Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 140
December 20, 2021
My fly is down.
Last week I was speaking to about 40 college students – future teachers – on the topics of writing, student engagement, and the realities of the teaching profession. It was a group of about 35 women and 5 men – not surprising given the teaching profession.
A couple years ago, Charlie’s current fourth grade teacher was in the same class when I spoke.
About an hour into my talk, I happened to look down and saw that my fly was open.
Really open. As open as the zipper on a pair of jeans can be.
It wasn’t terribly surprising. It was only the second time I’ve worn pants since October. Recovery from the surgery and some unexpected complications with a nerve running down my leg have required me to wear sweatpants every day since the surgery. The doctor wants as little pressure on my hips (and thus the nerve) as possible.
On this particular day, given that I was speaking to college students, I decided to forgo sweatpants and wear jeans. I know it doesn’t sound like much of an upgrade in terms of wardrobe, but when you’ve spent 60 consecutive days in sweatpants, a pair of jeans can feel like a three piece suit.
So I had either forgotten to zip up the jeans when I put them on, or more likely, I had leaned back on a table and stuffed my hands in the pockets, pulling open a not-entirely-fastened zipper.
When I noticed the downed zipper, I looked up, smiled, and said, “Oh, look. My fly is down.”
People in the room laughed as I yanked it back up. “Sorry,” I said. “I haven’t worn pants in two months. I guess I forgot how.”
More laughter.
Then I proceeded on with my talk.
I told a friend about the incident the next day. “Were you mortified?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “I was happy it happened. I made them laugh. Twice. A laugh is a precious thing.”
I was serious. Walking around (or perching yourself in front of the class of college students) with your fly open could could happen to anyone. In fact, it does happen to everyone from time to time. No reason to be mortified for something that is fairly commonplace in this world and absent any malice. And it really did garner a laugh, which is huge.
My opened zipper brought a speckle of joy to the world. It made a collective group of people laugh. Not the zipper, exactly, but my direct, unassuming response to it. I was the straight man to my opened zipper’s funny man.
My zipper and I were a comedy team of sorts for the moment.
Honestly, I hope it happens again when I return to that class next year. I
Creating laughter is the best, even if it’s at your own expense.
December 19, 2021
2010 prediction update
We will wonder why everyone in the world was obsessed with vampires.
It’s hard to remember how obsessed people were about vampires in the first decade of the new century, but we were. Twilight (both the books and movies), as well as the TV shows Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, True Blood and The Vampire Diaries all led the charge, but there were many other vampire films and video games on the market. The Blade trilogy, 28 Days and 28 Days Later, and I Am Legend just to name a few.
We couldn’t get enough vampire content for about a decade.
Today, blessedly, the vampire fever has subsided.
Was I right? Do we wonder why the world was so obsessed with vampires for more than a decade?
Probably not. We’re just happy it’s over.
We will fail to understand why people opted to eat raw fish when perfectly good cooked fish was readily available.
As of today, sushi remains more popular than ever, and it’s hard to imagine that in another 12 years, things will change very much, except that the rise of sushi has led to the tragic overfishing of the world’s oceans and is pushing fish populations to the brink of collapse.
A dozen years from now, we may not wonder why people ate raw fish, but we may wonder why they ate so much that our oceans are nearly empty of fish.
We will be amazed (like my generation is about cigarettes) that people didn’t assume that the use of a cell phone would eventually cause cancer.
The fears of cell phone cancer are apparently a thing of the past.
Right? I hope I didn’t miss anything.
I’m happy to have been wrong about this one.
We will consider it bizarre and archaic that marriage was not available to all couples regardless of their sexual preference.
In 2015, the U.S. Supreme Court issued its landmark Obergefell v. Hodges ruling, which established that same-sex couples have a constitutional right to marry. Since then, American support for same sex marriage has steadily risen. According to Gallup, a record 71% of Americans now support same sex marriage, which is up from just 39% when I made the prediction.
There are still stupid bigots in the world who oppose same sex marriage, but they are now in a distinct minority that is growing smaller by the day.
Opposition to same sex marriage today sounds ridiculous in most circles. It’s the territory of religious zealots who treat the Bible like a buffet and weak-minded fools who can’t imagine a world beyond their nose.
Happily, I think I nailed this one.
We will still wonder what John McCain was thinking when he chose Sarah Palin as his running mate and seemingly took the Republican party down the path of stupidity and shamelessness.
