By the time I was born, Dad was president of WPIX-TV Channel 11 in New York City.

Television was a terrific creative outlet for him. He was always coming up with fresh ideas for news broadcasts, programming, advertising, and operations.

He is perhaps best known for coming up with the idea for The Yule Log, a televised shot of burning logs filmed at the mayor’s Gracie Mansion in New York, and then put on a loop to broadcast to New Yorkers on Christmas Eve.

I have a yellowing typed copy of the original Yule Log memo that he circulated to the station management staff. It’s dated November 2, 1966. It reads:

From: Fred Thrower

Noveber 2, 1966

On Christmas Eve, Saturday, December 24, there is a hole in the COLLEGE BASKETBALL schedule (which is now firm for this time period starting December 3) from 10 to 11:30 p.m. — which gives us an opportunity to do something a little different and special.

I have a suggestion: That we announce and promote the fact that we are canceling all programs and commercials from 10 p.m. to 12:30 Midnight (we can easily knock out Roller Derby 11:30 to 12:30 Midnight) in order to present a WPIX CHRISTMAS CARD to our viewers.

Our “card” would consist of a piece of color film or tape (which we would have to have made) of approximately five minutes’ duration which would be repeated (via a looping process) over and over continuously for two and a half hours. The color picture would open on a beautiful fireplace with Christmas stockings and flaming Yule logs and the camera would dolly in eyeball to eyeball with the fire so that the effect is that the television set became a fireplace.

Audio-wise, we would feature two and a half hours of Christmas music and carols prepared by WPIX-FM (which would be a great advertisement for them). The radio station could carry the same program simultaneously and make announcements directing people to turn on their television sets and bring the warmth of the Yule logs into their homes.

You really have to see this to believe it, the television set actually becomes a fireplace and since Christmas Eve is a time for decorating the tree after the children have gone to bed the overall presentation should be most effective. And since we would be canceling all programs and commercials, it is startling enough to gain attention.

Unless there is something radically wrong with this idea which I haven’t thought of, I would like the station to lay it on — so, Hank, will you please discuss this “plot” with Messrs Freeman, Pope, Cooper, Tuoti, and Christian, find out what is involved and tell me whether it can and will be done.

Fred M. Thrower

PS: The stereo aspect of the sound would not have meaning for TV set owners but those with both TV and FM sets could turn on their FM sets for stereo and TV sets for picture.

Viewers tuned into this annual viewing treat for 23 consecutive years. Even those households with fireplaces enjoyed watching. Several years after Dad retired, however, the Yule Log went off the air only to return in 2001 due to popular demand. And guess what? The holiday video — now a four-hour loop with the original collection of Christmas carols completely remastered — won its time period in New York’s local Nielsen ratings for many years since its fiery comeback.

“I think if the idea is kept startingly simple, it will have the best chance of being effective” — Fred Thrower

LESSON: Dad believed in easy-to-understand communication. His memo was the spark. Nearly forty years after Dad typed up that memo, his fire is still burning brightly every holiday season.

Thanks, Dad.

For more about the Yule Log and Fred Thrower, click here.

Mitch’s father, Fred Thrower, was born in 1910 in Tampa, Florida. He was a New York television executive. He served as a Navy lieutenant and a Special Intelligence officer in the Office of Strategic Services (O.S.S.) during World War II.

We live in world of measurements and boundaries. Countries have borders; people have personal space. Our lives all have a timer, ticking down towards a destination we cannot see. Our language and interaction is filled with comparative measurements. How far are you going to go? How fast and is it? What is the temperature? How much does your bike weigh, and have you been on a scale lately?

Often, measurements are used to limit our activity. When we’re growing up, we are told we are too young for something. Then, for a brief moment, it seems we are old enough for anything, but, moments later, the expected activities for “older” people don’t include riding a bike or running a marathon.

Then came triathlon and with it such inspirational figures as Sister Madonna Buder, who finished Ironman Hawaii at age 76 and Ironman Canada at age 82. Or, if you want to go back to the beginning of triathlon, John and Judy Collins’ son Michael finished the 1979 Ironman at age 16. Michael was then bettered by Robin Tain and Rodkey Faust, who both finished the Ironman at age 14, just before cooler heads prevailed and the minimum age was set at 18.

