Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 36
November 28, 2024
In every small way, find a way.
I bumped into someone last night while shopping — a friend who told me he was feeling despair over the state of the world.
He seemed genuinely despondent.
I told him:
On April 29, 1945, my grandfather was one of the first American soldiers to enter and liberate the Nazi concentration camp of Dachau.
I suspect that if he were alive today, my grandfather might consider our world decidedly better than the years he spent fighting in Europe, watching his friends die from bombs and bullets, and witnessing the widespread death and destruction of an entire continent.
I told my friend that in 1969, my father was drafted and sent — against his will — to Vietnam to fight in a war that was in many ways foisted upon the American people through deliberate government deception. It was also, in many ways, an unjust war that sent so many working and middle-class Americans to fight while Americans of means often found ways to avoid the draft through political maneuvering, economic loopholes, and nonsense deferments of every kind, including the President-elect.
It was a decade that witnessed a Presidential resignation, social unrest, environmental catastrophes, and the Cold War.
The United States was also suffering through a decade of stagflation. Mortgage interest rates were at 9% and would eventually rise to 13% by the decade’s end. Unemployment remained well above 5% and reached as high as 8% during the decade.
If given the choice, I suspect my father would consider our world today better than his experiences in the 1970s.
This isn’t to say we don’t face exceptional challenges. Unthinkable and unimaginable circumstances that make little sense to so many of us. Political malfeasance, climate disasters, international unrest, an enormous political divide in our country, and an approaching kakistocracy.
We face enormous trouble and seemingly endless turmoil, too.
It’s just good to remember that Americans have faced challenges before, and it’s possible that ours — at least at times — pale in comparison.
We may not be as historically relevant as we like to think.
It’s good to remind ourselves that Americans have always found a way forward. Perhaps we, too, will find a way.
That is why I like this image so much.
It’s a reminder never to give up.
Even when all seems lost, find a way.
We need this more today than ever.
In every small way, find a way.
Teachers, I think, understand this to the core. Every day, we are gifted with the opportunity to make the lives of young people better, in fits and starts and sometimes leaps.
It’s a source of endless hope for me.
And it worked last night, too. By some small miracle, at least in that moment, I lightened my friend’s load and made him feel better.
“Thanks,” he said. “I needed that.” Then he smiled.
I’m not sure if he awoke this morning — Thanksgiving morning — feeling the same way, but at least in that moment, I found a small way to make a person’s life a tiny bit better.
In every small way, find a way.
Happy Thanksgiving.
November 27, 2024
Fastballs “The Way” is based upon what?
When it comes to music, I have always been a lyric person. I pay attention to the words.
I pay close attention to the words.
I never understood brides asking me to play “Gold Digger” at a wedding because “it has a good beat.”
There are a billion songs in the world. We can’t find a different song with a good beat.
The same goes for Garth Brook’s “The Dance.” It’s a lovely song, but it’s a breakup song. Do we need to play it at a wedding?
Some of my favorite songs are those that tell stories and take the listener on a journey:
“The Gambler” by Kenny Rogers
“Jack and Diane” by John Cougar Mellencamp
“Baseball in My Blood” by Erik Balkey
“Cats in the Cradle” by Harry Chapin
“A Boy Named Sue” by Johnny Cash
“American Pie” by Don Mclean
“18 and Life” by Skid Row
Lots of songs by Springsteen, Bon Jovi, Bowling for Soup, Meatloaf, Joe Strummer, and many more.
Some of these songs contain quite complex stories that include actual character development over the course of the song.
Since I pay attention to lyrics, I was shocked to discover that the 1998 hit song “The Way” by Fastball tells a story that I never realized until now.
Fastball’s lead singer Tony Scalzo says he wrote “The Way” in 1997 after reading an article in The Austin American-Statesman about Lela and Raymond Howard, an elderly couple who disappeared after leaving their Salado, Texas home to attend an event fifteen miles away in Temple.
