I was a coward. I'm filled with regret.

Standing in line at a Moth StorySLAM in New York earlier this week, I found myself sandwiched between two young couples. 

The woman in front of me was listening to headphones when her male companion arrived. After a bit of chit chat, she said, "I found this new band that I totally love. I think you'll love them, too." 

She removed her headphones, and as she passed them over, she quickly added, "But you might hate them, too, which is fine. I just started listening to them." 

My thought: C'mon, woman! Own your passion! Confidence is attractive! Confidence is sexy! Waffling sucks! 

I said nothing, of course. But had she been my friend, I would've called her later that night to offer her some advice, but this was a stranger, living her life.

Who was I to interject?

As this musical transfer began, I heard the young woman behind me say, "It's a little weird, but he's a lot older than me, so I think it's fine. I think of him like a father figure instead of a boss."

"What does he do?" her male companion asked, sounding confused. 

"Rubs my shoulders," she said. "You know. Like a massage. That's fine. Right?"

My thought: Tell her it's bad! Tell her it's wrong! Tell her to make it stop!

The man said, "I don't know. I guess it's okay, if you're okay with it."

No!

I wanted to interject so badly. I wanted to say something. I wanted to fix this.

But I didn't. Again, these were strangers. It would've been odd for me to intrude on them. Contradict this man's opinion. Insert myself into a private conversation. Tell an adult how to live her life. 

Except this time was different. The stakes were higher. If her male companion was unwilling to speak the truth (or was too stupid to know the truth), I should've spoken up. I should've said something. 

What was the risk?

An angry retort? A few minutes of social awkwardness? An embarrassing encounter?

It would've been a small price to pay to tell a young woman who is clearly being sexually harassed by her older, male boss that she has a right not to be touched in the workplace and offer my support.

Especially now. In today's world. With all that we have recently learned. 

I've been regretting my silence ever since. I suspect that I will always regret it. 

I hope she finds someone with more courage than me who can help her.     

Penguins were mating at a little girl's birthday party

My daughter Clara, age 8, was sitting at the neighbor's dining room table with about half a dozen other kids, eating a birthday cake that was originally shaped and frosted to look like a penguin. 

Between bites, she turned to the little girl beside her and asked, "Do you want to know how penguins mate?"

My eyes widened. I looked across the table at the other adult at the table. Her eyes were wide, too.

Clara said, "The male penguin goes out, and if the female penguin takes it, it's kind of like they're married."

If the male penguin goes out? If the female penguin takes it?

I didn't ask. I don't want to know.

Trump isn't fit to clean toilets

In response to Trump's tweet earlier this week about Senator Gillibrand:

USA Today's Editorial Board wrote:

“With his latest tweet, clearly implying that a United States senator would trade sexual favors for campaign cash, President Trump has shown he is not fit for office. Rock bottom is no impediment for a president who can always find room for a new low.

A president who would all but call Sen. Kirsten Gillibrand a whore is not fit to clean the toilets in the Barack Obama Presidential Library or to shine the shoes of George W. Bush. ”

USA Today is generally considered to occupy the center in terms of its political leanings, and it does not formally endorse political candidates. 

But these are not normal times, and the editors of USA Today recognize this. 

I thank them for breaking from tradition, responding to this truth, and taking a stand. While I would not characterize my blog as political, I am writing more about politics now than ever before, simply because these are not normal times in America. 

This is not a normal President.

And yes, I would agree. Donald Trump is not fit to clean the toilets in the Barack Obama Presidential Library or to shine the shoes of George W. Bush.

Awful human being alert

It's hard to believe that someone could be as lacking in self awareness as the woman who wrote this letter to advice columnist Dear Prudence. 

How could anyone read this letter and not think they are coming across as an classist, elitist, repulsive snob?

Dear Prudence,

Recently my friend Amy made a new friend, Mary. I’ve met her a few times, and while we were polite to each other, she isn’t someone I’d care to interact with more than necessary. I don’t seek her out, nor do I invite her to social events. Mary has slowly become part of my circle of friends. She has made a few comments intimating she’s upset that she hasn’t been invited to some of our get-togethers, but she is in a very different financial bracket than the rest of us. The restaurants and events we choose to go to are pricey. I recently hosted a dinner party for my friends and their plus ones, and Amy brought Mary. I didn’t want her at my house. We’re not friends, and I don’t enjoy her presence. I’m hosting another dinner party for the holidays, and I know Amy will bring Mary. I do not invite people I don’t want to be around to my parties. How do I politely tell Amy to stop bringing Mary?

