Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 206

"Republicans buy sneakers, too" is not a reason to remain silent

Earlier in the week, I wrote a post explaining my bewilderment over anyone who didn’t understand my relentless opposition to Donald Trump. It was well received, read and shared tens of thousands of times online.

Of course, not everyone agreed with my position, which I expected. Every time I speak out against the President, there is some backlash. But this backlash almost always takes three distinct forms:

1. Rather than refuting the claims I made against the President, the responses almost always attack me personally and call me names, avoiding the actual arguments being made. In response to last week’s post, for example, I was called such original and scathing names as “snowflake” and “idiot” and “moron.”

Boy did that hurt.

2. The responses are almost always vulgar in some way. In response to last week’s post, for example, one person offered specific suggestions about how I might make use of feminine hygiene products. Another suggested that I insert certain objects into my body.

Solid political arguments made by decent and thoughtful Americans, I’m sure.

3. The people writing these scathing responses can’t spell or punctuate properly. Some are so poorly written that it’s difficult to discern what terrible things they are saying to me because the write in incomplete and run-on sentences and rarely use a period.

I’m sure there are some thoughtful, intellectual Trump supporters in the world who can communicate clearly without resorting to name calling and vulgarity, but I almost never encounter them online, which really shouldn't surprise anyone.

When you support an incompetent, anti-science, racist, self-acknowledged sex offender, you can’t expect his army of online supporters to be filled with the best and the brightest.

Nothing that these folks say to me has any impact on me or my opposition. Unlike Donald Trump, I have an exceptionally thick skin. I really don’t care about these trolls and cretins.

However, one comment concerned me. Someone who does not support Trump but questions my vocal and vociferous opposition said to me, “Republicans buy sneakers, too,” echoing the words of Michael Jordan when explaining why he doesn’t engage in politics.

It’s questionable if Jordan ever said these words, but until recently, he has been famously apolitical. When diving into politics for the first time a couple years ago, it came in the form of donations to two organizations that address police brutality and racial injustice.

Nothing about Donald Trump or his policies.

When Trump attacked Lebron James for his vocal opposition to the Trump administration last year, Jordan said, “I support LJ” and nothing more.

Whether or not Jordan said those words about Republicans buying sneakers, it’s also true that Republicans buy books, and yes, I am an author trying to sell books. But unlike Michael Jordan, who is unquestionably the greatest basketball player ever, I want to be known for more than simply my stock and trade.

Yes, I am an author wants to sell books, but I am also a patriot. I’m a man who stands beside my Jewish family and friends of color and immigrant students and friends and colleagues in the LGBTQ community. I stand beside the migrant children on the border who were placed in cages and the parents who were forcibly separated from them. I will stand beside our country’s intelligence agencies and the free press and Gold Star families and DACA kids and war heroes like John McCain and Americans who were drafted and served in Vietnam like my father.

I stand beside my Muslim friends. My Mexican and African friends. My female friends and family.

Someday in the future, when my children are old enough to look back on this time in history and wonder what the hell Americans were thinking, they will know that their father marched in opposition and wrote in opposition and tweeted in opposition to this administration. They will know that their father even joined suit against this President and won.

Michael Jordan’s stance might allow him to sell more shoes, adding to his already significant wealth, but when history looks back on Michael Jordan, he will be remembered as a basketball player and shoe salesman. He was a man of enormous wealth and influence who opted to remain outside the political ring for the sake of profit.

I want to make a profit, too. A huge profit. I want to sell one trillion books.

I hope I do.

But not at the expense of patriotism. Not if it costs me the support I can offer to the many Americans who need it. Not if it means that I will be remembered as an author and book salesman and nothing more.

Besides, let’s be honest: If the people who attack me for my opposition to Trump can’t spell or punctuate properly and call me vulgar, indecent names, I don’t think they were buying my books anyway.

They don’t strike me as readers.

There are many Republicans in this country - good, decent men and women - who stand in opposition to Trump like I do, and some of them buy my books.

