Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 296

This is more important than selling shoes and books.

I have a friend who approached me a couple weeks ago and said, "Do you know why Michael Jordan never endorses political candidates? Because Democrats and Republicans both buy shoes."

He went on to say that he was surprised that I was writing so many politically-minded posts when I have books to sell. "Everyone reads," he said. "Democrats and Republicans."

I understood his point. While I always stand on a platform of authenticity and extreme honestly, I have been more politically minded on my blog this year than any other year before, but I explained to my friend that this election cycle is different. These are not two serious-minded, highly qualified people with differing opinions about the direction of our country. Donald Trump is the first candidate in my lifetime who was not fit to hold the office of President (or any position in government). If I did not speak out against this ignorant, racist, misogynist in order to sell a few more books, I couldn't live with myself. 

This is why I am so disappointed in Tom Brady, who was asked by a reporter yesterday how he would respond if his children heard Donald Trump's version of "locker room talk."

Brady thanked the reporters and stepped away, dodging the question completely. 

My hope is that Brady refused to answer the question because it required him to speak about his children, and he often avoids questions related to his family. Perhaps today a reporter will simply ask, "What did you think of Donald Trump's version of locker room talk?" and he will answer.

I hope so. But I also know that Brady and Trump have been friendly over the years. My fear is that he dodged the question because of their previous and perhaps ongoing relationship.  

I hope not. I love Tom Brady and expect a hell of a lot more from him. 

I wish more athletes would speak out against Trump's attempt to excuse his claims of sexual assault as "locker room talk." I wish every athlete in the world would. 

I realize that they all have shoes to sell and games to win and fans to appease, but there are times in life when you must stop caring about the dollar and start caring about this country.
About the perception of how men behave in private.
About the way we want our sons to speak about girls and women.
About what constitutes sexual assault.

The Moth: The Promise

In November of last year, I told this story about my high school sweetheart at a Moth GrandSLAM in Brooklyn. I was lucky enough to have the story air on the Moth Radio Hour and their podcast a couple months later. I can't tell you what a honor and thrill that is.

I hear from listeners all the time about the stories that have aired on the radio and podcast - at least a few emails each week - but this is the story that people contact me about most often by a wide margin.

Best insult ever

In my 18 years of teaching, I have been insulted by students in countless times in countless ways. Playful banter, of course, never meant to hurt and often in response to my own purposefully amusing hubris and declarations of supremacy,

Basically, I walk around, telling the kids how great and powerful I am and allow them to respond accordingly. 

It's actually an ideal strategy for bringing the more introverted students out of their shells. These are kids who have so much to say and are often funnier and more clever than their classmates have ever seen because they have such difficulty finding doorways into conversations, discussions, and debate. 

In an attempt to open one of those doorways, I offer these kids a large target and permission to fire away. They often charge right through. I cannot tell you how many formerly "quiet" students have opened up and become leaders in the classroom by first finding ways to tease me, mock me, and insult me in the spirit of humor and friendship.    

It's also an effective way of bringing a class of students together by providing them with a common enemy. The enemy happens to love them and want them to succeed, and my bluster is meant to be more entertaining than sincere, but the kids quickly see me as someone who must be defeated, and they rally around each other as a result.

In eighteen years, you can imagine that I have heard a great many things from students as a result. One of the best pranks ever played on my by a student became a story that I told on This American Life. Others have become stories that I have told on stages for The Moth, including stories involving an endless supply of raisins and a betrayal under the stars that will never be forgotten. 

But last week, I think I heard the greatest insult of all time from a student.

With the utmost of sincerity, this young lady looked up at me and said, "Mr. Dicks, I'm just curious."

I leaned in. Curiosity. A quality I want every student to possess. How exciting.

"When you wash your face, how do you know when to transition from face soap to shampoo, since you have so little hair left and it's hard to see where your forehead ends and the top of your begins. It's all one big patch of skin.?"

She pulled me in with her expression of curiosity and her dripping sincerity, and just as I was open and ready to respond, she stabbed me in the heart with her words.

I was so impressed.  

Practicing your speech in front of a mirror makes no sense

In the past four years, in addition to working with the hundreds of storytellers who have performed in our Speak Up shows, I've also been working on a fairly regular basis as a coach for other types of public speakers.

I've assisted people with TED Talks. Helped corporate types prepare presentations. Advised professional storytellers and other performers and writer in the polishing of their material. Guided managers and other leaders in crafting memorable speeches and effective messaging.

