The Internet is kind and crazy and kind of crazy

Last week I wrote a piece advising that you avoid shopping at multiple grocery stores in a given week, arguing that time is more valuable than the marginal differences in taste and quality of food. 

The argument is more complex than that, but you can go read the piece if you'd like.

It was also published by the Huffington Post, which caused it to garner many more readers.

In terms of direct responses to me via Twitter, email, comments, and Facebook regarding the piece, the reaction was about 80% positive. Many people acknowledged and even thanked me for illuminating the idea that time is our most valuable commodity.

I received tweets like this:

Terry Morriston @msm114
Inspiration at grocery store:  Make time for what you love. Thx @MatthewDicks for a well said reminder goo.gl/Cbz7OH

Kelley Crawford @pga_wife
.@MatthewDicks read the "Grocery Store" blog. I've always thought my time is a value; I appreciate the validation! pic.twitter.com/SKuWOSHT8C

Many who who disagreed with me when it came to shopping were still kind enough to say that the overall sentiment of the piece rang true with them. They felt that shopping for food in multiple stores was worthy of their time, but they appreciated the sentiment regarding the thoughtful use of your time. I exchanged emails with a 90 year-old man who told me to "keep preaching because everybody's wasting their life away." 

Then there were responses like this:

Buzz Gadbois @buzz_gadbois
@MatthewDicks idiot uniformed on nutrition and how food affects our health...this article will kill thousands if they listen to you

Just imagine. My suggestion that people shop in fewer grocery stores and make better use of their time will "kill thousands." 

Also, I'm apparently an idiot.

Then there was this:

Roger Matthews @RogerMatthews6
@MatthewDicks Forgotten?? Americans used to shop at a variety of food stores (French still do). Learn some history.

This one was interesting in that I readily acknowledge in the piece that Americans once shopped at a variety of stores. I could not acknowledge it more explicitly. 

Yet I must "Learn from history."

He followed up his initial tweet with this:

Roger Matthews @RogerMatthews6
@MatthewDicks No citing of people in know, eg chefs. Start/end from prejudice. Capitalist prop. Americans decided nothing. Shoved down throats

Prejudice. Capitalistic propaganda. Heavy stuff for a piece suggesting that shopping in half a dozen grocery stores might be a waste of time. 

The comment section of the piece on Huffington Post also became a festering pit of point and counterpoint, with 220 comments at the writing of this post. 

Some express agreement with me.
Some respectfully disagree and attempt to present an alternate view.
Some have clearly been written in Crazy Town, USA.  

I never mind when readers disagree with me, but when they call me names, make hyperbolic statements, and say things like "Learn some history," I always respond by congratulating these people on making such excellent use of the anonymity of the Internet, which allows them to say horrible and ridiculous things that they would be unlikely to say in person. 

When you write a blog post every single day for more than 12 years (as I have), you always run the risk of upsetting readers. Angering them. Hearing from them loud and clear when they disagree.

You also run the risk of being called names and occasionally encountering the residents of Crazy Town. 

Thankfully, I have a thick skin and a good sense of humor. My wife and I got a good laugh over the thousands who will die upon reading my piece. I had a good laugh on the golf course over my capitalistic propaganda and extreme prejudice. I took great pleasure in congratulating these Internet trolls for finding such an ideal digital bridge to hide beneath while flinging insults and spouting their bizarre rants.   

This blog has brought me far more good than bad, and that is saying a lot given some now distant history. But it's true. I have met some remarkable people and enjoyed some amazing opportunities and experiences through the act of writing and connecting with thousands of people daily. 

But there are also the trolls. The lunatics. Angry, rude, and loathsome people who behave badly because they need not encounter me in person.  

Honestly, I kind of enjoy them, too. They make me laugh. They serve as an excellent contrast to the reasonable, rationale, decent people who I encounter. They make for great stories.

My son is ready for his next 15 minutes of fame

Earlier in the year, my kids were featured in a TurboTax ad after an advertising agency found a photo of them on this blog. They actually earned enough money from that gig to pay for a two night stay at Great Wolf Lodge, a place they have been wanting to visit for months.