I had no idea how correct I would be about this one. A clear line can be drawn from the ignorance, racism, and incivility of Sarah Palin directly to the Republican Party of today. In fact, Palin has been referred to as the “political mother” of Donald Trump. McCain gave Palin’s brand of know-nothing popularism a national platform, and though she fell off that platform onto her face, the politicians who took her place have transformed the Grand Old Party into the party of anti-science, anti-intelligence, bigoted authoritarianism.
John McCain did many great things for this country right up until his death, but his choice of Sarah Pailin for Vice Presidential candidate may have destroyed the political party that he once loved.
We will stand agog at the remarkably primitive voting devices that our technologically-advanced nation continued to use even after the debacle of the 2000 Presidential election, as if we don’t think a contested election could ever happen again.
It wasn’t hanging chads in 2020, but my prediction that voting machines would once again stand at the center of another contested election (albeit falsely contested) is a prediction I am saddened to have gotten right.
People will wonder what hallucinogenic, mind-reducing drug was added to the water supply to cause hordes of otherwise normal people to spend their precious, never-to-be-recovered time on Facebook, engaging in mind numbing conspiracy theories and playing asinine games like Farmville.
Farmville may be a thing of the past (I think), but the amount of time that Americans spend on Facebook has only increased since my prediction, and the conspiracy theories of a dozen years ago have blossomed into the fuel promoting violence, anti-vaccination, white supremacism, and an attempted insurrection.
But it wasn’t a hallucinogenic, mind reducing drug that led to Facebook’s popularity. It was algorithms and the desire for profits over patriotism. It was a willingness to allow hate, ignorance, and violence to foment on the platform in exchange for a buck.
I look forward to the day when people wonder why Americans were so obsessed with Facebook. It will likely be a better world.
Perhaps when I look back again in 2035 (I’ve already added it to my calendar), Facebook will be a kinder, gentler place,
Election results will once again be graciously accepted by the party that loses.
The Republican Party will return to its roots.
The ocean will still be populated by fish.
Mac Jones will be winning his sixth Super Bowl.
December 18, 2021
Fake trees are insanely popular. Also awful.
Did you know that 85 percent of American homes have an artificial Christmas tree?
You probably do, since most of you apparently own one.
Having never owned an artificial tree, I’m astounded.
Equally surprising, this number is up from 46 percent in 1992.
Over the past 30 years, Americans has gone from a nearly even split between real and artificial Christmas trees to a country of almost entirely plastic trees.
Not only do I find this disappointing on an aesthetic and soulful level, but real Christmas trees are far better for the environment, even though they are cut down each year. This is because for every tree cut down for the holiday season, more than ten trees are left growing. Out of the 350-500 million trees growing on farms across the United States, only 30 million trees are harvested for Christmas each year. For every tree purchased, farmers plant 1-3 seedlings in its place.
Buying real trees keeps tree farms in business – and in turn keep their lands covered in the healthy forest habitat that wildlife depends on to survive.
Given that fake trees are shipped almost exclusively from China, last 6-9 years on average before being replaced, and ultimately end up in landfills, they are polluters of the planet both in terms of waste and CO2, whereas many communities recycle real Christmas trees for conservation and habitat preservation projects.
Real trees are the far greener choice.
Also, fake trees are just as likely to catch fire as a real tree, but fake trees also produce toxic gas when burned.
Scouring my memory, I can’t actually think of a single friend who owns a fake tree. I’m sure they exist – mostly in larger cities – but I can’t imagine owning a plastic Christmas tree. Whether we are heading off to a farm to cut down our own or purchasing a tree from the family of a former student, it’s always been a wonderful part of the holiday season, and it often includes friends, hot chocolate, and vibrating children.
Also lots of memories.
Years ago, my friend, Tom, brought our tree home in his truck, then he left it on my garage roof. The snow was so high that climbing on the roof was easy. Unfortunately, when I pulled the tree off the roof, I tore off a shingle in the process, which ultimately led to a leak in my garage.
Last year, I mentioned this leak to Tom in the midst of a poker game. Feeling bad, he appeared at my home a couple weeks later to repair the rood.
You can’t get that kind of guilt-trip from a fake tree.
Here’a a thought:
Maybe the popularity of real Christmas trees depends upon where you live. Maybe it’s far more common to find real trees in New England, where they grow, and less likely to find them in the south and in cities, where they might be harder to come by and more challenging to transport and keep fresh.