—She’s Not Invited; She Comes Anyway

You can read Prudence's response to the letter here.

All I want for Christmas is a machine gun

Not really, of course, but damn do I love this sweater.

For those of you who can't quite pick up on the reference, it's Die Hard, the greatest Christmas film of all time.

In the movie, our hero, John McClane, has just managed to kill his first terrorist and acquired a machine gun. He sends the lifeless corpse down to Hans Gruber, the terrorist boss man, in an elevator with this note written in red Sharpie on his sweatshirt.

There's nothing better than a barefoot underdog taunting his well armed enemy.

For the record, while I'm not interested in owning a machine gun, I'm not at all opposed to the second Amendment. I believe in the right of Americans to own firearms. I simply want every gun owner to undergo a thorough background check, restrictions placed on criminals, perpetrators of domestic abuse, individuals on the no-fly list, and the like, and a complete ban on assault weapons. 

You know... reasonable, rationale gun ownership. The kind of gun ownership our founding fathers envisioned with they wrote the Constitution. 

Except for John McClane, of course. He can have as many machine guns as he wants. 

When cowards hide behind digital walls and hurl grenades...

Someone did something rotten to me a few weeks ago.

A person who I have never met but who performs in the same New York storytelling community as me, who knows many of the same storytellers that I do, and who was connected to me via Facebook, decided to block me.

I didn’t notice. Though I post to Facebook regularly, I don’t routinely scroll my feed. Even if I did, I have more than 1,300 Facebook friends and 1.400 fans. It’s unlikely I would’ve noticed the departure of someone who I had never actually met.

Once I was blocked and unable to see any of her content, she wrote a scathing post about me. 

Already disenchanted with me (thus the block), this person had seen my post on an NYC storytelling group promoting my monthly author newsletter (which includes storytelling tips), and this had apparently sent her over the edge. She took to Facebook, calling me, among other things, obnoxious, egotistical, self-important, average, and “Mr. Full of Himself.”

She didn’t name me directly but included enough biographical info to make it perfectly clear it was me. “Produces his own show.” “Published author.” Multiple Moth StorySLAM winner. Other details very specific to me.  

There was no doubt over who she was writing about.

It was a cruel and scathing post that painted me as a self-absorbed, opportunistic narcissist who treats the storytellers in my shows with contempt. She called for someone in the community to “sit me down” and inform me that I’m “not all that.”

“He needs to STOP,” she wrote.   

There were also factual inaccuracies in the post. Some of her accusations were simply untrue. She was criticizing circumstances that she did not fully understand.

All of this was upsetting, but I’m a grown man. I can accept criticism, as unfounded and unhinged as it may be. After a decade of publishing novels, magazine columns, podcasts, and a blog, in addition to performing on stage hundreds of times around the world and writing and producing my own musicals, I’ve received my share of criticism. I can accept that. I’ve grown a very thick skin.

But there’s one important difference here.

Because this person blocked me on Facebook before posting her diatribe, I could not see (and would never see) this otherwise public post that was fully visible to my colleagues, friends, competitors, and business partners in the storytelling community. Rather than addressing me directly or posting something on the public network that I could also see, she attacked me behind my back. 

It was an act of cowardice. She called for someone in the community to "sit me down" and make me stop while conveniently and cowardly hiding behind her Facebook wall. 

Had multiple friends in the community not sent me screenshots of her post and cut-and-pasted the text of the post into emails to me, and had she not mistakenly remained Facebook friends with Elysha (whoopsie!), I would have never seen this scathing, libelous attack.

This is one of the insidious parts of social media that doesn’t receive enough attention. As an elementary school teacher for 20 years, I have witnessed firsthand the rise of cyber bullying and know all too well how terrible it can be. It’s devastating to see ugliness, hate, and lies published on a network for the world to see.

But this is different. It hurts to hear that someone despises you and is publicly critical of your craft, but to know that everyone who is important to you professionally can read and respond to the accusations but you cannot is downright insidious and terrifying. To think that this person could continue to attack me again and again, behind my back, in such a cowardly, despicable manner, without me knowing or having any recourse, is scary as hell. To know that your community is reading such hateful comments while you are unable to respond is both enraging and unsettling.  

Elysha didn’t sleep well for days after seeing this post. She couldn’t understand how someone who I have never met could be so angry to attack me online in such a nefarious way.

