Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 272

Change happens slowly, methodically, and daily. Most people refuse to accept this.

This is a perfect metaphor for change. Watch this video.

When I work with people on affecting change in their lives - whether it's my fifth grade students or the adults who hire me to help them achieve a goal - the struggle is often to make them understand how small, incremental changes over time produce huge results.

The struggle is two-fold:

1. People lack the patience to allow change to happen. When I lost almost 60 pounds, people were desperate to learn how I managed to do it. When I told them that I ate a little less, exercised a little more, land lost about a pound a week for a year, they were far less enthusiastic. People want a quick fix. A magical diet. Not a plodding, methodical, common sense approach to weight loss. But it's the slow, habit-changing method of change that often produces the best results. 

 2. People lack the faith in incrementalism. They believe that things must be done in large bites instead of tiny nibbles. If your closet is a disorganized disaster, for example, pick up just one item every day, and before long, your closet will be clean with minimal effort and time spent. Instead, people would rather spend a rainy Saturday cleaning out their entire closet, which turns a tiny, simple daily chore into an onerous, time consuming, and loathsome job. 

Small, consistent, focused efforts at change over a long period of time can produce enormous results, and like the video, these results can snowball into something enormous. 

People either don't believe it or won't put forth the effort to ensure the consistency required to make it happen.  

For example:

After writing every single of my life - without exception - for 17 years, I wrote the first sentence of my first novel in 2005.

One sentence.

Martin opened the refrigerator and saw exactly what he had expected. 

Then I wrote another sentence. Then another.

Three years later I had finished writing my first a novel. That same day I started writing my second novel. 

A year later, I had sold that first novel. Then I sold the second and the third and so one. 

Today I've published four novels. My fifth will publish next year. I have contracts for three other books, including my first book of nonfiction and my first children's book. Three of my novels are optioned for film. I'm writing columns regularly for two magazines. 

This is the year that my enormous Domino block has fallen. Twelve years after I wrote that first sentence, and thirty years after I committed myself to writing every day, I am on the verge of being able to make a living as a writer.

But I'm still working one sentence at a time.

Small, consistent, focused change over a long period of time. It results in enormous changes. It turns the blank page into a book and a writing career.

Be patient. Consistent. Focused. Tiny steps forward every single day can bring to you amazing places.  

Increased degree of difficulty is not appreciated

Writing a novel is hard enough. I really don't need this added nonsense. 

Didn't exist in 2005

Twelve years ago, the world was without these 15 technologies. 

It was truly a different world not that long ago.

iPhone
iPad
Kindle
YouTube
Uber
Podcasts
Airbnb
Android
Google Maps
Spotify
Mobile weather applications
Instagram
Slack
Spotify
Evernote
Snapchat
Nest
Oculus

RIP Uncle Harry

My great Uncle Harry passed away this week. 

Yes, his name was Harry Dicks. Not even Harold Dicks. Straight up Harry. 

Growing up, I lived next door to Uncle Harry. He lived with his brother, my grandfather, on a sprawling piece of land that served as my childhood adventure land. Land that my father and his siblings once roamed became the place where I walked and ran in their footstep.

I knew Uncle Harry well back then and less so as the years have gone by, but he has always been there, a fixture in that small, white house between the fields and forests that I loved so. 

It's hard to believe he's gone. 

Uncle Harry was the last of my grandparents generation. Gone now are my grandparents and all of their brothers and sisters. My father and his two surviving siblings and my mother's four surviving siblings are the family elders now. 

I was fortunate enough as a boy to know both sets of grandparents, as well as my great grandfather (my father's grandfather), my great grandmother (my mother's mother), and Uncle Harry fairly well. I have solid memories of all of those people. Men and women born before and during the Great Depression, decades before World War II, who have now passed on.

I can't help but wonder what they were like as children. How did they spend their time? What games did they play? What dreams did they dream? What were their hopes for the future?

All I want is just one day. Give me one day to go back and see those people - my grandparents and great grandparents - in all their youthful glory. To see Uncle Harry with the sun on his face, the wind at his back, and so much time ahead of him.  

This is a picture that my brother drew of Uncle Harry. Captures him well.  

Resolution update: May 2017

PERSONAL HEALTH

1. Don’t die.

Not even close to death this month. 

2. Lose 20 pounds.

I gained two pounds in May, mostly due to a schedule that kept me from the gym, bringing the total loss for the year to eight pounds.