If any advertising agencies are still paying attention, it would appear that my son would like another shot at the big time, perhaps as the new spokesperson for a restaurant chain or food company.

You have to admit that he has the right look.

The Moth: She Held My Hand

In August of 2015 I told the story of my first date with my wife at a Moth StorySLAM at The Bitter End. The theme of the night was Guts. 

I won the slam that night, but being the hyper-critical person that I am, I hear a lot of room for improvement in the story. It's not my best.

Frankly, I get annoyed at myself during the story for some of the choices I make. 

Still, it's about Elysha and me and our beginning, and, so here it is, in all its imperfection.

Bill O'Reilly reminds us that the slaves who built the White House were "well fed and had decent lodgings," because why?

You have to wonder the thinking behind Bill O'Reilly's decision to fact-check Michelle Obama's assertion in her Democratic National Convention speech that she has been living in a home built by slaves. 

Michelle Obama said:

"I wake up every morning in a house that was built by slaves. I watch my daughters — two beautiful, intelligent, black young women — playing with their dogs on the White House lawn."

O'Reilly acknowledged that Obama was correct, but in doing so, said the following:

"Slaves that worked there were well-fed and had decent lodgings provided by the government, which stopped hiring slave labor in 1802. However, the feds did not forbid subcontractors from using slave labor. So, Michelle Obama is essentially correct in citing slaves as builders of the White House, but there were others working as well. Got it all? There will be a quiz."

As you might expect, his assertion that slaves were "well-fed and had decent lodgings" didn't go over very well with a lot of people, including me.

Slavery - regardless of your slave master's meal plan and accommodations - is still slavery, and it should never be made to sound like anything but the stripping away of a person's freedom, dignity, and basic human rights. 

Also, how the hell does Bill O'Reilly know what was happening to those slaves at the time? 

• Well-fed, perhaps, but also likely beaten at the hands of their slave masters.
• Decent lodgings, maybe, but probably watched as their children were sold to plantations hundreds of miles away, never to be seen again.
• Even if the slaves that built the White House had three square meals a day and roofs over their heads, they also lacked the freedom to speak or travel or do what they wanted and love who they wanted for their entire lives. 

Honestly, what was O'Reilly thinking?

Did this Fox News talking head find Michelle Obama's assertion so rhetorically effective that he just had to find a way to undermine it?

Is it simply instinct for him to attempt to mitigate anything that comes out of the mouth of a Democrat?

Was he so frustrated that Michelle Obama's speech (and almost every other speech delivered at the DNC) was almost infinitely better than the 75 minutes of vitriol spittled from the gaping maw of Donald Trump?

Even if all this were true, you don't defend slavery, even in a tiny way under the guise of fact checking. Find something else to attack. Find another way to undermine your opponent.  

Here's a party game you can play sometime:

Try to make a list of things you could say that are as stupid and awful as saying that slavery wasn't as bad as you might think. 

It's hard to do. It's a very short list.

Writing advice from a toddler that authors should heed carefully

When my daughter was three years old, still unable to read, she taught me three invaluable lessons about the craft of writing. Specifically, she offered three specific pieces of criticism made an impression on me as an author and remain with me today.

1. Don’t overwrite. More importantly, don’t refuse editing. 

After watching some of its more famous musical numbers on YouTube, Clara and my wife sat down to watch Mary Poppins in its entirety for the first time.

Three years later, she still has yet to see the complete film.

While her interest admittedly waned throughout the film, her most telling comment came just over thirty minutes into the movie when she stood up from the couch and said, “Too long!”

She’s right. At 139 minutes, the film is far too long for most three-year old children, and it might be too long in general. As much as I loved Mary Poppins as a child, a two hour and nineteen minute children’s musical probably could have stood a little more time in the editing room.

Authors often have a great deal to say. We try to restrain ourselves as much as possible, but it often requires the expertise of an agent and an editor to bring our stories down to a length that will maintain a reader’s interest. It’s not an easy process. My agent has chopped whole chapters out of my book. My editors has murdered my characters. Hours and hours of work and strings of carefully honed, treasured sentences lost forever.

