Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 54

Sometimes golf is perfect

The weather has finally turned. I stand on the precipice of the golf season at last.

A time of unknown, unimaginable possibilities.

Golf can often be frustrating, disappointing, and even ridiculous. But there are also unforgettable moments of glory that make every duffed ball, shanked drive, and missed putt worth the pain that golf can extract on a daily basis.

Earlier this year, my friend Jeff and I played golf against two friends. It was a close match, and Jeff and I very much wanted to win. On the 15th hole, my approach hit the back of the green, rolled off, and stopped at the bottom of a small hill about 30 feet from the hole.

Jeff’s approach shot came up short. The ball landed in the rough in front of the green, also at the bottom of a small hill, exactly opposite my ball. As a result, Jeff and I couldn’t see each other from our positions on opposite sides of the slightly elevated green, so we chipped onto the green simultaneously, unaware that the other was chipping.

Both balls landed on the green, rolled to the pin, and dropped into the hole less than a second apart.

It was a shot – two shots, really – that couldn’t be replicated in a thousand years. Even if we had tried to chip in our shots simultaneously – each from more than 30 feet away – the chances of both balls rolling into the hole would be infinitesimal.

It was one of those unforgettable moments that golf sometimes offers.

We couldn’t believe it. We were quite excited, but our opponents were not. The two shots, both for par, put us into the lead.

I sealed the match on the next hole with the only birdie of the day.

It was a fine, glorious, unforgettable day of golf.

I hope this coming golf season offers me at least one moment equally glorious.

First Prize?

While performing in Schenectady, New York, a couple of weekends ago, I drove by this restaurant, which, as far as I can tell, could be:

“First Prize Mike’s Frankfurts along with First Prize Hots with our Sauce”

or…

“First Prize Franfurts” and also “Mike’s First Prize Hots with Our Sauce”

Or maybe just “First Prize Mike’s,” which features frankfurts and “First Prize hots with our sauce”

Or some other combination of this word salad.

The online listing refers to the restaurant as “First Prize Mike’s” and fails to mention all of the other nonsense on the sign, so who knows what it’s supposed to be.

It’s admittedly unusual to see “First prize” listed twice on a sign advertising the restaurant’s name. It’s also not entirely certain what “Finest ever made” refers to:

The Frankfurts? The Hots? Mike himself?

Also, what are “hots,” and are they still first-prize worthy without the sauce?

Also, and this is important, what prize did Mike win? How was this prize decided? And when was this prize won? Last year? A decade ago? Longer? The website indicates that the restaurant has been a family-owned business for more than 75 years. Does this mean that the first prize was won when Truman was still President, or is this first prize a more recent development?

I was a Truman Scholarship finalist, which was a big deal. Only six people in the country made the final round, which included a three-day stay in New York City for a series of interviews by the committee.

When I arrived in New York, I discovered that my competition consisted of two students from Harvard, three from Yale, and one from Dartmouth.

I was attending Manchester Community College.

I realized immediately that my chances of winning the scholarship were slim, and I was right.

Still, it was a big deal to be named a finalist. That same year, thanks in part to my finalist status, I was also named a USA Today Academic All-American. All while managing a McDonald’s restaurant full-time and launching our DJ company.

But that all happened back in 1996. It would be weird to tout these achievements on my resume or bio today. Right?

I was also a West Hartford Teacher of the Year and one of three finalists for Connecticut Teacher of the Year. My fellow finalists that year were women who had been teaching for 35 and 31 years, respectively.

I had been teaching for five years at that point.

Again, I knew that “finalist” was as far as I was going.

Still, it was a big deal to be named West Hartford Teacher of the Year and one of three finalists for Connecticut’s Teacher of the Year, but that was back in 2005. I still mention this in my bio because I’m still teaching today, but even that feels a little dated.

So it’s important to know when Mike (who might be dead) won this mystery first prize. And how long will he tout his victory before the signage is changed?

Or will Mike hang his hat on his first prize victory for now and ever more?

These were my thoughts when I entered this restaurant of indeterminate name and ate lunch.

The hot dog was very good, but I did not feel like it was first-prize worthy.

Creativity cannot be defined

“Sweet Child O’ Mine,” the iconic song from Guns N’ Roses’ 1987 album Appetite for Destruction, has a fascinating creative story.

The opening guitar riff—possibly one of rock and roll’s most famous guitar rights—was not planned or even written. The band’s guitarist, Slash, used that opening riff to tune and warm up. One day, the lead singer, Axl Rose, heard it and suggested they use it to open the song they were writing, which eventually became “Sweet Child O’ Mine.”