Last week I wrote a piece advising Hillary Clinton on debate strategy that actually found its way to campaign staffers. 

I'm still awaiting a job offer from the Clinton camp. 

In all the time I have been coaching people, one thing comes up again and again that makes no sense to me:

People tell me that they rehearse their stories and speeches in front of a mirror.

I am always baffled by this statement.

Why a mirror? When you're standing onstage, speaking to an audience, you're never looking at yourself. You're looking at other people. In fact, the only person in the room who you can't see and will never see is you.

The only place in the world where you shouldn't rehearse is in front of a mirror. It's the only time that you are guaranteed to be seeing something that you will never see while speaking. 

Not only will practicing in front of a mirror not help, but I suspect that it might actually hurt your performance. The very last thing you should be worried about while speaking is what you look like. It's your words, your inflection, your tonality, your ease of speech, and your choice of vocabulary that matter. The tilt of your head, the twinkle in your eyes, and the angle of your smile are all irrelevant. If you're thinking about your appearance while speaking, you're not dedicating all of your concentration to the one thing that matters.

Storytellers often ask me what to do with their hands when performing. My answer:

Nothing. Let them be. Allow them to do what they will do. If you're thinking about your hands, you're thinking about the wrong thing.

Mirror practice only encourages attention on your physical appearance. Don't do it. Practice in front of anything but a mirror. You have a greater chance to seeing a Canadian goose than you have of seeing yourself while you're speaking. Instead of a mirror, practice in front of other people. Or in front of pictures of other people. Or a wall. Anything, really. Anything but you.    

Why would you practice doing something in a way that will never happen in real life?   

Note: The one exception to this rule is if you are performing at Oberon in Cambridge, MA. There is a large mirror behind the bar at the back of the theater, so you can see yourself fairly clearly. It's awkward and disconcerting the first time you notice yourself, staring back at you, so perhaps in this one and only time that practicing in front of a mirror makes sense.  

Confessions of a Patriots Season Ticket Holder: Seasons Fall 2016

My latest humor column in the fall edition of Seasons magazine published this weekend. You can read it online here if you're not lucky enough to receive home delivery.

Scroll to the back page of the magazine.

Very apropos subject as Tom Brady returns to the field today to take on the Cleveland Browns.

For the first time in one of these humor columns, my friends Matt and Tony make an appearance.

I'm sure they're thrilled.

Never in my life

I have been in many locker rooms and on many golf courses over the course of my life. I have worked in fast food restaurants and diners and on construction sites. I have attended hundreds of college parties. I have been poor and homeless and lived on the streets.

I have never heard a man speak like Donald Trump on the recently released Access Hollywood recording. 

Not a friend or an acquaintance or a stranger. Not once. Not even close.

Memoirs of an Imaginary Friend fan art

There is nothing more humbling and thrilling than receiving fan art from a reader. I've received quite a bit over the years and seen even more on social media and the Internet. 

Since Memoirs of an Imaginary Friend has been nominated for a Nutmeg Award, the amount of fan art related to this book has increased.

Each bit makes my day. This recent image that I saw on Instagram is one of my favorites.

Get off my lawn!

A local lawn company sent a solicitor to my door last week. He and I had the following exchange:

TruGreen man: Hello, I was treating your neighbors lawn today and was wondering if you might be interested in our lawn care service.

Me: No, thank you. We’re all set.

TruGreen man: Are you sure?

Me: Yes.

TruGreen man: Can I ask what you’re currently doing for the lawn to keep it healthy?

Me: Not using TruGreen. Aggressively. 

To the man's credit, he laughed.   

It should also be noted that TruGreen ChemLawn dropped the second half of its name about ten years ago, becoming simply TruGreen. According the company, the name was changed happened because:

“…one word is all you need for a great lawn. We have shortened our name to make it easier for you to remember that we are the experts of lawn care.”

Thank goodness for this blessed bit of corporate wisdom. Their exceedingly lengthy, two-word name was so tricky to remember. This new, one word name, albeit a compound word, is so much better. 

I’m sure that it had nothing to do with the implication and constant reminder (through the use of the word Chemlawn) that this company is routinely bathing our lawns and shrubs in chemicals so potentially harmful that they necessitate the planting of little yellow warning flags after each treatment warning us to keep our pets and children off the grass.

I run through grocery stores often enough that strangers have begun to notice. This does not make me crazy, even though some might believe otherwise.