The couple was eventually found 13 days later when hikers discovered the crumpled remains of their vehicle at the bottom of a cliff off the side of the highway.
Lela and Raymond had died from injuries sustained in the crash.
By the time the bodies of the couple were found, Scalzo had already written the song, and Fastball was rehearsing it.
A year after the Howards died, the song became the first hit single off Fastball’s “All The Pain Money Can Buy.”
I was aware that the song told the story of a couple who took a road trip and never returned, but I had no idea that the couple was elderly and ended up dead. Scalzo’s interpretation romanticizes the disappearance, which is understandable, considering that he wrote the song before the bodies of the couple were found at the bottom of a cliff.
Still, when I listen to the song now, every word seems slightly darker and more ominous. What I once thought of as a song about the desire for freedom and the call of the road is now something slightly more sinister and sad.
I think I like it better now that I know the story behind the song. It has more weight now.
More gravitas.
November 26, 2024
Not quite from nothing…
While discussing how tiny seeds grow into enormous trees, Clara shouted:
“That’s kind of like you, Dad. You came from nothing!”
I appreciated the sentiment, but it’s not entirely true. I’ve certainly been making it on my own since I was 18 years old—eventually putting myself through college and building a career in teaching, writing, performing, and consulting—and I’ve been forced to deal with many hard things in my life absent any parental support or guidance.
However, I often think back on the education I received while living in Blackstone, Massachusetts, and how enormously valuable it has been to me.
How much it set me up for success.
The academics were important, of course, but not nearly as important as people mistakenly think.
Yes, I learned the academic skills required to operate effectively in today’s world, but none were nearly as essential to me as the lessons learned outside textbooks, lectures, and assessments.
The stuff that really matters. The stuff that has always really mattered.
Lessons from teachers who remain fixed in my mind and enter my thoughts more often than you could imagine:
Mrs. Dubois, my kindergarten teacher, taught me to be independent and unknowingly taught me that so many consequences in this world lack any real teeth.
Mrs. Carroll, my kindergarten assistant teacher, who taught me to do hard things, commit to a task, and pursue it relentlessly to completion.
Mr. Hartnett, my elementary school principal, who taught me about the value of honesty and afforded me the opportunity to be courageous for the first time in my life.
Mrs. Shultz, my middle school math and homeroom teacher, who spurred my love for politics and showed me how a teacher can be a friend, too. Even more important, she also helped me find my voice for the first time.
Mr. Maroney, my high school French teacher, who gave me my first platform to be funny, helped me understand the art of negotiation, and made me feel safe and seen whenever I was in his presence.
Buddy Bibeault, Thomas Hessney, and Russ Arnold — three band instructors who taught me how to work hard, function as a member of a team, compete at the highest level, commit everything to achieving excellence, and so much more.
Coach Cronin, my track and field coach, who taught me that opportunity often comes when you’re willing to be different, try new things, act courageously, and be a little crazy.
Mr. Furey, my high school physics teacher, who showed me that demonstrating passion for something you love can be a glorious and inspiring thing.
Marc Compopiano, my high school English teacher, who taught me to challenge authority, speak my mind, and in many ways launched my lifelong love for writing, and eventually, my publishing career.
Stephen Chrabaszcz, my high school vice principal, who allowed me to go to war with administration for the first of what has been many times in my life. He taught me that authority, title, and position are meaningless monikers — words absent any real value — that never indicate the measure of a person and can be pushed, prodded, and even punched when needed.
Clara was sweet to say I came from nothing, but it’s not close to being true. My path may have been harder than some, and my challenges may have sometimes been greater than many, but I certainly did not grow from nothing.
I grew thanks in part to these great teachers and many others who taught me reading, writing, and math.
But far more importantly, they taught me how to be a good, hardworking, strategic, and focused human being.
These are always the lessons that matter most.
November 25, 2024
Million dollar banana
In 2019, artist Maurizio Cattelan created “Comedian,” which consisted of a single banana duct taped to a wall. It first appeared at Art Basel Miami Beach, where Perrotin Gallery sold three editions of the piece for $120,000 to $150,000 each.
