Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 44

A predictable life is a disastrous life

“The worst labyrinth is not that intricate form that can entrap us forever, but a single and precise straight line.”

—Jorge Luis Borges

Jorge Luis Borges and I are in complete agreement.

A life that is not constantly shifting, changing, twisting, and tuning is a stagnant one.

Change is to be sought out, chased after, and embraced. We should always be looking to expand and extend the scope of our lives by trying new things.
Going to new places.
Doing hard things.
Resisting ease.

I agree with Jorge Luis Borges. Avoid the straight line at all costs.

It’s an especially good reminder after a day filled with odd, frustrating, complex, and inexplicable travel encounters.

At least it wasn’t a straight line.

It’s been a long day, and it isn’t yet noon

I left Boston at 10:30 PM on Tuesday night after attending a Moth StorySLAM with friends. I arrived from around 12:30 AM and was in bed by 1:00 AM.

My alarm went off at 3:15 AM this morning. By 3:30 AM, I was on the road, heading for Bradley International Airport, where I would begin the three-leg journey to Victoria, Canada, to speak to business people and entrepreneurs on Thursday about storytelling, communication strategy, and branding.

When I arrived at the airport two hours before my flight, I received a text message indicating the flight was canceled thanks to the Crowd Strike fiasco.

I own stock in Crowd Strike. Now I’m doubly angry.

A Delta ticket agent explained to me that when their system went down, they lost their pilot and crew rosters and scheduling software. It’s being rebuilt now, which is causing delays and cancellations.

There was no other flight out of Bradley that would land me in Victora, Canada by the end of the day.

So Delta booked me on an 8:30 AM flight out of Boston and booked an Uber to drive me the two hours across Connecticut and Massachusetts to Logan Airport.

Less than six hours after leaving Boston, I was on my way back.

The driver who picked me up had never driven outside of Connecticut before and was nervous.

“Maybe I should just grab another Uber?” I suggested.

“No,” she said. “I can do this. I have God on my side.”

Then she turned on a radio station broadcasting religious music and took off.

When it started raining on the Mass Pike, my driver began to pray to God for help. She became a little weepy when the rain picked up, but a few minutes later, it was sunny again, and she relaxed.

“I’m never leaving Connecticut again,” she said. “And I’m running out of gas.”

I arrived at the airport with plenty of time but had to wait in an endless line to get a physical ticket since the Delta app was unable to process my flight change. While in line, a small child punched me in the groin while fist-pumping about flying on a plane for the first time.

It took me a few minutes to recover.

The parents were exceptionally apologetic.

Then two toddlers behind me began to scream. They screamed as if someone was roasting them alive over a campfire. A few minutes into the screaming, a Delta employee came over, took a knee, and in a firm but gentle voice said, “The pilot said he can hear you, and he wants you to stop to he can focus on getting the plane ready for you. Okay?” Then she held out a walkie-talkie and said, “Can you tell him that you’ll be quiet?”

The two children stopped screaming instantly. Each one spoke into the walkie-talkie, promising to be good. Then the Delta employee held the walkie-talkie to her ear, paused for a moment, and then said, “The pilot said thanks. He can’t wait to see you.”

As she stood up to walk away, I said, “That was ninja-level behavior management, miss.”

Most impressive, she didn’t check with the parents before speaking to the kids. She did her job without hesitation.

I’m writing this from 34,000 feet, somewhere over the Great Lakes on the way to Denver. A dog is sitting beside me in a crate, barking. Her name is Ginger. She is very cute. I also hate her.

I feel like I have already lived two days today.

Flying is never, ever fun.

I wonder what awaits me in Denver and beyond.

These people have made my children’s lives so much better

I’m constantly overwhelmed by the kindness and generosity of volunteers in my kids’ lives.

My son, Charlie, plays Little League. For the last three years and six baseball seasons, his coach has been Jason Sikorski, and along the way, a host of assistant coaches.

These men and women are unpaid teachers, role models, and baseball enthusiasts who love the game and love educating boys about it. Charlie is a far better person because of the impact and influence that Coach Sikorski and his assistants have had on his life. Thanks to his time with these great people, Charlie is a more confident, competent, and happy kid who understands how to win gracefully and lose with dignity.

Clara and Charlie are also members of our local Scout troop. For Charlie’s Cub Scout years, his Scoutmaster was Forrest Helvie. Now that they are both Scouts, Charlie’s Scoutmaster is Tim Manley, and Clara’s Scoutmaster is Renee Rothauser.

