Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 85

Balloons

This year’s fifth-grade field day featured a water balloon toss. For a couple of students, it became an opportunity to throw a water balloon at their teacher, which was fine.

A water balloon toss is like the ugly stepsister to a water balloon battle.

But things got a lot more interesting after lunch, when I returned to my classroom and sat down at my desk, only to find two small water balloons on my chair.

One popped, leaving me wet for the duration of the afternoon.

The other did not.

While I admittedly wondered which of my rotten students had perpetrated this prank, my bigger question was this:

How did they acquire two tiny, water-filled balloons? Did a teacher or parent assist them? Or did they somehow find a way to empty the water from previously filled balloons?

I’ve trained my students well, which is to say, they would not tell me anything.

Nautilus Award but something even better

I’m thrilled to announce that my most recent book, Someday Is Today: 22 Simple, Actionable Ways to Propel Your Creative Life, has won the Nautilus Award’s gold medal in the category “Creativity and Innovation.”

I know what you’re thinking:

What is a Nautilus Award?

When my editor alerted me about this honor, I wondered the same thing because when you become an author, you do not receive an instruction manual of any kind.

No one tells you anything.

So even after publishing six novels and two books of nonfiction over the course of 14 years – including internationally in more than 25 countries – I still feel like I know nothing and often find myself asking questions that I think I should already know.

There’s a good lesson to be had here:

Nobody knows everything, and everybody knows almost nothing at times. You’re never alone in your ignorance. Better to simply ask questions and gather information rather than pretend to know and remain ignorant.

I ask a lot of questions.

So, what is the Nautilus Award?

The Nautilus Award’s core mission is to celebrate and honor books that support conscious living and green values, wellness, social change and social justice, and spiritual growth. It recognizes, honors, celebrates, and promotes books that inspire and connect our lives as individuals, families, communities, and global citizens.

It’s also been around for 23 years, so I can’t claim to be unaware of this award because it’s brand new.

So I’m thrilled that my book has been honored with a Nautilus Award gold medal. Anytime a bunch of people recognizes the excellence of your work, it’s an honor. And this particular honor means a lot given the mission of the organization.

Years ago, Memoirs of an Imaginary Friend was honored with the Dolly Gray Award, which recognizes authentic portrayals of individuals with developmental disabilities in books for children and youth.

That, too, was an honor, especially given that I am a school teacher and a parent of a child with autism (though I didn’t know that until eight years after publishing the book and receiving the honor).

But the best honor of all, at least in 2023, came just yesterday when Clara popped her head into my office while I was consulting with a client to say, “By the way, I read Something Missing, and I loved it. The ending was great.”

Something Missing is my first novel, published in 2009, three years before Clara was born. The little devil had scooped a copy off one of my shelves and read it in a day without telling me.

I haven’t asked or insisted that my children read my books, and so far, both of them have read Memoirs of an Imaginary Friend (which is also used in the curriculum at their school), which was thrilling for me.

Being surprised by Clara’s reading (and loving) of Something Missing was the best book award I could ever receive.

Useless shoes

Three people broke into a shoe shop in Huancayo, Peru, last month and made off with 200 sneakers — but sadly for them, the shoes were all right-footed only.

The shoes were worth $13,400, though how they plan to convert right-footed shoes into cash is unknown.

I understand this predicament all too well because I committed a similar crime when I was younger.

In 1990, when I was 19 years old, my friend, Bengi and I were driving home in the dead of night after a party. We were passing through North Attleboro, Massachusetts, about a mile or two from our home, when we noticed a small display table sitting outside a shoe store, piled high with shoes.

The shopkeeper had failed to bring the display into the shop for the night.

Being young, stupid, and very poor, Bengi and I planned a heist that was far more detailed than was necessary. Entrance and escape routes were discussed. A step-by-step plan was put into place. We even briefly discussed the possibility that this might be some kind of sting operation, and that perhaps the police were lurking in some dark corner, waiting for us to strike.

Eventually, we set our plan into motion. We pulled up to the store, and while Bengi remained behind the wheel of his Dodge Charger, I leaped out, threw open the hatchback, and began tossing shoes into the back. Once the table was clear of footwear, I realized it, too, was also available for the taking, so I grabbed it and began jamming it into the car. It was rectangular, about four feet long and a foot or two wide, so it wasn’t an easy fit.

After a minute, everything was secure. I slammed the hatchback closed, leaped back into the passenger seat, and we were off.

Later, when we examined the spoils of our caper, we discovered two things:

We had stolen children’s shoes, which made sense. The name of the store was Kids Shoes. Sadly, this had not occurred to us during the robbery.

They were also all left-footed shoes.

