Matthew Dicks's Blog, page 91

Speak Up Storytelling on Saturday, April 22, 2023!

Just a few days before our first Speak Up Storytelling show of 2023!

SATURDAY, APRIL 22, 2023 at 7:00 PM at the Connecticut Historical Society Museum and Library

Great stories!
Complimentary wine, beer, soft drinks, and food.
Best deal in town!

We hope you’ll join us for a fantastic evening of storytelling:

“Fish Out of Water: Assimilating to New Surroundings”

PURCHASE TICKETS HERE

Our cast features:

Bekah Wright, a recent transplant from Los Angeles to Chester, CT. Bekah carries the hybrid titles of journalist/screenwriter/novelist. As a travel journalist, she’s spanned the globe doing everything from fly-fishing to sheep herding. As her stories often reflect, there’s a reason she’s earned the nickname the accident-prone tourist.

Julia Mitchell is a southern transplant that finds telling stories about her family is cheaper and more productive than therapy. She recently competed in the Valley Voices Storytelling Championship in Northampton, MA.

Kathryn Gonnerman loves storytelling, creative writing, action movies, March Madness, hiking, paddle boarding, speaking world languages, cuddling her two pugs, and adventuring with her wonderful husband. She is a philanthropy professional at the Jewish Community Foundation (because giving is good for us and community is powerful), and an executive coach (because burnout stinks and work shouldn’t be a four-letter word). If you want to make her grumpy, ask her about gluten allergies; to see her smile ask about any of the above.

Esam Boraey is a passionate advocate for human rights and democratization in Egypt and the Middle East. As a doctoral candidate at the University of Connecticut (UConn), he studies and teaches international political economy. Esam is an immigrant who fled Egypt 10 years after participating in the 2011 revolution to escape prosecution and imprisonment. He now serves as the chair of the Human Rights Commission in West Hartford, where he has been actively working to promote equality and social justice.

Esam’s passion for politics and social justice led him to work in multiple congressional and presidential campaigns, including Bernie Sanders in 2016 and Joe Biden in 2020, before moving to Connecticut in 2017 to work for the state senate and run political campaigns. Through his work, Esam has been able to share his story and educate decision-makers on the current political situation in Egypt and the region while advocating for meaningful change.

When he’s not advocating for human rights, Esam enjoys playing tennis and taking long walks. He is a true inspiration to those around him and a fierce advocate for justice and equality.

Matthew Dicks is an award-winning elementary school teacher and the internationally bestselling author of six novels and two books of nonfiction, including Memoirs of an Imaginary Friend, Storyworthy: Engage Teach, Persuade, and Change Your Life Through the Power of Storytelling, and Someday Is Today: 22 Simple, Actionable Ways to Propel Your Creative Life. Matthew is a record 59-time Moth StorySLAM and 9-time Moth GrandSLAM champion and the founder and Artistic Director of Speak Up, a Hartford-based storytelling organization. In addition to performing, he teaches storytelling and communication strategies to corporations, nonprofits, religious institutions, attorneys, universities, hospitals, public schools, advertising agencies, and many more. His clients include Amazon, Microsoft, Salesforce, Lego, Johnson & Johnson, Yale University, MIT, Case Western University, and the Mohawk Nation of Canada.

Matthew is also a wedding DJ, playwright, minister, stand-up comic, and Lord of Sealand. Matt loves ice cream cake, golf, tickling his children, staring at his wife, and not sleeping.

Hosted, of course, by Elysha Dicks.

Oreo torque and torsion

A team of MIT scientists – yes, a team – conducted an experiment using more than 1,000 Oreos and a rheometer to test if there is a way to reliably twist the wafers such that some of the cream filling is remaining on both sides.

The rheometer allowed the scientists to examine how the Oreo behaves under different speeds of torsion.

The analysis found that the filling sticks to only one of the wafers about 80 percent of the time,, regardless of the speed of the twist. The slowest twist took five minutes to separate the wafers, while the fastest twisting speed tested was 100 times as fast as a human could possibly twist.

Regardless of the speed, the filling ends up on a single wafer the vast majority of the time.

The researchers also measured the torque required to twist open an Oreo and found it to be similar to the torque required to turn a doorknob. The cream’s failure stress — the force per area required to get the cream to flow — is twice that of cream cheese and peanut butter, and about the same magnitude as mozzarella cheese.

