Phillip Berry | Orient Yourself

About Phillip Berry | Orient Yourself

Becoming the best version of yourself

Publisher

Phillip Berry | Orient Yourself

Category

business · health & fitness · society & culture

Language

en

Explicit

No

First episode

28 Jan 2024

Latest episode

11 Oct 2026

Latest episodes

125 episodes in the feed.

1. 

   11 Oct 2026

   Part of Your World

   About 25 years ago, we made one of those impulsively silly purchases we couldn’t really afford which turned out to be one of the best purchases we’ve ever made: a brand new piano. Our glossy black Young Chang has inhabited what has affectionately come to be known as our “music room,” what used to be called a formal living room in the front of our house that now serves as silent retreat space, library, art gallery, coffee and cocktail lounge, and annual home for our Christmas tree. In a home full of spaces that I enjoy, this is my favorite room. Of course, the music room is also good for its namesake and has seen even more action recently as our oldest grandchildren move through piano lessons and occasional recitals. Sally recently purchased a book of piano music featuring theme songs from Disney animated movies and I found myself wandering into the room the other night as she was working through a few of the classics. I find the magic of playing the piano so very fascinating and watching her move through the journey of learning various pieces is fun and inspiring. On that particular night, she was working on “Part of Your World” from the Little Mermaid. My mind was taken to the movie scene and Ariel’s voice: “I wanna be where the people are, I wanna see, wanna see ’em dancin’, walking around on what do you call ’em? Oh, feet.” The young mermaid longs for life on the other side, the exciting journey of the new and the different, a world out of the water which includes the handsome prince. She is reaching toward independence in one of the key moments of becoming through life’s transitions. As I watched and listened to Sally play, I was really struck by the work of mastering the music. The starts and stops, the missed notes and their correction. The repetition until the sound and the rhythm were mastered. The song itself took on deeper meaning as I entered into her world at the keys, and the journey of mastering this piece of music. As familiar as the music was, I felt acutely the otherworldliness of the work itself and then her joy of putting it all together. Of getting it right. I realized that I had just been taken on a special journey. There is something quite hopeful in discovering that, after nearly 40 years together, there are new places to wander and new discoveries to be made…even within the beautiful ordinary of our own home. I can’t speak to how many times I’ve listened to her practice and play, but the gift on that night was seeing it anew and recognizing the opportunity to be part of her world in a fresh way. Perhaps it was really a reminder or return to a path taken at another time, but in that moment it was new. Standing on the sideline of a 3rd grade football game yesterday, I looked around at a world that was not mine. We were there as part of our children’s and our grandchildren’s world. The friends and coaches and event were theirs and we were guests. I thought to myself, “I wanna be where the people are, I wanna see, see ’em dancin’.” A few hours later, we were sitting in our family room with little Reagan, who wanted to hang out with Nanny and Poppy for a bit. Running errands that afternoon and then dropping her off, I thought to myself, she wanted to be a part of our world…even if only for a little while. Last night, looking at the newspaper sitting on our counter, I noticed an article entitled, “The Tragic End of Dinner Parties.” As the author lamented the loss of community from the passing of this old tradition, I thought back on my week. I don’t recall any nights when we brought out the formal china or the special olive wood tableware from Italy, but I did recall at least three dinner parties. Each was with members of our family and none lacked any festivity. One of the parenting tropes circulating in my young parenthood was the notion of “quality time.” It was the idea that we needed to create mountaintop moments with our kids – big events and things worth remembering. Perhaps it was a reaction to the rapid rise in divorce during that era, assuaging the sense of loss of time with the hope that it could be made up with fewer, bigger moments. Or maybe it was the rise of the dual-income household – you can’t be with your kids all the time but you can make it up with things worth remembering. I like mountaintop moments as much as the next guy. A big trip. An exciting experience. But as time goes on, I’d rather have the the quantity of little moments. The beautiful ordinary of the day-to-day. A thousand practices and a few games. Watching the faltering steps and being there to help pick them up when they fall. Being around when the random moment, thought, encounter, occurs – the magical convergence when I can accompany, listen, or encourage…exactly when it’s needed. Asking Sally to marry me all those years ago was an invitation to be a part of my world and a request to be part of hers. In doing so, we created a world together…a million moments along the way. Some peaks. Some troughs. And a whole bunch of ordinary. Headlines lament our loss of community and the isolation that folds-in upon so many. But community takes work. To be a part of another’s world requires that we show up, reach out, and invest in that community. Time, that priceless resource, is the currency of relationship…and community. The world around the sidelines of that football game may not have been ours, but the community certainly was. We had been invited into that world – invited to share in the unity around its children, its time, its encounter. Looking at my sister-in-law earlier this week, I reminded her, “we belong to each other.” In the ordinary and in the extraordinary. But isn’t that life? To belong is what we’re made for. To be a part of each other’s world is how we’re wired. To invite each other in is gift. To accompany through the moments is priceless. That sounds pretty extraordinary to me.