But better to lose an entire chapter than to have a reader toss down the book and shout, “Too long!”

2. Conflict is king. Backstory and resolution are secondary.  

With almost any television show that Clara watches, she exhibits the same pattern of interest:

As the conflict in the story rises, she remains riveted to the program. But as soon as the resolution is evident, even if it has not yet happened, her interest immediately wanes. She will walk right out of the room before the resolution even takes place if she can see it coming. 

It’s a good lesson for authors to remember. It is conflict that engages the reader. Backstory and resolution are necessary, but these elements should occur within the context of the conflict as often as possible and should probably occupy the fewest number of pages as possible. Keep the tension high throughout the story and keep the conflict ever-present in the readers’ minds and you will hold their interest throughout.

3. Keep your promises to the reader.

Clara does not appreciate when a television show goes off-book or changes genres midstream. Her favorite show for a long time was The Wonder Pets. It’s a program about three preschool class pets who moonlight as superheroes, saving baby animals around the world who are in trouble.

But occasionally the writers of The Wonder Pets decide to step outside this proven formula. In one episode, The Wonder Pets save an alien who is trying to return to his planet. In another, two of The Wonder Pets must save the third from peril. One episode is essentially a clip show in which the baby animals that they have already saved return to thank The Wonder Pets for their help. 

Clara hated these episodes. The alien episode scared the hell out of her. She fled the room saying, “Not this one! Not this one!” The other more experimental episodes never manage to keep her interest.

Clara is invested in The Wonder Pets because of the promise of baby animals being saved and returned to their parents by the three characters who she adores. 

It’s a good lesson for authors who sometimes offer the reader one thing but then give them another. This can happen when authors fail to remain faithful to the genre in which they are writing, infusing their fantasy novel with a sudden splash of science fiction or bringing serious social commentary into what was supposed to be an escapist detective or romance story.

Authors make promises to readers and then must deliver on them because readers are not simply empty vessels awaiting for the author to impart whatever wisdom he or she deems worthy.  Readers are discerning customers who need to be able to trust an author before investing time and money into a book. There are many reasons that readers purchase books, but it is rarely because they think the author is a wonderful person and whatever he or she has to say will be worthy. Most often, they buy books because of a promise made by the author. A promise of genre or character or plot or quality of the writing.

Authors must be sure to keep these promises or risk having their readers shout, “Not this one! Not this one!"

11 Absolutely Essential Rules for Restaurateur and Waitstaff in Child-Friendly Restaurants

After seven years of bringing my kids to restaurants, here is the definitive list of things that we as parents want from restaurateurs, chefs, and servers as they preparing and serve our food.

1. This may seem obvious, but apparently it's not because it fails to happen more often than you'd think: SERVE THE CHILDREN FIRST. There is no point in delivering my entree if my children do not have food. Little children require attention before they begin eating. There is cutting and cajoling and blowing that needs to be done before anything is edible. It's a full time job. It's maddening. Give me their entree first so I can get to work. 

Even better, if their entrée is ready first, offer to bring it out early.   

2. We don't want our children's food to be piping hot. In fact, we would prefer it to be lukewarm, if not downright cold. Little kids are heathens who can't or won't eat hot food, and as a result, parents spend half the time blowing on their kids' food while their own dinner gets cold, too. If at all possible, have the kids' meals sitting on a counter somewhere in the kitchen while the rest of our order is completed. Give us a fighting chance in terms of eating our own food at the correct temperature.

3. We never want you to suggest items to our children. We know what we want our children to eat. We had a conversation with our kids long before you arrived to take our order. If we ask for milk, don't you dare ask if they want white or chocolate milk. Assume white, you goddamn savage. Don't even acknowledge the existence of a dessert menu unless we prompt you ourselves. It's hard enough to wrangle in our children's desires without you opening Pandora's Box to them. 

4. Crayons. You should have them. We have learned to bring our own, but only because some of you think crayons are optional. If you're operating a kid-friendly restaurant, they aren't.

If you are really good, you will have triangular crayons. The kind that won't roll off your wobbly, uneven tables. Get yourself some triangular crayons and some paper to color on, and we will love you forever. 