Last week, it sold at an auction for $6.2 million. Seven bidders competed for the work, which again consists of duct-taping a banana to a wall.
Cattelan says the work was conceived as a satirical jab at market speculation, asking the question, “On what basis does an object acquire value in the art system?”
Sure, but again, he duct-taped a piece of fruit to the wall.
The buyer will receive a single roll of duct tape, one banana sourced from a fruit stand on York Avenue, and a certificate of authenticity with specific instructions on displaying the work.
The sculpture’s winner was a Chinese crypto entrepreneur who said he would eat the banana.
All of this is either:
A ridiculous, atrocious, disastrous signal of excess, greed, and stupidity.A brilliant boondoggle for an artist who understands publicity, the zeitgeist, and his industry.An entertaining, hilarious, cockamamie story.I think all three.
November 24, 2024
What is something someone who has never been poor wouldn’t understand?
SOME HAPPY CLIENTS 
nothing short of transformative. “Matthew Dicks has been a guiding light in my journey as both a YouTuber and entrepreneur. His impact on my life and business has been nothing short of transformative.”
— Ali Abdaal. Doctor, Entrepreneur, & YouTuber with 5.43M subscribers It’s all in this book. “Having mentored hundreds of corporate folks like me, Matt has developed unique, streamlined strategies to teach people how to use their personal stories in business. He’s taken everything he’s learned from years of consulting and put it all in this book.” 
— Masha Cresalia, Former Director of Corporate Marketing – Slack Matt provides The most value per minute. “I’ve received a tonne of advice from investors, founders, and other mentors…I always tell Matt he provides the most value per minute of anyone I spend time with.” 
— Alyhan Rehmatullah. CEO & Cofounder – Kalpa [Meet the Author, Matthew Dicks] WHO AM I? Matthew Dicks is an award-winning bestselling author, speaker, and marketing consultant to some of the world’s biggest companies including Amazon, Slack, and Salesforce.
For more than a decade, he’s been advising C-suite execs and their teams. Whether it’s a product launch, sales deck, or keynote, he surfaces the real stories behind the spreadsheets — stories that resonate and connect on a meaningful level.
He’s taught at multiple universities including Yale, MIT, and Harvard, and his work has been featured on Lenny’s Podcast, TEDx Talks, Newsweek, and many more.
“The most powerful person in the world is the storyteller. The storyteller sets the vision, values, and agenda of an entire generation that is to come.” — Steve Jobs Why stories matter more than ever. People remember stories. Not graphs or endless lists of features.
Studies have shown that decisions are often made based on emotions first and rationalized with data, second.
Telling a meaningful story to frame metrics in the right light is how ideas are anchored on a deeper level. It’s how companies get funding, close deals, and rally teams.
Pre-order now Get the Free Sample Pre-order now Get the Free Sample What you’ll learn Unlike other self-help business books, “Stories Sell” was written concisely for busy professionals. It’s a fun read that uses anecdotes from consulting work to contextualize lessons and make them easily retainable.It draws from firsthand experiences to demonstrate the power of storytelling in solving important problems like how to: Craft and pitch sales decks that aren't boring. Communicate clearly with customers and colleagues Deliver crowd-pleasing keynotes Align teams on a shared vision
“A year from now, you will wish you had started today.” — Karen Lamb Master the craft of storytelling today Pre-order now Get the Free Sample Pre-order now Get the Free Sample 
Honest, approachable “I laughed, gasped, took notes, and carried this book around like a dear friend — because that’s exactly what a storyworthy book should be. As a novelist, I’ve studied my craft in countless ways, but never before have I seen its marrow revealed with such honest, approachable charisma.” 
— Sarah McCoy, internationally and New York Times–bestselling author of Marilla of Green Gables and The Baker’s Daughter he leads you up the stairs to tell your stories. “With candor, humility, and bust-a-gut humor, Matthew Dicks shares his storytelling secrets and leads you up the stairs to tell yours. He already knows that they’re gems.” 
