I’ll say it. I love my iPhone. I have the iPhone 12 Pro Max. It’s big, yet still fits in my back pocket. It would fit perfectly on a belt-attached phone holder, but my son Ryan told me to stop doing that back when I carried a Palm Pilot. “Dad. A phone is not a fashion accessory.” Fine, Ryan, it’s in my back pocket.

Why do I love my phone? You all know the reasons, but here are my main ones:

• I love having everything in one place. It’s incredible.
• I have all the tools I need to record new memories.
• Anytime I witness inspiration for a future blog post, I can snap a picture or write it down in Evernote. 
• I can find the answer to almost any question that I am wondering about.
• I have almost all of the pictures I love, and I can share them anytime.
• It wakes me up in the morning, keeps and reminds me of my calendar, informs me about world events, and facilitates my communications with my family and friends.
• And that’s just scratching the surface.

I still marvel at all that my phone can do. And combined with my Apple watch, it’s even better. I can keep track of calories burned, steps walked, laps that I swam, even the stroke that I’m swimming and the time of each lap. And whenever I get a text or something else I have deemed important enough to allow my watch to notify me of, I get an inaudible, unobtrusive, gentle pulse on my wrist. All spectacular technology has the illusion of being almost magical, and that’s how I still feel about the awesome technology in my hand (or back pocket) and on my wrist.

And my friend Jenn is trying to ruin everything.

Let me explain.

After publishing my blog post on Paying Attention, Jenn told me I needed to read a book she had found profoundly impactful, Stolen Focus: Why You Can’t Pay Attention and How to Think Deeply Again, by Johann Hari. And then she gave me the actual book – with pages that I have to manually flip. Who in the world reads real books anymore? I love reading on the Kindle app. As long as I have my phone in my back pocket, I can pick up the book anytime or anywhere, and I always have my highlights and notes for review. I was nice to her, but inside I was disappointed in her lack of adaptation to the times. 

But actually, it’s a great book, and it hurts me to say this, but it would have felt wrong to read it on my Kindle app. Hari argues that 2007 was a landmark year, primarily because of the invention of the iPhone. My wife Jill had long been asking why they did not add a phone to the Palm Pilot, and Steve Jobs brought her vision to life with an emphasis on function and aesthetic beauty. Sixteen years later, so many of us find the phone a central aspect of our lives.

In the 2017 remake of Jumanji (an underrated movie with a great cast), one of the characters transferred into a video game is despondent about no longer having her phone, and can’t stop talking about it. They meet up with a young man who has been trapped in the game since 1996, who, after watching her repeatedly bemoan the loss of her phone, says, “Does ‘phone’ mean something different in the future?” Yes, it does, Jumanji-1996-guy. Yes, it does.

Hari argues that the centrality of cell phones in our lives has:

• Dramatically decreased our ability/desire to read books and other in-depth analysis. Most of the world now consumes information in short tweets or slightly longer online news articles. The amount of time we spend reading books for pleasure has plunged since 2007 (after already suffering a decades-long decline after the advent of television), and newspapers are barely surviving. Ryan and I were discussing this recently, and he added, “The changes in the way we consume media that you’re talking about have dried up the demand for long form written analysis. As a result, there are fewer and fewer spaces that actually provide it. Which is a shame, because that type of thoughtful writing—which, not for nothing, is what is happening on this blog—provides more context and nuance than a couple of guys on a hot mic ever could. And that type of context and nuance is beyond important today.”
• Overly simplified a highly complex world. That would be great if the world were simple, but it is not. Brief and emotionally charged communications, the ones we find on our phones, imply that we don’t need to read in-depth analysis to understand a highly complex world. That implication is incorrect.
• Increased our exposure to outrage. Without question, what garners the most clicks and likes is any message of outrage. Indignation sells. And when we read enough of it, anger comes more easily to all of us.
• Decreased our ability to give our sustained attention to matters that deserve it. There are multiple studies that show we are less able to give our attention to something than we were just two decades ago.
• Filled the slow times in our lives with mindless browsing. When there is a pause in our lives (a line at the grocery store or the DMV, waiting for a meeting to start, etc.), so many of us fill that moment by going to our phones. And when we don’t take time for stillness, for daydreaming, for mind-wandering, or for slowness in our lives, we are missing opportunities to truly enjoy precious moments here on earth. 

I am a big fan of the concept of flow. Mihaly Czikszentmihalyi, the godfather of flow, describes it as “… the state in which people are so involved in an activity that nothing else seems to matter.”  When I am in those states, I am usually swimming, bicycling, playing pickleball, or engaged in other activities uninterrupted by phones or anything else. If we let them, phones will disrupt, even fragment our efforts at achieving states of flow. As Hari writes, “Fragmentation makes you smaller, shallower, and angrier. Flow makes you bigger, deeper, and calmer.” He adds, “Slowness nurtures attention. Speed shatters it.”

As I sat in my chair, engrossed in reading my paperback book, I realized that maybe being off my phone, even for reading, creates a greater sense of calm and peace. Maybe my initial criticism of my friend Jenn was a little unjustified. Maybe she was actually trying to help. I’m at a point in my life now where I am not on call 24/7, and I believe it would be good for me to slow down and not to act like I still need to be tethered to my phone. 