I can’t either. I can’t begin to imagine her motives or what she hoped to gain from this bit of nastiness.

In response, I wrote to the woman, asking to speak on the phone. I promised to be open-minded and polite. I offered to let bygones by bygones in hopes of finding a middle ground of understanding. And I meant it. I'm nothing if not forgiving. 

Not surprising, she refused. Instead, she sent another screed, calling me among other things a liar. She also widening her target package to include Elysha, who she referred to as a “ditz and a flake.”

It’s an email filled with anger and cruelty and stupidity, and I am so pleased to be in possession of it if I decide to take action someday or (even better) simply post our exchange of emails online for entertainment purposes.

It makes for a fun read. Perhaps a holiday gift to my readers. 

But at least the attack was directed at me this time instead of behind my back. At least I knew what was being said about me. At least I had an opportunity to respond. Defend myself. Challenge her blatant inaccuracies with stubborn little facts.     

Human beings have undoubtedly been speaking behind the back of other human beings since the beginning of time. This is nothing new. It’s awful but unavoidable. But with the ability to block people on platforms like Facebook, we can now speak poorly, cruelly, damagingly, and libelously about another person without their knowledge and reach an audience of thousands with a single click. We can malign a person within their own online community without them ever seeing the insult. We can besmirch their reputation. Levy false allegations. Damage their means of making a living.

All without the victim ever knowing.   

This level of behind the back cowardice is new, and it is terrifying.

The good news about my situation is that the community came to my defense. They did the right thing. They alerted me to the post and offered to respond on my behalf. Elysha was then able to find the post and take screenshots as well. 

It’s important that we all do this.

Public criticism, as harsh and even unfair as it may be, is something that I’m willing to accept. As an author, storyteller, podcaster, playwright, and blogger, I accept my position as a public figure. Criticism is part of the deal. Those who create understand this reality. 

But insidious, behind-the-back criticism that allows critics to block their victims while taking advantage of a network effect that allows them reach large online communities must be rejected and repulsed every time. You have a right to know if someone is criticizing you, fairly or unfairly, on a platform like Facebook. You have a right to know if someone is writing scathing, libelous content about you that can be read and shared by the masses.

When we see these things happen, we must stand up and say no. We can’t accept this level of cowardice and cruelty.

I’m grateful that my community rose to my defense, but then again, I wasn’t surprised. Storytellers are good people.

Most of them, at least.

Some mistakes are worse than others

We received this piece of mail to our home yesterday. The street address is almost correct.

The town, province, and country are not. 

I talked to a stranger every day for a month. Here is what happened.

One of my yearly goals was to select three behaviors that I am opposed to and adopt them for one week, then write about my experiences.

Back in May, I prayed twice a day, every day, for a month, to see what might happen.

In October, I took a cold shower for a month. I'm still doing it today. 

In November,  on the advice of Jessica Stillman, I spoke to one stranger in a meaningful way every day for a month. Being married to a woman who speaks to random strangers (and befriends them constantly), I wondered what might happen if I did the same. 

The results were shocking. 

It turns out that I speak to a stranger almost everyday already. 

I had no idea.  

Between teaching, performing, producing Speak Up shows, coaching storytellers, teaching workshops, working out at the gym, and moving through my regular life, I meet new people all the time. Constantly. 

And not just a simple hello. These are actual conversations. Names exchanged. Ideas shared. Connections made.  

In fact, there were only six days in November when I had to actively seek out a stranger, and in each case, it was not hard. Three times I approached a parent in my school who I did not know. I introduced myself and inquired about their children. 

I also spoke to a man in the waiting room of a doctor's office (we discovered that we had a friend in common), a man in line at a highway rest area, and a new employee at a McDonald's restaurant (where I know many of the employees already). 

I can't say that I'm anything like Elysha. She has, on more than one occasion, made a lifelong friend in line at a Starbucks, a doctor's office, or a waiting room. She meets a mother at the playground or an attendant in a parking garage, and next week they are eating dinner in our home. 

Last week, while purchasing our Christmas tree, I turned my back for a second to deal with the kids. In that time, Elysha had introduced herself to the salesperson, told him about my writing career, explained Speak Up, passed on a business card, and Lord knows what else. 

I talk to strangers.
Elysha befriends strangers.  

Still, it was a useful exercise. Before November, I had always viewed myself as entirely unlike my wife when it came to strangers. I thought I was an isolationist. Reticent. A loner. A guy who already had enough friends. 