Recognizing the difficulty in finding one-legged, left-footed children to whom we might sell these shoes, we tossed them into a cupboard under the staircase and forgot about them. The table, however, replaced the baby-changing table that held our ancient television.

A real upgrade, both in terms of appearance and eye level.

While cleaning out that cupboard a year later, we found that bag of shoes. Emboldened by a year of surviving on little money and even less heat, we decided to return the shoes. We wrote a note, informing the shoe store employees of our regrets and asking if they might offer us a sign of forgiveness. Then we signed the note:

Matty and Bengi

We drove back to the store and dropped the bag of shoes at the front door with the note attached.

Three days later, we returned to see if we had received a sign of some kind of forgiveness, and remarkably, we had:

In the shop window was a piece of paper featuring a hand-drawn smiley face. The eyebrows consisted of two words:

Matty and Bengi

We had been forgiven.

We kept the table, of course. It was too good to return, and when Bengi and I went our separate ways – Bengi to Connecticut for a new job while I was trapped in Massachusetts, awaiting trial for a crime I did not commit, about to become homeless – we divided our communal belongings.

Having an actual home, he took the table.

For years, until his children were grown, that table sat beneath the coat hooks in his mudroom. His children would put their shoes on that table every day when they came home from school.

Once again, the table held kids’ shoes.

Unless I’m wrong, that table is sitting in Bengi’s garage today. For a while, it held our DJ equipment, but since the equipment is currently being stored in my garage, I’m not sure what that table is doing today, 33 years after our theft.

I’ll have to check.

So yes, I feel empathy for those Peruvian thieves.

Sometimes you don’t realize what you’ve got until it’s too late.

For me and Bengi, we found ourselves with a pile of left-footed shoes, but more importantly, an unforgettable, joyous time of our lives filled with friendship, freedom, and fun in a home we affectionately called The Heavy Metal Playhouse.

Nonprofit?

Here’s some news to me:

The PGA Tour is a nonprofit, meaning, of course, that it does not pay taxes.

Even though it ended 2021 with $4.5 billion in assets and $3.3 billion in liabilities, it’s a nonprofit.

Despite employing over 1,000 employees, 13 of whom are paid over a million dollars a year, it’s a nonprofit.

Despite earning $583 million from media rights, $152 million from managing tournaments, $175 million from co-sponsoring tournaments, and $176 million from sponsorships, it’s a nonprofit.

Despite owning more than 40 for-profit C corporations, it’s a nonprofit.

Despite operating as “the world’s premier membership organization for touring professional golfers” – their own description on their “About” page – it’s a nonprofit.

And now, after claiming justifiable moral outrage over the Saudi-backed LIV Tour for more than a year, the PGA has pivoted 180 degrees and partnered with that same morally onerous, Saudi-backed golf tour in order to increase revenue and retain talent.

The PGA operating as a nonprofit seems a little crazy to me.

Granted, there are nonprofit religious organizations far wealthier than the PGA in terms of land, assets, and cash, but presumably, they are doing charitable work in the community. Helping people in need. Making the world a better place.

And yes, at least a few of these religious organizations are far more morally onerous than a golf tour could ever be, so perhaps we should reconsider their nonprofit status, too.

Arguably, any organization that knowingly shields and continues to employ a veritable army of child rapists – many of whom continued to work alongside children – should probably be stripped of their nonprofit status forever.

But I spend my Sunday mornings on the golf course, so this whole PGA Tour nonprofit revelation felt a little more personal, at least for a moment.

[image error]

Controversial? No.

CNN reports, “Starbucks is going full steam ahead with its controversial line of olive oil-infused coffee drinks, expanding one of its biggest new product launches in years to many more states and cities.”

For the record, a product that may or may not taste good should not be labeled as “controversial” if no one makes you purchase or drink it.

Having never tasted coffee before, I know I occupy an extreme end of the coffee spectrum, but on the other end of that spectrum are an enormous number of coffee drinkers who speak about coffee as if it’s an entertaining, interesting topic worthy of continuous, relentless, endless discussion.

I suspect that these are the same people who have fomented controversy over Starbucks’ new offerings, as this CNN report would suggest.

With the regularity of geese that fly south for the winter, these are probably the same people who will begin their yearly lament,  sometime at the end of August, about Starbucks offering pumpkin spice before the onset of autumn.

And just like the oil-infused coffee complainers of this moment, they will also forget that just because something is being sold in August doesn’t mean it needs to be purchased in August.

If it’s too early for pumpkin spice, then don’t order pumpkin spice.

Also, shut up about pumpkin spice.