3. Do at least 100 push-ups and 100 sit-ups five days a week.

Done.   

4. Practice yoga at least three days a week for at least 15 minutes each day.

I participated in two yoga classes while working at Kripalu this month. Not exactly meeting the goal. 

5. Take the stairs whenever I am ascending or descending five flights or less.

I mistakenly took the elevator yesterday. I was chatting with a colleague and mindlessly boarded the elevator for a trip up three flights. Otherwise, it's been the stairs every time. 

WRITING CAREER

6. Complete my sixth novel before the end of 2017.

Work continues in earnest. Due date in July.   

7. Complete my first middle grade/YA novel.

Work continues in earnest. Due date is December.  

8. Write at least three new picture books, including one with a female, non-white protagonist. 

I started work on a non-fiction picture book about the great Idaho beaver airlift of 1948.  

9. Complete a book on storytelling.

Work continues in earnest. Due date in July.

10. Write a new screenplay.

No progress.

11. Write a musical.

Work has begun. I've written the first two scenes and have begun outlining it so that my partner can begin writing songs. 

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

I have submitted one piece to the Times so far in 2017.

No luck.  

13. Write a proposal for a nonfiction book related to education.

I'm still taking notes as the school year progresses for an idea that I think might work, and I have several other ideas that I am expanding into paragraph summaries. Work on this will likely commence at the end of the school year. 

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

No progress.

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

On the suggestion of a reader:

I spent April praying to God at least once a day. Quite often three or more times per day. As you may know, I'm a reluctant atheist, so I hadn't prayed in a very long time. 

I'll be writing about the experience on my blog this month. 

I'm currently looking for my next behavior. Ideas anyone?

16. Increase my author newsletter subscriber base to 1,600.

I grew my list by 22 subscribers in April (and 142 overall this year). Total subscribers now stands at 1,426. If I continue at this pace, I will exceed 1,600 by the end of the year. 

17. Write at least six letters to my father.

I received a letter from my father in February. I am still writing a response.    

18. Convert Greetings Little One into a book.

No progress. 

19. Record one thing learned every day in 2017.

Done! My favorite thing learned in March is this:

Disney's Frozen exists in the same universe as Disney's Tarzan. Tarzan's parents are Elsa and Anna's parents, not killed at sea but shipwrecked on the island and later eaten by a leopard. 

STORYTELLING

20. Produce a total of 12 Speak Up storytelling events.

We produced one show in May at Infinity Hall in Hartford. 

This brings our total number of Speak Up shows in 2017 to eight.

21. Deliver a TED Talk.

Done! I spoke about the important things that teachers do at The Pomfret School in April. It went well! Hoping the producers recorded the talk well, and it will result in a quality video. 

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

I attended two Moth StorySLAMs in New York in May, bringing my yearly total to seven.   

23. Win at least three Moth StorySLAMs.

I won a Moth StorySLAM in Boston in March. I was not chosen to perform in the two slams I attended in May. 

24. Win a Moth GrandSLAM.

It looks like my next opportunity to compete in a Moth GrandSLAM will be in July.  

25. Produce at least 50 episodes of my new podcast Live Better.

I pulled down my first episode after receiving feedback from a friend who works in radio. I'm currently re-recording with a slightly different format.

I expect to relaunch this summer. 

26. Perform stand up at least once in 2016. 

A local stand up venue has invited me to perform. I'm getting my material ready. I plan to perform this summer. I will likely perform in New York with a friend as well.  

27. Write a one-person show.

The "writing" for this show is nearly complete. 

A local theater is interested in having me perform. I'll be meeting with the director in the summer. 

NEW PROJECTS

28. Explore the option of teaching a college class.

No progress.   

29. Cook at least 12 good meals (averaging one per month) in 2016.

No progress.

30. Plan a 25 year reunion of the Heavy Metal Playhouse.

No progress.

MISCELLANEOUS

31. I will stand in vocal opposition to every negative comment made about age disparities between male and female romantic couplings because I choose to respect a woman’s choices of romantic partner regardless of their age or the age of their partner.

No opportunities to vocally oppose this unfortunate prejudice in May.    

32. I will report on the content of speech during every locker room experience via social media in 2017.   

Done. 

Over the course of the month, I heard no man bragging about sexually assaulting women in any locker rooms (or anywhere else for that matter).  

33. I will stop presenting the heteronormative mother-and-father paradigm as the default parental paradigm when speaking to my children and my students.