Not even close. My life, it turns out, is filled with new and interesting people. I may not drag these strangers home with me like Elysha does, but it turns out that I am not the isolationist I thought myself to be. 

How I delivered an inspirational talk at a human trafficking conference (while knowing nothing about human trafficking)

I was speaking to some of my former storytelling students - children of Holocaust survivors who had gone through a workshop series with me  that culminated in a storytelling performance.

One of them told me, "Now I see stories everywhere. Everything is a story."

While I don't agree that everything is a story, I knew exactly what she meant. Our lives are filled with storyworthy moments. More than you would ever imagine. Those who mine their lives for these moments and develop them into a treasure-trove of stories constantly add depth and breadth to our lives and their own. 

We are the ones who remember our lives best. We remember our lives through story. 

But possessing so many stories has an added value. When you have a lot of stories, you have the potential to inspire, amuse, entertain, or change minds, regardless of circumstances. No matter the context or need, you'll always have something to say. 

A couple years ago, I was in Indiana, speaking and performing at a variety of events at college campuses in and around Purdue University. I spoke about storytelling, writing, and personal productivity, and I produced and hosted a story slam for students.

A large conference on human trafficking was also underway on campus. I was asked if I'd be willing to close the conference with a speech to the attendees. 

I agreed.

Two weeks before the speech, one of the organizers called and asked about my expertise in human trafficking.

"I have none," I said,

I'll never forget what he said:

"I guess that's what Google is for?" he said nervously. "Right?"

Wrong. 

It turns out that when you have a treasure-trove of stories, you can speak to almost any audience regardless of the topic, purpose, or need. 

Besides, after three days of speeches, breakout groups, and seminars on the topic of human trafficking, did his audience really want one more speech on human trafficking from a guy who had to conduct a Google search on the subject?

Instead, I told a funny story about how I helped a shy student emerge from her shell after years of withdrawal, and in doing so, I came to realize that although I had "saved" this one girl, there were many other shy, silent children who I had not, primarily because I had stopped trying. I had given up on them. I had presumed that someone else would come along and fix their problem. 

Once the story was finished, I explained that when engaged in important work like teaching or seeking to end human trafficking - people work - we can never give up. We can never quit. We cannot assume that someone else will solve the problems.

More importantly, we can't afford to act slowly. We are not making widgets or selling keepsakes. The quality of a human being's life is in our hands. The very last thing we can do is allow bureaucrats, politicians, and ineffective administrators tell us that meaningful change takes time. Institutional transition can't happen overnight. We can't allow ineffective leaders to tell us that large ships don't change their direction overnight. 

This might be fine if you're selling real estate, building furniture, or coding an app, but when you're dealing with the lives of human beings, these passive, placating statements cannot be allowed to stand. 

As a teacher, I cannot be slow to action when a child's future is at stake. I cannot stop trying to save a child simply because every tool in my belt has failed.

Like me, the people who work to end human trafficking cannot afford to move slowly. Cannot waste a moment of time. The people of the world who choose to make a career out of saving lives must be the fastest, hardest, most dedicated people possible. They must be red tape destroyers. Bureaucratic assassin. Fast moving missiles of good.

I knew nothing about human trafficking except that it was too important to not work like hell to bring it to an end. Happily, I had a story that applied similarly and was filled with stakes, humor, and heart. 

It went over very well. The organizer called me the following week to tell me that it was the only time all week that anyone laughed and that my message was heard loud and clear by conference attendees:

We are human saving warriors. We must move at lightning speed. We cannot allow anyone to stand in our way or even slow us down. Human lives are at stake.   

If you are a person with a treasure trove of stories, you can speak anywhere about just about anything. It's hard for me to imagine someone calling tomorrow and asking me to speak on a topic that I couldn't find an entertaining, enlightening story and associated message that would work.    

Want to become a person full of stories? I recommend Homework for Life:

My students are threatening the sanctity of our future

I was sitting in the waiting room of the doctor's office yesterday, reading, when the gentleman beside me began watching something on YouTube without headphones. 

I assumed that it was a mistake. His browser has opened accidentally. He would quickly close the app and maybe even apologize. But no, he just thought it perfectly fine that he fill this communal space with the sound of his own personal programming. 

I was weighing the pros and cons of the polite request versus the direct assault on his character when a nurse called my name and the point became moot. I walked away, leaving the sound of the man's phone in my wake. 

