Putin on the Ritz

The beat of war drums has begun in earnest. Russia gives every indication that it intends to invade Ukraine at any moment. President Biden is mobilizing American troops for deployment to Eastern Europe. The expectation of our intelligence services is that Russia seeks to prompt some incident as a pretext for invasion, perhaps by appointing a hand-picked pro-Russian leader and installing him as Ukraine’s leader. After several ham-fisted attempts to address the situation with the press, our President has wisely gone silent for the past 48 hours. Better to remain silent and be thought incompetent than to speak and remove all doubt.

At this point I’m wondering what percentage of the American people would be in favor of sending American men and women to war over Ukraine? Indeed, what percentage of the American people could find Ukraine on a map? The answer to both questions would be roughly 5%. What vital American interest is served by war with Russia over Ukraine? There are none. Why would a country struggling to contain inflation, manage a pandemic, and bitterly divided on every contentious issue involving democratic governance, even contemplate adding war to the mix? I can think of absolutely no reason why this would be a good idea for America. If one of our biggest antagonists in the world is about to make the ruinous mistake of starting a war and consequently becoming bogged down for years in a bloody and costly conflict, why should we do anything to stand in their way? When your enemy is about to destroy itself, rule number one would be…don’t just do something, stand there!

Here’s what I think. Vladimir Putin is an old school, 19th century man. He thinks like an ultra nationalist who longs for Russian glory. He’s an ego-driven man who wants glory for Mother Russia and himself. In 2022, this is a recipe for eventual disaster for him and Russia. Should the rest of the world and the United States work to prevent war? Sure. Nobody wants war. But should the United States of America be committed militarily in a conflict where no vital American interests are at risk? 

Hell no!

40 Years

There’s usually no time for reflection in January. This is a hard work month for me. The beginning of the year means goal-setting, planning, and meetings—lots of meetings. Its the month when number crunching begins, the tallying of returns, the review of progress and the great recalibration. What did we do well? Where do we need help? What adjustments might be prudent? It can be a dizzying process, always made more so by whatever crisis happens to be sucking the oxygen out of the room. But this morning, like a bolt out of the blue, it hits me that I’ve been doing this for 40 years now. 40 years. To have been engaged in any occupation for 40 years is remarkable I suppose, but to have somehow survived in my chosen profession for this long feels miraculous. The investment business is a line of work that chews people up from the inside out. The stress of the job never goes away, it is as constant as the North Star. Even on the sunniest day, it’s that troublesome cloud on the horizon that nobody else sees. Nevertheless, this work is all I have ever known, so the stress has become so commonplace I can’t even describe it. To borrow that hackneyed phrase—it is what it is.

I have learned a great many things in 40 years, usually from making mistakes. This has always been true with me. My mother used to shake her head at my stubbornness, “Why do you have to do everything the hard way, Douglas?” My answers never satisfied her—“Because the hard way is more fun!” 

Here’s one thing I’ve learned. No matter what time it is, no matter what day, week, month, or year it is—there are always compelling reasons to buy and terrifying reasons to sell. Opportunity is everywhere, disaster lurking around every corner. There are abundant reasons for optimism, even while flashing red lights warn of perils. There are unprecedented technological innovations creating new products and services at breathtaking speed. There are new COVID variants, inflation, and war rumors in Ukraine. To be successful in my business takes an ability to strike the correct balance between greed and fear, dangerously exuberant optimism and paralyzing pessimism. Somehow, I have survived four decades. Pesto-Bismol, Imodium and Advil have been indispensable—a warped sense of humor even more so.

Like any other job done for 40 years, there are parts I love and parts I hate. I love the feeling you get when a plan comes together. I love when you are able to prevent someone from making a terrible decision. I love it when a client hits a long time goal. I love the people I work with, the camaraderie and the shared experiences. I hate the paperwork, the Byzantine labyrinth of regulatory minefields that must be daily crossed, the never ending pressure—is this the right call?? I hate the fact that I am never, ever finished.

But, this is the life I’ve chosen and it’s been a good life. It has prospered me. It has allowed me a degree of independence most people would die for. I’m grateful for every blessing.

Happy or Sad?

This is my view every single time I leave my office to head home at the end of the day. This is looking across Church Road near the corner of Church Road and Westerre Parkway. For 12 years I have stopped at this spot waiting to turn left. For 12 years there was a deep and mysterious woods here with giant pine trees, poplars, oaks and cedars. About three weeks ago I saw that someone had put up the orange plastic fence, then suddenly one day when I pulled up to this spot, it was all gone.