Done. Not as hard as I thought. I switched over to "parents" in January and haven't slipped yet.     

34. 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. 

I referred to Donald Trump as "The Circus Peanut" twice in May. This is definitely a negative comment on physical appearance. I did it for comedic sake on on Twitter, but still, I'm disappointed in myself. 

I've also added my mother-in-law, father-in-law, and grandmother-in-law to my permitted list of people to whom can make comments about physical appearance.    

35. Surprise Elysha at least six times in 2016.

Two surprises so far in 2017.  

Flowers and a Cadbury Egg. 

36. 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. 

37. Optimize our television for a streaming service. 

We upgraded our cable television interface to a voice activated, much more intuitive system that may fit the requirements of a streaming service. This upgrade is tremendous. Credit Elysha for the upgrade as well as the reduction in our cable/Internet bill as well.  

This might be declared done in a month or two if we continue to be satisfied with this arrangement. 

38. Set a new personal best in golf.

I played two horrendous rounds of golf in May, but I'm getting accustomed to a new grip and new swing. Hopefully this is one step back for two steps forward.    

39. Play poker at least six times in 2016.

No progress. 

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

No progress. 

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

Done!

My friends know me better than I do. Also, my ophthalmologist doesn't know me at all.

I got in a fight with my ophthalmologist. 

More of a tiff, really.

I hadn't been to an ophthalmologist in 20 years. The last time I went, I was given a pair of glasses that I lost two days later. I replaced those with another pair that I lost a week later.

That was the end of eye correction for me. 

Twenty years later, I returned, both to get my vision checked again as well as other eye-related issues. The doctor spent some time determining my necessary level of correction. Once finished, I asked her how poor my eyesight was.

"I don't like to compare patients," she said.

"No," I said. "I just want to know if my eyesight is frighteningly poor and in need of a major correction, or if it's not so bad. Just tell me if my eyesight is a twelve-car pileup or a fender bender."

She refused. I was annoyed. As a patient (and therefore a customer), I don't think this is an unreasonable question. I feel like I had a right to the answer. 

Then she began describing the glasses I would need to purchase. I asked if we could try contacts. "I don't want to wear glasses unless it's absolutely necessary," I explained. They'll be cumbersome to me. I will lose them or break them. I will not like them. "I don't wear sunglasses," I said. "I don't even carry an umbrella in the rain. I don't manage stuff like that well. And I don't want to."

She said that I would not do well with contacts. When they attempted to dilate my eyes, I was not exactly relaxed as they tried to put eyedrops in my eyes. I was slightly afraid.

Maybe more than slightly.

And it's true. I've avoided the ophthalmologist for years because I didn't want glasses and am terrified by the thought of putting something in my eyes. I've watched Elysha do it for years, and I still don't know how she does it. But I was willing to try. 

"You won't be able to do contacts," she said. She went onto explain that because I'm nearsighted, contacts might make it impossible for me to read as well.  

"It won't be easy," I said. "But don't you think I could just try? Maybe I could get adjusted to them?"

"No," she said. "I don't think you can."

Now I was angry. "I'm a 46 year old man," I said. "I've overcome PTSD, homelessness, and jail. I've been robbed at gunpoint, and my head went through a windshield. There is still glass in my forehead. I've managed to get past all of those things. I think I know myself a little better than you. I think I can probably learn to manage contact lenses. Or at least try."

She continued to tell me why contacts would not be right for me and refused to give me a prescription. "Maybe in six months," she said. "After you've gotten accustomed to the correction."

I left. I was enraged.  

So now I have a prescription for glasses that I will not fill. I am stuck between finding a new doctor and waiting another 20 years.

I haven't decided what I'll do yet.

When I told this story to my friend on a golf course, he said, "Oh, you mean someone told you that you couldn't do something, and that made you angry? How surprising."

I still think the ophthalmologist was wrong. I still think I had a right to know the degree of my correction. I still think she was wrong to assess my ability to put contacts into my eyes after just ten minutes and one attempt at eye drops. 

But my friend was right. Nothing makes me angrier than someone telling me that I can't do something. 

This was the primary source of my anger. And I'm okay with that. My anger over people telling me what I can't do has helped to propel me to where I am today. 

It's also good to know that your friends know you even better than you know yourself. 

I don't like the way I look.

I wore a suit last week for a formal affair.