Still, numbers and limits can be useful, especially as they apply to training technology. Technology allows us to measure our splits, our heart rates, the weight and effectiveness of our equipment. But where is comparable technology for our minds?

After all, the greatest supercomputer on earth is between our ears, and it’s powered by things as simple as bananas and spinach.

According to the National Science Foundation, the average person thinks about 12,000 thoughts per day. More active thinkers might put forth 50,000 thoughts daily. Some professional athletes work with performance coaches to actually reduce the number of thoughts per day — the contention being that highly trained pro athletes must get rid of negative and useless thoughts. But a more effective approach might be to develop a better eye for the useful ideas (and then focus on the really good ones), rather than simply trying to pare back the overall volume — particularly given the mind-body synergy that all triathletes develop, which powers our thinking and quickens our minds.

Fitness amplifies thought. Triathletes, swimmers, bikers, runners — all learn quickly that exercise improves brain function, increases memory, enhances thinking skills and provides clarity and perspective.

The ultimate question then becomes: when you start to pay close attention to, and take control of the power of your thoughts and amplify these thoughts with exercise, what will you do with this new superpower?

Grab your thoughts, go somewhere great.

Train Smart,

-Mitch Thrower

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Find more articles and videos at: http://www.mitchthrower.com/

In second grade I had a teacher who read a book to our class called The Last of the Really Great Whangdoodles. Almost daily, in the middle of a sentence, the 11 o’clock bell would ring, thrusting our entire class up from our chairs as we bolted to the door. It was time for recess.

I don’t remember much from that class besides the Whangdoodles, but the activities and personalities from recess are still with me. I can hear the laughter as we raced to the swings, diving into the swirling energy of our classmates as we poured our hearts into a game of kickball or dodgeball. I can still feel my stomach rise as I launched into the air in a leap of faith from the swing set.

Last week, at the end of a long morning, I looked at the clock. With only 10 minutes until lunchtime (recess), I began to plan: throw on a pair of running shoes and run along the cliffs in La Jolla, or race to the Masters workout and flip around in the warm San Diego sunshine. Far better than wasting time in some restaurant waiting for a meal to only later regret. Under my desk, I began to stretch my calves. In that instant, I decided that the coolest thing about being an adult is planning our own recess and that our playground is: the entire world.

Why is it that so many of us use our recess to train? Why do we use our free time to move our bodies far and fast over running trails and cycling routes? Perhaps it’s because the experiences we have on our bike, grinding up a long climb and winding down a long descent, give us gifts of kinesthetic joy, discovery, and achievement — seasoned with a taste of our human potential.

Breathing deeply in training forces our bodies into a pattern of relaxation and it makes us –wherever we are — kids on a playground. Psychologists have said that when people play they gain control over their world, and by manipulating their activities they can control the outcome of events.(cont. →)

How we play reveals the best in us — the stubborn immortality of the child inside. Playing as a triathlete is an exercise in pure possibility, of an unlimited potential to grow. There is something strikingly similar to the feeling of the starting cannon of the Ironman, and that bell we all thirsted for in second grade.

We are, through this sport, doing what we want to be doing every time that bell goes off.

Mitch Thrower is a Financier, Entrepreneur, Author and 22x Ironman Triathlete. More articles here.

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Life is full of shortcuts. When you are at Master’s swim practice and the coach gives you a backstroke set, and someone is closing in on your heels, it’s easy to simply grab and pull the lane line underwater to give yourself a boost. It is also sometimes tempting to stop swimming at the end of your lane in the middle of a hard set — “just for a couple of laps” — while the people that are doing the full workout splash you with their flip turn.

“Lingering factors” may have also kept you on the pool deck before the workout for “just a few minutes longer,” cutting your training session even shorter. There will always be shortcuts you can take during your workout because you can too easily recalibrate your objective, and workouts are often self-defined. On my long run last week, I heard this obnoxious little voice inside my head say, “You should stop early, cut 20 minutes off the run and make it up tomorrow.” After consideration, I laughed and tried to remember a good song to get motivated.