A real Christmas tree in Florida admittedly sounds a little odd. Dragging a tree up a five story walk-up in Queens also sounds pretty awful. A real Christmas tree in the desert of New Mexico sounds pretty bizarre.
Still, I think I’d try.
The beauty of a real Christmas tree is that each one is so different from the rest. Fifteen years ago, when Elysha chose her very first Christmas tree, it was about four feet high and five feet wide. We called it The Wild One. It was a Christmas tree that only a Jewish woman choosing her very first Christmas tree might pick.
Still, I loved it.
A few years ago, we found a bird’s nest in our tree.
A few years ago, Clara and Charlie helped me cut down our tree.
You don’t get any of this from a fake tree.
When I was living on my own in my late teens and early twenties, my friend and roommate, Bengi, and I had a fake tree, borrowed from his parents, I think. Or maybe donated by a friend. It was small and uninspiring, but for two guys surviving on elbow macaroni, unable to afford heat, and concerned about the possibility of scurvy, it was pretty great.
That was the first and hopefully last fake tree I’ll ever have.
This year’s Christmas tree is admittedly less than ideal. The branches are dropping faster than usual, creating an oddly rectangular shape. But that’s the point of a real Christmas tree:
It’s one to remember. It has personality and charm. It’s beauty can be found in its imperfection and quirks. It wasn’t dragged from our basement and assembled like last year and the year before that. It was found, chosen, and decorated for this singular Christmas season.
Merry Christmas, everyone.
Even you soulless, plastic tree owning monsters. I’m sure your polyvinyl chloride and steel is decorated beautifully.
December 17, 2021
Bringing sexy back.
This tweet became quite popular in the writing community, which I understand. It make me happy, too. But it’s not as if this Twitter user is stating anything particularly profound.
Everyone knows that writers are truly the sexiest people alive.
Right, Elysha?
But in answer to the question, “I don’t know why every person out there isn’t dating a writer?” the answer is quite simple:
There aren’t enough of us to go around. For every incredibly lucky and divinely blessed Elysha Dicks, there are hundreds, if not thousands, of unfortunate souls out there, forced to settle for the likes of attorneys, carpenters, botanists, and super models.
Imagine having to marry a botanist… My worst enemy doesn’t deserve that.
But rather than fighting over the limited supply of writers on this planet, the more logical choice would be to simply make more writers.
More sexy people for the masses.
But in order to do so, schools would need to do something that has thus far proven to be impossible for many:
Inspire kids to write. Make writing fun. Instill a love for writing in students.
The problem is that most teachers don’t actually write themselves. Other than emails, grocery lists, and quips on social media, the vast majority of teachers haven’t written fiction, poetry, personal narrative, or essays in years. Probably not since college. And the folks designing the curriculum don’t actually write fiction, poetry, personal narrative, or essays, either, so most of writing instruction is predicated on what non-writers think actual writers do, which is almost never correct and often tragically counterintuitive.
They imagine what real writers do on a daily basis, and that is what and how they teach. Instead of engaging in the very process for which they are designing and delivering instruction, they pretend to know something about the writing process and teach that instead.
As a result, kids often lose their love for writing or never find it to begin with.
This is why we lack enough sexy people to go around. This is why Americans are forced to date botanists.
A few years ago, I was teaching storytelling at a summer camp run by Miss Porter’s, an all-girl’s school here in Connecticut. I had just taught the girls a few strategies for personal narrative and asked them to “Find a quiet spot and see what you can do.”
One of the girls approached me and asked, “Is it okay if I just think first?”
“Of course,” I said. “Why would you ask that?”
She sighed. “My English teacher tells me that I need to think at the end of my pen.”
I stared at her, trying to understand the meaning behind this bizarre collection of words. “Think at the end of your pen?” I asked. “What does that even mean?”
“It means that if I need to think, I need to be writing at the same time, too. I can’t just sit and think. I need to always be writing something.”
I couldn’t believe it.
“Listen to me,” I said. “Writers spend enormous amounts of time just thinking. We stare at the screen or the page. We stare at the clouds. We stare at our cats. You can think as much as you want, as long as you want. If you spend the entire day thinking about writing but never commit a word to the page, that’s fine, because that is part of the writing process.”