No tie, of course. I don't strap decorative nooses around my neck anymore, but dress pants, matching jacket, and button-down shirt, and shoes.  

I hated it.

I despise wearing a suit.

Part of my hatred for suits is simply based upon my hatred for being told what to do. 

Part of my hatred is the uniform aspect of a suit. I went to a formal affair where all the men essentially dressed identically. Yes, the shades of blue and grey were slightly different, and some of the shirts were blue and others were white, but every man was basically wearing the same thing.

I was the only man not wearing a tie. 

I think this is stupid. The clothing that the women wore to the event was at least diverse and distinctive. They were still required to wear certain things and avoid other things, but at least they didn't all look like little formal soldiers of mundanity, marching around in jackets and pants and ties.

Uniforms. I hate those, too.  

But here is the truth of the matter. Here is the real reason I despise wearing a suit: 

I don't like the way I look in a suit.
I don't feel good about my appearance when wearing a suit.
I don't feel good about myself when wearing a suit. 

This is the heart of the matter.

I know that my hatred toward being told what to do is slightly infantile. I can even get past the idea that the men were required to be dressed alike (though it's really, really stupid).

But people shouldn't be required to wear clothing that doesn't make them feel good about themselves. People shouldn't be required to wear something that makes them feel bad when they look in a mirror. This strikes me as a basic human right, and yet this is exactly how I feel when I wear a suit. 

I don't like the way I look in a suit. I feel bad about the way I look.

And yes, my wife and others told me that I looked good, but if I don't think that I look good, their words are not going to suddenly change that opinion.

This is true of all people. I can assure my wife that she looks great, but if she doesn't think she looks great, my words carry no water. This may be truer for me than most, but we all feel this way to some degree:

We don't care what people think about us nearly as much as we care about what we think of ourselves. 

I want to feel good about the way I look.
I should have the right to feel good about the way I look.   

Would it have made any difference if I'd worn jeans, a tee shirt, and jacket? If every man had arrived in the outfit of their choice rather than their assigned uniform, would anyone have cared?

Only the judgmental douchebags and elitist snobs. 

Some may say that I need to grow up. There are times in your life when you need to conform to expectations. You don't always get to choose what you want to wear. There are times in life when convention, expectation, and tradition supersede personal preference.

I would argue that I have grown up. I am an adult man who knows that the veneer of formality is nonsense. That expectation and tradition are simply a means of reinforcing conformity/ Requiring someone to put on clothing that makes them feel ugly or stupid or silly should be reserved for small children and federal inmates. Growing up means seeing through arcane expectations that serve no purpose other than to strip away individuality, self respect, and self determination.

Growing up means understanding that the ten year-old version of yourself was right:

You should just be able to wear whatever the hell you want without anyone giving you grief. You should be allowed to feel good about your appearance. Good about yourself. Good about the way you look. 

Fear not. This is not an example of bigotry as I initially thought. It's simply stupidity.

Behold. The White House published this photograph of First Lady Melania Trump and the other spouses of NATO leaders at the Royal Castle of Laeken in Brussels during the recent NATO summit.

Initially left off the captioned list of names was the First Gentleman of Luxembourg, Gauthier Destenay, who is married Prime Minister Xavier Bettel, making Bettel the first European Union head of government to marry a same-sex partner. 

The man in the photograph is gay, and his name was the only name left off. 

I was inclined to assume that the omission of Bettel's name was an act bigotry given Trump's complete abandonment of his campaign commitment to the LGBTQ community, but in addition to the omission of Bettel, Melania Trump's name was listed twice, Brigitte Macron, the first lady of France, was listed as “Brigitte Trogneux,” and the year of the photograph was listed as 2917.

The trifecta of stupidity. 

So the omission was probably typical Trump incompetence rather than Trump bigotry.

Though possibly both.  

This should not be surprising coming from a President who didn't know that Frederick Douglass was no longer alive.

A President whose administration who invented The Bowling Green Massacre, the Swedish Incident, and "alternative facts."

A President who continues to assert that his Electoral victory was one of the largest in American history when it was actually one of the narrowest. 

A President whose administration managed to unbelievably include a typo in Trump's official Presidential portrait.  

It's almost always correct to assume the worst from this President. It's just difficult to determine if the worst is the result of his complete incompetence or his despicable nature. 

Our cats are not perfect.

Cats are smart. So damn smart. 

This is Tobi, one of our two new cats, cuddling with my kids and with his brother, Pluto. 