There are shortcuts that cheat you and shortcuts that cheat others. There are also shortcuts that save time, money and energy. The goal is to know the difference. When someone uses the word cheating, I vividly remember two things — first, looking down at the typewriter keys in my high school typing class, and, second, a phone call I received in 1994.

I raced in the Windward Triathlon in Hawaii in 1994, and I left the island of Oahu one finisher’s place shy of a qualifying spot for the big show in Kona. I was in the top rankings, had raced so hard and was surprised to have missed a spot because I could see the race leader for much of the race. I landed on a United Airlines flight in San Diego Airport the next morning sore, discouraged and exhausted. Then, several days after the race, my mobile phone rang, and the voice of an angel from the Ironman organization let me know that the person in front of me had been disqualified, and that I was now invited to race in the big show in Kona.

Mr. Lickety Split perhaps stopped to tie his shoes and forgot which direction he was headed, or maybe it was the heat. In any case, the spotters at both out-and-back turnaround points never sighted his number, and when they approached him about his blistering pace in world-record-breaking time, he gave up his slot. Apparently, he took the wrong shortcut.

Shortcuts surround you — from the desktop of your computer, where you’ve likely created shortcuts, to financial shortcuts like the lottery. Anything we do can give us a shortcut to pleasure. You can take a shortcut to happiness via a big hunk of chocolate mud pie, or you can take the shortcut to forget about your challenges by pouring some high-class booze into your bloodstream. Or you can just take the shortcut to bed and get a solid night’s sleep.

They are your shortcuts. The race of life is often not a straight line, and the course is not always marked clearly. But if you look in your soul, there are indelible course markers pointing you in the right direction. Just as you honestly know when you are illegally drafting in a race, you also know when you are taking the wrong direction in life. To this day, I’m not sure if it’s legal to avoid a traffic light by cutting through a gas station, and everyone I ask always says yes (as long as they are in the passenger seat).

Life is full of shortcuts. Be sure you only choose the ones you know are right.

Mitch Thrower is a Financier, Entrepreneur, Author and 22x Ironman Triathlete. More…

Sometimes we are blessed with a brief view into someone else’s daily life that reminds us what life is all about.

Sitting in the Whole Foods outdoor café in La Jolla, California, I noticed an elderly man walking with great difficulty to his car. He moved with excruciating effort through the parking lot, cautious and slow. Hunched over his cane, every step was painful and every movement required focus and attention. As he crept forward, he was passed by people breezing by with oblivious ease. After a time, he was standing at the back of his car.

My first thought was fear. Fear that he was going to be driving, because it was obvious that he was having a challenging time. I am a cyclist, so admittedly my frame of reference is a built around caution and to imagine him behind the wheel struck a chord of dread in me.

I watched and chewed my spinach salad as he stood behind the car, as if to catch his breath. I was on alert — wondering if something was wrong, and ready to jump in if there was. I watched closely but nothing seemed amiss. He looked back to the store, holding on to the cane. He seemed like a kid holding on to the security of home base in a game of back yard tag.

In situations like this, awkward thoughts run through your mind. Should I mention to him that he should not be driving? Should I ask him if he needs anything from inside the store? Should I engage at all?

He seemed to be enjoying the day. He was smiling at people as they passed and waved at a few passersby. When an impatient driver who wanted his parking spot honked at him, he waved his finger back and forth in the air to indicate he wasn’t ready to leave just yet.

Then I noticed him stand up as straight as possible, reach down and open the trunk. As he did this, I noticed the woman he was waiting for and saw them smile at each other. Elderly but still quite fit, she walked toward him carrying the groceries. His eyes connected with hers and shone like a golden retriever seeing his best friend again.

At that moment the lens with which I considered this man changed radically. He had obviously left the store early and said something like, “I’ll get the car ready for you,” He did this perhaps he did not want her to wait while he walks so slowly. Perhaps he wanted to remain helpful despite a body that was struggling.

What struck me most was the young whippersnapper pose of pride he donned when he saw her and stood up as straight as he could, lifting his shoulders back just ever so slightly. He transformed himself into as much of the valiant young man he once was. He was demonstrating that he was always waiting faithfully to help her.

After what was likely a lifetime of helping her, he was holding on to the role of protector, lover and friend.