5. Extra napkins. We need them. We needed them the moment we arrived. 

6. Don't offer my child a balloon. Balloons are nothing more than heartaches waiting to happen when a child accidentally releases it in order to try to catch a butterfly or pick a nose. This is followed by wailing and weeping and general sadness for the next 3-900 minutes. We don't need this kind of uninvited tragedy in our lives. Balloons also make for lovely visual obstructions when driving home, increasing our chances for a vehicular catastrophe. I came to your restaurant for food. Not circus paraphernalia.

7. If you're still going to offer a balloon to our children after the previous admonition, at least have the decency to ask my children which color they want. If you think the color of the balloon doesn’t matter to a child, you have apparently never been a child.

 8. Those new computer ordering/game systems on your tables? We hate them. If we wanted a video game at the dinner table, we could've handed our kid our phone, an iPad, or any other portable gaming system. We think that actual conversation with our kids might be a good idea. You know? Socialize them at bit. Teach them to chat. Make them potentially datable in the future. At least when they are coloring, they are still talking to us. Making us pictures. Sharing crayons. Displaying their creations. You know who wants these electronic monsters on their tables? Socially inept cretins who played with Nintendo Gameboys at the dinner table as kids and never learned the value of good conversation.  

9. A footstool in the restroom is a delight. Have you ever tried to hold a child in one arm while adjusting water temperature to the single degree with the other? This might be the primary reason that Americans end up in traction. Help us out. 

10. If we ask for a "tiny amount of ice cream" for our child, give us a tiny amount, damn it. Not a little less than normal. Not three quarters of what you'd normally serve. We want less than half. We want an amount that would insult an adult. It's not because we are terrible people. We simply want to clear out sometime within the next three hours, and we know how slowly our kid eats ice cream. 

11. If we inform you that our child has a food allergy, or if our child informs you of this fact, we would like you to widen your eyes a bit, nod vigorously, and treat this news as seriously as a heart attack. Even if there is nary a peanut in your establishment, make a note of this important fact. Tell us that you understand how critical it is. Assure us that that the chef will be informed. We don't need to hear that the hot dog doesn't have peanuts in it. Just let us know that you understand the gravity of the situation and put our minds at ease.

We're not crazy. We just don't want our kid to die today.

This simple bit of grocery store advice will spare you a lifetime of regret. Give you back hours in your week. Bring sanity back to your everyday life.

I met a woman from Denmark last week. She’s been living in the United States for about a year. I asked her what she liked best about our country.

Her response (paraphrased as best as I remember) was immediate:

You're not going to believe it, but it's Stop & Shop. And all the grocery stores like it. In Denmark, we spend half of our weekend shopping for food. Bread from the baker. Meat from the butcher. Produce from the grocer. It's ridiculous. You Americans put it all under one roof. I can finish my shopping in less than an hour. It's an amazing innovation, but I still watch my American friends drive everywhere for their food. This at Whole Foods. That at Trader Joes. Stew Leonard’s. Stop & Shop. Farmer's Markets. It's ridiculous. 

I couldn't believe it. I finally found someone who agreed with me on this grocery store shopping insanity happening all around me.  

I watch my friends and family members drive all over town – seemingly everyday – for their groceries. 

Meat from Whole Foods
Produce from Stop & Shop
Coffee from the artisanal coffee roaster
Paper goods and cleaning supplies from Costco
Prepared foods from Trader Joes
Pet supplies from Petco

This is not an exaggeration. At a dinner party recently, a friend lamented that more than half of her marriage has been spent with she or her husband shopping for food.

Why?

People tell me that it's outstanding quality and low prices that they seek. This place has the best meat. That place has the best fruit. This place has the best prices on paper towels.

It's insanity. And it’s a mistake. A terrible, nonsensical mistake, for two reasons:

1. If I conducted a double-blind taste test of food quality between these stores, no person could reliably tell the difference. If I prepared a dinner of roasted chicken, asparagus sprouts, wild rice, and an apple pie for dessert using food purchased from Whole Foods, Stop & Shop, and Stew Leonard’s and asked you to tell me which one came from which store, there is no way you or anyone else could consistently tell me the difference.