I know this because they are my friends.

I want to sell books, but I also want to stand as a patriot and husband and father and friend. I want to be remembered as a man who stood against all that this administration represents.

And honestly, I suspect that I’ll sell more books that way than if I chose to remain silent.

If you want to buy a book and prove me right, there they are:

Resolution update: February 2019

Each month I review the progress of my yearly goals and report on that progress as a means of holding myself accountable.

Here are the results for February.
__________________________________

PERSONAL HEALTH

1. Don’t die.

Still kicking.

2. Lose 20 pounds.

I lost three pounds in February for a total of three pounds in 2019.

I’m not exactly off to a roaring start.

3. Eat at least three servings of fruits and/or vegetables per day, six days a week.

Done! Along with bananas, grapes, apples, and pears I also ate carrots that I cooked myself and green beans that I did not cook and didn’t really like but ate anyway.

Also, potatoes in any form count as a vegetable.

4. Do at least 100 push-ups, 100 sit-ups, and 3 one-minute planks for five days a week.

Done.

5. Do burpees three days a week.

I stopped my burpees due to wrist soreness but resumed them last week.

Now my thumbs hurt. Maybe it’s unrelated, but I don’t think so.

Here’s something I didn’t know about burpees:

They are stupid and ridiculous. I won’t tell you how many I’m doing (not a lot), but I did them for three days a week over the final two weeks of February, and they still suck.

This was a terrible idea.

WRITING CAREER

6. . Complete my seventh novel before the end of 2019.

Still waiting for a go-ahead from my editor that the book I pitched will be the next book. This is the problem with being two books ahead. No one is in a rush for your 2022 novel.

I may just start writing anyway as soon as proofs for my next book are complete.

7. Write/complete at least five new picture books, including one with a female, non-white protagonist. 

No progress.

8. Write a memoir.

After starting over in February, I’ve written about half a page, which is also stupid and ridiculous.

I should’ve written a lot more already.

9. Write a new screenplay.

No progress.

10. Write a musical.

No progress.

11. Submit at least five Op-Ed pieces to The New York Times for consideration.

No progress.

12. Submit one or more short stories to at least three publishing outlets.

No progress.

13. Select three behaviors that I am opposed to and adopt them for one week, then write about my experiences on the blog.

No progress. Also, I need three behaviors to attempt.

Thoughts?

14. Increase my storytelling newsletter subscriber base to 3,000.

252 new subscribers in February for a total of 501 new subscribers in 2019. My list now stands at 2,611 subscribers. 3,000 is well within reach.

If you’d like to sign up for my newsletter, you can do so here:

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Thank you!

15. Write at least six letters to my father.

None written in February,

16. Write 100 letters in 2019.

Two more letters written in February. Four overall. Off to a flying start.

17. Convert Greetings Little One into a book.

A kind, generous, and amazing human being has begun work on this project.

I am thrilled.

STORYTELLING

18. Produce a total of 10 Speak Up storytelling events.

One show produced in February, and it was a great one, bringing our total so far to one.

But we have two in March, on Sunday, March 3 and Saturday, March 30, plus a Hartford story slam on March 23 in conjunction with two other producers.

You should come to all of them!

19. Begin selling Speak Up swag at our events and/or online.

Revisions of the new logo continue. Once it is finalized, swag can be ordered.

20. Pitch myself to at least 5 upcoming TEDx events with the hopes of being accepted by one.

Done! I’ve pitched myself to five TEDx conferences so far.

One has expressed interest. Two passed. I await word from the final two.

21. Attend at least 15 Moth events with the intention of telling a story.

I attended one Moth StorySLAM in February, bringing my total to three events so far.

22. Win at least three Moth StorySLAMs.

I won a Moth StorySLAM in Boston in February. Two wins so far in 2019.

Two for two!

I’ll be at a Moth StorySLAM in NYC at least once in March.