There are two ways to respond to this. The very first thing that popped in my head three weeks ago was…I wonder what’s going in there? The second response happened yesterday when all the trees were gone, which was…Ohhh, no—what happened to those beautiful woods? I suppose that your response to something like this is a reflection of how you feel about progress. 

On the positive side of this ledger, I see this happening and immediately think of what good things can come from this. First of all, lots of jobs are being created by this project. There are the surveyors and earth moving equipment people, then the planners and architects who will oversee the new construction. There are the timber men who will take those magnificent trees and turn them into useable lumber which will in turn be used to build homes, furniture and a whole host of other things. There are the men and women who will construct whatever will go in this space, carpenters, plumbers, electricians. Maybe some type of housing is going here which will provide warm places for people to live. All of this activity is good and proper.

On the negative side, I feel a hard to define sadness, a sense of loss. I wonder how long that stand of forest has stood there undisturbed by human activity. I think of all the animals who had made these acres their home, suddenly sent scurrying by monstrous machines. I think about the local psycho guy who often stalks back and forth on Church Road flailing his arms about manically. There’s a rumor that in the warm months he makes a camp in those woods, even though he owns a home nearby. My heart fills up for a moment and then I mumble aloud alone in my car, “they better not put a gas station or convenience store in there! If they must destroy it they better replace it with something more meaningful than that…” Always with the indifferent pronoun, they.

Maybe its ok to feel both ways about this. Maybe its alright to be excited about what good might come from this project, while still grieving the scar left by the overnight disappearance of so much ancient and noble life. Besides, on the other side of Church road stands a development of office condominiums where I have had an office for nearly 13 years. 15 years ago the woods was just as thick, just as mysterious, and the life that teemed there was just as ancient and noble.

But, Please God…don’t let it be another Sheets.

Learning to Live With an Apple Watch

My wife bought me an Apple Watch for Christmas. It wasn’t on my list, but I was the only one left in the family who didn’t have one so she surprised me with the thing. So far, I like it. It does some pretty cool things. But after three weeks of wearing it every day I have to admit that from time to time I resent it. I feel judged by my watch!

Ok, here is what the face of it looks like. It was no small feat to come up with that look. I had to choose from between dozens of designs, colors and styles. I finally picked this one and feel ok with it. However, the little icon that I have circled in red, has caused me no end of agitation and annoyance. Of course, in one brush of my index finger I could prohibit its appearance on the face of the watch altogether, but as you will soon learn, that would be tantamount to capitulation and out of the question! What is it, you ask?

Like most technological innovations, its intentions are quite noble. It is an Activity Tracker. Using parameters set up by me, it is designed to keep track of three things—1. my daily calorie burn calculated by my movement, 2. How much time I spend in exercise which is calculated by my heart rate, and 3. How many times I stand up during the day, or my stand goal. Throughout the day, as progress is made, the colored circles make their way—clockwise—around the face of the watch. Whenever any of the three circles is completed I get a creepy technological “Atta boy” in the form of what looks like a fireworks explosion on my wrist. Today, for instance, I was praised for standing up so much. This happens every day since I spend most of my time at work walking around the office while working and to avoid working. I’m not big on sitting. To rub in my failures, there’s another display which reminds you just how much of a bum you are…

To make matters infinitely worse, there are the little affirmation reminders which never fail to annoy me…

As bad as these Activity Tracker Affirmations are, the worse part is when the thing buzzes on my wrist, I look down expecting maybe a text from Pam but instead there’s a mindfulness reminder, whereby I am urged to take a moment to be…mindful. I am not told exactly what I am to be mindful about,  just that I need a mindfulness break. So, what does an almost 64 year old decidedly unmindful guy do? I Google it. 

Turns out that the mindfulness business is booming. I was diverted quickly to some outfit which promised to be on the mindfulness cutting edge with this stemwinder…

“An innovative technology that integrates cutting edge developments in neuropsychology with alternative modalities, including kinesiology, mindfulness meditation, acupressure/acupuncture, and the chakra system of the Vedic tradition.“

I might not have a clue what the Chakra system of the Vedic tradition is, but it sure sounds like something I want no part of. That’s a bit more than I bargained for. Best I can figure, “mindfulness” is the modern, hip version of what used to be called, “take a deep breath and count to ten.” But, how does my watch know that I need to take a mindfulness break? Is it just suggesting it at random on the assumption that I’m stressed? Or, is it tied to my heart rate or blood pressure? The whole thing is unnerving. 