It feels good to think that you are improving the quality of your family's food, but it's an improvement that exists almost entirely in your mind. 

2. More importantly, even if there was a discernible difference in quality or taste between stores, this marginal difference is not worth the time spent shuffling off to each of the stores for what my friend described as half of her married life.

This is what the woman from Denmark understands but Americans have forgotten:

Time is our most precious commodity. It should be guarded at all costs. Valued above all else. Spent with enormous care. 

There was a time when America was dotted with bakers and butchers and fishmongers and green grocers. Like Denmark, there was a time when the bulk of Saturday was spent going from shop to shop, purchasing food for the next week.

Then we built massive grocery stores and put everything under one roof, and for a time, we were happy. My mother would do all the grocery shopping in an hour at Shop-Rite while we clung to the cart and begged for sugary cereals. 

Then something changed. Americans decided that this was no longer good. We decided that the marginal improvement in the quality of our green beans was worth the hour spent driving across town in order to purchase them. We decided that even though all of the stores have organic produce, this store's organic produce must be more organic because it costs more. We decided that it's better to buy olive oil from a store that only sells olive oil (a real thing) and pickles from an artisanal pickle maker even though we never cared about pickles very much before. We decided that the more time we spent gathering the food for our meals, the better we could feel about ourselves.  

We constantly lament the lack of time that we have with our families. We bemoan our lack of sleep. We yearn for the time to read a book or watch a movie. We dream of the day when we can write a novel, learn to skateboard, take a nap, paint the living room, or simply lie down in the grass and stare at clouds.

You have that time. You spent it driving to Trader Joes because you like their crackers.

You spent it driving to Whole Foods for their salmon.

You spent it driving to Costco to save $2.86 on paper towels.

When you're lying on your deathbed, you won’t be wishing that you had eaten more flavorful green beans. You won’t be lamenting the lack of quality quinoa in your life. You won’t be regretting a lifetime bereft of farm fresh eggs.

You’ll regret the hours spent every week driving all over town in order to marginally (and probably indiscernibly) improve the quality of food in your home at the expense of time spent on better things.  

Stop the insanity.

Place time spent with friends and loved ones ahead of the desire to optimize every food item in your cupboard, refrigerator, and freezer. 

Prioritize the things you truly care about - hobbies, exercise, books, films, those project you never seem to have enough time to start - ahead of crunchier celery, more flavorful barbecue sauce,  or cheaper toilet paper. 

Accept the fact that a large amount of the difference between these products are marginal at best and likely only exist in your mind.

Time is the only real commodity in this world. It's the only real thing of value. The sooner you embrace this reality, the happier you will be.

A Series of Special Guests #9

Last week I was featured on Benjamin Leroy's podcast A Series of Special Guests: Episode #9. Listen to me talk about writing, storytelling, death, productivity, and more.  

Passion Lubes makes for outstanding reading. Don't deny yourself this joy.

Perhaps you're already aware of Passion Lubes, the 55 gallon water-based lubricant currently available on Amazon.com for $1,290.30 (reduced from $2,500).

But if you haven't spent any time reading the reviews of this product, as well as the Questions Answered and the "Customers Who Viewed This Item Also Viewed" section, you don't know what you're missing.

Everything about this product is entertaining as hell. 

I don't label people as homophobic

I don't use the word "homophobic."

I prefer "bigot" because even though these despicable people might also be afraid of gay people, I think their hate-filled stupidity is their defining characteristic. 

A decidedly less white bubble on the other side of the aisle

Here's some good news:

In response to Paul Ryan's blindingly white photo of Capitol Hill interns, Democratic Representative E.B. Johnson asked her intern to take a selfie with her fellow Democratic interns on the Hill.

A slightly different image when you compare the two, and hope that our future leaders might not all be one color.

Donald Trump. I told you so.

Donald Trump is the Republican nominee for President.

Kind of hard to believe. Right?

