Creativity:

Eric Fromm perceived creative individuals as those who possessed the ability to be aware of (to see) and to respond. Ulyssean adults tend to look at the world both realistically and optimistically. They can and often do acknowledge difficulties, deficits, and problems; however, they are able to look beyond immediate obstacles and into future possibilities. While one person says, "I can't", the Ulyssean adult says, "I just haven't yet."

The Peace Pilgrim demonstrated her creativity in a number of ways. She utilized her energy and resources in ways that almost always produced maximum results. She developed plans for instituting and maintaining effective peace fellowships. She wrote thoughtfully and well about such issues as conflict resolution, living the spiritual life, dealing with fear and anger, and prayer.

Resiliency:

Ulyssean adults have been wounded at least as much as the average person; however, Ulysseans don't completely surrender to suffering or failure in total despair. Instead, they choose to view their misfortune as an experience from which they can learn and grow.

During the Peace Pilgrim's journey through Arizona, while mailing letters, she was arrested for vagrancy. As she was placed in the cell block, she looked around and said to herself, "Peace Pilgrim, you have dedicated your life to service --behold your wonderful new field of service!" She immediately began speaking with her fellow cellmates and got them to sing songs in order to lift their spirits. Next, she taught them an exercise, and then began sharing her steps toward inner peace with her new friends. She later described her day and night of confinement in jail as "beautiful," writing: "Every experience is what you make it and it serves a purpose. It might inspire you, it might educate you, or it might come to give you a chance to be of service in some way."

Unexpectedness:

Ulyssean adults tend not to always follow predictable patterns of behavior. What can and often does make many of us feel angry, might instead cause the Ulyssean to laugh or respond sympathetically. For example, while a great number of individuals are looking forward to retirement as a time of rest and relaxation, the Ulyssean may very well perceive retirement as an opportunity to confront new challenges.

Somewhere between El Paso and Dallas, during the first year of her pilgrimage, the Peace Pilgrim was apprehended by the FBI and booked for vagrancy. When they fingerprinted her, she found the process fascinating. When they took her mug shot, she smiled sweetly. When they brought her to be interrogated and began firing one question after another at her, she took advantage of the opportunity to educate her interrogators, and gladly answered each and every one of their questions.

The Peace Pilgrim was an extraordinary woman who lived an extraordinary life. Few of us would choose, or be able, to go to such extreme measures in order to experience the benefits of the Ulyssean adult. There are, however, numerous activities and attitudes that Ulysseans engage in that are neither heroic nor dramatic. One Ulyssean man whom I admire tremendously has lived a very quiet and simple life. His quest has always been that of learning, a desire he enthusiastically fulfills primarily through reading. He has demonstrated courage and resiliency in a number of ways. Most striking to me was the way in which he faced a life threatening illness with strength, faith, and optimism. While he's never made a large salary, his resourcefulness has enabled him to travel extensively and to own a lovely home with a breathtaking view. His creativity is immediately acknowledged when one takes a stroll in his "magic" garden. His appreciation of rainy days, his joyful and abrupt laughter, his sense of wonder with so much that his companions consider ordinary, all serve to reveal his unexpectedness.

A NATIVE AMERICAN VISION AND GIFTS FROM THE WEB

I grew up under the dark and ominous cloud of a religion that taught that the world would come to an end by the year 1975. Before 1975, when I was asked what I was going to be when I grew up, I politely answered that I didn't know. But I did. I knew that I wasn't going to grow up, that there would be no adulthood for me. I was going to suffer a terrible and agonizing death.

I knew too much and too little about my dying. I'd seen pictures of what I might experience during my last horrific moments on earth. I lived in almost constant dread and fear. Every thunder and lightening storm, a gathering of birds, or a peculiarly colored sky, were potential signs that today could be the day the world would end. I recall one picture that I used to study in perverse fear and fascination as a child. It was a drawing of massive destruction, and it came from the very same book in which I had first learned how to read. Although it's been over a quarter of a century since I last looked at it, I can still see it clearly in my mind's eye. Armageddon. My stomach muscles clench now as they did then.

There's another picture I remember. It's of a little girl wearing her Easter dress and bonnet. She's smiling down at the little collie lying beside her. She's a pretty child posing in the April sunlight. The camera fails to capture the freckles on her face, and the space between her front teeth. You can see her swing set in the background and the neighbor's farmhouse down the road. It's a black and white picture. You can't tell what color her dress, or the swing set is. There are no details in the photo that would tell you much of anything about the house, the dog, or the scrawny, smiling child. This picture can not possibly paint the thousands of words that might be told about all that you don't see.