Once again, several assistant Scoutmasters and parent volunteers—all unpaid—have assisted these people, donating enormous amounts of time to the young people in their troops.

It’s astounding.

They design and run weekly meetings where my kids learn skills at least as valuable as anything they learn in school. They march in Memorial Day parades, compete in Pinewood Derbies, volunteer at library book sales, participate in service projects, compete in athletic and intellectual competitions, earn ranks, make friends, develop confidence and self-esteem, stretch their boundaries, and much more.

In addition, Charlie has been camping with the Scouts many times. He recently spent five days in Washington, DC, with his troop.

He’s currently spending a week at Scout camp.

As a teacher for 25 years, I know how challenging, stressful, and exhausting it can be to take young people off-site overnight. Tim Manley, Forrest Helve, and their assistant Scoutmasters and volunteers do so enthusiastically and always return home with a smile.

I firmly believe in bringing as many quality adults into our children’s lives as possible, and these Little League coaches and Scouting leaders have been extraordinary additions, helping them become better people every day.

I, too, benefited from the influence of men like Donald Pollock, Josef Makar, and a host of Little League coaches whose names I have sadly forgotten.

Across our country, enthusiastic, highly competent volunteers like the people in my children’s lives do important, invaluable work that can never recognized enough for its exceptionalism. I feel so very grateful that people like this exist.

I find their generosity of time, energy, and spirit genuinely astonishing.

“Don’t let the old man in”

Mike Lombardi, in his newsletter “The Daily Coach” told this story:

The late, great country music singer Toby Keith was on the golf course with his hero, actor, director, and Academy Award winner Clint Eastwood.

Eastwood told Keith between shots that he was heading to Augusta, Georgia, in the morning to begin shooting for his new movie, “The Mule.”

Upon arrival in Georgia, Eastwood would star, direct, and produce the movie, all at the tender age of 88. Keith was surprised to learn that Eastwood had the bandwidth and energy to handle the rigors of directing and acting.

The question running through Keith’s head was how Eastwood could keep his motivation levels so high. Eastwood told Keith that he needed to keep moving, stay highly active, get outdoors, and enjoy the fresh air, and then said something that made Keith pause and take note:

“You can’t let the old man in.”

Keith later wrote a song called “Don’t Let the Old Man In.”

I love this admonition.

I love it so much.

I can’t stop thinking about it.

“Don’t let the old man (or woman or person) in” warns against complacency, stagnation, and expectation.

It says, “You only get old if you let yourself get old.”

It screams, “Live like a young man, and you will remain a young man.”

It demands that you constantly look to the next horizon. Seek new challenges. Do new things. Do hard things. Don’t slow down. Keep moving forward into uncharted territory. Never stop.

“Don’t let the old man in” reflects a desire to live each day on your feet, in the company of others, doing things, going places, and making things. It’s an absolute rejection of the sofa, sleeping in, and slowing down.

“Don’t let the old man in” warns that a day will come when you need to slow down but fight it. Don’t simply slow down because the number of times you’ve traveled around the sun has reached a certain number. Get the most out of every mile your body and mind will allow.

“Don’t let the old man in” demands that you avoid spending your days talking about how you’re getting older, how rapidly the world has changed, and how you miss the good old days.

“Don’t let the old man in,” says, “These are the good old days, damn it. Just as long as you allow them to be.”

I know people—good friends—who have “let the old man in.”

It’s a damn tragedy.

In his song, Toby Keith offers his own suggestion:

“Ask yourself how old you would be if you didn’t know the day you were born.”

Brilliant.

Keith asks, “Do you feel your age? Are you acting your age? Are you living like someone your age?

It’s such a fascinating question. An important one, too.

I spend enormous amounts of time in the company of people younger than me. Many of these younger people are my students who I berate daily by saying, “I am four decades older than you, and I have more energy than all of you!”

Disappointingly, they often agree. Rather than opposing my statement and proving me wrong, they resign themselves to the fact that their teacher seemingly has more energy than them.

Some of them seem to be “letting the old man in” at the age of ten. Surrendering to a man five times their age. I’ll have to tell them to stop “letting the old man in” this year.

Many friends and colleagues are a decade or more younger than me, but I rarely notice the age difference. I may seem older to them based on my experience, life history, and other monikers of age, but I certainly don’t feel older, and I don’t seem to have any problem keeping up with them or exceeding their output.