“Judging from the cream’s response to stress, the team classified its texture as ‘mushy,’ rather than brittle, tough, or rubbery.”

Upon reading all of this, I was left with several thoughts:

I love it when scientists involve themselves in real-world problems.I don’t think this represents a real-world problem.With all the actual problems facing this world, why is a team of MIT scientists investing even an iota of their time and resources to conduct this experiment?

But here, I thought was the most upsetting part of all:

Do people really twist their Oreos apart before eating them?

Why would you do this?

What’s the point?

Just eat the damn thing the way it’s designed.

Even worse, why would you continue to twist your Oreos apart when it’s clear that the vast majority of the time you fail to achieve the desired result of cream on each wafer?

People really do the craziest things.

Running in the wrong direction

I was sitting at a table in Reagan International Airport, pecking away on my computer, waiting for my next flight, when a man began screaming somewhere down the terminal. It wasn’t a frightened scream. It was more of an angry or panicked scream.

He didn’t sound happy.

And it wasn’t just a single scream. It was a scream, followed by another scream, followed by another and another.

It was deeply unsettling.

Even more unsettling:

At the sound of the screaming, I closed my laptop, slid it into my bag, and began moving quickly in the opposite direction, away from the sounds of the screaming.

As I did so, others around me – many, many people – rose from their seats, took out their phones, hit record, and began running in the direction of the screams.

Perhaps every single one of the dozens of people I watched run in the direction of the screams was planning to record the situation in an effort to ensure that airport police did not handle the situation too aggressively or end up accused of something they did not do, but I don’t think so.

I think most, if not all, were hoping to record something interesting, salacious, newsworthy, or unprecedented. I think that most, if not all, were in search of something that might garner them clicks and likes and whatever the hell they might receive on TikTok.

I think that most of them were hoping to exploit the situation for their own benefit. Rather than moving away from a potentially dangerous situation, they were running towards it, not in hopes of rescuing people, saving lives, or preserving someone’s rights under the Constitution, but because social media has become more important to them than common sense or basic human decency.

None of them were screaming as they ran down the terminal, yet I still found them all more frightening and unsettling than the screams of a man who was experiencing a very bad day.

Later, I texted Elysha:

“People have lost their damn minds.”

Somehow fleeting, meaningless, ultimately forgotten ephemera has gained traction and value in this world, and it’s a disastrous thing.

Inspiration breeds inspiration

On Thursday, I spoke about writing at a TEDx Talk in Natick, Massachusetts.

Later, during the reception, I was approached by a woman who told me that years ago, she wrote a poem and planned on submitting it to The New Yorker, but she was too nervous to do so.

“I might just submit it now that I’ve heard you talk.”

I told the woman that she needed to submit it tomorrow. No more waiting to take action. “Let’s promise each other,” I said. “You submit your poem within 24 hours, and I’ll submit one of my own.”

She agreed.

Before noon the next day, I received an email from the woman that included the poem and the digital receipt from The New Yorker indicating the submission of a poem.

I was shocked. Also overjoyed and inspired.

We hadn’t exchanged contact information. We hadn’t said anything about getting in touch with each other, No agreement had been made about connecting after the event to hold each other accountable.

But she did. She found my contact information online and confirmed that she had submitted her poem. She forwarded the poem to me, too.

It’s fantastic.

Immediately upon receiving the email, I assembled a small collection of my own unpublished poetry and submitted it to The New Yorker, too. As a part of the submission process, you’re asked to include a cover letter. In mine, I mentioned my new literary friend and how she inspired me to submit my poems.

I hope the editors at The New Yorker like a good story.

It apparently takes about six weeks for them to respond to poetry submissions, so now the waiting game begins.

I’ve got my fingers crossed for my new friend. It would be exciting to see one of my poems in print. To date, I’ve only published one poem in my life, and that appeared in a small, now-defunct literary journal.

But I think it would be ten times as exciting to find out that my new friend’s poem had been accepted for publication, so I’m rooting for her. Keeping my fingers crossed and hoping that the editors at The New Yorker will love her poem as much as I do.

I hope you will, too.

Breaks rules is not a negative trait

I was completing a checklist on a child to determine if they required additional academic support:

Hundreds of questions designed to identify a child’s strengths and weaknesses.

Question #68 asked:

Breaks the rules just to see what will happen.

