper route five months ago to earn some extra money and she had saved up enough for the iPod touch she had been wanting. She was also planning to do some shoveling once the snow started to fall. At the moment she was finding great joy in the crisp late fall air. There was no snow on the ground yet, but the smell of winter was abundant.  Looking toward the next house, she failed to see the skateboard ramp that a child had left along the sidewalk, and her bike’s front tire caught the lip on the side of the ramp. Elaine was thrust over the handlebars so fast she didn’t have time to think. She put her hand out to catch her fall but landed hard on her shoulder and her head slammed into the ramp. Despite the protection of her helmet, Elaine’s vision began to blur and she could feel herself losing consciousness. Just before she passed out, she saw a woman walking toward her in a long dress or nightgown. The woman had long dark hair and reached out for her just as Elaine’s vision filled with white and she went unconscious. As awareness returned, Elaine heard sirens in the distance. Read the full article

[jpstadtlander]

"Where's The Sports?" - The World on The Knife's Edge

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Jack and Elaine - Lost

Every year the county fair fell around Elaine’s birthday making it the perfect birthday gift. Her friend Jack and his family would be joining Elaine and her parents this year. She would finally be able to share the collection of wonder and amazement that she loved so much. Perhaps she could even get her parents to try and get her a prize at one of the many carnival games – something her parents never seemed to give in to. Elaine salivated at the thought of the delicious food and rides as they danced in her head. This year she read in the newspaper about a giant pumpkin that won grand prize; 1,260 pounds. It was hard to imagine how big that must be and Elaine was very excited to see it, moving it to the top of her ‘must see list’. She loved the animals, dog shows and frozen bananas which for some reason always tasted better in the crisp autumn air of the fair. Sitting in her father’s minivan as they entered the gate she wore a grin from ear to ear as did Jack sitting next to her. They parked the van and she and Jack leaped out. Even from out here, the smell of French fries, fried dough and Italian sausage were overwhelming, instantly making Elaine hungry. Within two minutes, she convinced her parents to stop at the first few games – throwing darts at balloons and winning her a stuffed pig and some large fake dollar bills. She was having a blast! Jack and his parents headed for the restroom, while she and her family made their way toward the giant pumpkin in the Fruits and Vegetable hall, weaving their way through the crowds of people. Elaine held her piggy in one hand and dollar bills in the other. Someone bumped into her and a few of the massive dollar bills fell out of her hand. She grabbed at them as they started to blow away. Elaine ran after it for about thirty feet and caught it, then stood up to rejoin her parents but they weren’t in front of her. They had not seen her stop and kept walking. Panic set in, she looked to the right, then to the left. Suddenly she felt very small, a little girl surrounded by a towering, moving mass of people. She dropped a dollar bill, she quickly grabbed it, she suddenly felt like it meant everything that she not lose what her mommy and daddy won her. She grabbed it and squeezed it and her stuffed piggy tightly, standing alone in the crowd as it ebbed and flowed around her in a frightening blaze. For a fleeting moment she saw her mother, then realized it was a woman with similar hair but not her mother. The woman looked at her and saw the fear in Elaine’s eyes, looked away and paused; tapping the man on the shoulder next to her she looked back again. She came back to Elaine and knelt down. “Sweetie, are you lost?” Elaine’s blue eyes filled with tears and she nodded, squeezing the pink stuffed animal tighter. She didn’t say anything to the woman because she was told to never talk to strangers, but she was so scared she didn’t know what to do. “What’s your name?” the woman asked her. “Elaine.” She replied, trembling. “Elaine, I’m Julie, this is Nevin. Are you here with your parents?” She nodded. “Where did you see your parents last?” She said nothing, though she wanted to tell them that she had seen them at the entrance to the building. “It’s okay, we’ll help you find them.” Elain began, “We were going to the giant pumpkin and then...” she looked around nervously. “Julie, the lost children’s booth is just around the corner. Let’s take her over there.” Nevin said to the woman. Julie looked at the small red head who was trembling, she put her hand gently on the girl’s shoulder. “We’re going to help you find your parents. Okay?” Elaine nodded, feeling the world spinning, her heart racing and uncertain. Walking towards the lost children’s booth, Nevin spotted a police officer and walked over to him, explaining the situation. He looked down at Elaine and smiled, “Elaine, I’m Officer Tom. Your parents are looking for you. Will you come with me?” Elaine squeezed Julie’s hand. Julie bent down, “It’s okay. He’s a policeman. He’ll help you find your mommy and daddy, okay?” and she softly passed Elaine’s hand over to Officer Tom. The two walked to the lost children’s booth, but her parents weren’t there. For thirty minutes she sat at a small chair at a table, playing with a puzzle with her right hand, gripping piggy tightly with her left hand. She tried to act like she wasn’t scared, but the fear was overpowering. Officer Tom talked to her and told her about his own little boy. “I remember a time when I lost my son when he was three. We were at a really big store that sold coats. He was really scared, but we were scared too. You’re parents already checked in here and they went back to go see if they could find you. They’ll be back soon.” Finally, her father showed up at the door to the booth and the police officer greeted him. “She was found over near the entrance to the picnic area.” “Oh god Elaine! We were so scared!” He bent down and hugged her tightly. She wrapped her arms and legs around her father and for the first time let go of the piggy and started to cry, relieved to have found her parents. Checkout Jack and Elaine's other adventures Read the full article

[jpstadtlander]

Twisted Thursday - Top 10 Things I've Learned During the Coronavirus Lockdown

Yes, yes, we've all discovered a new side to ourselves in lock-down during the Coronavirus and COVID19 disease. We have discovered that for many of us it is possible to work from home and it is important to look out for others in this 'unprecedented time'. I found that I personally have discovered things that I never before thought about. Here are my Top 10 Things I've Learned in the Coronavirus Lockdown: 10. Clothing for Zoom meetings is optional

9. My cat really does sleep 90% of her life

8. The mute button is my friend (especially if the office is next to the bathroom)

7. Coronavirus does not actually give you diarrhea

6. Social distancing guidelines differ from country to country

5. Lifting a beer is a good interim work out during COVID19

4. If you have a birthday during the lock-down, you're getting ripped off

3. Too much television really does rot your brain

2. Productivity is way up when working from home

1. There really is a solution for homeschooling children

"Twisted Thursday" is an occasional spot written on a topic that I thought might be fun to 'twist'. Check out my other Twisted Thursdays. Read the full article