One of my favorite pictures is from 2022. It’s a photo of Tiger Woods hitting another perfect golf shot in front of adoring fans, almost all of whom are enjoying the moment through their phones. But look closely, and you can’t help but notice Mark Radetick, the tall guy who is a picture of stillness as he quietly takes it all in, holding a 24-ounce Michelob Ultra instead of a phone. I want more Mark Radetick moments in my life. 

Similarly, Jill and I were watching a spectacular Independence Day fireworks show, and we were surrounded by people videoing it and watching it through their phones. Jill whispered to me, “Hashtag – It’s happening now.” Hilarious, and sadly true.

So, what to do? I’m not giving up my phone. I still think it’s amazing and I still love all that it can do. But maybe I don’t need to love my phone quite so much. In Stanley Kubrik’s Dr. Strangelove: Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb, the fascination with the atomic bomb ends up destroying most of the world. I don’t know if our fascination with the phone is destroying us or not. For all of its amazingness and potential, I do know that it’s not making us smarter as a species. It tempts us out of our moments of slowness, pondering, and daydreaming – the moments that so often precede moments of inspiration, innovation, and creativity. And it’s certainly hindering our abilities to truly absorb special moments in our lives.

As I’ve written in many of my posts, I am going to continue my efforts to slow down, be on my phone less, and maybe even read a few more books made out of paper.

To get updates on when my next post comes out, please click here.

Post #92 on www.drmdmatthews.com

Notes: 

• If you haven’t read Steve Jobs’ biography, and his drive for perfection when inventing the iPhone, it’s a worthy read.
• I’ve only touched the surface with Hari’s work. He spends a lot of time expressing concern for the digital surveillance that is happening to all of us, and has some radical ideas for how to address that. To read my full review, click here.
• I often write as a way to remind myself of the way I want to live. Publishing a piece gives me extra incentive to live out what I write. I must really want to slow down in my life, because I’ve written about this several times, including:
  • The Battle to Preserve the Table in our Lives
  • In Search of Downshifting – Or How to Be More Like My Dogs
  • Flow
• I rewatched Dr. Stangelove as I was researching this blog post. It holds up. It’s still hilarious. Peter Sellers and so many other stars and future stars are perfect in their satirical roles. The movie highlights how our fascination with anything can lead to a lack of logical thought and horrible consequences, especially when we have amazing technology and individuals who are highly trained in knowing how to use it.
• Dr. Strangelove photo from Reelgood.
• Mark Radetick photo from Inc. Magazine
• iPhone photo from caselove.com.

Helping our Brains to Perceive a Fuller Picture

Ferris Bueller said, “Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.” He’s right of course, which is why I certainly would have joined the Save Ferris campaign. But maybe Ferris was wrong (gasp!) when it comes to safety and the effort to get better at something. In those cases, we should not be looking around. We should focus intently on the details, because our brains need every bit of information they can get.

On a beautiful summer day in Colorado back in 2015, I was on a bike ride with my brother-in-law Mike and my wife Jill. We were enjoying a well-earned downhill ride, returning from a spectacular journey to the Vail pass. I was leading as we were cruising down the bike path, being careful not to go too fast, when I came upon a fork in the path. I took the left path, then looked back over my shoulder to make sure Jill was doing the same. When I turned around and faced forward, there was a beautiful aspen tree about THREE FEET IN FRONT OF ME. I swerved to barely avoid a head-on collision (good call!), but my shoulder slammed into the tree, throwing me into a cartwheel off the bike. Damn. That’s about as bad a wreck as I’ve had. And I’ve had a few. My friend Ben (he is a doctor, but not the medical kind) has diagnosed me with a rare disease: falloffabikealotus. As I collected my senses, and my brother-in-law observed that I was mostly OK, he said, “I so wish I had my Go-Pro camera going, because that was awesome!” Thanks, Mike.

As I rode home, my hand and wrist started to throb. I’ve suffered through enough broken bones to know what that meant. I went to the Urgent Care center where they confirmed the fracture and casted me up. The young and Colorado-cool doctor asked how it happened. As I was retelling the story, he interrupted me and said, “So, you weren’t paying attention.” I said, “No no no! I was! I was just checking on Jill!” He repeated, strongly, “You were not paying attention. Ninety percent of all of the skiing, biking, and other athletic injuries I treat are caused by people not paying attention. You need to start doing that. You were lucky today.”

That memory came back to me this week as Jill and I watched a NOVA special on the brain called Your Brain: Perception Deception. Here are some of the gems from the NOVA show, which I highly recommend:

• We are only able to take in one percent of our visual field. (One percent! Holy cow!) That’s all of the information our retina and brain are able process together. If you want to test your ability to focus on a task, check out this famous video. (I did poorly the first time I watched it.)
• Because there is so little information, the brain has to piece it together and predict what is going to happen. 
• The brain is a predicting machine, doing its best, with that little bit of information, to predict what is going to happen.

“We are only able to take in one percent of our visual field. (One percent! Holy Cow!)”

So if we don’t pay full attention, particularly in times where our safety is at risk, our chances of success are  . . . not good. I think John Wooden said it better when he stated, “You will find that success and attention to details, the smallest details, usually go hand in hand.”

Here’s the thing. If our brain sees situations often enough, it becomes a better predictor. When people practice something enough, and when they repeatedly focus on and pay attention to those details, their brain’s predictive abilities in that field get better and better. In addition, repetition and repeated focus help our brains to eventually process way more than that one percent. My friend Steve has entered hundreds of bicycle races over his life. His brain better predicts cycling situations than mine, and he certainly would have avoided my crash. In addition to being able to focus on far more than I can, he would never have turned around to check on anyone, as (1) it’s not a smart or safe thing to do, and (2) it would slow him down. Perhaps not in that order.

