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Josh Misner, PhD

Mindful Living in a Distracted World

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Josh "Dr. J" Misner

Mindfulness researcher, communication professor, Choctaw native, author of Put the F**king Phone Down

Anywhere But Here

Before you, I was free.

I had my choice of the time of day I woke up.

My breakfast, lunch, and dinner were all prepared one serving at a time, strictly to my liking.

Privacy and choices were as abundant as air and light.

I was accountable for every decision I made, because I was the only one who had to live with their consequences.

Living life was comfortable, and that’s how I liked it.

I couldn’t imagine living anywhere but here.

Then, the news came.

Two red lines where there should be one.

In a split second, my definition of manhood disintegrated, and as the dust settled, all that remained was one word, that label of which I was informed I would become soon.

Dad.

Contemplating this fork in the road, I wanted to be anywhere but here.

Before long, my freedom would inevitably fizzle.

I would have to wake up all hours of the night and early on the weekends.

My meals would be dictated by when you were hungry, eaten only after you were satisfied.

Privacy would become a precious commodity found only within the fortress of solitude that is a locked bathroom.

Choice would become a satellite orbiting your world, fully dependent upon your comfort, your safety, your wellbeing, and above all, your happiness.

Living life would forever become a complex web of neverending dilemmas, anxiety-ridden burdens, and seemingly incurable worries.

Now, that’s how I love it.

As a man, I helped make you a child.

As my child, you made me a father

Today, I can’t see myself happier.

Anywhere but here.

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Write Your Own Obituary

Deep in thoughtThe topic of death terrifies most of us. Facing our own mortality is neither a pleasant thought, nor is it one that most of us would choose to entertain on a daily basis. Even as I type the word “death,” I am suddenly reminded of the absolute truth that all of us will die, including myself and all of those whom I love — or not.

With this week’s passing of Westboro’s infamous Fred Phelps, I am reminded once again that death comes for us all. It matters not how we live our lives, for death is an immutable event and one of life’s few universal commonalities, though the chosen trajectories of each life may dictate the timing of our day of ultimate atonement. Continue reading “Write Your Own Obituary” →

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A New Definition of Leadership

Female Leader

Sheryl Sandberg, the Chief Operating Officer of Facebook, recently proposed that we ban the word “bossy.”  Her reasoning?

“When a little boy asserts himself, he’s called a ‘leader.’ Yet when a little girl does the same, she risks being branded ‘bossy.’ Words like bossy send a message: don’t raise your hand or speak up. By middle school, girls are less interested in leading than boys—a trend that continues into adulthood.”

A little over a month ago, I posted a quote from Sandberg on my website’s Facebook page: “I want every little girl who is told she is bossy to be told she has leadership skills.”  The post ignited a firestorm of commentary.  However, my reasoning behind the post was for my daughters.  I want them to grow up in a world that values their leadership skills, especially considering the level of time and effort I am investing in teaching them these skills.  As a professor whose doctorate is in leadership studies, it was only a matter of time before I waded into the issue. Continue reading “A New Definition of Leadership” →

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Coming Back Around: Catching Up With the Ticket Agent at the Delta Counter

When I originally wrote the article, “To the Ticket Agent at the Delta Counter,” I was not prepared for such an overwhelming public response. In fact, I only wrote the article because my wife suggested I do so as a lesson in seeking forgiveness and being a good example to my children. 

I will admit freely that, while writing the article, I had the same response as many have stated they had while reading it: I cried. For once, however, I didn’t cry solely because I tend to be overly sensitive. I cried because, as I wrote the story, I realized the importance of what I was writing. This was not just a letter to a man whom I would probably never meet again. It was not just a letter that might survive me and provide evidence to my children and future grandchildren that, once upon a time, there lived a dad who tried to do the right thing when all of his instincts told him to just drop it and move on with his lousy day.  Continue reading “Coming Back Around: Catching Up With the Ticket Agent at the Delta Counter” →

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To the Ticket Agent at the Delta Counter

In Chicago, we marveled at the snowfall on the tarmac. Looking out the window, I joked to my teenage daughter, “Who’s going to shovel all that snow off the wings before we take off?” A little part of me inside grew worried by the minute, because I knew that the harder the snow fell, the better the chances were for a delay.

Sure enough, our delay came. I refused to let it bother me, as I was intentionally trying to demonstrate patience to both my daughter and six year-old son accompanying me on our trip back home. This was a remarkably hard task, considering that, in the last three days, I acquired a cumulative four hours of sleep. Regardless, I kept cool with an ounce of pure determination, mixed with a dash of stubbornness.

I ended up sleeping through most of the pre-flight delay, as did my children, but it wasn’t until about 30 minutes before landing in Salt Lake City that panic set in. The flight attendant announced that, because of the delay, we would arrive at 11:00. Looking at the boarding pass for my connecting flight, I realized it was scheduled to take off at 11:02.

Two minutes. Continue reading “To the Ticket Agent at the Delta Counter” →

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Someone my son can believe in

Thinking back to my childhood, I scour the recesses of my fuzzy mind to retrieve a list of my male heroes and role models, summed up here:

  • Indiana Jones: To me, Indy was the quintessential action hero.  Witty when necessary, but more often than not, only as wordy as he had to be, Indy exemplified the balance between intellectualism (come on, he was an archaeology prof by day) and brawn.  We saw Indy get hurt, both emotionally and physically.  He was human in a way that other action heroes failed to achieve, and somehow, as a child, I believed in him.  More to the point, I believed that my pursuit of intellectual prowess would eventually lead me to live a life like his. Continue reading “Someone my son can believe in” →
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