23. Win a Moth GrandSLAM.

I finished in second place by a tenth of a point in a Moth GrandSLAM in January.

I’ll be competing in another GrandSLAM in March.

24. Produce at least 40 episodes of our new podcast Speak Up Storytelling. 

Four new shows released in February. Eight so far. We haven’t missed a week!

Listen to our latest here or subscribe wherever you get your podcasts.!

25. Perform stand up at least four times in 2019. 

I’ve hit a bit of a snag in terms of this goal. The open mic night where I’d been performing was shut down thanks to stupid people behaving in stupid ways. I have an opportunity to perform in a local comedy showcase, which I will do, but I was in need of another open mic.

Thanks to you, dear readers, I have leads on two possibilities.

26. Develop and teach a Storytelling Master Class, in which participants have an opportunity to tell at least two stories over the course of the day  or tell a story and then retell it based on feedback.

Done! Scheduled for June 1. Enroll today!

27. Pitch at least three stories to This American Life.

No progress.

28. Pitch myself to Marc Maron’s WTF podcast at least three times.

I wrote to Marc early in January, asking for him to consider me as a guest.

No response yet.

NEW PROJECTS

29. Host a fundraiser for RIP Medical Debt, which would allow us to relieve the medical debt of struggling Americans for pennies on the dollar.

No progress.

30. Complete my Eagle Scout project.

No progress.

31. Print, hang, and/or display at least 25 prints, photos, or portraits in our home.

No progress.

32. Renovate our first floor bathroom.

Final design decisions have been made. Work will commence very soon, I hope.

33. Organize our second floor bathroom.

No progress.

MISCELLANEOUS

34. Cook at least 12 good meals (averaging one per month) in 2019.

I made dinner three times for the family in February. Chicken, stuffing, carrots, and potatoes twice and spaghetti and a meat sauce the second time. I chopped vegetables and everything.

Four down. Eight to go.

35. Plan a reunion of the Heavy Metal Playhouse.

No progress.

36. Ride my bike with my kids at least 25 times in 2019.

Weather has made this impossible.

37. I will not comment, positively or negatively, about physical appearance of any person save my wife and children, in 2017 in an effort to reduce the focus on physical appearance in our culture overall. 

Done! I did not comment on physical appearance with the exception of my wife and children in February.

Done with ease.

38. Surprise Elysha at least six times in 2016.

I mailed another card - much more clever - to Elysha’s school, telling her how I much I love her.

Two surprises complete.  

39. Replace the 12 ancient, energy-inefficient windows in our home with new windows that will keep the cold out and actually open in the warmer months.

No progress.

40. Clean the basement. 

Incremental progress. Every week I throw away or organize a few items. It’s still going to require a full day at some point and perhaps a trip to the dump or even a dumpster.

41. Set a new personal best in golf.

Weather has made this impossible.

42. Play poker at least six times in 2019.

No progress.

43. Spend at least six days with my best friend of more than 25 years.

We’ve agreed to see each other more often and have been texting about dates.

This is progress.

44. Post my progress in terms of these resolutions on this blog on the first day of every month.

Done.

Surprised about my relentless opposition to Trump? Why?

I’m shocked when someone doesn’t understand my relentless, unwavering opposition to Donald Trump.

Why not give the man a chance?

Why spend your precious time writing about him and to him and against him?

Why can’t you ever give him any credit?

I get these questions, and I’m always shocked when I do.

Even if I agreed with his policies, which include tax breaks for the wealthy, banning Muslims from the United States, and giving coal companies the ability to dispose of waste in mountain streams, Trump is still a self-admitted sex offender who separated children from their families at the border, put migrant children in cages, offered support to Nazis and white supremacists in Charlottesville, referred to African nations as “shit hole countries,” fanned the flames of birtherism for the entire Obama Presidency, openly mocked the disabled, paid hush money to a porn star, operated a fake university that stole millions from hard working Americans, insulted war heroes and Gold Star families, attacks the free press and his own intelligence agencies, and lies repeatedly and verifiably.