I’m fascinated by athletes who say that they are more successful when “the game slows down” for them. Major League Baseball players have 0.4 seconds to figure out whether or not to swing and then how to swing at a pitch. Formula 1 racers are passing other cars at well over 200 MPH, and their lives are at risk if they even slightly misjudge. Musicians are able to move at breakneck speed through certain pieces. How do they do it? 

When we begin learning a fast moving or complex activity, our brains can’t process information quickly enough to recognize what we are seeing. With practice and repetition, our brains develop pattern recognition. Our brains develop maps that help us quickly, and for some, almost instantly recognize what’s coming at them. When we focus on the important details, we start to understand the patterns, our brain becomes highly proficient at predicting those patterns, and our brain makes us feel like we can actually “see” fast-moving or highly complex scenes.

And with practice, true experts learn which one percent of information they should focus on. Lawyers know what to give their attention to when sifting through thousands of pages of documents. Teachers can cut through all the activity in a classroom and pay attention to the behaviors that allow them to know how to best impact learning. Athletes pay attention to small cues in their opponents’ actions that let them know what is coming and how to counteract it. With enough repetition, thinkers can develop a sense of automaticity, allowing them to easily perform formerly difficult tasks, and leaving their brain able to focus on different tasks and cues.

So part of it is John Wooden’s advice to observe the smallest details. If you’re lucky, you’ll have a coach like him (well, hold on, there’s no one like John Wooden  . . . ), or just a really good coach, to tell you what details to watch. Another part is Malcolm Gladwell’s idea of spending 10,000 hours on something before you become an expert. Whether or not the number is right, the idea is that you can’t “see” patterns unless you’ve paid attention to the details for a long time.

So what are the things I want my brain to better predict? Well for one, I’m going to at least give my brain the full one percent when involved in dangerous activities like driving and cycling. Cell phones do not help in that effort. What else do I want to get better at? Cooking, swimming, golf, guitar, and pickleball, among others. I’m talking about practice. I’m talking about paying attention to the details. I’m talking about enough repetition of doing the right thing, so that my brain can better predict where my paddle should be in pickleball, where my hands should be in the pool, how my golf downswing should feel, and just how much garlic (which is obscenely more than almost every reader here, except maybe my son Ryan) should be put in a dish. 

So, yes, pay attention to the details when you want to get better at something, and do it long enough to let the process seem easier and slower for us, but let’s not forget Ferris’s advice. We still have plenty of time to stop and look around this beautiful and highly interesting world of ours, and we should do just that.

To get updates on when my next post comes out, please click here.

Post #90 on www.drmdmatthews.com

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Autumn Image by Pexels from Pixabay

Pre-Injury Bike Ride Photo near Vail, CO taken by Mike Orgovan. Photo was not taken with a Go-Pro.

And thanks again to Dr. Eric Olson for his expertise and care, and for being willing to teach me as he was caring for me.

We said goodbye to Dawson last week. He packed his car and drove off to Colorado for the start of his junior year. It seems so early, yet the new school year is starting across the nation. My youngest nephew, who is a lovable and precocious rascal, just began kindergarten this week. I hope his teacher actually finds some time to teach the class, as my nephew has a lot to share with everyone.

What happened to going back to school after Labor Day? Well, I’ll tell you. If California ruled the world, all colleges would be on the quarter system, starting in late September and ending in mid-June. And our K-12 schools would follow suit. Our best weather comes in August and September, and it’s no fun to be in a classroom during the best summer weather.

But contrary to popular belief, we Californians don’t rule the world. (Heck – we barely have a college sports conference any more. Farewell, Pac-12, how I will miss thee.) So most California schools go along with the nation, where AP tests take place in May, college admissions offices expect the first semester to end in December, summer opportunities often start in early June, and school starts in mid-August.

That being said, the new academic year is upon us. Jill will be back teaching again next week, and she’s ready. Parents are ready, too. We were at Disneyland this week (I have gone way too many times this year), and we ran into a couple who shared their secret tradition – they dropped off their two elementary-school-aged children on their first day of school, then, without ever telling the kids, the parents spent a glorious day at Disneyland. So sinister, yet so wonderful. It’s the most hilarious back-to-school thing I’ve seen since the old Staples commercial.

So parents are clearly excited for this time of year. Most students are looking forward to starting again, too – school is one of the few life activities where, in many ways, you start with a clean slate each year – new notebooks, new pencils and pens, new classes, a new teacher (or six, or seven), and new resolutions. It can be a time of great hope. And, for most of the teachers I know, that same fresh start brings a great deal of excitement. But, the new year also brings some nervousness and worry. What challenges will the new group of students bring? What changes will this school year bring? What will they face this year that they have never encountered before?