NeverSometimesOftenAlmost always

The child in question was “Never” on this particular question, but as I moved on to the next question, it dawned on me:

I think that “Breaks the rules just to see what will happen” is perceived as a negative quality on this assessment.

I checked with a psychologist who confirmed this assumption. “Breaks the rules just to see what will happen” is coded as a negative attribute on the assessment. It’s considered an undesirable quality in a student.

What a disaster.

I’ve spent much of my life “breaking the rules just to see what will happen.” I think it’s a highly advantageous and positive quality in a person.

Not in all cases, of course. I don’t open the emergency doors on airplanes or cross busy intersections against the light, and I don’t break rules when it would adversely impact other human beings in any meaningful way, but a multitude of rules can be broken in order to improve your life while not adversely impacting others.

The most common example of this is ignoring paperwork and other bureaucratic tasks that are irrelevant, meaningless, and most importantly, unnoticed and unused.

So many of them can be avoided altogether.

I’m often the person piloting the “I won’t do this – Let’s see what happens” program.

In many cases, nothing happens. No one cares. No one is even looking.

But I’m also someone who frequently goes through doors marked with signs advising against it.

I’ve helped (and encouraged) many female friends to access the men’s restrooms when the line to the women’s restroom was exceedingly long.

I’m constantly inventing new parking spots in otherwise full parking lots.

In high school and college, I purposely did subpar work on assignments early in the semester to see if the teacher or professor would even take notice. Many did not. As a result, I knew exactly how hard to work in each class or how much attention I needed to pay to citations, rubrics, formats, and the like.

I took a class about five years ago at Central Connecticut State University and applied the same strategy. My work became so substandard that I found myself trying to get less than an A on an assignment.

It was impossible. I wrote papers filled with irrelevant and nonsensical sentences. I repeated sentences again and again. I wrote paragraphs entirely unrelated to the topic, but I always received the highest mark. Not a great sign for an institution of higher learning or for someone who really needed to write good papers in order to learn the content, but I was not one of those people. I did the reading, attended class, engaged in discussion, and learned the content, absent any attempt to demonstrate my learning on paper.

Huzzah.

A willingness to break rules to see what will happen is essential to saving time, which in my life, equates to more time spent with family and friends and more time spent on work that is meaningful to me, my students, and my clients.

“Breaking the rules to see what will happen” is an acknowledgment that not every rule is sensible, reasonable, or enforced. It’s a willingness to push on boundaries, expand your vision, and challenge the world.

“It’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission” is a close cousin to “Breaks the rules to see what will happen,” and it’s a proverb that I live by. And I want my kids to do the same.

A few years ago, I took my family to Yawgoog Scout Reservation, the Boy Scout camp where I spent so many summers. We eventually made our way down to the waterfront, which was closed at the time.

Everyone was in the dining hall, eating lunch.

I took the family over to the watch tower. Ascend a series of steps and you find yourself high above the waterfront with a spectacular view of the water and surrounding land.

The problem?

Since the waterfront was closed, a bit of rope was stretched across the entrance to the watch tower, indicating it was closed. I reached for the rope, but my son and daughter protested. Argued that I was breaking a rule. Worried that we might get in trouble. They are rule followers of the highest order, and it makes me crazy.

“Let’s break the rule and see if anyone even cares,” I said.

It took quite a bit of coaxing and cajoling before they finally ascended the steps of the watch tower and were gifted with that spectacular view. Both admitted that they were happy to have broken the rule.

“Just think,” I said. “You almost let a small piece of rope keep you from seeing all of this.”

I’m not opposed to rules. I’m not opposed to adhering to rules. But I’m also not opposed to testing the limits of rules whenever it seems reasonable or even advisable, or whenever the rules seem unnecessary, frivolous, or foolish.

I’m never going to allow a length of rope to stop me from ascending great heights and experiencing the world is significant and unforgettable ways.

“Breaks the rules just to see what will happen” is a sign of an adventurous mind. It’s an indication of a person who wants to test boundaries, expand knowledge, preserve time, find a more efficient path, and make sense of the world.

It’s bold, daring, and even courageous at times.

It is, most definitely, not a negative trait.

Plastic and decapitated

Our April vacation comes to an end today.

Tomorrow I will return to my classroom and my fifth-grade students, who do things like place decapitated Kristoff from “Frozen” on my keyboard and never speak a word about it.

Not a single word.