He lied about releasing his tax returns. Lies about crowd sizes. Lies about voter fraud. Lied about divesting in his businesses as the Constitution demands. Lied repeatedly about Flynn and Manafort and Cohen. Lied about knowing about the payments to porn stars. Lied about immigration and homicide and crime rates, seeming to make these numbers up from thin air and literally enlarging these numbers from one rally to the next. He told Americans that he barely watched television because he’s too busy reading. He promised Americans that he would have no time for golf as President. He claims that the American Treasury is bursting at the seems with Chinese tariffs when it’s the companies purchasing the goods who pay the tariffs in higher costs. He lied about steel plants returning to America that never did. Coal mines opening that never did.

Even if I thought that trickle-down economics made sense and and the Muslim ban was needed and I favored deregulation over environmental protection, how could any truly decent human being support this man?

Why is anyone surprised that I relentlessly oppose him?

This is not a matter of politics. This is not a liberal vs. conservative battle or a Republican vs. Democrat debate. Policy has nothing to do with any of this.

I will always stand in opposition of indecency, sexism, xenophobia, Islamophobia, homophobia, and racism. I will always stand against thieves, crooks, and relentless liars.

My relentless opposition to Donald Trump should not be surprising. It should be the norm. It should be the position of every American who supports and loves their friends of color. Their LGBTQ friends. Their Muslim and Mexican and African friends. Their female friends.

It should be the position of anyone who loves this country.

We did not need Michael Cohen to tell is that Trump is a racist, a con artist, and a cheat. That is already abundantly clear. That is why I stand in relentless opposition to Donald Trump. Not because he’s a Republican or a conservative, but because he is a fundamentally indecent human being who should not be leading this nation.

This should be no surprise to anyone.

Dumb geographical luck

I often think how defining geography can be to a person.

Last week Elysha and I brought the kids to Boston to visit the Children’s Museum. We ate lunch, visited every exhibit hall, and walked through the streets as a light snow fell.

We left the house around 10:00 AM and were home by 8:00 PM.

I’ll be in Boston at least three times in March for a Moth GrandSLAM, a storytelling show at Harvard, and a consulting gig.

A day after visiting the Boston Children’s Museum, I was in New York City, consulting with a nonprofit in Manhattan. I left the house around 5:00 AM and returned home by 8:00 PM, which made for a long but doable day.

I’ll be attending a Moth StorySLAM and performing in New York again next month, and I’ll be meeting with one of my publishers in April.

Earlier this week, I was coaching hospital volunteers at Yale New Haven Hospital. I’ll be back next week to listen to their stories again and see how much progress has been made.

Next month I’ll be in Vermont, consulting with attorneys on storytelling.

I also work and perform in Maine regularly, and I’ve done work with with schools in New Hampshire, too.

Knowing all this, I can’t help but wonder what my life might be like had I been born in a place like North Dakota or Iowa or Nebraska. Big states that require hours to cross. Places without easy access to multiple large cities like New York and Boston and New Haven and multiple states like we do here in New England.

Places without large concentrations of people.

Maybe I would’ve eventually moved to the northeast or the west coast, but it’s hard to know. When you grow up in a place, that place can often define a person’s hopes and dreams.

If I grew up in Montana or Kansas, I’m not sure if I ever find my way to storytelling, standup, performing, and all of the work I now do this field with corporations, schools, hospitals, nonprofits, the clergy, and everyone else.

Fate can also play an enormous role in your life. Where you are born will often determine the course of your life, but decisions about where to establish your roots are often made less thoughtfully and far more randomly.

I came to Connecticut, putting me strategically between New York and Boston, because while leaving a Def Leppard concert at the Hartford Civic Center in 1993, my best friend, Bengi (who had already moved to Connecticut for work), saw a coworker from Travelers waiting to be escorted to her car by the now-defunct Hartford Guides. Bengi asked if she wanted to walk with us since we were both parked in the same Traveler’s parking garage.