When the trunk was loaded, he walked over to help her in the car door, even though he was the one who seemed in need of help.

Then he walked around to the passenger side and slowly got in the car. I could almost hear his voice as I imagined what he said when he closed the door, “We’re ready to go now, dear. What a beautiful day.”

###

Mitch Thrower is a Financier, Author, Entrepreneur and 22x Ironman Triathlete read more…

You’re it.

Kids and triathletes of any age share a secret bond. This is one of the reasons triathletes tend to get better and faster as they get older.

Just spend a morning analyzing behavior on playgrounds. Starting with high school and working your way backward, take a snapshot of free time each year. As you progress toward kindergarten, you will find more and more kids running.

It is a simple fact that young kids, when given free time on playgrounds, in gyms or on beaches anywhere in the world, can almost always be found running. From a game of tag to the simple rapid transit from one end of anywhere to the other, kids love to run.

The secret is that we are all still kids, and life is our playground. Life is not a pool with a ‘No Running’ sign posted — although it may feel like it sometimes.

Just imagine people all around you running into a grocery store from their cars, sprinting through the doors and laughing and playing tag in the laundry detergent aisle — or saying, “Ready, set, go! First one out is the winner.” Imagine the streets of New York City, with everyone running every time the walk signs turned green.

I have always maintained that the fountain of youth is movement. I think it’s a cultural mishap of a society dedicated to production that somewhere along the way, in a misguided attempt to maintain “order” so we could increase our Gross Domestic Product, society trains us to embrace the Tao of an inert existence, sitting, and even the motionlessness we experience while waiting in a line or driving.

But if kids could be bothered to express their innate behavior verbally, they would tell us that the more you run, the easier it gets. In simpler words, they might say that running should always be a spontaneous solution for your body to get somewhere faster or to play. Realize this: Running is not a hassle. It is a physiological way to push the reset button in your mind. It’s a simple way move our flesh over land.

In the last two decades of triathlon, I’ve met triathletes from all over the globe, and I’ve discovered that running tends to be the sport least enjoyed. Perhaps the fact that we’ve decided to put a marathon after a 112-mile bike ride and a dip in the ocean in our most prestigious event has something to do with our sport’s perception that running is the challenging part of triathlon — but running should be fun.

The next time you sit down with your training journal, ask yourself, when was the last time you let your natural competitiveness and your body’s innate passion for movement express itself randomly? When was your last training run along a sandy beach, when you ran as fast as you could out of joy, instead of a chore monitored by heart rate and measured against distance? When did you go to a large, green field with your training partners and simply play running games? Why is it that as people engage in more “adult” behavior, motion tends to dissipate and our free time is hijacked by sedentary pursuits?

The sport of triathlon is a one-way ticket back to the playground — to the joy in movement. There is absolutely no difference between a triathlon and a giant game of tag. After all, when the starting gun fires, the guy behind you is It. When he passes you, you’re It.

Go catch him.

Mitch Thrower is a Financier, Entrepreneur, Author and 22x Ironman Triathlete. More…

Kona, Hawaii, the week before the biggest race in the sport: the Ironman. During pre-race week, swim every morning at the Kailua Pier. Think about how nice it would be to live in Hawaii. Find a massage therapist and get a pre-race massage. Think about your fitness level as you watch the finest bodies on the planet saunter around, quads bulging, wash-boards flexing…

As a part of the 100-step preparation plan, put reflectors on your race clothes, and then hope to finish during daylight. Visit this nervous place between excitement and fear. Feel like an Olympian marching with your country at the parade. Attending pre-race meetings and pasta dinners, wonder how much more bloated you could feel during a taper.

Think about your training, your life, your nagging injury and whether or not you’re catching a cold. Remember to wrap your bike gear and water bottles in a garbage bag before checking in your bike — it always rains the night before Ironman.

On race morning, be happy that not too many people have found the same secret bathroom that you lined up at. To avoid eye-fog, put a small drop of Johnson’s Baby Shampoo in your goggles, then rinse them twice. Store an extra pair of goggles in the back of your suit. Question your self-seeding at the start as you feel legs and elbows bump into you before the cannon goes off. Seconds before the start, remember to lift your legs to the surface, to get those few added seconds.