One of my teacher friends asked for my prayers as he started his school year. This friend is a GREAT teacher who, to the rest of the world, hardly seems to need anyone else’s assistance. He is respected and loved by almost all who know him. But that’s the thing that great teachers know.  The challenges that each new school year brings can be monumental. Teachers are expected to go far beyond the one size fits all teaching that I experienced in high school. Teachers need to seek out multiple ways to help each student succeed, while holding high standards for all. And teachers are expected to impart not just knowledge, but skills that can help a student to learn and succeed. While my best teachers did that, it is an expectation for all now. Simply put, teaching is more complicated than ever. Student needs are more diverse than ever. So yes, my friend is wise to ask for our prayers. Here are some of my prayers, hopes, and dreams for teachers, and all of those who support them, as they start the 2023-24 school year.

• May you be patient and persistent enough to discover the motivations and gifts of each of your students. 
• May every day be a great day. Students deserve the best version of you each and every hour of each and every day. May you have the energy and strength to make each day as special as the first day of school for each of your students.
• May you find balance in your life. May that balance allow you enough hours to be the teacher your students deserve, the family member and friend your loved ones rely on, and the individual who takes care of your own physical and mental health. (The 8:00 to 3:00 school day is a myth – there are hours of planning, grading, collaborating, and worrying that happen before and after those hours, and on weekends, and during school breaks, that are necessary for teachers to be at their best from 8:00 to 3:00 – but teachers also need to put on their own oxygen masks first.) 
• May you have the wisdom, strength, and resources you need. There are so many  obstacles that can impede students’ learning: difficult home situations, learning disabilities, hunger, a lack of confidence, hopelessness, a history of failure. It takes skill and insight to discern the problem, and then a good bit of resourcefulness to get around those issues and make the learning happen.  
• May your village be strong. Instructional assistants, special education professionals, counselors, administrators, and so many more share in a teacher’s love and care for students and are vital to our collective educational purpose. To those people–without whom teachers couldn’t do their jobs–this post is for all of you as well.
• May you and your students feel safe from the outside world. May you never have to live through the scenarios behind the safety drills you work on – including lockdown drills and shelter-in-place drills. And thank you for being as ready as anybody can be to support students in emergencies. May this year be free of the safety incursions that force teachers to be heroes in life-or-death situations, so they can focus on being the day-to-day heroes they already are.
• May your teaching year be insulated from all of the national debates about education. As I have written before, most of the political discussions about teaching refer to situations I have rarely if ever seen in classrooms. Overwhelmingly, the thousands of teachers I know are concerned only with creating kind and respectful environments and helping their students develop academic and interpersonal skills and habits that will help them to be successful in this world. 
• And may your teaching year be full of joy and laughter. The best teachers make their classrooms a joyful place for students to be, filled with celebrations, silliness, stories from students, curiosity, and all the things that create smiles, wonder, and light in our classrooms.

May it be a wonderful year for all of our teachers, those who support them, and the students we all serve.

To get updates on when my next post comes out, please click here.

Summer is in full swing, and I love it. Here in Malibu, the beaches are crowded, the roads are crazy, the ocean is warm enough even for my anti-cold-water self, and our hot days reach between 80 and 85 degrees. Yeah . . . it’s pretty nice. So we of course made the most of our perfect weather by taking a trip to Italy – where it was super hot, and where, according to the news, two gazillion people (two gazillion and two with us) from around the world have decided that the summer of 2023 is the best time to visit. 

I’ve spent time in Ireland, England, Germany, and France, but never Italy. And I’ve always wanted to go. It’s the place where two of my passions, food and history, converge spectacularly. So in spite of a record heat wave and a Heathrow airport strike (which eventually canceled our British Airways flight home), we took the plunge. I’m so glad we did.

I am no expert on Roman History, but I know enough to realize that, at least in the Western world, the Roman Empire’s reach and impact has few equals. To see two-thousand-year-old architecture, even when it was just the foundations, was awe inspiring. Walking on the Coliseum floor, looking up into the formerly marble-covered stands, and seeing the reconstructed ramp where wild animals were unleashed on the victims made it clear that the Romans, while inflicting death and destruction, also extracted great wealth from all whom they conquered – and did it all to the cheers of hundreds of thousands. The spectacles of the Coliseum reminded everyone, particularly their own citizens, of the brutal power of the Empire. 

And on a more pleasant note, the fountains and the art that adorn almost every piazza throughout Rome and so many other Italian cities create a civic beauty that we could use more of. The Sistine Chapel is stunning. And we loved walking the steep cobblestone streets of smaller fortress-on-hilltop towns in Umbria like Assisi (of St. Francis fame), Orvieto, and Todi. These towns were way less crowded, yet equally enjoyable with their history and charm.

But even if all the history weren’t there, I would still go to Italy just to eat. One of the summer reading books recommended by my friend Holly is Dirt. It’s about learning the art and business of French cooking. My big takeaway was that French cooking is way too hard and the chefs are way too caught up in the tiniest things. Dude. Lighten up. There’s also a big chip on French cooks’ shoulders about whether  the French or the Italians were the first great cooks. After my summer travels, my money is on Italy. But, no matter who was first, give me simplicity every single time. With each dish and meal, I was overwhelmed by the flavors that emerged from the simplest ingredients and the freshness of Italian food.