Even worse, these annual pumpkin spice critics seem to forget that their complaints are identical to those they lodged just 12 months ago. Also, 12 months before that and 12 months before that.

It’s like we’re all trapped in an aggressively unamusing stand-up routine that repeats every year whether we want it or not. Like the people who try to avoid the song “Little Drummer Boy” at Christmas time, these pumpkin spice pundits are so persistent that they are nearly unavoidable.

If you happen to be one of these terrible people, may I suggest changing things up this year? If you’re in the “Oh dear! Pumpkin spice is being sold too early!” camp, maybe don’t bore us to death this year with the repetition of something we didn’t want to hear the first nine times.

Please?

Also, for the record, Elysha tried one of Starbucks’ olive oil-infused coffees yesterday and reported that it was both expensive and delicious, which shouldn’t be surprising or controversial in any way.

Starbucks isn’t in the business of selling products that people don’t want, including pumpkin spice products on August 30.

Easy for you. Impossible for me.

I surprised Elysha with flowers on Sunday.

I bought flowers for Clara in celebration of her dance recital, and I bought flowers for two of Elysha’s former students who were also in the show, but I also bought flowers for Elysha, recognizing that throughout this year of dance, she has been responsible for all of the elements of Clara’s performance for which I am incapable:

Hair. Costume. Rehearsal and show pre-show, when men are not permitted backstage.

Unless, of course, you’re Donald Trump, and you own a beauty pageant, at which point you purposely go backstage to stare at young women in various states of undress.

His words.

Hair and costume and pre-show routines may not sound like a big deal, but it all involves a 14-year-old girl with strong feelings about her appearance. It also involved at least one YouTube instructional video on how to make Clara’s hair do something I’ve never seen it do before.

I thought that flowers were the least I could do.

And I did a good job. I chose a bouquet of colors that Elysha loves, and when a few of those flowers were less than ideal, the florist asked me to select a second bouquet, and together, we combined the two into something I thought Elysha would love. I had the flowers wrapped and tied with a bow, and they looked great.

An hour after the recital, I entered the living room to find the bouquet somehow disassembled and even more beautiful after having been rearranged by Elysha.

It made me think of Clara’s hair:

This, too, was something I could never do well, as hard as I might try. And yes, it may seem like a small thing, but to someone without the skill, aesthetic, or good sense to do something like this, it’s impressive.

It’s always a glorious thing when your spouse can do something wonderfully lovely that is so seemingly impossible for you.

It’s good for Elysha, too.

Whenever you can do something so ordinary and easy for you that others see as extraordinary and impossible, it’s a huge win for you.

These flowers, sitting atop our mantle for the past week, have been a huge win for all of us.

Martha Stewart: The swimsuit model

Martha Stewart – age 81 – appeared on the cover of this year’s Sports Illustrated’s annual swimsuit issue.

Since she appeared in the magazine in early May, I’ve heard three people speak about her appearance on the cover in a less than complimentary way. All three denigrated her physical appearance to varying degrees.

My thought:

The only ugly person in all three instances was the person who spoke negatively about Martha Stewart’s appearance.

I am neither a Martha Stewart fan nor a critic, but appearing on a swimsuit cover as an octogenarian is courageous, especially when you know that ugly, awful people in the world would most assuredly say terrible things about you.

My opinion:

There is no room in this world for anyone to speak about another person’s physical appearance in anything but a positive way.

Or preferably, as I highly recommend, not at all.

The world will be a far better place when we all find something meaningful to say about a person that does not speak to their physical appearance. But if you must focus on appearance, the ugliest thing you can do – and the thing that will make you appear most ugly – is to speak negatively about how someone else looks.

It says so very much about the quality of your character, the strength of your self-esteem, and the kindness of your heart.

And in the case of Martha Stewart’s appearance in the swimsuit edition, saying she “doesn’t look great” or “clearly made a bad decision” or “looks terrible in a swimsuit” is an ugly, shallow, and stupid thing to say in every circumstance.

It will always and forever say more about you than it could ever say about her.

Bruce Springsteen, Tom Petty, and beginnings

Bruce Springsteen once said that his goal is to overwhelm his audience in the first five minutes of his concerts.

After that, he says, he’s got them for the rest of the night.

I can verify this. I have seen him perform many, many times, including in 2016 during his “The River” tour (when he was 67 years old) and on Broadway in 2021 (when he was 71), and later this year at Gillette Stadium, when he’ll be 73.

Overwhelm your audience in the first five minutes, and you’ve got them for the rest of the night.

He’s still doing it today.

The same holds true in storytelling and all of public speaking:

The opening of a story is critical to the story’s success. The beginning is where you create the wonder, mystery, and suspense that will carry your audience forward. It’s where you signal to the audience that they are in good hands. Entertainment is forthcoming. Buckle up.