Feel the boom of the cannon shoot straight through your heart as you become a fish in a boxing match. Think it will get better, even though people will stay around you for the entire 2.4-mile swim. Climb out of the water. As your tongue touches the top of your mouth, acknowledge the feel of cotton mouth, having gargled salt water for over an hour.

On your bike, feel the crowd that will launch you out of Kailua with a cheer. Find yourself on the Queen K lava fields with a long and visible strip pf cyclists in front and right behind. Continue your journey over the overcooked burnt brownie spewed forth by Madame Pele.

Be relieved to be relieved on the bike. A few ounces lighter, put the hammer down. Hydrate and eat the perfect amount of food. Hit the wind and get discouraged, then remember it’s everyone’s wind. The town of Hawi will blow by; feel the need to get back to the finish faster. As the sun gets higher in the sky, the tailwinds will turn into headwinds, then back again. Realize that you don’t want this moment, this day, this race to end — you’ve been waiting a very long time for these “few” hours. Sense the burn in your legs and take note that your tan line is being tattooed onto your body by the Kona sun. Pull up on the pedals as well as push down to relieve fatigue on your quads.

As you and your cycle-rocket arrive at the transition, dismount your bike and stumble into the changing tent. The tent-people will help you with your stuff, put sun-block on your back, and with enthusiasm comment, “You look great! Keep it going! Good luck.” Depart the tent with new friends.

Begin your journey through out and back into town. Thousands of people will be there cheering you on. Hear the cheers fade, and acknowledge that the only sounds left are your breathing, your heartbeat and the squish-squish-squish of your feet — wet with sweat and water — as they hit the steamy pavement. Question more parts of yourself than 100 years of therapy can. Pretend that the race is 26 one-mile races.

Enter the “Lack-of-energy Lab,” and think about the finish line. Grab your special-needs bag; it will feel like it was in a microwave oven just as you yourself feel like you’re in that oven. Remember Paula Newby-Fraser’s advice: Continue to put ice in your running cap at every station. Get a cramp. To relieve it, take controlled breaths. The cramp will disappear.

Run back towards town, and hear the crowds grow louder. On your final approach, run away from the town, then down a glorious hill to the start of the most memorable pavement on the planet: Ali’i Drive.

The lights will be in front of you, the cheer will grow to an uproar. The uproar will spread to every cell in your body.

Feel something that you can never explain.

Finish the Ironman.

Mitch Thrower is a Financier, Entrepreneur, Author and 22x Ironman Triathlete. Click here for More…

We are about 2 hours and 30 min into the flight from NYC to SAN when the announcement comes that shakes everyone on the flight to the core. “Is there a doctor on board? Please, if anyone is a doctor on board, please identify yourself and come help us in first class.” Her voice was in a panic.
I sat up in my seat and looked back to see if there was a doctor on board, and unfortunately, the people on the plane seemed frozen– there was no doctor.

Jumping out of my seat, I ran to first class, and could immediately see an elderly lady on the ground, who had lost all her color. She was staring lifeless and breathless at the ceiling of the airplane. The flight attendant was starting chest compressions and he was concurrently trying to see if she was breathing, which she was not. I corrected her head position and started mouth to mouth pushing air into her lungs, as the focused flight attendant Ryan Moore kept yelling, “Bring me the AED, bring me the AED!” to the other flight attendants. Ryan was the most professional, amazingly well trained airline personnel I have every interacted with, Delta should be proud. He was calm, professional and followed the exact protocol required to save a life.

When the AED arrived from the back of the plane, he started to open the kit, and get it read. He moved with lightning speed to set up the equipment and in seconds she had the electric leads and pads on her chest. As he worked with the equipment, I took over the chest compressions — short bursts, just like the CPR safety video I watched just months before on YouTube, and a pediatric nurse joined our impromptu rescue crew, and as I continued the compressions, she took over mouth-to-mouth breaths to fill the lungs, along with checking for pulse periodically. “I’m not getting a pulse, I’m not getting a pulse!” she said.

As we continued CPR, the entire plane held its breath, praying that she would start breathing again.