In my son's case, he was sick at the time. Lying on the couch with fever, Tobi would curl into Charlie's body and purr as if he knew Charlie needed a little love. He did the same when my wife, Elysha, was suffering from a concussion, and when my daughter, Clara, was battling the stomach bug. In each case, Tobi (and to a lesser degree his brother) gravitated to the person in the house who was most ill and in need of love.  

At one point, as he was being cuddled by Tobi, Charlie said, "I think I'll smile forever."

The cats also seem to understand the difference between adults and children. When the cats are with me or my wife, they will often bat our hands with their paws and playfully (and sometimes painfully) bite our fingers, hands, and (terrifyingly) our chins. 

But nether cat has ever bitten or clawed one of our kids, and the same was true for our former cat, Owen, who passed away last year. He was not averse to biting me or my wife when he was overstimulated, but he never bit either one of the kids, regardless of how roughly they may have treated him.  

Brilliant animals. So intuitive. Also more than willing to knock everything off the counter, sneak outside, climb into my daughter's box spring, and eat all the dog's food instead of their own, so not perfect.

But close enough. 

You're standing on a cliff, too...

I was explaining to someone how my constant push to accomplish more, do more, succeed more is the result of my belief that I am always and forever standing on the edge of a cliff, and at any moment, I could topple over into the same oblivion that caused me to be homeless and jailed and absent of all hope earlier in my life.

I've written about the cliff before. 

I explained to this woman that it's my sense of the cliff that never allows me to feel entirely secure with my position in life. At any moment, it can all be taken away, regardless of my success. As a result, I feel the need to relentlessly push forward at all times.

Sounds a little crazy, I know, but someone as successful as Springsteen feels similarly. The sentiment was recently described by someone on a podcast (who is also hugely successful but feels the same way) as financial PTSD. 

In response to my explanation of the cliff, the woman said, "It must be so hard to feel like your constantly standing on the edge of a cliff like that."

My reply:

"You're standing on the edge of the cliff, too. We all are. The only difference between you and me is that I can see the cliff. I know it's there. We all face oblivion. Most people are just blissfully unaware."

"Ignorance is bliss, I guess," she said.

"Maybe," I said. But here's the truth:

Hospice workers will tell you that the majority of their patients express regret on their death bed. Regret about not chasing down their dreams. Living the life their parents expected instead of the one they dreamed of living. Not spending enough time with family. Losing touch with friends. Never graduating from high school, earning a college degree or learning a second language. Not traveling enough. Failing to take risks. Failing to chase love. Never finding the courage to ask, "Will you be mine?"  

These are people who have suddenly become aware of the cliff, but it's too late to do anything about it. 

We're all standing on the edge of the cliff. We are all on the brink of oblivion. And while ignorance may be bliss, I suspect that in the back of our minds, we all know the cliff is there. We all understand how fragile and finite life truly is and how easily we could lose it all. Illness, accident, an act of violence, financial upheaval, addiction, natural disaster, and yes, even an arrest for a crime you did not commit could strip you of your safety and security in a second. We all know the cliff is there, and I suspect that we all know when we are failing ourselves and our futures. 

We know when we aren't being our best selves. 

I am perhaps more fixated on the cliff than most, or perhaps I am simply willing and able to acknowledge its existence more than most. It's possible that a near-death experience at 12 and another at 17, combined with a gun pressed to my head and the trigger pulled, and homelessness and jail have brought the cliff into clearer focus for me. These experiences have made me more relentless than most. More driven. 

Perhaps that theory of financial PTSD is true.   

But the cliff is there for each and every one of us. History is littered with the stories of brilliant, successful, and wealthy people who lost everything. Men and women who toppled over into a seemingly impossible oblivion that no one saw coming.

Just ask the victims of Bernie Madoff if they ever thought they might face financial ruin. Speak to the people in a country like Venezuela, which is on the verge of collapse, if they ever thought that they might face starvation and destitution. Ask the professional athletes, musicians, and entertainers who made hundreds of millions of dollars during their careers who now have nothing if they ever thought that poverty was possible.

The cliff is there, and while I am perhaps far too fixated on its omnipresence, I also an keenly aware of the enormous amount of regret in this world for dreams not chased, risks not taken, childhoods missed, and love lost. I fight against the fear of financial oblivion, but I am also fighting to ensure that when I'm facing my final days, I can look back on my life with great satisfaction and very little regret.