I am not a Republican, nor I am pleased by this harrowing turn of events, but back in February, I predicted this outcome. I explained to friends that there were too many Republican candidates and no clear frontrunner, so the one with the most notoriety was likely to win.

I saw Trump as being that guy. 

I also saw Trump getting free air time on all the major cable news networks. Even MSNBC was covering his every move. 

That sealed the deal for me. 

Most people disagreed with this opinion. A few folks scoffed. But two of my friends told me that I was stupid. An idiot. A moron. They disparaged my intellect and my common sense. For those who chose to express their disagreement with aggressive, verbal abuse, I added them to my "I told you so" calendar and set the date for Friday, July 22, 2016.

Turns out I miscalculated by three days. 

So today I will send out two emails, reminding my friends of their so-easily-produced insults back in February and letting them know that their words had not been forgotten and they were wrong. 

In each email, I will write, "I told you so."

Petty? I don't think so. We allow people to dismiss, disregard, and marginalize our ideas, opinions, and predictions all the time because they enjoy the safety and security of time. They get to call you an idiot or a buffoon because they have a six month buffer from being proven wrong, so they assume almost no risk. Say something rotten today because it will probably be forgotten tomorrow.

It's name-calling and intellectual bravado without any stakes. 

Except, that is, when you're dealing with someone like me with an "I told you so" calendar.

If you disagreed with my on the Trump nomination civilly, no problem. 

If you thought my prediction was ludicrous and expressed as much without berating or insulting me, no worries.

Disagreements are normal in this world. 

But when you call someone names and insult their intelligence because you think that you're right and know there are months of buffering before the outcome, during which time the target of your barbs is likely to forget your unkind words, this is not okay with me.

I will be waiting. Biding my time. Counting the days.  

Two pleasure-filled emails will be sent off today.

I'm worried about our country and frankly saddened for many of my Republican friends, who I know are feeling lost right now with the direction their party has turned, but at least I can take solace in these four beautiful words today:

I told you so.

Paul Ryan is a boy in a white bubble

I'm sure that Paul Ryan isn't responsible for hiring Capitol Hill interns, but this selfie, posted to his Instagram account, should have been an enormous red flag for him. 

Is there a single person of color in this photo?
Reportedly, there is one, but I have yet to find him or her. 

As Speaker of the House, Ryan might actually have some say over how the process that Capitol Hill interns are selected, but even if he doesn't want to involve himself in that process, he should at least have enough savvy to know that this photo - chock full of smiling, privileged white folk - does not belong on his Instagram feed unless he wants to appear like he's living in a tone-deaf bubble of whiteness. 

The Ground Round still exists. Apparently for the hipster cocktail crowd.

I had no idea that the Ground Round still existed. 

It does. 30 locations in 13 sates, including Saco, Maine, where I found this one attached to a movie theater. 

I knew very little about this terribly named restaurant, but based upon what I read, I don't have much hope for its survival. 

“Ground Round was well known in the 1970s and 1980s for its children’s parties, showing old time silent movies and cartoons on a big screen, a mascot named Bingo the Clown, and for passing out whole peanuts where diners were not discouraged from throwing the shells on the floor, which became one of The Ground Round’s more endearing qualities that attracted families with small children; they also often gave diners popcorn with their dinner, rather than bread. The newest incarnation of Ground Round doesn’t support such behavior and markets to the adult dining and cocktails crowd, ”

"Adult dining and the cocktails crowd" at the Ground Round?

Perhaps they should consider a name change if they hope to attract anyone who cares about words. 

Unfair assumption #25: People offended by factual corrections are brittle and lame

When you correct a person's factual error or point out an obvious exaggeration, and that person responds as if your fact is irrelevant or an intrusion, that person is a brittle, cowardly lame ass who cares more about his or her own pontification than the truth. 

Too Big an Ask

I love good advertising. This is not it.

As my wife said, this is a big ask. 

July 15, 2006

Ten years ago on this day my wife and I were married on a perfect day. 

When I think back on all that has happened in just ten years, I am astonished. I'm also know that none of it would've been possible without Elysha.

The only imperfect part of our wedding day was the fact that we have yet to produce a wedding album from the day or even print a single photo. We have them all in digital form, but we rarely look at them. 