— Nichole Bernier, author of The Unfinished Work of Elizabeth D. the most interesting man in the world. “When I gave Matthew Dicks a recurring spot on my podcast, I billed him as ‘the most interesting man in the world.’ He really has lived quite a life. But what’s truly interesting is not necessarily what he’s experienced but how he makes you, the audience, experience it through him.” 
— Mike Pesca, NPR contributor and host of Slate magazine’s daily podcast, The Gist FAQ Who is this book for? The book is specifically tailored to professionals working in business and the corporate world. It’s meant to help marketers, salespeople, business leaders, entrepreneurs, and advertisers and teaches them how to use storytelling to grow their businesses. How can this help my career or business? The corporate world is flooded with data: spreadsheets, charts, graphs, and yawn-inducing PowerPoint presentations. But human brains are wired for stories.
The book teaches you how to combine stories with data to engage and persuade your audience. It gives examples and case studies on topics like:
Building slide decks for sales, investor pitches, and presentationsProduct narratives and positioningMarketing and advertising copySpeeches and keynotes for auditorium-sized crowdsBusiness communicationHow to align teams and build moraleHow to sell yourself for career advancementHow to build rapport and connect with your audience How does this book compare to other business books?Most business books on writing
Draws from outside stories and researchPadded with filler contentContent can be dry and clinicalWritten by ghostwriters or people from the corporate world who learned storytellingStories Sell
Draws from decades of firsthand experience consulting for companies of all sizesLean and concise for busy professionalsFun and insightful to readWritten by an award-winning novelist, StorySlam champion, and marketing consultant
[I write and publish every single day.] Facebook X-twitter Youtube Linkedin Instagram Get your daily dose of stories Sign up to conveniently receive my daily blog post from “Grin & Bare It” into your inbox daily. Name Email Subscribe © 2024 Matthew Dicks
November 23, 2024
A poorly phrased request
November 22, 2024
25 Things again
Years ago, my friend Kate sent me a message entitled 25 Things via Facebook. It included a list of 25 random facts about her and a request for me to reciprocate.
I suspect it was a meme of some sort at the time.
I made my list as requested and posted it online, too. But I also held onto it, recognizing that it was supremely valuable. It contained stories I had never told. Personal anecdotes worth sharing at the right moment. Oddities that I had forgotten until asked to remember.
It’s been an invaluable resource to me over the years. Some items have become stories, and others are anecdotes and jokes for stories and stand-up.
Some just make me happy to recall.
It was a surprisingly useful exercise.
I’d recommend it to everyone. Today, I began my “25 More Things” list, thinking that if it was useful once, it might be useful again.
When it’s complete, I’ll post it, too.
But for now, here is the original list, slightly updated to reflect recent events. .
_______________________________________
1. I once owned a pet raccoon.
2. I haven’t thrown up since 1983 on the Music Express at the now-defunct Rocky Point Amusement Park.
3. I was once homeless for about six weeks before being taken in by a family of Jehovah’s Witnesses and sharing a room with their pet goat.
4. I met illusionist David Blaine at a charity event and repeated a story so he could record my performance on his phone. Then he performed a magic trick for me and a New Yorker reporter that convinced me he’s made a deal with the devil. Then he gave me his business card, with his contact information embedded in a playing card — the king of diamonds.
5. Touching cotton balls is like kails on a chalkboard for me.
6. I was once unknowingly fed my pet rabbit by a girlfriend’s father.
7. A small band of cowards tried to get me fired from my teaching job by writing a letter comparing me to the Virginia Tech mass murderer and constructing a 36-page packet of my blog posts — deliberately taken out of context — then mailing the letter and packet to the Board of Education, Human Resources, and 250 families in my school district.
8. I have died twice before being revived both times by paramedics — bee sting and head-on collision.
9. Despite my many injuries, I have never been bruised. The same is true for my brother.
10. I asked my wife to marry me at the top of the staircase in Grand Central, with more than two dozen friends and family secretly looking on.