How old would I be if you didn’t know the day I was born?

Perhaps my late twenties or early thirties? I have no aches or pains, sore back, or worn-out rotator cuff. I bounce out of bed every morning with a skip in my step and a genuine excitement about the day ahead.

I can’t wait to get out of bed every morning.

While playing laser tag around our home with Charlie last week, he said, “Dad, you don’t need to dive on the ground or throw yourself into a bush. You’re not in a movie.”

Sounds like an old man to me.

I’m certainly a slower runner than I was when I was younger, but I was also running a hell of a lot more back then, so maybe if I got off my bike and returned to the street, I could be nearly as fast once again.

My calcium scoring—a measure of plaque in your arteries—was done last week, and the result was another zero.

“No identifiable plaque in the patient’s arteries.”

Even better:

“Calcium score of 0 places the patient in the 0th percentile rank. This means that 99.99 percent of males at this age will have a higher calcium score than this patient.”

Even my arteries are crushing it.

My cholesterol and blood pressure are low. I don’t take any medications daily. I lost 34 pounds last year and have lost two more this year.

Besides actually getting a calcium score (something I wasn’t doing in my twenties), I like to think I haven’t slowed down from the version of myself two or three decades ago. In fact, I may have sped up.

And yes, genetics certainly play a role in how you live your life. You also need to avoid the unavoidable diseases and unfortunate accidents. You need, at least to some degree, to get lucky to still be as productive as Eastwood at 88.

Toby Keith tragically died of stomach cancer just three months after performing “Don’t Let the Old Man In” at the People’s Choice Awards.

Sometimes, it’s simply your time.

It’s convenient and perhaps trite to say that age is a state of mind, but that doesn’t make it untrue. Eventually, certain body parts will wear down, and a sore back, a creaky knee, or a nagging case of tennis elbow may strike, but even then, “Don’t let the old man in.”

Take some Advil. Get some physical therapy. Grit your teeth and move on. Have surgery if you must. Switch from tennis to pickleball. Do whatever you can to keep moving forward into unknown, uncharted territory.

We may not all be still going strong at 88 like Clint Eastwood, but we can try like hell to avoid settling into a routine, setting up shop on the couch, shrinking our world, and slowing down.

“Don’t let the old man in” is a mantra to guide our lives. It will ensure that every year of your life—despite the number affixed to it—is lived to its fullest.

Empty case?

I saw this case at Magic Wings Butterfly Conservatory in South Deerfield, MA.

I get it.

Amidst cases filled with lizards, insects, and other creatures, you don’t want visitors staring into an empty case, looking for something that doesn’t exist.

But I see a sign like this and think, “Someone is messing with me. I’ll bet there’s something great in that case.” So I always look, expecting to see something.

It’s always as empty as advertised.

Still, I never believe these signs. I always look.

I think it’s for two reasons:

I grew up visiting Southwick’s Zoo (formerly Southwick’s Wild Animal Farm), which has a small, red house-like structure in the center of the zoo. It has a small window for looking inside and a sign reading, “The Amazing Red Bat. Take a look!”Inside, you’ll find a red baseball bat.I’ve been trained to distrust and look for the joke.If I owned a zoo, butterfly conservatory, aquarium, or similar facility, I might post a sign that says, “This case is empty,” on a case that is not empty, designed to reward the curious, the suspicious, and the nonconformist.I would most definitely do this.

Thus far I have not been rewarded.

How to manage social media

I was listening to a group of authors discuss how challenging social media can be.

The cruelty of strangers.

The negativity of reviews.

The relentless challenge of the masses.

My advice is simple:

If social media is hard because people are mean – and they can be really mean – STOP LOOKING.

Place your content online—an Instagram post, Facebook update, blog post, YouTube video, or TikTok thingy—and walk away. Make your point, plug your book, speak your peace, say your stuff, and then make some new stuff.

Real stuff.

Leave that ethereal, impermanent, flimsy, forgettable world behind. Ignore the comments that commenters have already forgotten. Spurn the criticism that the critics can’t remember writing.

Protect your soul.

Be kind to yourself.

Stop looking.

To hell with the monsters.

Matt and Jeni’s Moth Adventure

My friend Jeni Bonaldo and I went to a Moth StorySLAM in the Bronx on Wednesday night.

It was a memorable occasion.