We'll have to correct that. Until then, I've created a slide show of some of the photos from our wedding day.

The UK has a new Prime Minister. Unfortunately, it still has a stupid Queen.

The United Kingdom has a lot of problems right now. I don't mean to pile on.

 But can't we all agree that the need to meet and curtsey before some nonsense Queen who only earned her position through a series of ancestral sexual encounters in order to officially be declared Prime Minister is a ludicrous way to transfer power? 

I'm not anti-British in any way, but I'm anti-royalty in every way. 

Not only is genetics a stupid way to confer power, but the British monarchy costs the UK approximately £35.7 million per year, even though they own more property than anyone else in the United Kingdom. 

This whole situation is ridiculous. 

I have this dream that when Prince William assumes the throne someday, his first and only act would be to declare the British monarchy null and void. 

"I am the King of England because of a sexual encounter between my mother and my father, and because I was lucky enough to be born first. This is just stupid. This idiocy of the monarchy ends now."

He'd turn Buckingham Palace into a museum, stick a photo booth over the throne for future visitors, hand over almost all of the royal estates to worthy charities, and retire to one of the no less than eight other royal residences (including at least three castles) that his family owns. 

That might be one of the most selfless and impressive things a person could ever do. 

Five years ago, I took the stage and told my first story. The most important thing about that night: I was afraid.

Yesterday marked my five year anniversary in storytelling. 

On July 12, 2011, I went to New York to tell a story on a Moth stage. I went there mostly because I told my friends that I would, and I had avoided it so long that I began to feel ashamed of myself. 

My friends pointed me to The Moth and suggested that I go. One of my friends said, "You've had the worst life of anyone I know. You'll make a great storyteller!"

She was probably referring to my two near-death experiences, my arrest and trial for a crime I didn't commit, my homelessness, the robbery that left with with more than a decade of untreated PTSD, the anonymous, widespread, public attack on my character and career, and more.

It hasn't been the worst, but it hasn't always been easy. 

So I said yes. "I'll go and tell a story." But honestly, I had little intention of ever doing so. I was terrified about the prospect of taking the stage and telling a story. It was almost unthinkable. But my friends didn't forget my promise, and nor did I, so Elysha and I made out way into NYC so I could tell what I thought would be the one and only story of my life. 

Even after putting my name in the hat, I tried to avoid taking the stage. When Dan Kennedy called my name, I froze, realizing that no one in the place knew me. If I remained quiet and still, they would have to eventually call someone else to the stage. 

Instead, Elysha made me go. 

Happily, miraculously, I won the StorySLAM. 

The next day, I wrote a blog post about my experience, which included these words:

“I know it sounds a little silly, but in the grand scheme of things, the birth of my daughter was probably the most important day of my life. Next comes the marriage to my wife, and then the sale of my first book, and then maybe this. It was that big for me.

Perhaps I’ll tell more stories in the future, and The Moth will become old hat for me, but on this day, at this moment, I couldn’t be more happy.

It was a big night for me, and one I will never forget.”

— Matthew Dicks

I was remarkably prescient while writing that post. It seems as if I already knew that I had found something special.

And I was right. It was a big night for me. Since that night:

• I have competed in 45 StorySLAMs, winning 24 of them.
• I've competed in 17 GrandSLAMs, winning four of them.
• I've told stories for The Moth and other storytelling organizations in cities around the country to audiences as large as 2,000 people. 
• I've become a teacher of storytelling, teaching in places like Yale University, The University of Connecticut Law School, Perdue University, Trinity College, Kripalu, Miss Porter's School, and many, many more. I consult with businesses, school districts, industry leaders, college professors, and individuals around the world about storytelling.
• Last summer I traveled to Brazil to teach storytelling to an American School in Sao Paulo.  
• In the last year, I've begun to perform my one-person show.
• Storytelling has landed me in the pages of Reader's Digest, Parents magazine, and more. 
• I've met some incredible people thanks to storytelling and made some remarkable friends. 