2. 

   4 Oct 2026

   Radical Humility, Unreasonable Faith, Audacious Joy

   “Peace, brother.” The words hung in the air and floated a bit before flowing over my heart like warm water in a salon hair wash. The sensation was startling, unexpected. A lovely part of the Catholic Mass is a moment when congregants turn to one another and offer a sign of peace, normally a handshake or a wave. The firm handshake and warm greeting caught me by surprise in its deep sincerity. It felt like he really meant it. Finishing a walk last night, I glimpsed my grandchildren playing in their yard. Big brother was running around the front yard, tossing the football to himself; lost in some imaginary game. His sister was walking out to join in. The three little ones were in the backyard, playing in a car we gave to the oldest nearly 9 years ago. I could hear their voices carrying across the yards – playful, energetic, lost in whatever imaginary universe they had created. Earlier in the day, I watched as little brother played with the baby during a CYO football game. Running at her and diving on the ground at her feet, she giggled with delight as he bounced up and repeated the move to the same effect. That is what it is to be childlike – lost in the joy of the moment, it is innocent abandon. Childlike simplicity. Today, we celebrate the Feast of St. Francis of Assisi – this the 800th anniversary of his death in October of 1226. 1226 – the number seems unreal, impossible, as I type and watch it appear on my screen. Looking over at the buffet in our kitchen, I see a small statue of the Saint, presented in a very traditional fashion: holding a bird bath with some animals attending to him. Earlier this year, his remains were on display in Assisi as the entire Church venerated and celebrated this beloved saint. As is so often the case with saints, Francis appeared in the life of the Catholic Church at a time when it needed renewal. I grew up with the the image of St. Francis as the free spirit who loved animals but that comfortable image of the man falls far short of the full story. His was a radical, all-in, love of the God he saw in all of Creation. In his Canticle of Brother Sun and Sister Moon, St. Francis praises God by celebrating His Creation: Brothers Wind and Air, Sister Water, Brother Fire, Mother Earth, plants, animals, and even Sister Death. St. Francis answered a call to rebuild God’s Church and he responded by living a radically simple Christianity which has inspired generations of Christians and non-Christians. I added St. Francis to my bouquet of Saints because of his radical humility. An example I sorely need. But central to Francis’ life was a simple, childlike, joy. Joy in all things, even  suffering. That is radical. What is a bouquet of Saints? Another wonderful Catholic tradition in which we adopt particular Saints who offer us specific examples of holy boldness and courageous virtue, then ask for their intercession: St. Francis pray for us! Peace, brother. Brother Sun. Sister Moon. Brothers Wind and Air and Fire. My mind went to St. Francis who saw brotherhood, sisterhood, as the community of Creation – God in all things. Peace, brother. What a gift is peace. Francis found peace in radical humility, unreasonable faith, and audacious joy. As counter-cultural in his time as they are today. It is no accident that we are still referencing his example 800 years later. Considering the brotherhood and sisterhood of my grandchildren, I can begin to tune-in to some of the essence of St. Francis. The simple, childlike acceptance of connection that was given as complete gift. It was not chosen and could not be created. What a powerful way to live. We belong to each other. St. Francis got this on an eternal level. Embracing all of Creation in a crazy, loving, humble, acceptance of that brotherhood and that sisterhood. Pope Benedict XVI wrote of St. Francis as an example of living first in harmony with God which in turn yielded harmony with man and with nature. Simple. Childlike. Audacious. Radical. Brother Sun is rising and I hear Brother Rooster announcing the day, as Sister Moon retreats toward tomorrow. I feel I will never find St. Francis’ radical simplicity and humility or his childlike joy in the many gifts of his Creator; but I thank God for this Saint’s beautiful example of holy boldness and reminder of the joy hiding in the most obvious places.