First, I won the StorySLAM, which always makes the night a lot better—my 62nd Moth StorySLAM victory and my third this year.

I told a story about a simple moment at a minor league baseball game last week when I came to understand and adjust my expectations for Charlie.

Jeni and I also drove to New York through lightning and thunderstorms rivaling any I have ever seen. Enormous lightning bolts struck the ground, and sheets of rain drove many cars to the shoulder to wait it out.

But not us! We engaged in some minor hydroplaning, and there were moments when I couldn’t see the lane markers, but we survived.

Sadly, Jeni kept missing the enormous lightning blasts because she was staring down at her fries rather than at Mother Nature’s wonders.

When we arrived in the city, the storm had ended, but the adventure did not stop. As I drove down a street, a man opened his car door just as I was driving by, striking my mirror with his door. I saw it happening at the very last moment, so I did not scream like Jeni when the two cars collided, but my heart admittedly skipped a beat as I wondered if I had hit a car or a human being.

Thankfully, it was a car-on-car interaction, and mine was fine. Mirrors are made to pivot when struck, which happened in this case.

A mile down the road, while stopped at a light, a man wandered across the road, appearing to speak to random people on the sidewalk and making them noticeably uncomfortable. “I hope he walks up to your side of the car and starts talking to you,” I said to Jeni, and then the man did exactly that.

I couldn’t stop laughing.

Another thunderstorm rolled in after we arrived at The Bronx Museum for Art. The storm was so violent that the fire alarm went off during one story because the thunder was so loud that it triggered sensors designed to detect explosions.

Windows positioned behind the storytellers made for an interesting sight:

Stories were told as a near-constant flash of lightning and crack of thunder punctuated their words.

As Jeni and I left the venue, the storm was relenting, but it was still pouring as we made our way to the car. Fire hydrants on the street were shooting water across the roads, presumably due to the enormous amounts of water dumped into the streets.

Along the way, in the car and in the venue, Jeni and I told each other stories. Hassled each other. Berated each other. Ate French fries. Laughed.

Jeni fouled up her order at McDonald’s, so I explained to the employee that it was okay. “We don’t take her out often, so she’s still learning,” I said. “But she needs to keep trying and stay positive!”  Then I turned to Jeni and said, “Let’s go back home now, dear, and tell everyone how well you did.”

“I hate you,” Jeni said, but she doesn’t. Maybe.

We discussed the stories told at the slam in depth, discussed the philosophy of storytelling, and compared lists of the worst stories we’ve ever heard onstage. We discussed what we liked about the stories told that evening and how they could’ve been better. We shared stories of teaching, vacations, kids, and more.

You can get a lot done when you spend five or six hours in a car with someone.

Jeni researched the name for the condition by which a person never, ever bruises, despite being struck by cars, slammed head-first through windshields, punched, kicked, hit by a golf ball, hit in the face by a softball, knocked unconscious by a football, had ribs broken during a touch football game, and more.

That’s me. I’ve never bruised. Not even once.

The only explanation Jeni found during her cursory search online:

Thick skin.

I have thick skin. Both mentally and now physically.

I’ll ask my doctor for alternative theories when I see her next.

We met storytellers at the slam who have performed with me before. We met storytellers for the first time. We chatted with audience members, producers, and judges. We chatted with Elysha Dicks on the way home over the phone.

When I pulled into my driveway around 1:00 AM, the skies had finally cleared enough for an almost moon to peak through the clouds. It was beautiful. Clouds spilled past a white orb, casting an eerie glow on the lawn.

“I get to see this,” I thought, “because I am still up and out. Thank goodness.”

It was a night to remember.

As we were heading north out of the city through yet another raging thunderstorm, I told Jeni, “All of this is fine because we’ll be home soon, and instead of staying home, sitting on the couch, watching TV, and going to bed at a reasonable hour, we had a night we’ll never forget.”

She agreed.

Of course, she did. For all of her claims of nervousness, anxiety, and annoyance with me for encouraging her to step out of her comfort zone, Jeni Bonaldo is a courageous, outrageous, unabashed adventurer, ready to do hard, complicated, taxing, exhausting, and demanding things.

I’m so lucky to have her as a friend.

She’s even luckier to have me as a friend.

That will most certainly annoy her.