It all starts with tomatoes. I love tomatoes. One of life’s great pleasures is biting into a fresh tomato. Most grocery store tomatoes look great, but they are nowhere near fresh. The best tomatoes are recently picked and somehow, love and small gardens make them taste better. During one of my college summers, I worked on a huge farm run by a beautiful family up in Red Bluff, California. One of their main crops was almonds (They pronounced it like salmon without the s. My friend Heather is part of another beautiful family that knows the giant machines that violently shake the trees to get the almonds to fall. She said that the farmers call them almonds on the tree and “ammonds” off of it, because they had to shake the “L” out of them. Hilarious.) Getting back on track – they also grew thousands of tons of tomatoes. I spent hours watching the tomato-picker machine, staffed by 6 or 8 workers, that could harvest a full truck (50,000 pounds) of tomatoes every 30 minutes. Most of the tomatoes that we eat are machine-harvested and don’t get to us until weeks beyond their picking date. As much of a marvel as those machines are, the real marvel is the taste of a fresh tomato.

Jill and I walked through several farmers’ markets (Mercati) in Rome – on a hot day the aromas of the tomatoes and other fresh fruits and vegetables were overwhelmingly wonderful. After eating fresh tomatoes throughout our vacation, I am convinced that the best ones in the world come from either Italy or Arkansas. I can still taste world-class tomatoes I’ve enjoyed at the Pink Tomato Festival in Bradley County, from a fabulous tiny farmstand in Pangburn where you just take some tomatoes and put your money in a coffee can, and from my friend Craig’s mom’s garden. Arkansas can grow them like nobody else, but the Italians win for the amazing things they do with their tomatoes in their kitchens. It seems kind of silly that one of the reasons I loved the food in Italy is that it reminded me of something I already knew from my Arkansas days – simplicity and fresh quality ingredients make all the difference. 

The bruschettas we ate, the insalata mistas we loved, the tomato sauces with different types of tomatoes, along with the fresh basil accompanying almost everything, were all inspiring and immensely enjoyable. Of course, you mix in some fresh pasta or a perfect pizza crust, and you’ve got an unbeatable meal. It’s not easy to be a vegan in Italy, but there are a gazillion vegetarian options. Also, going back to my post on The Table, there is a slow food movement in Italy – a movement devoted to maintaining the traditions of eating local food and taking your time doing it. No matter where you turn, Italy confronts you with a flat out truth – they know how to do food, they know how cooking and enjoying food cultivates civilized beauty and togetherness, and they know how to do all of it with love and personality.

My goal is to bring some of these lessons back to our kitchen in Malibu. In Italy, we never ate a pizza that was not spectacular. My 500-degree-oven-baked pizzas at home are good, but those 800-degree ovens are something I may need to invest in. My favorite non-tomato-based dish from our trip was Cacio e Pepe, a recipe that really features just three ingredients – fresh pasta, freshly grated cheese, and freshly ground black pepper. I have made it twice since we came home, using two different recipes, and it will be something we eat once or twice a month from now on. (The Martha Stewart recipe is my favorite right now.) And I now get what al dente means – I still want my pasta on the well-al-dente side, but I overcook it less now. I always thought that pasta wasn’t ready until it sticks on the wall when you dramatically throw it there. Turns out – that’s overdone. Not al dente. So my graduate school kitchen wall was not the salute to quality cooking that I thought it was. I’m still learning!

And now that we’re back to our pretty perfect summer in Malibu, I’m trying to make it even more perfect. I’ve planted basil, Jill has started her tomatoes, and we are seeking out freshness at local farmers’ markets. Pizzas, cacio e pepe, and bruschettas are making weekly appearances (and disappearances!) at our dinner table, and we are committed to reliving and re-enjoying our Italian adventures for many years to come. Buon appetito! 

To get updates on when my next post comes out, please click here.

Words matter. Or so I’ve been told.

One of the semi-apologetic phrases I often use with friends, work colleagues, and my wife is, “Don’t listen to the words I say. Seek the meaning behind those words.” That sounds like instructions an overly optimistic English teacher might have given the high school me, not knowing the limited depth of my mind. But it’s also a great line to use after saying something that came out all wrong.

Yeah. I’ve been there too often.

I pay more attention to words now. I read a little more carefully, and I listen to song lyrics a little harder. I am searching for beauty in the world, and words are a wonderful medium to reflect that beauty. And being a person with a rather short attention span – (OK – this is a true story – in my office, I have big windows looking out at a wooded area. And all throughout the day, squirrels are playing around out there. Squirrels! I have to really work not to be distracted. Also, I can tell a lot about the people I meet with by how they react when squirrels run by. I am always comforted by fellow distractible meeting attendees.) So where was I? Oh yes …

And being a person with a rather short attention span, one of my quests is the search for succinct beauty. 

I suppose that’s what poetry is. Finding succinct and powerful ways to encapsulate beauty, pain, and other complex concepts. And while I know there is beauty in the longer poems, for the reasons described above, I’m always looking for one-sentence treasures. 

I have always appreciated and found humor in a line of poetry my friend Billy Mitch recited back in high school. We were hanging out by the Arkansas River on a Friday night (that was the thing to do back then), when he stood up and said, “The moon hangs low, like a testicle in the sky.” I reached out this week to Billy Mitch to find out more about how he came up with it. He didn’t remember saying it (though I know he did), but he remembered that Robin Williams used a version of that line in a Shakespearean improvisation back in the 1970’s. Billy Mitch and Robin Williams are two of my favorite poets.