She was so damn happy. This was a writer who was being denied the opportunity to engage in the writing process in an authentic, productive, necessary way.
“Think at the end of your pen” are the words of a teacher who does not write.
I could write a book about all the bizarre, inane, counterproductive, nonsensical, and ridiculous things that student writers are asked and required to do on a daily basis. The list is long, and the results of disastrous. All of this leads to generation after generation of students who don’t love (or even like) to write, which leads to adults who never write anything of substance, which leads to the real problem in our country:
Not enough sexy people.
Not a problem for Elysha Dicks, of course, as well as the lucky ones who manage to find their own writers, but for the masses, this represents a disaster.
Maybe I will write that book someday. Not only for the kids, who deserve better writing instruction, but also for those who deserve better than attorneys, carpenters, super models, and yes, botanists.
December 16, 2021
Purposeful reframing
I’m an enormous believer in the power of something I call purposeful reframing:
Deliberately, strategically choosing to view something in a more positive, productive way.
Some might call it delusion. Others may say it’s pie in the sky. One person has referred to it as toxic positivity.
I think I’m probably happier than all of those people, so who cares what they think. Also, if there was pie falling from the sky, that would be amazing.
This week I pointed out two ideas to reframe a person’s thinking that were genuinely appreciated.
First, I was speaking to someone who was feeling overwhelmed about the week ahead. After asking a few questions, I realized that the actual work day wasn’t the problem for this person as much as all of the after-work responsibilities they had relative to children, doctors and dentist appointments, a car repair, their parents, and more.
“Five days of non-stop work is a lot,” the person said.
I suggested that they think of the work week as four days rather than five. Post-work and evening responsibilities are especially challenging because another work day looms ahead, but Friday evening is typically a lot less pressure-packed because it’s often less busy than a Monday through Thursday evening and also doesn’t contain the pressure of having to work the next day.
So yes, Monday through Thursday might be tough, but by the time you reach Friday morning, you often only have the work day remaining before gently, happily rolling into the weekend.
“So think of your work week as four days instead of five,” I said, “and it might be easier to get through.”
She liked this idea a lot.
It’s probably why The Cure was so in love with Friday.
That very same day, I watched someone leave an office and make it halfway down the hallway before turning around to retrieve something that she had forgotten.
“I hate when that happens,” I told her.
“It’s age,” she said. “We’re getting old.”
“No,” I said, perhaps more firmly than necessary. “It’s not age.”
I explained that she simply has more responsibilities today than ever before. “We’re taking care of our families and our students and maybe our own parents and colleagues. And in a pandemic, no less. You’re doing more than ever before, so of course some things are going to slip your mind. It’s not that you’re getting old. It’s that you’re doing so much more than ever before, and you’ve never been more mentally taxed in your life. It’s simple probability. The more to remember, the more to forget.”
She stopped, smiled, and said, “Thank you. That’s a great way to think of things.”
Yes, it is. Rather than walking around, feeling old or bad about yourself every time you forget something, give yourself credit for the enormous number of things you need to remember now that your life has expanded beyond yourself and your own needs.
Of course you’re more forgetful as you get older. You have more to forget. More to do every day. More responsibilities on your plate.
You forget because you’re doing a multitude of important, amazing things.
Also, don’t ever tell me that I’m getting old. I’m constantly trying to prevent a relentless existential crisis from overwhelming me.
My advice was admittedly a little self serving.
But I constantly try to find more positive, productive, and helpful ways of looking at things, both because it makes my life easier, better, and happier, but also because I hear an onslaught of negativity and pessimism every day for things both big and small and completely microscopic.
I don’t want to be one of those people. We have enough of those people. Life is already way too hard, way too often. Anytime we can make it better just by thinking differently, we should.
The world needs more pie in the sky, I think.
December 15, 2021
Make it a big deal, and it will become a big deal
In Charlie’s elementary school, making a gun with your fingers and pretending to shoot the other children (and presumably teachers) is not allowed, which seems fairly sensible to me.
In today’s world, even pretend shootings can be unsettling.
Here’s the rub, as explained by Charlie:
When teachers just told kids to stop making guns with their fingers, the kids would stop. But when they announced it as a school rule and everyone made a big deal out of it, everyone started making guns with their fingers and shooting everyone. Even the kids that weren’t doing it before.
In the actual words of Charlie: “When you make something a big deal, everyone thinks it’s a big deal.”