The song is 5:02 long, and the last minute and a half consists of lyrics centered on the phrase, “Where do we go now?”

Those lines, also iconic, were born from Axl Rose’s uncertainty about how to end the song. As Slash’s guitar solo finished, Axl began singing, “Where do we go now?” meaning, “How do we end this song?” or “What the hell do we do now?”

It turned out that he had inadvertently found the lyrics to end the song in the very question he asked.

A guitar riff born from a bit of music originally designed to tune and warm up a guitar.

Lyrics born from the inability to find lyrics to end a song.

The result:

In 2021, Rolling Stone magazine placed “Sweet Child O’ Mine” #88 in The 500 Greatest Songs of All Time. For anyone growing up in the 1980s, it was an anthem of our youth.

The lesson here:

Creativity cannot be defined. It cannot be understood.

When someone asks me how to write a novel, craft a story for the stage, compose a speech, and write a joke, I offer advice, describe my process, warn them about potential obstacles and pitfalls, and sometimes teach endless amounts of strategy and technique, but I almost always want to say:

“Just start. Do the job. If you work hard, remain open to possibility, listen to what your mind is trying to tell you, and stay the hell out of the way, you’ll often find your way to the end.”

It’s a frustrating answer for someone who wants to know how to make something that does not yet exist, but it’s probably the most accurate answer, too.

Take care of your future self

A friend sent me a photo of this post-it, written by his daughter.
__________________________

Dear Future Self,

Have a good lunch. Hope you did well on your science test 2-day.

Sincerely,
7:30 AM Alana
__________________________

His daughter has heard me speak about the importance of “taking care of your future self.”

I’m a big believer in this self-defined concept:

Back-up laptops. Auto-pay. Go-bags. Cloud storage. Snoozing emails and schedule-send. Financial advisors. Roadside emergency kits. Calcium scoring. Meal kits. 403(b)s. Daily exercise. Backup keys. Auto-ship.

An organized collection of cords and chargers to die for.

I play the long game.

So, too, does Alana.

Smart kid.

Four life lessons

I visited my friend’s high school English class this week. I talked about storytelling, writing, and creative productivity. I also answered questions about my life.

But as I often do, I also shared life lessons — organically, of course. Someone asks me a question, or something is said, and in response, I fire off a story or teach a lesson or both.

It happens all the time.

I’m currently working on a book about the life lessons I teach my students every year. They pile up quickly, and frankly, they are often more important than the math, reading, and writing lessons I teach.

My students agree.

The four life lessons I taught in my friend’s classroom were these:

The length of time it takes a person to answer a question is often more instructive than the answer itself.When being questioned by the police for any reason, always request an attorney. Otherwise, remain silent, regardless of the circumstances.Young women should never waste their time fighting over young men. Date them. Dance with them. Kiss them. But don’t fight over them. Most men under the age of 25 are rarely worth fighting over. Focus instead on building your career, establishing a strong network of female friends and colleagues, and marshaling your resources because the world needs more women in positions of power.When someone says they’re not judgmental, always say, “Oh, I’m exceptionally judgmental. Constantly. Right now, in fact.” Then pause. It’s great fun.

Best gift is a great movie recommendation

Years ago, my friend Shep told me to watch the movie “Hot Fuzz.” I had never heard of the film or its director, Edgar Wright, but knowing Shep, I decided to give it a shot. Elysha and I sat down and watched the movie and loved every minute of it.

I’ve rewatched it several times and look forward to rewatching it with my kids someday. I also immediately began watching Edgar Wright’s other films, including “Scott Pilgrim vs. the World,” “Shaun of the Dead,” and “Baby Driver.”

All excellent, too.

Shep gave me the gift of entertainment by pointing me to something slightly obscure but absolutely brilliant.

Years ago, I did the same for Elysha when I told her that we should watch “Galaxy Quest,” another film that I know is fantastic but often does not receive its due. I suspect that Elysha was slightly skeptical of my recommendation as we sat down to watch, but she loved the movie and has recommended it to others.

Clara watched it this week and loved it, too.

An excellent movie recommendation – particularly when the movie is not a household name – might be one of the best gifts you can give a person. A couple of hours of entertainment, perhaps repeated over the course of a lifetime, and the subsequent musings that often take place after watching a film, are priceless.

Shep has done many great things for me over the years, and I count “Hot Fuzz” among them.

But admittedly, it’s also a dangerous game. If you recommend a movie that your friend or loved one ends up hating, you’ve just stolen precious time from their lives and undermined their faith in your ability to assess entertainment properly.

Tread carefully.