Ann Buxie is Malibu’s Poet Laureate. Back when I was principal at Malibu High School, she was a highly involved parent of one of our many outstanding students, and I still see her every once in a while in our neighborhood. Over dinner last Sunday night, my friend Karen shared a poem that Ann recently wrote:

Well . . . that’s pretty darn good. Ms. Buxie has delivered a one-sentence poem that hammers home points I’ve tried to make in several of my (much, much longer) blog posts. If Elaine’s (from Seinfeld) boss, Mr. Peterman, read one of my typical posts, I’m sure he would give me the same comment he gave her, “Well this certainly looks like a lot of words.” I know. I could learn the art of succinct inspiration. (The sound you hear right now is Dad yelling, “I’ve been telling you that your whole life!)

Like all high quality succinct poems, Ms. Buxie’s has so many different meanings. As we get older, we can lament the parts of life that challenge us more than they used to, or we can celebrate new learning that helps us evolve into someone different. We can focus on the hardships we have endured and how they have hardened or weakened us, or we can look at how those same hardships give us wisdom and perspective we would never otherwise have. Her three short lines have me looking at my future in a novel way.

My friend John is 94 years old. What is he doing? He’s on a tear of reading and learning about the history of African civilizations. He’s becoming a more learned person every day, and he’s a different person today than he was just a few years ago. Thanks for the inspiration, John. I want to be like you when I grow up.

So what am I doing each day, each week, and each month that is helping me to become what I’ve never been? And how am I celebrating that change and that growth?  That should be a key question I ask myself each day.

And I should not be lamenting my declining physical abilities, like the fact that I cannot compete with my half-my-age neighbor (Hi, Shane) in pickleball. Yes, he has way more pickleball skills than I do. And yes, my body is older, wider, and slower than his. To quote Toby Keith, “I ain’t as good as I once was. That’s just the cold, hard truth.”

But instead of lingering on that, the smart thing for me to do is simply to focus on becoming what I’ve never been.

I can do that.

And I can celebrate it.

But one day, Shane . . .

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And thanks to all of you who read my last post, 61 Life Lessons – A Work in Progress. It has become my 4th most-read post ever.

Photo of the Arkansas River at Murray Park by Jeff Woford

Alternate Title: How Evernote Keeps Me Healthy

I caught a cold last week. A cold! It’s been a while. It’s been over four years since I last had one. I’ve had COVID, of course – just once. But my last non-COVID sickness was in December of 2018. And yes, I keep track.

Normally I wouldn’t have even recorded this one. It was very mild with no fever. I did not miss work, though I did wear a mask. It did not feel like COVID, but I took four tests just to make sure. I’m not complaining. It was just a mild inconvenience, but it’s been so long since I’ve had anything like it, it’s going into the record!

I don’t get sick very often. Part of it is making sure I get enough rest – at least six hours of sleep at night. And part of it, at least in my head, is not letting down too fast. Most of the times that I get sick, I have quickly transitioned from a very stressful existence into a very laid back one. And going from one extreme to the other is not good for me. My body fights back and says, “We’re going from 120 MPH to 5? You’re going to pay for that!” It’s one of the reasons I like to play hard on weekends and on vacations. Going from 120 in fast-moving traffic to 60 on an open highway is way better than going to 5 or 0. It helps me stay healthy.

I also believe that my attitude towards getting sick matters. Simply put, I fight it. When I feel it coming on, I tell myself that it’s not going to get me. I adopt Jedi mind tricks like the ones Obi Wan Kenobi used, saying to myself, “This is not the cold you are looking for.”

I have shared my thoughts on fighting off colds with my work colleagues. To put it mildly, it’s not something that has been widely embraced. However, they may have taken a bit of pleasure in calling me mentally weak when I did come down with a cold. They were laughing with me. I think?

I asked my newest and 17th-smartest friend, ChatGPT, about what they thought about my theory. After 1.5 seconds, I got these statements:

• Studies have shown that maintaining a positive outlook and using willpower to regulate behavior and emotions can have positive effects on overall health and well-being, including fighting off illness.
• Evidence suggests that individuals with a positive outlook and high levels of self-esteem have stronger immune systems, which can help them fight off illness.

That being said, I know all too well that bad things happen to good people. There are no guarantees in this life. I have lost many family members and friends to cancer and illnesses, even when they did everything right and had the best possible attitude, so before you yell it at me . . . I know. Life holds no guarantees. I’m just doing the best I can, and for me, fighting back helps my mindset. And so does keeping track of my colds.

How do I keep track? Evernote. When Evernote came out back in 2008, I was one of the early adopters. For the last fifteen years, I’ve been a bit of an Evernote evangelist. Some might say I’m an obnoxious Evernote evangelist. The tie in the picture above is the Evernote logo. My sister Martha was out visiting a few years ago and she observed, “Mike – it seems like all you ever talk about is Evernote, Big Green Eggs, and principalchef.com. It’s kind of interesting, but you need to diversify.” Agree to disagree, Martha – I really don’t see a complaint there. Those are three very compelling topics of conversation!

If you don’t know what Evernote is, it’s a note taking and note keeping app. You can jot down ideas, add pictures, add videos, scan receipts and documents, and more. It has been one of the most important elements of my practically paperless existence. All of my tax files are in it, as well as nice notes that I receive (I don’t save the mean ones!), and so many memories. When there’s a good quote on one of our bike trips, my friends know that it’s going into Evernote. And the best part is, I can find a memory I’m looking for pretty easily. When I want to locate a picture or a story or something quickly, I type in a few descriptive words, and people say, “How did you find that picture so quickly?” I remain a big, big, big fan.