Unlike his sister, Charlie has never expressed the desire to be a teacher, but he may have the instincts to be a great one.
He at least possesses a great deal of common sense alongside an unfortunate desire to adhere to rules at all costs.
Also a healthy dose of silliness.
December 14, 2021
Napkins 2.0
It was Charlie’s turn to set the table. He decided to do things a little differently. Rather than placing functional napkins at each place setting, he opted to design personalized napkins in the shape of hearts and the lightning bolt scar on the forehead of Harry Potter.
I’ve never been so delighted by a napkin before.
The way that children see the world, and especially the way they envision a new and improved version of the world, never ceases to amaze me. They posses an original vision of things that adults often can’t begin to imagine with our stubbornly fixed mindsets and tragically practical decision making. Kids see beyond what has already been done to something entirely new and unique.
Oftentimes, it doesn’t take much.
Admittedly, the napkins didn’t exactly do the job. Elysha and I required the more traditional formulation of a napkin while eating the meal.
Also, Charlie left the remnant of his creations, along with the scissors, on the table and floor because that is how he currently rolls.
So there is certainly room for improvement.
But the smiles generated from Charlie’s napkins were priceless.
December 13, 2021
Pride is wicked bad
Pope Francis, leader of the Catholic Church, has said sex outside of marriage is not the “most serious” sin.
During a question and answer session with reporters on a flight back to Italy from Greece on Monday, the Pope said, “Sins of the flesh are not the most serious.”
Instead, he said that pride and hatred were “the most serious” of sins.
Two thoughts on this:1. I was born a Catholic. If I were still a Catholic today, I’d be faced with quite the conundrum:According to the Pope, the pride I feel in never having engaged in an extramarital affair (or even being tempted to do so) is far worse than actually engaging in an extramarital affair.Yikes.This doesn’t seem quite right. I know that pride cometh before the fall, but I suspect that cheating on your spouse might cometh before the fall, too, and that particular fall could cost you a bundle.Think about it this way:Who would you rather be married to? A lying, cheating spouse or one who brags at cocktail parties about their prowess in the company’s softball league?Pride doesn’t seem quite so bad by comparison.2. Credit the Pope for looking for ways to appeal to new customers. I’ve often argued that religions should do more to compete for congregants. If you’re brand of religion requires potential converts to jump through hoops, for example, you’re making a huge mistake. In the business world, this is referred to as “switching costs.” The higher the switching cost, the less likely a consumer will migrate from one brand to another.Once Apple has you entrenched in their ecosystem, it’s unlikely that you’ll ever switch to another phone or platform.Certain religions seem quite fond of establishing high switching costs for their converts, which makes no sense. Forcing someone to attend classes, take tests, or pay fees in order to join your religion is a terrible mistake. Throw baptism and circumcision into the mix and you’re definitely turning away possible converts.Perhaps this “pride is worse than infidelity” position is the Pope’s attempt to halt the steady decline in both Catholicism and religious participation in general as a percentage of the US and world population. Fewer people identify themselves as religious today than ever before. In the United States, the fastest growing religious belief is the nonbeliever.But even us godless heathens think that adultery is a bad thing, and a hell of a lot worse than pride and maybe even hatred, too. In fact, most nonbelievers probably think that extramarital sex is worse than the Pope thinks it is, which seems odd.But perhaps also appealing to the serial adulterer.Maybe the Pope is simply a marketing genius, looking for ways to bring new customers into his waning business.I’m kidding, of course. While I think it’s fairly asinine to declare that pride is worse than adultery, I don’t really think that the Pope is looking to increase church membership by appealing to the unfaithful (though they do account for about 25% of all married people).I mention this because religious folk can sometimes fail to see the humor when religion is involved. Spiritual belief can numb the funny bone.I’m sure the Pope is a stand-up guy. A little misguided in this particular case, but an otherwise fine human being.
December 12, 2021
Handshakes, high-fives, and change
Years ago, Elysha told me that she was bringing back the high-five.
I’m not sure if she made any cultural impact, but she’s certainly done her part, high-fiving with enthusiasm for years.
Then the pandemic arrived, and for months, I heard people state with absolute certainty that the handshake and the high five were dead. Never to return again. The pandemic had finally put an end to the archaic practice of touching one another.