This gifting rule also applies to television shows, books, music, plays and musicals, and comedy, though the longer the content (in the case of a TV show) or the more effort required to consume the content (movies, plays, and books), the less they feel like gifts.

A movie is a beautifully contained object that can be consumed in one sitting in the comfort of your home, usually at little or no cost. Recommending a television show or a book akin to proposing a commitment. Suggesting a Broadway show often involves great expense and, depending on where you live, travel and logistics.

None are bad, but they demand effort from the recipient. Sort of a “batteries not included” situation.

Recommending a relatively unknown but diamond-in-the-rough movie feels like the perfect little gift – superbly sized, eminently convenient, and simple to consume. In a world filled with materialism, where objects have far more value than they deserve, I’ll take the perfect movie recommendation any day.

Allow me to recommend “Hot Fuzz” to you, along with all of Edgar Wright’s films.

“Galaxy Quest,” too.

My gifts (and re-gifts) to you.

Anonymity means a lack of psychological safety

Here’s a good rule of thumb for your business or organization:

If you need to allow the people in your organization to remain anonymous while completing an employee satisfaction survey, a professional development evaluation, or any other kind of workplace appraisal in order to receive honest feedback, your organization lacks psychological safety.

The need for anonymity indicates the presence of fear, which is an obvious sign that your people do not trust you or feel safe at the workplace.

And it’s almost certainly your fault.

If your employees don’t feel comfortable being truthful in their opinions about their workplace, then you, as a leader, have failed to create a place where honest, critical feedback can be offered without fear of retribution or malice.

Boy, does that suck.

I sign every anonymous survey with my name—sometimes more than once—because I want people to know exactly how I feel, and I feel safe to do so. My psychological safety is derived in part from leaders who I know will respect my opinions, even when they disagree, and not take any punitive actions toward me for expressing my thoughts.

But it also admittedly comes from my desire to never be promoted beyond the role of classroom teacher. I can say exactly how I feel because I have no desire to climb that awful educational ladder away from children and into administration. If I were seeking a promotion, perhaps I would be more cautious in my criticism, but this is exactly what a future leader should not do, and yet, I could sadly see this happening if I had greater career ambitions.

I’ve also been doing the job for 25 years, so I’ve established myself in my profession. I’m a former Teacher of the Year in my school district and a former finalist for Connecticut’s Teacher of the Year, and I’m recognized nationally as a teacher of some merit.

If I were a brand new teacher or a teacher who hadn’t received such accolades, I might feel differently. Again, this would be a disaster, since the honest opinions of all teachers are essential to a healthy and prosperous school district.

I’m also an author, a consultant, a business owner, and a performer, so my family is not relying solely on my teaching career to put food on the table.

If my teaching career was our only means of support, I might also feel differently.

Would I still feel psychologically safe adbsent these mitigating factors?

I’d like to think so, particularly given the nature of my current administrators, but I’m not sure.

Perspective also plays an important role. I’ve also been arrested, jailed, and tried for a crime I did not commit. I was homeless. Struggled through poverty for a long, long time. I’m the victim of a horrific armed robbery. I’ve died twice and been revived both times by CPR. And an anonymous coward tried mightily to destroy my career once already but failed miserably.

A less-than-positive response to my critical feedback on an employment survey would pale in comparison to some of my past struggles. I don’t worry about someone being upset by my professional opinions.

As my current administrator would rightly say, that would be small potatoes.

But should a person need to struggle for long periods of time and experience serious trauma to be able to provide honest feedback to superiors?

I would hope not.

But here I what I know for sure:

Requiring anonymity or even affording the option of anonymity on surveys indicates a lack of psychological safety in an organization, and it should signal to management that work must be done to improve the culture and climate immediately.

If your people cannot be honest absent obscurity, you have failed to create a workplace where employees feel safe.

Every organization’s goal should be for employees to feel free to share their honest and informed thoughts and opinions without fear of retribution.

The need for an anonymous survey clearly indicates that leaders are failing to achieve this goal.

First rule of unkindness

The number of times when you say something unkind about a friend or colleague – and then that bit of unkindness makes its way back to the person to whom you directed the unkind remark – is staggering.

In other words, say something unkind about someone, and that someone will often find out exactly what you said.

It happens all the damn time.

To avoid this possible situation from happening to you, don’t say unkind things. Keep them to yourself.

And maybe find a way to be a happier person—a person less consumed by spite, anger, and envy.

It will likely eliminate many of those unkind thoughts altogether.

Apology note artistry

Sometimes, the apology note is so spectacular that you find yourself grateful for the transgression.

Charlie is expanding in a very good way

Charlie competed in his second cubing competition this weekend in Ridgefield, Connecticut.