The women was still unconscious and with no pulse — time was moving at a snail’s pace. After the flight attendant put the sticky paddles on the women’s chest, he yelled “Clear!” to keep the patient from shocking anyone else, and with a beep, the device delivered the first shock. She seemed to move around a bit, but the shock did not seem to restart the heart — so we kept doing CPR, then delivered a second shock.

And it is here when her rescue breathing started, short breaths as she was gasping for air. The O2 arrived and the nurse and I changed positions and I grabbed the back of her neck and started to talk to her while holding the O2 mask on her face.

I asked her daughter about her age, history, medications, and found out that she had recently been cardioverted from Atrial Fibrillation, which is when the heart goes into an abnormal beat and is then shocked back into a normal beat. It is dangerous in much older folks, because of the risk of stroke, though this did not look like a stroke, this looked more like a heart attack caused by blockade hitting her heart, perhaps because she was flying with a broken leg.

Her blood pressure was coming back from the readings the nurse was now taking, and her pulse was a locked in120, which seemed to indicate that she was shocked back to a-fib — e.g. close waves on the cardiac read.
She had been without vitals for about 4–5 min as we performed CPR. She was also on other heart medication, which her daughter shared the names.
As she started slowly to regain consciousness, I asked her daughter her name, and she was called “Nana”, so I started to talk to her, “Nana, my name is Mitch, it’s going to be ok, we’re all here and there is a lot of noise, but listen to my voice, your daughter is here as well. You’re doing fine.” Her eyes were beginning to open and close.

With the application of the O2 mask, she started to feel more and more alert, but still was laying down with only her eyes moving. “Nana, can you hear me?” I asked, and she nodded slowly. “She’s responsive!” I said. And the nurse and I exchanged a quick glance of relief.

I kept my left hand around her head and neck and held her head and kept talking to her, explaining to her what was going on. Her sweet blue, fearful eyes looked up at me and I looked down to her, and told her it was all ok, and that she was going to be fine over and over again for the hour. I could see the fear slowly dissipate from her glances and she started to relax as she and I communicated with the tornado blowing around us. I just kept talking to her.

Whenever you are going through something of this magnitude, just having someone who cares next to you means the world. One of the lonely things about dying is that we leave everyone behind as we go to see what’s next.
The pilot had diverted the flight to St. Louis and we were descending quickly and heading for the closest airport, you could feel the plane dropping like it was an amusement park ride. I told Nana we were going to land and that she would be ok.

When I mentioned to her that she was going to the hospital, she also asked the sweetest thing. She said with a mumble through the O2 mask, “Oh dear, how long will I have to stay in the hospital? Will I miss the rest of this flight to San Diego?” The spark of life in her blue eyes was growing stronger and stronger.

I told her “Nana, you’re going to have quite a story to tell, I’ll bet you’ve never landed on a flight while lying down.” She smiled at me through the O2 mask.

Ryan, the flight attendant who performed the two shocks kept taking her blood pressure, and monitoring the AED, while now helping the nurse get an IV line in to her arm, just in case.

Nana looked up at me frequently now. I had become her friend. She would close her eyes every short bit, and then re-open them to make sure I was still there, just inches away — as if to check in on me, even though she could feel my hands around her neck, damp from perspiration.
The compassion of the entire plane seemed to be in my hands as I was holding her head with one hand and the O2 mask placed gently on her face with my other.

As we descended, I stayed with her, holding her in the aisle. When everyone sat back down in their seats, Ryan sat in the chair next to her monitoring the AED, which was monitoring her heartbeat. I wedged myself in the asle, so she would not be scared, using my legs to brace myself for landing by propping them against the aisle chairs on either side of the plane. The flight attendant counted down, 10, 9, 8, 7, then we landed softly when he said 1.
The pilot had performed a perfect landing, and our patchwork medical crew had brought Nana back to life. Her daughter who was traveling with her was speechless and holding back tears.

We taxied to the gate and the EMTs arrived quickly. We briefed them on the situation and helped Nana sit up slowly, and I passed her off into the arms of the EMT from St. Louis.