This was bad. The fact that these human beings exist is frightening. Even now, I regret the time wasted debating the proper course of action. I should have just leapt into action rather than dithering in my seat like an indecisive Hamlet. I should've launched my missiles. Commenced an all-out assault. Combined public shame with personal outrage to end this behavior forever. 

I suspect that I hesitated because I am a teacher who was on his lunch break from work, so part of me felt like I was still operating in teacher-mode. Anything and everything I did was through the lens of an educator. I was mistakenly calculating and overly concerned with the feelings of another. 

The responsibilities of my position caused me to falter in a time of need, and for that, I am sorry. 

But here is the truly horrific part of this story:

I returned to school and told my fifth graders about this man and his offensive behavior. Of the 21 fifth graders in the room, 17 of them thought the man's decision to listen to his video in a communal space without headphones was perfectly fine. 

They thought I was overreacting. They thought I had no right to be offended. They saw nothing wrong with this morally reprehensible behavior.

Please tell me that this faulty logic and failed set of ethics are the result of their blinding, unavoidable youth and not a shifting set of norms that will result in a world polluted by the sound of individuals' content choices. 

I shudder to think of what the future will be like if this generation of children become adults who think it's perfectly right and just to listen to audio content in a public space without headphones. 

I may never leave the house again. 

A sign. A tee-shirt. A business opportunity. A business partner.

Local television anchor Dennis House tweeted a photo of this sign from this hockey rink where his son was practicing .   

This big, beautiful, wonderful, fantastic, brilliant sign. 

My first thought: Put this sign on a shirt! 

My next thought: Ask kids what they really want to say to adults. Stuff like this. Put that stuff on tee-shirts. 

My third thought: Too bad I have like nineteen jobs because this feels like a good idea.  

My final thought: If you steal my idea, I deserve 5% of your company.

Comeuppance!

Two years ago Kim Davis, the county clerk for Rowan County, Kentucky, denied David Ermold a marriage license because he was gay, despite it being legalized.  

Last week she had to watch as he signed up to run against her in the next election.

Alabama did the right thing last night. Let's hope Rowan Country, Kentucky can do the same. 

I missed so much of '90's culture. Unfortunately?

I was listening to an interview with Bob Saget, who once starred in a show called Full House, which featured the Olson twins. 

Other than what I just stated, I know nothing about this show. I never watched the show, and I wasn't even aware of its existence until well after it had ended its run. This may not seem like a big deal, but it turns out that this show has enormous cultural relevance. 

The Olson twins, for example. They seem to be everywhere. John Oliver makes a joke about them on his HBO show all the time, and every time, I think, "Is this just a twin joke, or is there something more to this joke that I don't understand?"

There was also a guy on that show who wore terrible sweaters (I don't know how I know this or if it's even true) and a bunch of other kids, and Bob Saget, of course, who I know as a comic who tells jokes that are definitely for an adult audience only but who somehow appeared on a TV show with little twin girls. 

The show is a mystery to me.  

I have similar problems with almost all of television, film, and music from the time when Full House was on the air. 

Boy Meets World, for example. I once worked with an attorney whose son was a star of the show, but I had no idea that the show even existed. I also work with a teacher named Mr. Feeney. When I mention his name to people, they often laugh and say, "Like Boy Meets World!" 

I have no idea what they are talking about. 

This is because from 1992 until about 1994, I didn't own a television. I was homeless and then living with a family of Jehovah Witnesses, working two full time jobs in order to pay the attorney who would represent me in court during the trial for a crime I didn't commit.  

Then, from 1994 until 1999, I was attending two colleges full time (earning two degrees) while managing a McDonald's restaurant full time and working in the college writing center part-time. I was also Treasurer of the Student Council, President of the National Honor Society, and columnist for the school newspaper. 

In 1997, I launched my DJ company with my partner.

Looking back, I really don't know how I did it all. But one way was to stop consuming almost all media.  Almost all popular culture from 1992-1999, and especially from 1992-1994, is lost to me. 

This means I have no understanding about things like Saved By the Bell, Family Matters, Northern Exposure, Twin Peaks, Home Improvement, The Wonder Years, The Fresh Prince of Bel Air, and many more.

I've managed to catch up on Seinfeld, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and Friends, but not until much later.