And yet, even though I know its just a watch, I feel judged when its 8 o’clock at night and my “exercise ring” has barely budged. So now, in addition to all my other worries, I have feelings of activity inadequacy brought on by the smartest watch I’ve ever owned. My old watch might have stopped working at the worst possible time because its battery went dead…but it never gave me grief for being a couch potato. 

But, every time I look down at the thing and see a picture of someone I love, I feel like Dick Tracy, and that’s kinda cool.

Apparently, There Was an Inauguration

Last Saturday was a busy day here at the palatial Dunnevant estate. There was a snow storm in the forecast for Sunday and I had to take the outside Christmas decorations down. Saturday was also the day for my 3.5 mile walk. In addition, there were playoff games being televised literally all day long. So, my schedule was packed. Later that evening I pulled up Facebook and was surprised to learn two things. First, Governor Youngkin was inaugurated on Saturday less than 15 miles from my house and secondly—apparently lots of people watched it on television.

Once I thought about it for a minute it made sense—he was just elected in November. It would stand to reason that his inauguration would be in January. That’s the way it works in America. We elect people, then give them three months to pull together a party to celebrate themselves. Then, I ran across this picture in the Washington Post…

Looks like the incoming governor spent the last three months in the Bahamas, while the outgoing governor looks like if you put a dirty old cowboy hat on him, he would be a dead ringer for the guy who used to play Festus on Gunsmoke. 

Anyway, I had forgotten that there was an inauguration Saturday. Frankly, it took me about a minute to not only remember his name but also the name of the Festus-lookalike. But, eventually both names came to me and I breathed a sigh off relief. No, I am not suffering old age memory loss, and no, I am not a terrible citizen.

However, even if I had remembered the occasion, I must here confess to you that I cannot imagine any scenario under which I would have actually watched it on television. Seriously. An inauguration of a governor would be my last viewing choice even if the other choices included the professional badminton draft or The Real Housewives of Des Moines.

I don’t know what it is exactly, but the ceremonies of state just don’t interest me. I’m trying to remember the last time I watched one here in Virginia. Maybe I tuned in for a few minutes back when Doug Wilder took the oath…what was that, 1992? At least that one was historic, he being the first African American governor of the state and all. But, I think that was the last. As far as Presidential inaugurations, I remember watching Ronald Reagan’s first, and Bill Clinton’s first. I tuned in for the speech when Barack Obama took the oath the first time. That’s it.

But, my Facebook wall was full of people commenting on this and that from the ceremony. Apparently there was a flyover, a stirring song or two. Someone even stuck around for the inaugural parade, bragging about how awesome the Marching Dukes were. A couple of folks expressed their dread at what horrible mischief the incoming administration might inflict on the Old Dominion. Others seemed genuinely relieved to be free from the yoke of some sort of Festus-inspired oppression. Meanwhile, the only thing I was being oppressed by were the impossibly stubborn Christmas lights and my pathological inability to keep them untangled.

Maybe this lack of interest in governmental pageantry suggests something troubling about me. Perhaps I have become too cynical about politicians to the point of apathy. Maybe I have become so self sufficient at this stage of life that I feel no urgent need for government. Or, maybe after all the campaigns, all the accusations and warnings of the end of the world if so-and-so doesn’t win, I’ve learned that very little changes from one administration to the next. At best, each side spends their time whittling at the edges, then trying to spin it as change. 

I hold no ill will towards either of the men in this picture. I understand that Northern is going back into medicine. Maybe Youngkin will have success with something that truly matters, or at least—do no harm. My thoughts on all of this is not in any way a criticism of those who hold these ceremonies close to their hearts. In a way, I envy your devotion to the political life of the Commonwealth. If your guy won, good luck. If your guy lost, there’s always 2025. 

A Red Tail Hawk and a Life Lesson

Yesterday morning, I got all dressed up in my winter gear and went for a four mile walk in cold and windy conditions. Sometimes I do things like this for no apparent reason. Anyway, right in the middle of the walk something very cool happened. It was totally random and the entire thing was over in like 15 seconds, but I’ve been thinking about it ever since.