I was in the bread aisle of the local Stop & Shop last week when a woman stopped me and asked, "Why are you always running through this grocery store?"

"Excuse me?" I said.

"I always see you running through this store like you're on fire."

It's true. When I shop, I move fast, I wouldn't say that I run, but I am definitely moving faster than anyone around me.

The fact that this stranger was aware of my tendency was disconcerting. I am always telling people to stop worrying so much about their physical appearance because no one is ever looking at you as much as you think.

This woman's awareness of me and my shopping tendencies violated this belief.

"Well," I said. "I have a wife and two kids and blue sky and sun to get back to. The last place I want to be is inside this store. I'm in this store all the time. I've already seen this place. There are so many places I'd rather be. I'm just trying to get back to one of those places as quickly as possible."

The woman stared at me for a moment, as if considering my answer. Then she nodded and said, "Makes sense."

"So you're going to start running through the grocery store, too?" I was thrilled that I had found my first convert. 

"No," she said. "You're a nut."

She said this affectionately, but I could tell that she also meant it. She was willing to acknowledge that I had good reason to be moving quickly enough, consistently enough through the Stop & Shop to be noticed by a stranger, but she also thought that I was at least a little crazy.

I don't think so.

The question I am most frequently asked is, "How do you find the time to get so much done?" I am asked this question at least five times as often as any other question that I am asked, and I have a multitude of answers.

But one of them would be this:

When forced to do something that takes me away from the things I love most, I try to do that thing as quickly as possible.

So I run through grocery stores.

I run through grocery stores because I have a wife and two kids and sunshine and blue sky waiting for me. Also books to write. Stories to tell. Students to teach. Weddings to DJ. Books to read. Treadmills and golf courses to traverse.

I have a multitude of things to do that are better than buying bread, so I buy that bread as quickly as possible.

This seems like the most sane decision anyone could make.  

You see a leaf. I see something so much worse.

Want to know how I think? How I exist?

I was standing on the Old Drake Hill Flower Bridge in Simsbury, CT with my wife and children. It was a spectacular fall day. Blue skies. Warm temperatures. Laughing children.

I look over the bridge and spot this leaf, floating down the river. 

Here is what I thought:

That leaf didn't exist eight months ago. A maple tree that has probably been alive and growing for decades took sunlight and carbon dioxide and gave birth to this green bit of wonder. It's a miracle of sorts.

No, it truly is a miracle.

Look at it. Something that didn't exist now exists in color and shape and form. Born from an infinite number of random acts of weather and geology over the course of millions of years, this small, green bit of life clung by stem to branch, where it fluttered in the breeze, capturing sunlight to help nourish the tree that forged its existence.

But now autumn has arrived. The tree that once gave birth to this miracle has now shed it. The leaf fell, twisting and turning in its descent, finding its way on wind and current to this river, where it will journey far away from its birthplace. Somewhere downriver, it will get hung up on a fallen tree or an island or sandbar, where it come to rest, deteriorate, and decay. In a month or two or three, this leaf will be no more. What once existed in color and shape and form will no longer exist. It's atoms will be returned to the earth, separated forever. What was once joined in miraculous combination will be torn asunder, forever. 

This miracle - this honest-to-goodness miracle - will be gone.

Had I not been standing on this bridge at this very moment, looking in this particular direction, this leaf would have never been seen at all. This green miracle would have floated by utterly unknown to the world. It is only through good fortune that this miracle was witnessed by anyone at all.

Even my acknowledgement of this miracle will eventually come to an end.  

One day, decades from now, when the miracle that is me also ceases to exist, this tiny leaf will be unknown to the world once again. When the miraculous combination of my own atoms is no more, so too will any memory of this leaf. 

The only evidence of its existence lives inside of me. I alone possess the knowledge of this miracle in my heart. 

But when my heart stops beating and I no longer draw breath, this tiny, green miracle will be lost for all of eternity.

It will be like it had never existed at all.   

It will take longer for me to be forgotten. The echo of my existence will reverberate for many years after I cease to exist in color and shape and form, but one day, I will be just like this tiny, green miracle floating by in a shallow river.

Our fates will be one and the same: unknown and forgotten for eternity. Like we had never existed at all.

This is what I think when I see a leaf floating down a river on a perfect autumn afternoon.

Truly. While my children laugh in the sunshine, these are my thoughts. 

It's not easy. It makes for a sharp, brilliant, and visceral life, but it's not easy.