I missed out on all those 90's slacker films like Dazed and Confused, Clerks, and Reality Bites. I missed classics like Boys in the Hood, Pulp Fiction, and The Usual Suspects. I've since caught up on many of these films, but it turns out that if you're not watching a movie like Reality Bites in the early 1990s or Clerks when Kevin Smith is still a relative unknown, it's just not the same. 

I missed out on the rise of bands like Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Green Day and Radiohead. Again, I caught up with them later on, but if you're not listening to Nirvana in the '90's, you can't help but feel a little detached to what they are singing about.

And then there are shows like Full House. I'm never going to watch an episode of that show. Even if I had the time, I can't imagine that it's worth my time. Instead, I will move through life slightly lost, wondering if the Olson twins were two separate characters on the show or body doubles for each other.

Wondering why so many children live with three men and one woman.

Wondering if Uncle Jessie is a Full House reference (he seems to get mentioned in conversation surrounding this show) or a reference to the Uncle Jessie from The Dukes of Hazard. 

Wondering how a foul-mouthed comic like Bob Saget got cast to appear on a show alongside so many children. 

Please don't let the Trump administration change your perception of history

When a Trump supporter (or this week Press Secretary Sarah Sanders) claims that President Obama deserves no credit for the current state of the United States economy, please have these facts and figures at the ready:

EMPLOYMENT

2016 under Obama: 196,000 jobs added per month
2017 under Trump: 170,000 jobs added per month

Unemployment rate when Obama entered office: 9.3%
Unemployment rate when Obama left office: 4.5%

Also, under Obama, the United States enjoyed a record 75 consecutive months of job growth.

STOCK MARKET

Dow when Obama entered office: 7,949
Dow when Obama left office: 19732
Rate of improvement: 166.3%

Happily, there is also this bit of news:

A recent Quinnipiac poll asked,  "Who gets credit for the current state of the economy?"

Obama: 52%
Trump: 37%

At least a majority of Americans have a reasonable understanding of the past and present. 

If you enjoy a glass floor, don't forget to look down and thank your lucky stars

"But for a couple of bad breaks, especially visited upon vulnerable people, the outcome of life would be so different." 

This is a sentence that Slate's Mike Pesca spoke a couple months ago on his podcast The Gist in the midst of an interview.

I wrote the sentence down immediately, and I've been thinking about it ever since.

Mike is right. As a person who has suffered from a couple of bad breaks while in a vulnerable position, I can assure you that it doesn't take much to send a life reeling into desperate, uncharted, potentially life-changing waters. 

It's so easy to judge the circumstances of others if you enjoy a proverbial glass floor: a familial support system that will prevent you from ever falling too far.

I've seen it more times than a can count. 

• Legal troubles eliminated thanks to exceptionally skilled professionals paid for by parents
• College tuition, mortgage downpayment, automobiles, and infusions of cash offered by parents in desperate times
• Family owned businesses, legacy employment, nepotism, and second, third, and fourth chances given to someone thanks to the influence of a parent

If you're fortunate to be blessed with a glass floor, please don't forget how devastating a bad break can be for someone who isn't as blessed, and how incredibly stressful life can be for someone who is living without any safety net whatsoever.  

Think about this: According to a recent New York Fed study, one-third of Americans would not be unable to come up with $2,000 to deal with an emergency like an urgent home repair, medical crisis, or car accident.

This means that not only could they not raise $2,000 themselves, but they have no parent or family member capable of raising the money on their behalf, either. 

For many people, this situation would be unimaginable. But for almost a decade, I lived that reality, not because of bad decisions on my part or an unwillingness to work, but simply because of bad breaks. A cycle of poverty. A lack of support systems of any kind. The victim of a violent crime. An arrest for a crime I didn't commit. Homelessness. 

And I was lucky. I was physically and mentally healthy. Fairly intelligent. Capable of working 80 hours a week when necessary. I lived in a state with a strong social safety net. I had friends who put a roof over my head in a time of need. I wasn't the victim of racial discrimination.   

Still, I almost didn't make it.

Imagine what life could have been had my bad breaks had been coupled by mental illness. A physical disability. Addiction. Imagine if I had been unjustly convicted of that crime. Imagine how my life might be different had I been African American or female or any other marginalized member of society.  

It's so easy to see someone down on their luck, spiraling, and assume that they are to blame, when so many of us suffer similar breaks but are saved by the support systems that many don't enjoy.   

"But for a couple of bad breaks, especially visited upon vulnerable people, the outcome of life would be so different." 

It's so true. 