So I’m walking along in a culdesac in my neighborhood, as quick as I can without actually running to stay warm, when out of the corner of my eye I notice a large bird flying fast and close to the ground coming from my right to my left. I immediately recognized him as a red tail hawk. There are several in our neighborhood. By the time he crossed my path about thirty feet in front of me he was maybe six feet off the ground and descending fast in full kill mode, talons at the ready. Then I noticed the chipmunk on its haunches nibbling on something beside an azalea bush. In a flashing instant, the hawk hooded its beautiful wings and dove in for the kill sending mulch flying. But as the hawk emerged from behind the bush and began an ark to the left, his talons were empty. The chipmunk had somehow escaped. Now the hawk was flying skyward. I watched the elegant flight until he landed on the highest gable of a house on the side of the street from where he had first appeared, standing tall and proud, as majestic as he ever was.

I have since learned that hawks are only successful in 10% of their hunts. As beautiful and efficient as the process looks, 90% of the time they come up empty. But when this particular hawk failed to nab the chipmunk, he simply flew back to his previous perch and began scanning his horizon for the next opportunity. There was no temper tantrum, no fit of pique, no indignant squawking. He seemed to know how his life worked, that many attempts must be made before he gets his meal. Contrast the experience of the hawk with human beings. If our waiter gets our order wrong, if we have to stand in line more than three minutes at Burger King, if we discover that Outback is out of blooming onions, many of us go off the rails. 

Once again, leave it to the animal world to teach human beings how best to live. I see this all the time. I watch the birds taking turns at the bird feeder, all different types of birds, different sizes and shapes, a vast array of colors, all sharing the seed, eating from a common feeder. I see the kindness and loyalty of dogs, their sensitivity to our moods, their willingness to come along side us even closer when we are upset or sick. Of course I also see the worthless squirrel pilfering anything and everything, leaving a path of destruction in his wake…but squirrels are merely the exception that proves the rule.

So yeah…the hawk bungled the chipmunk hunt. But he kept his composure, and returned to the hunt with nobility of effort and purpose, knowing that his failure only meant that he was one step closer to success. An excellent reminder for all of us.

Stumbling Across a Theme

Making steady daily progress through the 90 day Bible reading thing, now a little over halfway through Exodus. I’ve once again noticed something that also stood out to me the last time we did this in 2018. There is a theme that I have stumbled upon. Yes, I am aware that there are many themes through all of scripture and this is not the most prominent one, I’m sure. But I’m only six days in and already I’ve seen it talked about four different times and I haven’t even gotten out of Exodus! Here it is…ready?

God spends a lot of time reminding people to take care of widows, orphans, the poor, and to be kind to the stranger.

That’s it. Thats the thing that has stood out so far. If I remember from 2018, I’m going to run into this theme many more times in the Old Testament and famously in the New Testament with the words of Jesus from Matthew 25: “I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me.” I’ve already read about God reminding Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob to make provision for the poor and to shelter the stranger. I’ll see it again in Leviticus, Psalms, Ruth etc…It seems to me that a topic that constantly comes up in the Bible should be something we take seriously.

Some of you might be thinking that I’m trying to make some political statement by bringing this up. Nothing could be further from the truth. My interpretation of these commands from God are that they are given to each of us—to individuals. We should take care of the widows, orphans, the poor, and we should welcome the stranger. What we do collectively through organizations, churches, and through government should indeed include these commands. But we are not off the hook as individuals just because we pay taxes that fund programs designed to help. To quote Dickens, “are there not poor houses?”  What this means for me, for Doug Dunnevant in 2022, is perhaps more complicated. After all, there are so many poor, so many homeless etc. But, while I can’t fix every problem around me, I can sure do a better job of noticing them. I can pay closer attention to the men and women who walk past me every single day. I can do a better job of opening my eyes to the needs of others instead of being so focused on my own problems. I can’t help but feel that since this command is woven through the entirety of scripture God must be deadly serious about it. 

Taking care of the poor, widows, orphans and strangers in the land isn’t the Gospel, but rather a result of an encounter with it. Caring for the poor is no substitute for the redemption that comes through faith in Christ, but neither is it some quaint notion that we so easily check off of our to-do list by the fact that we pay our taxes. James 1:27 puts it this way:

“Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.”

I’m no theologian, but those words seem awfully clear and unambiguous—and something I should take seriously.