She accepted his offer.

During that short walk to our cars, I managed to impress that girl enough that she was asking about me at work the next day.

I eventually came to Connecticut because of that girl. Though we didn’t end up together forever, everything that followed, including Elysha, the kids, Speak Up, my career, my other career, my other career, and my other career, and just about every else good in my life, resulted from my move to Connecticut.

It terrifies me to think how close I came to not having any of this. A simple walk to a parking garage changed my life forever.

And had I remained in the Boston area, I might never go to New York and start telling stories for The Moth. I might never perform onstage.

Hartford to New York is a two or three hour drive depending on the time of day, but Boston to New York is more than four hours. Impossible to get there on time for a show after a full day of work.

Yes, I could’ve moved to New York and had all the opportunities that the city affords, but losing easy access to the Boston area would’ve been terrible for me, too. Having a second market in which to perform and work has been tremendous, and almost two decades spent at Gillette Stadium with my friends, cheering on the Patriots, would’ve been wiped out by a move to NYC.

There are many days when I’m driving to Manhattan or Brooklyn and wishing I lived a little closer to the city. There are also days when I’m stuck in traffic on the Mass Pike and wishing the trip to Boston was a lot shorter. But by being nearly equidistant to both cities, I have access to both cities, as well as places like New Haven, Providence, and northern New England.

And I have Hartford, a place where I perform and work regularly as well.

Hartford may not be the most glamorous as places like Boston and New York, but its geographical position has positioned me well for many opportunities, and I don’t discount this good fortune.

Geography is, of course, one of the most defining aspects of a person’s life. Forget Nebraska or Iowa. Had I been born in Siberia or Syria or the Sudan, my life would be very different. I was exceptionally, exceedingly fortunate to be born in America, and perhaps also fortunate to be born in the northeast, and perhaps also fortunate to have landed in a place that affords me access to cities like New York and Boston.

I try to remind myself about this whenever possible. As hard as I have worked to get where I am today, it was also just dumb luck that I was born in America in proximity to multiple large cities that have given me opportunities beyond compare.

Dumb luck, folks. It’s what fuels more success than we are sometimes willing to admit.

I don't remember what I see.

While teaching storytelling at Yale New Haven Hospital last night, I was trying to explain to someone about how I am a strong auditory learner and an exceptionally weak visual learner.

Essentially, I can remember almost everything I hear, but I have great difficulty remembering anything that I see.

I don’t notice a lot of things.

Elysha has argued that if she were standing in a lineup of brunettes of similar height, I would be hard-pressed to identify her. This is not true, of course, but there is some truth in what she says.

But this is true:

Elysha and I were at a party a few years ago when someone asked us what color our house is. I said, “Yellow.”

Elysha said, “Our house is not yellow.”

So began a debate over the color of our house, which I knew was yellow. We’d been living in the house for at least half-a-dozen years at that point, and I damn well knew the color of our house. It was clearly yellow. Unquestionable yellow. As yellow as the yellow of a yellow crayon.

A couple hours later, we turned onto our street and took a look at the house.

It’s not yellow. As you can see (below), it’s not even close to being yellow.

I’d been living in a house for years, and I couldn’t accurately recall the color of that house.

That is frightening.

Yes, it’s great to have an exceptionally strong auditory memory. Being able to remember everything that I hear and follow multiple conversations simultaneously is helpful. Elysha has caught me watching television and listening to an audiobook at the same time, and I can do so while maintaining focus on both narratives.

I’m sure that my auditory prowess has helped me with my writing and storytelling. I made me a debate champion in college (and a miserable person to argue with). It helps me analyze and dissect movies, television shows, and stories with ease because I’m able to hold large amounts of auditory information in my head for a long, long time.

All that is great.

But it would also be great if I could accurately identify the color of your house. Or recognize someone by their face rather than their voice. Or be able to tell someone what color shirt I’m wearing without having to look down to see.