So I have a note that lists every time I’ve succumbed to a cold since 2008. And because keeping track of my colds has been so helpful to me, I decided to do the same for Jill and Dawson. So whenever they would get a cold that kept them away from work or school, I would put their newest illness into Evernote and helpfully let them know how long it had been since they were last ill. I might have mentioned to both of them a few times (maybe more than a few times) that they were catching colds way more often than I was, and I might have used those opportunities to offer advice on diet, sunshine, exercise, and attitude. Let’s just say that, once again, it was not received with the good wishes that were intended. In fact, both of them eventually told me, rather emphatically, to JUST STOP IT. So I did. I still have the old Evernote files with their colds, but I won’t even look at them any more. Probably.

In the meantime, why did I get this cold? None of us caught a cold or the flu for so long during the pandemic for a variety of reasons – first and foremost is that we abandoned all things social. But we also practiced such good hygiene – washing and/or sanitizing our hands constantly, covering our coughs, keeping our distance. I am all in for our resocializations since the pandemic. We are social beings, and we thrive on being around others. So, I’m grateful for all of my human interactions and I plan on keeping them, but I’m going to go back to the hand washing/sanitizing-way-more-often-than-usual thing.  I’m not going to channel the 7-year-old me and fight or fake all directives to wash hands and brush teeth. Sorry, Mom and Dad, you were right about that, too. When I’m sick but not sick enough to miss work, I’m wearing a mask when I’m around others. And I’m wearing a mask to protect me on airline flights. All my choices, and I’m very good with them.

And, just for the record, when it comes to real colds/flus that totally knock me out, it’s been well over four years, and still counting. I’m staying positive.

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(Alternate Title: Everything Important in Life is Explained by Tetris)

So much rain in California! It’s wonderful for our drought-ridden state, but it’s cramping my style. Here’s the thing about our sunny west coast state. If I plan an outdoor activity – hiking, cycling, golf, pickleball, fill in the blank here – I can pretty much count on being able to do it. The weather is hardly ever bad enough to stop me, whether it’s April, August, November or even January. Pretty awesome, right? But after a very rainy month, the rain has prevented me from playing outside too many times, and I’m working on getting that expectation out of my head. When I keep my expectations in check, I find myself less disappointed.

With all of the rain, the number of games being played in our home is a little out of control right now. Between the dozens of games of Settlers of Catan and Mahjong, Jill has never been happier. I remember explaining Settlers of Catan to my oldest son, Ryan. I explained that players compete by gathering key supplies – lumber, ore, wool, grain, and brick. Ryan asked, “And then they use those to battle?” No, Ryan. They use it to settle. If they get enough supplies they can grow their settlements into cities. Ryan asked, “And then they battle?” No, Ryan. There is no battling. You just settle. I’ll bet that there have been over 60 hours of settling in our house since Christmas.

The last time that Jill spent this much time playing games was way back when Ryan was 15 and Dawson was three. Ryan had his Nintendo 64 gaming console, and he showed us how to play Tetris on it. The epic Tetris battles went on for about three years. For those of you who don’t know Tetris, it’s the classic video game where different shapes drop down from the top of the screen – squares, bars, L-shaped bars, Z-shaped bars – and you try to spin and move them so that they align to make solid blocks with no empty spaces at the bottom of the puzzle. If you make them fit perfectly, you get big points and whole lines disappear from the screen, making it easier to place new pieces, which drop at an ever-increasing speed. Jill was the champion of our household, and held every high score record possible. I think the only reason that Jill quit playing is that somehow, a “glitch” happened, and all of Jill’s records vanished. She still blames me, hence the quotes. It may have been my fault – maybe – but I did give Jill her life back. You’re welcome, Jill!

Tetris came back into my life recently, this time without the competition. I’ve been listening to a podcast called Secular Buddhism. I wanted to learn more after reading the Breakfast with Buddha book that I mentioned a few posts ago. One of the concepts of Buddhism is to let go of all expectations. “It’s the hope that kills you,” is a theme of soccer fans in Ted Lasso. We experience sadness, disappointment, and pain when our expectations do not match with reality, and we would suffer less if we would let go of those expectations. This is where Tetris comes in. Let’s say that you really need a long bar, or a square, to do well in the game you are playing. You hope for the shape you need, then one of the dreaded Z-figures drops down from the top of the screen. If you spend your time lamenting your bad luck, angry at the game for being rigged, or being even moderately disappointed with the round you are playing, you are hurting your chances of success. The moral: don’t expect good or bad outcomes, just see what the game deals you, accept it with as little emotion as possible, and do your best to succeed with what you have. And if that piece messes up your whole game, you put it behind you, forget about it, and move on.

Make no mistake, having no expectations is not the same as settling – take that, Catan! You still try to do great things, but you know that it may work and it may not. Two great people exemplify this attitude. Steven Hawking did so much amazing work for years after his illness was diagnosed early in his life. He said, “My expectations were reduced to zero when I was 21. Everything since then has been a bonus.” Another example came into my life with Ryan’s maternal great-grandfather, Elmer Geisler, who is one of the finest persons I have ever met. He was relentlessly positive and sought to get the most out of each day, even towards the end of his long and beautiful life. I would ask him how he was doing, and he would answer, “Great! But at my age, I’m not buying any green bananas.” No expectations. Thank you, Elmer. You remain one of my all-time heroes. 