Win them over in the first minute, or you risk never having them with you at all.

Similarly, Tom Petty was once asked to explain his “secret sauce” for writing so many hit songs. He said that he and his band had one simple philosophy for writing a song:

“Don’t bore us. Get to the chorus.”

Like Springsteen, Petty and his bandmates understood that you must win your audience over quickly or risk losing them forever, and one of the best ways of hooking an audience on a song is getting to that catchy, memorable chorus as quickly as possible.

Songs are not exactly stories (though they sometimes are), but when performing for audiences – in theaters, stadiums, or the boardroom – the needs are the same, even if the content is different.

Quickly convince your audience that you have something both meaningful and entertaining to say, or you won’t have an audience listening to you at all.

Like father, like son.

Charlie plays second base for his Little League team. I noticed that when there’s a baserunner on second, he often chats the player up quite a bit.

“I saw you talking to the baserunners tonight,” I said to him recently. “You know those guys?”

“No,” he said. “I’m trying to distract them. Keep them from catching the signs. Maybe make them miss a passed ball.”

He’s just like me. Looking for every edge. Squeezing out every possible advantage.

Yet he seems so damn sweet.

A deadly combination.

Curiosity pays off again and again

More than a decade ago, I began studying the financial markets simply because I was curious. I’d read books like Good to Great and become interested in why some businesses succeeded while others failed.

Those explanations turn out to be good stories.

I didn’t plan on becoming an investor, though eventually, I did.

The profits earned via my stock market investments have been excellent, but what I didn’t understand was that just a few years into my investing career, I would begin working with corporate clients and business owners, and my newfound understanding of their companies, the sectors in which they operated, the people running these companies, and even the language of business would prove invaluable to me.

Far more profitable than my gains in the stock market.

I wasn’t exactly a corporate titan and didn’t possess a degree from Wharton. Still, I felt at home working with companies like Amazon, Slack, Johnson & Johnson, Phizer, Smuckers, Microsoft, Salesforce, and the like.

I understood enough to hold my own and bring new ideas to the table.

But none of that was expected or planned. My interest in business and investing was born from curiosity. Nothing more.

Three years ago, I became interested in aviation after watching a YouTube video about the reality of an aviation sequence in a film. One video led to another and another, and before long, I was reading about the history of aviation, watching videos of takeoffs and landings, and listening to air traffic controller and pilot exchanges.

Last summer, I took my first flying lesson. I spent about 45 minutes over the greater Hartford area, learning the basics of operating a small plane and even landing it with assistance from the instructor.

I possessed no long-term plan for this newfound interest in aviation. I simply believe in continuing to be curious about the world and learning whatever I can. I enjoyed flying, but I didn’t see myself pursuing it much further after that first lesson.

I didn’t suddenly have the urge to get my pilot’s license. That flight was the culmination of my interest in and study of aviation, or so I thought.

Then something surprising happened.

On his own, Charlie also became obsessed with aviation. He began reading books, downloading flight simulators onto his iPad, watching videos about aviation, and more. A couple of weeks ago, we visited the New England Air and Space Museum for the day.

On Saturday morning, Charlie was sitting at the table, using a flight simulator on his iPad, when I heard him complaining about a crosswind. “Did you need to do a go-around?” I asked.

“Two,” he said, sounding frustrated. “The crosswind is 30 knots. I nearly had a wing strike the last time.”

“Have you tried crabbing?” I asked.

He didn’t know what crabbing was, so I sent him a video from my laptop to his iPad demonstrating the technique.

As I clicked send, it hit me:

Three years ago, I started studying aviation because it struck me as something interesting. I had no plan for this course of study and no idea where it might take me. No conceivable use for this newfound knowledge.

My interest and study in aviation eventually took me to the sky—a flying lesson that I loved, and maybe someday, another. I had assumed that flying a plane would be the pinnacle of my aviation study.

But I was wrong.

That flying lesson had been a stepping stone to a moment on a Saturday morning when Charlie and I found ourselves talking about go-arounds, wing strikes, and crabbing. Discussing crosswinds and landing procedures.

Charlie and I spoke the same language. Understood the same concepts. Problem solved together. We found ourselves immersed in the same world, and the results were a morning that I will never forget.

Charlie says that he wants to become a pilot someday. Flying for a living.

Maybe he will.

Either way, something I began three years ago because I am constantly looking for the next thing resulted in something special between a father and son.

You never know where these things will lead.

Keep on being curious. Keep on learning. Don’t worry about the end product.

Just find your next thing and see where it might land.