I did not realize until I stood up after being pretzel-cramped on the floor with Nana leaning on me for close to an hour, that my legs had gone numb and were now trembling. But I could feel my soul beaming with the amazing visual I will now have in my mind forever of Nana coming to life as I held her head, after we all took turns performing CPR.

Before she left the cradle of my arms and hands, I had said, “Nana are you ok, are you uncomfortable?” and I gently pushed her hair from her face. She replied to me with a bit of a smile and raise of her two bushy grey eyebrows, “Well, I’m most certainly uncomfortable, but I’ll be ok,” and she smiled again behind the O2.

I smiled back at her and she and I were connected — in the way that only two total strangers, born decades apart, who have shared the moments of CPR, the moments of re-entry into life at 30,000 feet.

Though I may never see her again, I will most certainly never forget her.
It’s perhaps important to say that my sister died in my arms at age 16 while I was performing CPR as I tried to bring her back. Her bone cancer had spread to her lungs and they filled with fluid.

Because of this, Nana from Delta flight 2303 will always carry a special place in my heart.

What a flight.

-Mitch

Mitch Thrower is a financier, entrepreneur and philanthropist living in La Jolla, California. He can be reached via www.mitchthrower.com

Looking outside of the window, I huddled my hands around my head to block the light from the guy reading in the seat behind me. As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I can see what at first looks like a cloud — and now I recognize it as the Northern Lights — like an the wisps of an airbrush from a painter in heaven. The sky is lit up with so many colors. It looks like you can see the earth moving through space. We’re far above 35,000 feet. Looking up, I can clearly see the big dipper above us — in what looks like a bright starlit darkness.

The navigation map says we are someplace south of Greenland over the Atlantic Ocean. I’m listening on my iphone to Howie Day’s Acoustic version of his song “Collide.” A new classic.

The Dawn is breaking….

The older women sitting on my left cannot use her hands — they are shaking — she may have Parkinson’s. She is so sweet. I’m helping her get her fork out of the wrapper now, and get her earphone plug in. She was a nurse for people before they passed away, once helping others and now she is the one who needs help. She is trying so hard to maintain her pride, even though some of the most basic things require assistance. She decided to take a trip to Africa to go on a safari — alone.

I think her family has passed, and she needs a wheelchair, the flight crew carried her on the plane and sat her next to me. She told me about her safari, and that she “simply had to see the real lions,” because she collects all things lion. And, she wanted to pet a giraffe. She lives on a ranch in California, and her eyes would light up when she would talk about her animals who she so obviously loved with all her heart. She was genuinely a caregiver.

I was watching a movie on my mini-screen, and she was watching her movie, and at some point I realized she started to watch my movie. I knew what was going on. She was watching my small screen because she wanted to watch something with someone, not alone. It mattered not what it was that I was watching, or if she could hear the sound, it could have been a blank screen, but for that moment, we were doing something together and that meant a great deal to her.

I can feel her resolve to still-do-despite-her-illness, just from sitting next to her. It breaks my heart, and renews my faith to see the courage she is exhibiting — insisting that she can do the smallest of things with her hands that are no longer working very well.

Even the best fall down sometimes, even the wrong words seem to rhyme, some how find you and I’d collide.

She’s asleep now. Her hands are not shaking any more, they only shake when she is awake and trying to move them.

I’m quiet you know, you make a first impression.
Even the stars refuse to shine.

In moments like this, I feel like I’m traveling above the earth, in the firmament of my life.

In these moments I look back on my life and consider that though we may seem to be just ants in this global human ant hill, we are more than ants. Finding out at some point in our lives that we are only one among the 7 billion people on one planet, jetting around one sun, traveling among trillions of stars in the sky — it would easy to feel insignificant. Yet it is the very people whose numbers would theoretically make us feel less significant, that in a moment as simple as helping one person take their plastic fork out of its plastic wrap — with a glance of thanks — help us to scratch the surface of our great significance.

Are we not a walking aid station to the lives we touch every day? Are we then not also the stars and lights that brighten the skies and the lives of our friends, lovers and family. We are not mere ants in a human ant hill, but stars that shine as the music plays in the lives of those around us.

Time to glisten.

***

Mitch Thrower is an author, financier, entrepreneur and 22x Ironman triathlete. More at http://www.mitchthrower.com