That would be pretty great, too.

Speak Up Storytelling #38: Lauren Doninger

On episode #38 of the Speak Up Storytelling podcast, Matthew and Elysha Dicks talk storytelling.

In our followup segment, we talk about upcoming shows and workshops and offer a shout-out to a listener who we recently met IRL!

In our Homework for Life segment, we talk about four entries in Matt's Homework for Life, and how when combined, they can tell a complete story. We also talk about the value of saying things that other may think but not often speak aloud, and how even when presenting yourself in a less-than-positive light, a storyteller can get an audience on their side.  

Next we listen to Lauren Doninger's story about her son's illness and her fight to be heard. 

After listening, we discuss:

The weaving of details throughout a story rather than piling them at the top

Connecting character details to plot points to allow them to feel seamlessly integrated into the story

Effective ways of teaching our audience about content needed to understand our stories (without bringing the story to a halt)

Effective summarizing within a story

Revealing information (and a surprise) by remaining in the moment

Activating imagination at the top of a story

Injecting humor into the beginning of a story 

Identifying and fully developing critical scenes in a story

Next, we answer questions about titling stories and turning a negative moment into a positive moment. 

Finally, we each offer a recommendation.  

LINKS

Homework for Life: https://bit.ly/2f9ZPne

Matthew Dicks's website: http://www.matthewdicks.com

Matthew Dicks's YouTube channel:
https://www.youtube.com/matthewjohndicks 

Subscribe to Matthew Dicks's weekly newsletter: 
http://www.matthewdicks.com/matthewdicks-subscribe

Subscribe to the Speak Up newsletter: 
http://www.matthewdicks.com/subscribe-speak-up

Speak Up at Space Ballroom on March 3:
Exposed: Lies, Secrets, and Indiscretions Revealed

STORYTELLING WORKSHOPS 2019

May 4: Storytelling workshop (beginner), CT Historical Society
May 18: Storytelling workshop (advanced), CT Historical Society
June 1: Storytelling workshop (master class), CT Historical Society
July 29-August 2: Storytelling bootcamp, CT Historical Society
August 17: Storytelling workshop, Taproot Theater, Seattle, WA 
October 25-27: Storytelling workshop, Kripalu Center for Yoga and Heath
December 6-8: Storytelling workshop, Kripalu Center for Yoga and Health

RECOMMEDATIONS

Elysha:

Westworld on HBO

Matt:

Maeve in America by Maeve Higgins

New employment opportunity involves contracting malaria

Elysha is opposed to me taking on any new jobs, and I certainly understand her feelings. Between teaching, writing, storytelling, consulting, ministering, standup, coaching, and the occasional DJ gig, I am never short on work.

But I also understand my insanity.

When you’ve been homeless and hungry and facing the real possibility of prison, and you honestly believe that you will never live in an actual house again, it’s hard to feel like you’re ever more than a step or two away from the cliff at any moment.

And now that I have a wife and two children depending on me, the cliff is more frightening than ever. Terrifying, really.

This is why I seem to collect jobs. I’m building a bulwark against possible oblivion. I’m in a constant battle against possible economic disaster.

A little crazy, I know, but born from a former and very real reality.

Troy Carter of The Atom Factory calls this financial PTSD. "When you grow up poor, you suffer financial PTSD. You always have that fear."

I get that.

Despite Elysha’s admonitions, I actually managed to land three new jobs in 2018:

I started writing and consulting for an advertising company, I started consulting on documentaries, and I became a notary.

Huzzah!

In my defense, Elysha was excited about my opportunity to work on a national advertising campaign and fully supported it.

I'm not sure if she knew about my application to become a notary, but I don’t feel like that job will be terribly demanding of my time and energy. She’s probably fine with that one, too.

I’m not sure if she’s even aware of the work I’m doing with the documentarian. Until now.