Speaking to our high school seniors (and their parents) who have applied to colleges and have started the wait, I know that it’s a time of great hopes and expectations. I remember it for myself and my sons, and I’ve heard from thousands of students. I know it’s hard to believe that where you end up going to college is just another Tetris piece falling into your life. But that’s exactly what you need to believe.

How hard you’ve worked can’t help but create some level of expectation. So many young people have dedicated their young lives to excellence, hoping their efforts will make all the difference to top-tier universities. To put it in Tetris terms, they’ve put all the pieces in place, and just need the vertical bar to drop down.

But even with all that, the email you will receive from admissions departments may give you a vertical bar or a Z-figure. We don’t control the game. We can only control our efforts. As my son Ryan often says, “Process over results.” But when things go his way, even though he may have been a little lucky, he’s the first to say, “Results over process.” Not a bad attitude, actually.

I wrote about this four years ago: Where you go to college has very little to do with the success you will experience in your life. How hard you have worked and learned matters tremendously, and how much you take advantage of the learning opportunities of the university you attend, at this point we’ll call it the University of Tetris, is what will truly shape your future.

The point is that whether we’re applying to college, looking to advance in our careers, or trying to be the best parents we can be, doing everything as well as we can is all we can do. I know all too well that most challenges we face in life are infinitely more important than a game of Tetris, but the lesson remains the same. We will be happier if we make our best efforts to reach for the sun, while maintaining no expectations that we will actually get there. I’m not there yet, but I like that way of thinking.

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Perfection is fleeting, but I do believe that it exists. Or at least moments of near-perfection, as even Mary Poppins wasn’t perfect. I try to relish it whenever it appears, and I enjoy replaying the moments in my mind. I hope that in this year that is about to end, you have enjoyed a few of these moments, and that maybe, like me, you can take this holiday time to enjoy reflecting on near-perfect stories from your life in 2022.

I’m fortunate in how many times I have experienced it this year. I recently wrote about my son Ryan’s wedding to Yesi. The entire weekend of family, fun, and love on full display was absolutely a near-perfect moment in my life. On our visit to see Dawson in college in Golden, Colorado, we arrived in a beautiful snowstorm and woke up to a magical wintery town. Not all near-perfect moments involve travel or special occasions. More everyday life examples would include a perfect family dinner, where the food was spectacular, and the love, conversation, and laughter at the table were even better. I’ve shared perfect walks on the beach with Jill, where a super-low tide creates a wide wet-sand beach that magnificently reflects the larger-than-it-should-be setting sun. I could go on.

I don’t seek out these near-perfect experiences, nor do I expect them, but I love it when they happen. And these moments should be highlighted and appreciated for all that they are, because we all experience the full range of successes, failures, and everything in between. We all have beautiful moments with loved ones, and not-so-beautiful ones. We experience the birth of our children, proud and wondrous moments with them, and, at least for me, moments I wish I could forget. I have started books I couldn’t finish, finished books that I enjoyed parts of, and then I’ve devoured books where, when I finish them, I say, “I don’t think that book could have been more perfect.” (As a want-to-be-writer, I can say with great certainty that writers never believe their work is perfect. In fact, it’s far from it. It always needs more work.) I do my best to enjoy whatever activity I am immersed in, but when I realize that I am in the midst of a near-perfect moment, I find myself particularly grateful. Some very recent moments include:

• On Christmas morning, Jill and I had a quiet morning before Dawson and his girlfriend Kylie woke up. We called and chatted with our parents, had a nice breakfast, and enjoyed a long walk with our crazy dogs who helped the moment by actually being quite calm. Then, after the kids woke up at 11:00 (my apologies for sharing that with those of you whose young children forced you to wake before the sunrise), we had a beautiful and relaxed morning of gift opening and togetherness.
• Heeding the recommendation of my wise friends Brooks and Sheri, I have read Breakfast with Buddha two times in the last week. It is a peaceful and thought-provoking work of fiction, and it came into my life at a time when I needed it. It’s kind of a Travels with Charley meets The Power of Now type of work, and if you’re open to that, I highly recommend it. I don’t think author Roland Merullo would agree with my premise of perfection being something we experience through the outside world, but he might not argue too much.
• This will seem mundane to many, but I experienced that fleeting sense of near-perfection while rewatching the Ted Lasso series. The 5^th episode of season two, Rainbow, may be a perfect television episode. I thought that about Seinfeld’s The Merv Griffin Show episode, too. The Rainbow episode is about the pursuit of love and happiness from a variety of perspectives, full of typical Ted Lasso humor, puns, and insight, all bound together by a soundtrack that includes psychedelic She’s a Rainbow song by the Rolling Stones. It cleverly and touchingly combines The Rolling Stones, rom-com quotes, 247 F-bombs, and a self-confidence clinic, all while reminding us all that to live life to our fullest potential, we need to remember what brings us joy in our lives.
• Did I already mention that the kids in our house woke up after 11:00 on Christmas Day? I did? Sorry once again to those of you who woke up six hours earlier than that.

I hope this post finds you able to recall recent events where you experienced practically perfect moments. I hope this holiday season provides you time to reflect on these fleeting moments, especially the little ones that are so easy to forget. I find that it’s yet another way to practice gratitude, which is a not-so-secret and scientifically proven happiness-enhancing gift you can give yourself again and again.

Let’s all have a happy and healthy 2023, and enjoy the special moments as they come.

Mike

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