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April
Questioning My Faith
Admit something:
Everyone you see, you say to them, "Love me."
Of course you do not do this out loud, or someone
would call the cops.
Still, though, think about this, the great pull in
us to connect.
Why not become the one who lives with a full moon
in each eye
that is always saying,
with that sweet moon language,
what every other eye in this world is dying to
hear? ~ Hafiz
(Poems thanks to Julianna Parker)
"What religion are you?" my thirteen-year-old
son, Seamus, asked me the other night, as we were
driving home from an ice cream shop. His mother and
I have been divorced since he was six months old.
He’s grown up a strict Catholic, serving as an
altar boy, going on a mission to Haiti, and now
attending a Jesuit high school under his mom’s
watchful, Irish Catholic eye.
"Buddhist," I quipped in response to his
question, as Moose Tracks dripped from our cones
onto our fingers.
"Really?" he asked.
"Nah, I just have read a lot about it and done
my share of meditation. So it’s the best
answer I have at the moment."
Seamus was satisfied enough with my answer to
finish his cone. But his question stayed with
me.
The next morning I got up early and looked out
my bathroom window. A cold front had come through
overnight, and after days of soupy fog and
humidity, the air had finally turned clear and
cool. A full moon, shining a vibrant white over the
Atlantic Ocean, hung perfectly in the frame of the
window. A couple hours later I took Penny, our
four-month-old yellow lab, for a walk. She sniffed
clumps of grass, chased small birds, and tried to
lick a toddler who ambled by, while I thought more
about Seamus’s question.
I was born a Quaker, tenth generation on my
Dad’s side going all the way back to Timothy
Matlack, who is said to have been the scribe who
put the words to the Declaration of Independence on
paper. But Timothy wasn’t much of a Quaker. He
was kicked out of meeting for betting on cock
fights, bear baiting (where, just for sport, you
chain a bear to a stake and then unleash waves of
dogs to attack it), and participating in the
Revolutionary War, against the protests of his
pacifist relatives.
My parents were hyper-intellectual hippies whose
Quaker faith was more about protesting the Vietnam
War than finding God. At least that’s how it
seemed to me as a young child. While I respect what
Quakers stand for, I wouldn’t call myself a
Quaker.
I am more of a Timothy type of Matlack. I became
CFO of a big company and then a venture capitalist
as my own form of rebellion against my do-good
parents. In the process I got myself into a heap of
trouble participating in my own version of bear
baiting as a drunk with an emphasis on bad
behavior. I eventually wound up on my knees,
pleading for God’s—any
God’s—intervention. Throughout history,
Muslims, Jews, Christians have died for their
faith, but even in my most desperate moments, when
I was ready to embrace religion, I still
couldn’t figure out what I was.
But now I know.
I have Seamus, with whom I share a secret
handshake ending in a father-son, jumping chest
bump. I also have a four-year-old son, Cole, who
climbs into bed with me before my eyes are even
open and spews whole paragraphs about Batman
without stopping for air. And I have a teenage
daughter, Kerry, who, despite her shy temperament,
performs in her schools plays with so much ease and
pleasure that she moves the audience to tears and
laughter every time. My wife, the most beautiful
woman I know, tickles me when she thinks I am being
arrogant and rubs my feet after particularly long
days. I can ride my bike down the huge hill near
our house and scream at the top of my lungs, not
caring if anyone hears me. And some mornings, the
moon appears in the frame of my window just for
me.
This is what I am. I have no idea what you call
it. But I believe in all of this. None of it is an
accident. This is my religion.
Some Kiss We Want
There is some kiss we want with
our whole lives, the touch of
spirit on the body.
Seawater
begs the pearl to break its shell.
And the lily, how passionately
it needs some wild darling!
At night, I open the window and ask
the moon to come and press
its face against mine.
Breathe into me.
Close the language-door and
open the love window.
The moon
won't use the door, only the window.
-- Rumi, translated by Coleman
©2011, Tom
Matlack
* * *
While all complain of our ignorance and
error,
everyone exempts himself. - John Glanville
Tom Matlack,
"I am a sucker for real-life heroes, particularly
the ones that get overlooked. My profile work grew
from my first published piece, THE RACE, which
describes my own life altering experience in an
athletic event barely worthy of the local paper.
Coaches and athletes in the sport of rowing were my
initial focus before expanding to mainstream sports
like professional basketball. Music, film, and
television have proven fertile ground for heroic
journeys of a different, but related, kind.
Finally, I have continued to write bits and pieces
of my own story in an attempt to inspire and
enlighten."
Thomas Matlack was Chief
Financial Officer of The Providence Journal until
1997. He was the lead investor in Art Technology
Group, which reached $5 billion in market
capitalization in 2001. He founded and ran his own
venture firm, started companies like American
Profile (sold to Disney for $260 million) and
Telephia (sold to Neilson for $560 million), before
turning to writing. His work has appeared in
Rowing News, Boston Common, Boston
Magazine, Boston Globe Magazine and
Newspaper, Wesleyan, Yale,
Tango, and Pop Matters.
In 2008, Matlack founded
www.TheGoodManProject.org,
with his venture capital partner James Houghton. He
has appeared on national and local television and
radio as well as print across the country. The fall
of 2009, Matlack led a non-conventional book tour
for The
Good Men Project that
started inside Sing Sing and ended in Hollywood
with a screening of THE GOOD MEN PROJECT
documentary film followed by a panel discussion
including Matt Weiner and Shepard
Fairey.
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