Interviewing nightmare

Recent data on interviewing:

53% of interviewees struggle with eye contact

50% of interviewees ask for unreasonable compensation

47% of interviewees dress inappropriately

27% of interviewees use inappropriate language

21% of interviewees refuse to turn on their camera

19% of interviewees brought a parent

Some of these things are less concerning to me than others.

Eye contact, for example, might simply be a matter of technology. If most of these interviews are conducted via video conferencing and you don’t spend much time on Zoom, Google Meet, or Teams, you may struggle to know where to look and how to focus on a screen for a long time.

I’d also like to know how “inappropriate dress” is defined. Given the enormous variation in expectations these days, this might simply be a matter of misunderstanding the company’s culture.

Admittedly, dressing up for an interview is never a bad idea, but in terms of appearance standards, it’s a more complex world than a decade ago, so mistakes are likely to be made.

Using inappropriate language is never ideal, but again, I’d like to know the definition of “inappropriate language.” This might also be a misunderstanding of company culture. Language expectations can also vary depending on where you grew up and how you were raised, so I can see where mistakes of this nature could be made. 

Again, it’s best to avoid questionable language of any kind in an interview, but I can at least envision a scenario in which honest errors are made.   

Asking for unreasonable compensation might simply be a negotiation strategy. “Anchoring” involves establishing a number higher than expected in a negotiation to control where the bidding starts, often resulting in a higher offer. It’s often wise to ask for more but settle for less unless the amount requested is egregious.

Again, the definition of “unreasonable compensation” would help here.

All of these things may be legitimate problems with interviewees (and signals that something is very rotten in the state of Denmark), but it’s hard to know for sure.

And who knows? Maybe these things have always been problems when it comes to interviewing. Maybe this data isn’t as alarming as it is typical.

Based upon a decade spent intervening and hiring people as a restaurant manager, I tend to think otherwise, but my data is admittedly anecdotal.

But most alarming to me are the 21% of interviewees who refused to turn on their cameras and the 19% who brought a parent to their interview.

Refusing to turn on your camera seems like a guaranteed way to avoid being hired. Presenting your face to your potential employer is a basic and reasonable requirement during an interview. I suspect that refusing to do so effectively ends the interview, even if questions are still asked.  

Bringing a parent to the interview also seems a great way to guarantee you won’t be hired. It’s also an excellent way to avoid growing up and a great way for your friends to make fun of you forever. 

Most baffling to me:

What the hell are these interviewees thinking?

Also, what the hell are these parents thinking?

If these numbers are accurate, something disastrous has happened in our world. When one in five interviewees refuses to turn on their cameras and brings their parents to an interview, one in five people are effectively unemployable.

The good news:

If you are a person of average intelligence and skill who knows how to speak, dress well, look people in the eye, and possess a modicum of common sense and independence, your future is bright.

When I interviewed for my first jobs—at age 12 at a local farm and at age 16 at a McDonald’s restaurant—I had to walk into these businesses on my own, fill out job applications, and speak to potential employers like a big boy, absent any parental involvement. I had to answer questions, ask some of my own, negotiate a salary, and agree to terms.

If you can do the same, you’ll apparently be doing better than at least 20% of your competition.

The bar seems to be much lower these days. Terrible for society as a whole but fantastic for those who can still manage their lives like rational, reasonable adults.

Angry Charlie

Charlie saw this building across the street while waiting in line for a Broadway show.

It annoyed him. Tremendously.

The uneven windows,” he said, pointing. “Why?” he asked. “Why?”

I had no explanation. “I’m sure there’s a reason,” I said. “I just don’t know what it is.”

“There can be no reason for something like that,” he said. Then he looked to the sky again and shouted, “Why?”

He has a tough road ahead if uneven windows annoy him this much.

Banned books

At a book talk, I was asked about the recent banning of books in stupid places by stupid people.

My answer:

The same people who are banning and support the banning of books have placed phones in their children’s hands, giving them access to every damn thing ever placed on the internet — vile, horrendous, violent, sexual, predatory content accessible with just a few clicks.

These book-banning cretins don’t care about the welfare of children. They only care about scoring political points.

If they were truly worried about the corruption of the youth, the last thing they should worry about is a book.

The internet is a billion times more corrosive and dangerous to a child than a book could ever be.

Book banners are political hacks. Disingenuous monsters. Power-hungry hypocrites.

We don’t have a book-banning problem in this country. We have a lying, scheming, self-serving politician problem, along with a whole bunch of toady know-nothings who blindly follow these politicians without any critical thinking.