Just last week, I learned of a new employment possibility:

Malaria vaccine volunteer

Yes, it’s just what it sounds like. Pharmaceutical companies are looking for test subjects to determine the efficacy of new vaccines. There’s no real danger to the subject, and it pays well too:

A vaccine trial through the Jenner Institute at Oxford, for example, pays about $3,200, to malaria volunteers. Over 1,000 people have been deliberately infected with malaria for research purposes so far, and they’ve all been perfectly fine.

I know what you’re thinking… Getting malaria on purpose sounds a little crazy, but I feel like it’s one of those jobs that I could do while doing other jobs, doubling my earning power.

Multi-tasking!

If Elysha doesn’t approve of this idea (and I see my chances as rather low), other job possibilities on the horizon include:

Professional best man (Five grooms, a filmmaker, and two reality show developer have tried to hire me for this position so far)

Unlicensed therapist (Two licensed therapists have given me the thumbs up on this idea)

Unaccredited sociologist (I have many theories to test and write about but no desire to earn a boring sociology degree)

Gravesite visitor (It’s a thing)

Double date companion (Alongside Elysha, we would offer the social lubricant needed to ensure a successful first or second or third date)

Futurist (I’m more than willing to be paid to predict the future)

Wake up call

Elysha left a glass of water on the headboard of our bed.

Around 4:00 in the morning, the cat knocked it off the headboard. Somehow the glass landed on the floor beside the bed, but all of the water landed on me, waking me up, because apparently I live in a sitcom.

Great news, greater advice, and a cage

Today I offer you a bit of followup on previous posts.

First, and I think most important, is a comment that my friend, John, left on my blog yesterday. I met John through Speak Up, where he has become a bit of a regular, and a couple years ago I played in his day-long, 54 hole golf tournament.

John wrote this in response to my post about my slightly unorthodox version of self care:

_____________________________________________

This morning I ran 3 miles. I know, so what, many people can do that.

What if I told you I will be 66 years old in 7 weeks?

Yep, a fair number of 66 year olds can do that too.

But what if I told you the last time I did it was the morning of my heart attack?

What if I told you that 272 days ago a team of doctors sawed open my chest, stopped my heart and repaired it. At about this point you might tell me to stop bragging.

But Matt’s words this morning ring so true to me. “Whenever possible, I try to put myself in a position to feel like I am doing better than other people. Accomplishing more. Making the most of my day. Outpacing my fellow human beings.”

Many times during my running life when I was exhausted during a run or unmotivated, I would say to myself, “How many 45 year olds can do this? How many 55 year olds can”” Comparing myself to everyone born in 1953 and later would always get me to the finish line. And I am convinced that in a small way those thoughts kept me running through the years and maybe played a role in saving my life.

This is the day I have looked forward to since I could only walk slowly for 5 minutes without needing to rest.

This morning I ran 3 miles. I’m back.

_____________________________________________

Not only am I thrilled to hear that John is back, but I think his words are important for people to hear, myself included.

Last week, I wrote about the cage that my student built and gave to me for my birthday. The only photographs I took of the cage on that day were ones containing students, so here is what the cage looks like now, hanging above my desk.

My version of self care might seem despicable and disgraceful, but I disagree.

As snow was falling last week and the roads were getting white and slick, I stepped out of my car and into the gym for a work out.

The gym was practically empty. The rapidly falling snow had kept the masses at home, at least for one day.

I felt amazing.

Not because I had my choice of equipment. Not because I’m anti-social. Not because the grunts and groans of the attention-seeking power lifters on the first floor bother me.

I felt great because I knew that many, many people were skipping their workout yesterday because of the snow, but I was not. It made me feel so much better than so many people.

And that, quite often, is my version of self-care:

Whenever possible, I try to put myself in a position to feel like I am doing better than other people. Accomplishing more. Making the most of my day. Outpacing my fellow human beings.

This is what makes me feel good.

I know this sounds despicable, but bear with me.