They are amazing human beings. Hilarious and brilliant.

Also a little scary.

Police car commonality

While I was in Victoria, British Columbia, at a speaking gig, Elysha took the children to Newport, Rhode Island, for a couple of days to explore the mansions.

On the way home, Elysha’s tire went flat on Route 2 in Colchester, Connecticut. After calling AAA for a tow, she reconsidered and decided to call the state police, worried that their position on the side of the highway was dangerous. The police arrived, arranged for a tow, then drove Elysha and the kids to the state police barracks, where they were later picked up by a friend.

This meant that my family was given a ride in a police car, which was a first for all of them. The police officer even allowed Charlie to hold a set of handcuffs.

When I got home a couple of days later, Charlie told me all about the adventure.

“Now we’ve all been in a police car, Dad,” he declared with a little too much glee. “Except that you’ve been in a police car way more times than us, and you were under arrest during all of your rides!”

I pointed out to Charlie that I was only under arrest twice while in the back of a police car. I was a minor during my other three trips in a police cruiser, so I wasn’t technically under arrest. I was merely being driven home by the police after doing inadvisable and less-than-legal things.

“And I got to hold real handcuffs,” Charlie quickly added, smiling devilishly. “But you were actually handcuffed!”

I attempted to remind Charlie that I was arrested for a crime I did not commit.

Ultimately tried and found not guilty.

Yes, I was handcuffed by the police, but I hadn’t done anything wrong.

Charlie didn’t seem to care. The truth didn’t exactly fit his joyous narrative.

He was having way too much fun.

My storytelling soul sister

I’ve found my storytelling soul sister. Or one of them, at least.

Her name is Lisa Congdon. The title of her book is You Will Leave a Trail of Stars. 

It’s a book filled with inspiration and wisdom, but the passage below is the one I adore most.

I often say that the most important audience for every story you tell is you.

Storytelling need not involve a microphone, a stage, or even other people. If you’re simply finding and telling stories about your life to yourself, the benefits will be enormous.

Truly.

Lisa Congdon would seem to agree.

____________________________________

“Sometimes we walk through life under the illusion that we aren’t enough – that our life experience is too boring, too uninteresting, too ridden with mistakes, or too shameful and that we don’t deserve success or happiness. But what if we changed the story we told ourselves? What if we began to own the idea that all of our life experiences make us wiser, more enlightened, more compassionate, and more judicious, not less so? Owning and valuing your experience – no matter how unconventional – is some of the most important work we can do.”

― Lisa Congdon, You Will Leave a Trail of Stars

Airline food is weird

I’ve been on six planes in the last two days.

Quite a lot of flying.

It occurs to me:

Food on a plane is weird.

Maybe not as weird if you’re flying for eight hours across the country, but on a two-hour flight from Washington DC to Connecticut? Or a three-hour flight from Denver to Vancouver?

Do we really need to drag a drink cart down the aisle so flight attendants can serve a beverage and hand you a tiny bag of pretzels for these short flights? You walk by any number of stores, shops, newsstands, and restaurants before boarding a flight. If you want a snack or a beverage of almost any kind, hundreds of choices are available to you.

Most can be carried onto the plane with relative ease.

Pick something. Make an actual choice – a preferred choice – rather than settling for one of three small bags of baked carbohydrates.

Or maybe just go for two or three hours without food, which you do all the time without a problem.

Except, it would seem, on a plane.

I propose we eliminate the food and drink cart and dispel with this nonsense for flights of less than five hours.

If you need a drink, purchase one at the airport.

If you need a snack, pack one.

It’s weird for us to expect that be fed and hydrated during a few hours of flying by the same people who are trying to keep us safe.

End this insanity.

Who the hell are you, Bart Simpson?

Charlie and I were watching The Simpsons.

Season 6. Episode 7.

“Bart’s Girlfriend”

Halfway through the episode, Charlie groaned.

“Watching Bart Simpson flirt is making me ill. I truly feel pain.”

I understood exactly what he meant.

Though young love is real and true, the last thing you want to see is Bart Simpson tied down in a committed relationship that might stymie his ability to flaunt the rules, ignore law and order, and create unmitigated mayhem.

Bart Simpson simply wasn’t built for monogamy.

“I feel your pain, buddy,” I said. “But just remember: In Springfield, USA, all problems are only 22 minutes long.”

If only we could all be so lucky.