11. I’m left-handed but play many sports right-handed or with both hands.
12. I grew up outside of Boston but am a Yankees fan because I hated my stepfather, who was a diehard Sox fan.
13. I am a wedding DJ and non-religious minister who marries couples, works as a substitute minister in Unitarian churches, and performs baby naming ceremonies.
14. I have entered four lip sync contests and placed first, second, third, and last.
15. As a drummer in my high school’s championship marching band, I marched in the Rose Bowl, the Macy’s Day Thanksgiving Parade, and down Main Street USA in Disneyland.
16. I was a district champion pole vaulter in high school.
17. I was once lost in the White Mountains of New Hampshire for almost two days.
18. I was carried from my burning home as a child by a firefighter.
19. I grew up on a horse farm and rode horses almost daily until my parents divorced.
20. My favorite food is ice cream cake, followed closely by hot dogs.
j 21. I was robbed at gunpoint and knifepoint on two separate occasions.
22. I worked as a McDonald’s manager throughout high school and college.
23. I competed in underground Vietnamese arm wrestling tournaments in the basement of an abandoned elementary school as a part of a larger illegal gambling ring.
24. I was arrested, jailed, and on trial for a crime I did not commit.
25. I was suspended from school for “inciting riot upon myself.”
November 21, 2024
The Heavy Metal Playhouse
This is a pin I had made in 1991. It’s still one of my favorite pins today.
The HMP was The Heavy Metal Playhouse — my first home after graduating high school.
My best friend was attending Bryant College (now Bryant University) and no longer wanted to live in the dorms.
I had graduated from high school, and since no one in my life — parent, teacher, or guidance counselor — had ever uttered the word “college” to me, and the expectation was for me to move out and begin living on my own after high school, I desperately needed a place to live.
A little hope for the future would’ve been nice, too, but that would have to wait.
A roof came first.
That’s when Bengi miraculously invited me to move in with him. While sitting in the cab of a bulldozer and eating candy bars on the construction site of a future Stop & Shop in Milford, Massachusetts, Bengi told me about his desire to move off campus and find an apartment, and he asked me to join him.
In many ways, he saved my life in that moment.
So we found a townhouse in Crystal Village, a development in Attleboro, Massachusetts, close enough to Bryant College, the McDonald’s I was managing in Milford, and the place of employment of a third roommate.
That third roommate—someone we met while working at McDonald’s in high school—would eventually move back home, leaving Bengi and me alone in the home that became affectionately known by us and many others as The Heavy Metal Playhouse.
Bengi and I spent three years in that townhouse, which became famous for its loud music, raucous parties, far too many hamsters, and a multitude of video game systems.
It truly was a playhouse.
The walls were plastered with images of metal bands, Bart Simpson, and swimsuit models. Our television—at least to start—was a small TV set atop a baby changing table. All of our furniture was given to us or found on the side of the road.
Bengi and I initially shared a bedroom. He placed his bed in a large walk-in closet, and my bed—Bengi’s childhood bed—was on the opposite side of the room. When our third roommate moved out and his bedroom became available, Bengi and I oddly continued to share a bedroom for quite some time before finally separating into rooms of our own.
We spent months eating elbow macaroni and sitting in the cold because we had no money to buy reasonable groceries or turn on the heat.
But it was also a gathering place — where dozens of our friends would constantly visit, sleep on our couches for days, and celebrate the simplicity of life as only teenagers can.
They were some of the hardest, best years of my life.
Three years I remember with incredible clarity because every day was different, fun, and extraordinary.
Three years that I am so grateful to have lived.
Sadly, The Heavy Metal Playhouse didn’t end well, at least for me. When Bengi graduated from college and moved to Connecticut for a job in the insurance industry, my life quickly descended into homelessness, jail, and eventually a trial for a crime I did not commit.
During that time, I also shared a room with a goat and was the victim of a violent assault and armed robbery.