He competed in the 2×2, 3×3 (the classic Rubik’s cube), Pyraminx, and clock events. Although he didn’t make the second round in any of his events, he set two personal bests.

He also served as judge and runner for several rounds of the competition, and in the process, he made a new friend. At the end of the competition, they exchanged email addresses and hope to see each other at future competitions.

I’m very proud of him.

I’m especially proud of the way he’s taken on this new challenge. Less than a year ago, he decided to figure out how to solve a Rubik’s cube, learning the algorithms necessary to solve it via YouTube. He spent three days watching videos, practicing, and eventually mastering the ability to solve a 3×3 in less than a minute.

In doing so, he became hooked. Other types of puzzles soon followed.

But other than asking us to purchase the necessary puzzles and paraphernalia—most of which he purchased with his allowance—he never asked for help. Never discussed his work with Elysha or me. Never said a word. He simply committed himself and proceeded.

In doing so, he expanded his life.

By spending time learning a new skill, he joined a community of cubers around the world. He became one of them.

I’m a big fan of expanding your life. Adding new skills and interests to your days, weeks, and months. Relentlessly learning.

Charlie once told one of my friends, “Dad is always most excited about the next thing.”

He wasn’t wrong.

While I think I’m as “in the moment” as a person can be, I always have an eye for the future. I’m always looking to the horizon for the next thing I can find to fill my life. Sometimes this is planning my next show. Purchasing tickets to the next concert, Broadway show, or sporting event. Scheduling my next storytelling or stand-up opportunity. Booking tee times. Finding new ideas for books and magazine columns. Pitching ideas to TEDx events. Planning vacations. Seeking new friendships.

But it also means finding the next “new thing” to add to my life.

What can I do today that I have not done before?

What new thing can I learn?

What will my next great adventure be?

Charlie expanded his life by choosing to take on this new challenge, and in doing so, his world became wider, better, and more interesting. He found a place he loves.

In Charlie’s words, “I like these people because they are not mean cubers. Everyone is so kind.”

And he’s right. Even though cubing is very much a competition, these cubers are incredibly supportive of each other. They constantly congratulate one another and get excited about impressive times. And they never brag, boast, or even fist pump when they manage an impressively fast solve. They are almost business-like in their approach, which lends an air of camaraderie and fellowship to the event.

The demographics are also surprising. Of the 87 competitors on Saturday, only a tiny handful were girls. Their ages ranged from elementary school through high school, plus one or two adults who were also competing. Most competitors had timing mats and carried cases of many puzzles —including Charlie— and some also had Go-Pro cameras to record their solves and laptops to track their data.

Most competitors were accompanied by an adult, and though almost every competitor was male, a large proportion of the adults were female. The most common pairing by far was a mother accompanying a son.

Some adults sat in corners and at tables, reading books and scrolling on phones until their child competed, but others acted as coaches for their children, spending the day helping to track data and strategize.

Between rounds, when I wasn’t watching Charlie compete and shooting photos and video, I spent my time writing, preparing workshops and video scripts, sending email and video feedback to clients, and speaking to the occasional parent willing to chat with me.

Most were surprisingly less than social.

I would’ve happily spent the day chatting with Charlie, but when he isn’t competing, he prefers to serve as judge and runner, helping to move the competition along and keeping busy.

His voice is heard more than almost any other in the room as he runs solved puzzles back and forth between scramblers and competitors.

I told Charlie how proud I was of his performance at the competition, but I told him that I was even more proud of the way he’s added to his life through this pursuit, expanded his world, and made life more interesting for him and even me. In speaking to the parents of cubers, it turns out that Charlie is a bit of an anomaly at these events:

Most cubers are cubers. Solving puzzles is their one and only passion.

Charlie is a committed cuber, but he’s also a Little League ballplayer. A Scout. A guitarist. A trumpet player in several school groups. A member of the school’s choir. A lover of board games. A Minecraft builder. A VR enthusiast. A member of the chess and D&D clubs. A golfer.

He’s currently teaching himself to play the piano. Somehow, he can already play Styx songs and many other recognizable tunes absent any formal instruction.

Charlie is constantly expanding his life. Adding more to his life whenever possible. If he committed himself to cubing alone, he would almost certainly solve puzzles faster. He’d likely be competing in the second round of competitions. And though I suspect that faster times and second rounds are in his future, so too are music, sports, and games of every kind.

He’s expanding his life. Seeking to fill it with as much diversity as possible. Always looking for the next great thing.

That, I think, is a great thing. Maybe his best thing. Something that can inspire us all.