In 2013, Elysha and I launched Speak Up, our own storytelling organization. We've produced nearly 50 shows since our inception, in theaters as large as 500 seats, and we have sold out almost every show. I teach storytelling workshops locally, and we partner with schools, libraries, museums, and more to teach storytelling to our community.  

Last night Elysha and I worked with a group of second and third generation Holocaust survivors, teaching them to tell the story of their previous generations. Tonight I'll be competing in a StorySLAM in Boston. The beat goes on.  

So much has happened in five short years. My life has changed in ways I would've never predicted. Elysha's life has changed, too. The fact that Speak Up is a partnership between the two of us might be the best thing about it.

Storytelling has helped make it possible for Elysha to stay home with the kids for the past seven years, and it will help to keep her home for one more year until Charlie enters kindergarten. 

But here is what I want you to know:  

The important part of my story to never forget how afraid I was when I began this journey. It's important to remember how I tried to avoid storytelling at every turn, not because I thought it was a bad idea or a waste of time, but because I was afraid. Even though I wanted to tell a story and suspected that I might even be good at storytelling, I tried my hardest to avoid it. 

It's important to note that had it not been for my friends' prodding and Elysha's final push to get me out of my seat that night, I might have never taken the stage to tell a story. 

It's easy to see someone who is successful and confident and believe that they have always been that way. We often see the end result of a journey and assume that the person standing in front of us is the same person who began that journey. 

This is never true. I was afraid when I began my journey into storytelling. I doubted my ability. I was almost certain that I would fail. Fear kept me off the stage for more than a year, and it almost kept me off the stage forever. 

Fear holds us back so often in life. It keeps us from realizing our untapped, unseen, impossible-to-predict potential. It blocks us from opportunities. It stops us from being daring. I keeps us away from new things and forces us to reside in the familiar.

Thoreau said that “Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.”

I believe that. I believe it wholeheartedly. 

If fear is holding you back from trying something new, taking a risk, or realizing a dream, I encourage you to rise above it. Push that fear aside long enough to take a leap. Find people who will support you, encourage you, and even force you to try.

I think about how close I came to avoiding the stage, and it terrifies me. 

Frank Herbert said this about fear, which I also believe wholeheartedly:

“I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.”

— Frank Herbert

I shudder to think about what my life would be like today had I not taken that stage five years ago and told my first story. I hate to think about how fear nearly held me back.      

I nearly went to the grave with a song still inside me. 

7 much-needed rules for golf according to me (which makes them absolutely correct)

Putt every putt. If the six inch putt is a forgone conclusion, then just putt the damn thing. Conceding putts only serves to assist the players who can't putt or those who suffer from the yips while marginalizing the advantage of players who excel under pressure. 

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Every golfer should have a system for not forgetting their wedge by the green. If you forget your wedge more than once during a single round of golf, you must forfeit ownership of the club to a fellow player for one calendar year.  

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Handicaps are fine for determining tournament seeding and groupings, but they should never be used in actual competition. No other sport artificially adjusts the score to accommodate for a lack of skill. Also, claiming victory over your opponent thanks to the advantage of a handicap is pathetic and shameful. You honestly shouldn't be allowed to play golf ever again.  

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Every golfer should be allowed to chop down one tree in his or her life without penalty. This must be done with an axe. Chainsaws are too easy, and nothing about golf should ever be easy.  

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Players who roll their balls out of divots are breaking the rules, regardless of weather or season. These players are also fancy-pants golfers who require the ground to be pristine in order to swing, which is lame and stupid. Hit the damn ball where it lies. That is the essence of golf. 

As an alternative, go play mini golf. There are no divots amongst the windmills and water features of a mini golf course, and you can usually get an ice cream cone after the round.

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Dress codes are nonsense and should be eliminated entirely. They serve no useful purpose and only cause golfers to be perceived as elitist jackasses. Dress codes are also nonexistent at many public golf courses, so don't allow your pretentious friends to bully you into colored shirts and plaid pants when playing these courses. Wear whatever the hell you want. You're an adult, goddamn it. 

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No mulligans. Ever. There is nothing uglier and more idiotic on a golf course than a golfer taking a mulligan.