3. 

   27 Sept 2026

   The Whisper of the Seasons, the Passing of Time

   “Pop.” I awoke to Cooper’s whisper but when I opened my eyes, he wasn’t there. Disoriented for a moment, I realized I was coming out of a dream which was simultaneously real and surreal. Moving into my morning routine, walked down the stairs to a house that was lit by the full moon casting its reflected sunlight through windows in the front and the back. Looking into our backyard, I could see shadows cast from trees and every detail of bush and grass and flowers remnant with the fading blooms of summer. “Pop.” His soft whisper was still in my ears as the machine ground my coffee and shot hot water through the espresso puck automagically pressed into the unseen basket. The luxurious indulgence wasn’t lost upon me as I pressed the AirPods into my ears and prepared to begin the quiet time of reflection that marks the beginning of each day. Asking my grandson later if he remembered saying my name in a dream, he smiled and shrugged as if to say “maybe.” Cooling temperatures and cloudy moodiness marked our transition into Fall this week, marking the beautiful shift of season with the precise timing of a conductor waving the orchestral movement deftly into the next act. We don’t always get such a clear demarcation of the change but there was no hesitant limping into autumn this year. Looking at the thermometer this very moment, I see 44 degrees. The perfect temperature to hold bright moonlight and a reflection on seasons changing. Earlier in the week, I heard my name called as I was walking across a parking lot. I turned to see a friend in the lowlight of the parking lot and the predawn. The seasons were written across his face. Not necessarily age – it was the passing of time and struggle and life all blended – beautifully and a bit sadly. It felt like a mirror to my own season and I felt the gravity of it; the weight of the thin veil where this world meets the next. His sharp features seemed carved, rough hewn from stone; distinct, worn, and elegant. It really was a beautiful weathering and his stoic, keep walking forward personality, intensified the effect. Later in the week, I found myself talking with the father of teen girls and the sense of seasons came upon me again. The distinct era of becoming that we all must pass through to find our adulthood and the necessary maturity it demands. As he spoke of those girls and their activities and personalities, it was his becoming that I saw within the stories reflected in his eyes. It was my becoming mirrored in those days long past. Another time. Another season. That same night, a young couple spoke of their little boys and a future that might invite a baby girl into it. Yes. Yes, I remember. The building years of figuring out marriage, family, homes, and careers. What was that in their eyes? Ah, yes, that’s the future. A future where it’s all still in front of you. The unknowns of choices yet to be made and surprises yet to be encountered. Yeah, there will be more than a few curve balls and much of it will take them in unexpected directions. Thank God. A post appeared on LinkedIn this week in which a young professional was sharing the story of an encounter with a well-known leader now in the twilight of his life and career. The closing remark from the veteran: “I would do anything to be 30 again.” Thinking of my own season at 30, I must confess that I don’t share his musing. Don’t get me wrong, that season wasn’t a bad season; I don’t feel regret at missed opportunities or dumb decisions that I would like to change. No, I simply don’t feel drawn to doing it over again. Watching third graders play football yesterday, another season came upon me. Coaches coaching, parents parenting, and almost all of my grandchildren present on field, playground, and in Nanny’s arms. Some of my children, grown and adulting in their various fields of endeavor, chased, held, and encouraged in this multi-faceted mirror of my life and its past seasons. “Pop.” I heard Cooper’s whisper again. This time, reminding me that this is the most important season. Right here. Right now. In the moonlit quiet of the morning, a distant train whistle sounds. Is it announcing an arrival or a departure? Or perhaps it’s a warning. A haunting reminder of the great danger of its passing – its coming and its going are heavy things. Or maybe its a different reminder. The reminder that on is the only direction. On to the next city. The next station. The next season. “Pop.” Thank you, Coop. I’ll remember to enjoy this season while it lasts.

Reach and audience

Public platform figures. Ratings count people who left a rating, not total listeners.

Apple Podcasts (US)

5.0 / 5

5 ratings

Podcast Authority Score: 32 / 100

A composite of feed quality, social presence, YouTube performance and engagement. Read the methodology.

Quality

39

Social presence

0

YouTube

0

Engagement

60