Three of the best years of my life were immediately followed by two of the hardest, most frightening, and most challenging years of my life.
But like the elbow macaroni and those chilly winter nights spent in The Heavy Metal Playhouse, huddled under blankets, watching Monty Python and The Simpsons, I survived.
Bengi recently gave me the communication log we used at The Heavy Metal Playhouse—a physical form of texting before we carried computers in our pockets. It’s a daily account of our lives at the time, with notes about parties, car trouble, escaped hamsters, and chores.
It’s also a mountain of memories, hilarity, and insight.
A wealth of new stories to tell.
A gift I will treasure with each page I read, dissect, and perhaps share with you.
November 20, 2024
Pizza, chicken, hot dogs, and anger. And a little love, too.
A former colleague—someone I have not seen in a decade—was speaking to me this week, and while reminiscing, she said, “Remember that time you brought cold pizza and fried chicken and hot dogs for breakfast? That was amazing.”
It was. Kind of.
Years ago, each teacher in my school was responsible for providing breakfast for the faculty on a Friday throughout the school year. The faculty was much smaller back then, so providing breakfast for everyone was doable, and sometimes, you’d partner with someone to do two breakfasts together rather than flying solo.
One year, I decided to do something different. Instead of the usual breakfast options, I brought cold pizza, cold fried chicken, and hot dogs for breakfast, alongside soda, juice, and coffee. It was good pizza and fried chicken, too — purchased the evening prior from reputable establishments and chilled just right. In addition, I grilled hot dogs and toasted the buns on the spot in case someone wanted something to warm their tummy.
Many of my colleagues loved my breakfast; It brought back memories of high school and college mornings spent eating the leftovers from the night before.
Many, many more of my colleagues hated my breakfast. Expecting to find donuts, bagels, and perhaps an egg dish, they were instead greeted with cold pepperoni pizza, chilled drumsticks, and Ballpark franks.
Many people said many terrible things to me that day. Many more said terrible things about me to other people. Annoyed, hungry teachers roamed the hallways, disparaging me at every turn.
But here’s the thing:
Twenty years later, the people who loved that breakfast still remember it with great fondness. It was a breakfast like no other. Years later, they still credit me for my willingness to dare to be different, challenge norms, and create something unforgettable.
Those who despised my breakfast likely forgot about it long ago. Even if they still recall that breakfast today, it’s unlikely that they think poorly of me because of it.
If they still do, they are likely sour, sad sacks of humanity, worthless of my time and attention.
But even though most of my colleagues did not like my breakfast, many remember it more than two decades later.
I’ll venture to guess that no other breakfast in the history of my school is remembered at all.
This is why we must dare to be different.
Cut against the grain.
Defy expectations.
Snub our noses at norms.
Even when our choice to be different fails in the eyes (and tastebuds) of many, it’s also likely to be remembered for a long, long time.
Being remembered — doing something unforgettable — is almost always a good thing.
Being average, expected, routine, and therefore forgettable is standard fare in the land of the faithless, the fearful, and the mediocre. Sadly, this is the land where many people choose to live most of the time.
When we dare to be different, we will most assuredly fail from time to time, but we will also be recognized as innovators, daredevils, and trailblazers.
Sometimes the fools.
Best of all, we’ll be remembered.
I never repeated my pizza and fried chicken breakfast, but the following year, I put my experience as a short-order cook to work and set up two grills in the faculty lounge and cooked pancakes and eggs to order, which no one else had ever done. It wasn’t as amusing or transgressive as the previous year, and it’s probably not remembered nearly as well, but again, it was me, looking at something being done the same way, week after week, year after year, and asking myself, “How can I be different?”
My colleagues appreciated my scrambled eggs and chocolate chip pancakes, so I repeated those breakfasts for years. And yes, they became standard fare for me—somewhat routine and expected—but I was still the only teacher doing them, allowing me to remain different in a sea of donuts, bagels, and the occasional frittata.