Even when I pointed out that the same thing was said in 1918 during the last global pandemic, and even after I cited articles in the newspaper archives saying as much, I was assured that this time would be different because… well, I guess because we think we’re somehow more intelligent or more sophisticated or more special than our predecessors.
Even as the pandemic continues, thanks in part to the ignorant and the unvaccinated, handshaking has already begun its comeback, faster than most expected because the coronavirus is airborne. Transfer via physical objects is not our problem.
Hands included.
Despite the assurances of many that Americans would soon be adopting the Japanese tradition of bowing as a form of greeting, I have yet to see a single American bow to me or anyone else.
Change is slow, difficult, oftentimes backsliding, and sometimes impossible.
Look at the New England Patriots:
Given up for dead last year following the departure of the traitorous Tom Brady and a season riddled with pandemic opt-outs and a change at quarterback. Exactly one year later, the Patriots once again are in first position in the AFC East and own the best record in their conference. Turns out that coaches, staff, ownership, and those 52 other players have a role in the success of a team, too.
Much to the disappointment of the rest of the league and their fans, the Patriots, like the handshake, are already back.
As for the high five?
Pluto and I are doing our part.
December 11, 2021
Do the job or do the job well
This box arrived at our home. We did nothing to it to make it look worse. This is exactly what we found on our doorstep.
Thankfully, its contents were fine.
But look at this box. Just imagine how many people along the way had to look at this box and think, “Yeah, that’s fine. Moving on.”
Elysha and I often talk about how there are two kinds of people in this world:
Those who are doing a job, and those who are trying like hell to do a job exceptionally well.
This box is a perfect example of doing a job. Yes, this box did its job. It served its purpose. The task was accomplished. It wasn’t done with with excellence or precision, but the goals of the task were met.
But was it done well?
When our kids were little and a pandemic didn’t prevent us from painting the town, Elysha and I would hire babysitters quite often. Most of our babysitters were outstanding. They did their job exceptionally well. But occasionally we’d hire a babysitter and return home to find dirty dishes in the sink, toys on the floor, cat bowls overturned, counters in need of cleansing, jackets in need of hanging, etc.
Mind you:
It wasn’t the job of the babysitter to clean up. They kept our children safe and happy, which is what the job required. We paid them for doing their job and were happy to do so. But when Elysha and I were babysitting as teenagers, we would both try like hell to make the house look great after the children went to bed. We’d wash the dishes. Tidy up. Do anything we could to make the parents a little happier when they arrived home.
We wanted to do a great job, not because it meant that we’d earn more money or even get called again for another job. If those things happened, great. But we simply wanted to do a good job. We wanted our customers to be happy. We wanted to be known for excellence.
This is probably why I was promoted to manager of a McDonald’s restaurant at the age of 17 while still in high school. While many of my fellow workers were doing the job, getting through their shifts by doing what was asked, I was always trying to do the best job possible, even if that meant working like hell at a low paying, fast food job.
Always going the extra mile. Looking for spots where I might shine. Ensuring that my managers were always pleased with my work.
I wasn’t looking for a promotion. Honestly, I never imagined that I might be considered a viable candidate for running a store. I was still in high school,. yet I was soon scheduling employees. managing food and labor costs, calculating profit and loss statements, placing orders, hiring and firing, and supervising grown-ass adults.
All before I could legally vote.
But I was also trying my absolute best. Attempting to bring excellence to all that I did, even if what I doing wasn’t exactly what I wanted to be doing.
It’s a philosophy I try desperately to instill in my children and my students. Regardless of the subject or the assignment, try your damnedest to do it exceptionally well. Seek to impress. Rise to the top. Let people know that you are someone who believes in doing your best every day without exception.
This box represents anything but excellence. This box is the perfect symbol of getting the job done.
I don’t begrudge anyone for doing the minimum. I don’t look down upon those who do what is required and collect a paycheck. In many ways, this approach to life makes a lot of sense, and I’m always in favor of cutting the foolish corners in order to devote more time to the most important things.
But I also think a work ethic isn’t something that can be turned off and on depending upon the context. I think that striving for excellence is something you either do or don’t do. Choosing excellence isn’t easy, but done often enough, long enough, and it becomes a habit.
It becomes who you are.
You either commit yourself to your best work at all times or you don’t.
This box did not do its best work. It got the job done, but it will never be anything but a box.
Even my box-loving son, Charlie, found no use for it, and that is saying a lot.