So often when I hear people speak about self care, it comes in the form of reduction, simplification, or departure. .

Take a hot shower or a warm bath.

Get a massage.

Cuddle with a pet.

Listen to music.

Play the lute.

Mediate.

All of these are fine ways to feel good, but I can’t imagine a better way to feel good than to boost your confidence and self-esteem by crushing humanity.

For me, this can come in the from something as simple as working out during a snow storm when everyone else is staying home. Playing nine holes of golf at sunrise and stepping off the course while knowing that many people are still in bed. Choosing a book or writing over television. Attending a Patriots game in sub-zero temperatures while so many of my fellow fans choose to stay home. Surprising Elysha in some remarkable, original, make-all-the-other-husbands-look-terrible kind of way.

On Sunday, we took the kids to the Boston Children’s Museum. While Charlie was climbing inside a ceiling-high apparatus, I watched, waving each time his head poked out from an opening and taking lots photos. Sitting on benches behind he were about a dozen parents whose children were also climbing inside the apparatus.

Every single one of them were staring at their phones.

Noticing this, I leaned in, shouting encouragement to Charlie. Telling him I loved him. Urging him to climb higher and higher.

For those ten minutes, I felt like the best parent in the world. And when Charlie finally emerged from the apparatus, he ran to me, jumped in my arms, and said, “Dad, you’re the best.” I don’t think he really noticed the parents on the benches behind me, but it was a perfect moment nonetheless.

Earlier on that same day, I drove to Starbucks to pick up a coffee for Elysha. As I pulled into the parking lot, I counted the number of cars in the drive thru.

ELEVEN. Eleven cars wrapped around the store. So many cars that the eleventh car was partially blocking one of the entrances to the parking lot.

Inside the store, not a single person was standing in line. The place was nearly empty. I picked up Elysha’s coffee, returned to my car, and re-checked the drive thru line. Two cars had left while I was in the store, but three more had joined the line.

For the next hour or more, I felt like a champion. I was honoring the precious commodity of time in a way those drive thru line lunatics were not. When I arrived home, I made a point of tickling Clara and Charlie because I had the time to tickle them.

I hadn’t wasted my time sitting in an endless drive thru line.

I know. This method of self care might still sound slightly despicable. Or deranged. Or rotten.

But here is the truth:

Confidence is powerful. Feeling good about yourself can change your entire day. Feeling like a champion is invigorating and life affirming. We live in a world where people so often focus on their struggles and defeat and fail to celebrate their achievements.

I talk to writers who finish their first novel but are hesitant to celebrate because the book isn’t published yet. They spend a year or two or ten doing something that most people will never do - writing a book - and yet they are unwilling to take a moment to acknowledge this accomplishment.

I talk to storytellers who find the courage to stand in front of an audience at The Moth for the first time and tell their story, but instead of celebrating this momentous first step, they are upset with their sixth place finish. They have just conquered a fear that most people will never conquer, but they refuse to let themselves feel great about it.

The desire to achieve more is wonderful. Striving for excellence is essential. Understanding that your journey is just beginning is fine. But take a moment to celebrate each positive step forward. Take note of the moments when you are doing better than those around you. Take a moment to notice when everyone around you is simply not doing as well as you.

Sometimes those steps are enormous. Finishing novels. Conquering fears. Making hard, bold choices.

More often they can be as simple as exercising in a snowstorm. Engaging with your child while the rest of the parents are not. Getting out of your car to grab a coffee while others are willing to throw away their precious time to stay warm and dry.

It doesn’t mean that you are a better human being than the rest of us. It doesn’t make you an arrogant jerk. It simply means that in a particular moment, on a particular day, you are making better choices or more courageous choices or harder choices than the people around you. If you’re willing to recognize that, acknowledge it, and celebrate it, you’ll feel better about yourself.

Those people kind of suck at this moment, but I don’t. I’m killing it. I’m a champion.

That, in my mind, is the best version of self care.