Things I do #12: I worry about people mentioned in songs who are frozen in time.

I first heard Jonathan Coulton's song "Code Monkey" about ten years ago. It's a song about a lovelorn computer programmer who is pining over an office receptionist. 

After offering a soda to the receptionist and being told that she is too busy to chat, Code Monkey slinks back to his cubicle, "not feeling so great."

The final set of lyrics before the chorus go like this:

Code Monkey think someday he have everything
Even pretty girl like you
Code Monkey just waiting for now
Code Monkey say someday, somehow

Tragic. Right. Code Money is waiting for "someday, somehow."

How many people in this world spend their whole lives waiting for "someday, somehow?"

Ever since I first heard this song, my heart has ached for Code Monkey. Coulton's song has trapped him in this moment of yearning, dreaming, and loss.

Does Code Monkey ever escape the mindless drudgery of his job? The disregard of his superiors? Does he find the creativity that he desires to badly? Does he ever get his pretty girl?

It's stupid and ridiculous and a little embarrassing, but my heart breaks every time I hear this song, not for the Code Monkey of the song but for the Code Monkey beyond the song. The future Code Monkey.

Does he make his dreams come true? I want to know. I need to know. "Someday, somehow" are words that haunt me. 

Here's the truth:

I don't think he does. I don't think Code Monkey gets everything. So few people do.

And it breaks my heart. Every single time. 

Crazy. I know.  

Things that make me cry

Speaking to a producer at a show in Boston last night, she asked me why I'm willing to share so much about my life on stage and in writing. 

There are lots of answers to this question, but amongst them is my belief that vulnerability is a very good thing, both for me and for the people who listen and read my stories. 

Vulnerability is a sign of strength. It's a willingness to open your heart and share your life with others, as odd or embarrassing or private as those parts of your life may be. For the listener or reader, it's an opportunity to connect to another human being in a deep and meaningful way. It's a chance to feel a little more normal.

We all walk through our lives at times, wondering if we are the only ones feeling the way we do. Plagued by embarrassment. Stewing in our shame. Feeling disconnected from the rest of the world. Believing that we are alone in our failure, fear, and weakness.

When someone is willing to be vulnerable and open up that which often remains hidden, we are all better for it. I know I am better and happier and more joyous about my own self when hearing others tell their stories.  

"Is there anything you won't share?" the producer asked.

"I won't share parts of my life that might embarrass another person at the same time," I said. "I respect the privacy of my friends, my wife, and my colleagues. But otherwise, no. I don't think so."

  So here was her challenge: 

"Tomorrow, on your blog, write about things that make you sad. Things people might not know about you or be surprised to hear." 

That request was made just seven hours ago, so I didn't have much time to think, but here are three to come to mind.    

1. I cannot think about my children and my mother (who died before meeting them) simultaneously without crying.
2. I am fiercely proud of my independent, boot-straps, self-made-man existence, but it also hurts so much to think that there was a time when no one wanted to help me and no one believed in me.
3. I can speak to people about my post traumatic stress disorder without becoming emotional, but I cannot can't listen to a story about the cause of someone else's PTSD without crying. 

When I say crying, I don't mean that I become a blubbery mess when these things arise. I might choke back tears. Find myself unable to speak. That kind of thing.

I reserve the blubbery mess for things like the death of a pet, the end of Field of Dreams, the election of Barack Obama, the cracking of my wisdom tooth, existential thoughts involving my children, and New York Yankees World Series victories. 

Setting goals for 2018

I've begun the process of choosing goals for 2018. It's a process that takes about a month because the decisions that I make now will in part shape the coming year for me. 

If you have any suggestions for goals that are worthy of pursuing, please feel free to let me know. Suggested goals have been a staple of my planning for years, and many have been adopted, so fire away!

And if you're looking to accomplish more in 2018, I encourage you to begin thinking about goals now, too. You don't need to post them on the Internet like I do, but setting and revisiting goals throughout the year has been an integral part of my life for a long time, and it's helped a great deal.

Oddly, my monthly updates are some of my most popular blog posts. For whatever reason, people enjoy reading about my success and failure.

Probably just my failure.

But start planning now. You shouldn't decide upon your goals or resolutions in a day or two. Put some thought into them. Make it a meaningful process. Try to set goals that you have some control over. 

For example, one of my goals for this year was to submit five pieces to the New York Times Op-Ed page. This is a better goal than, "Get published by the New York Times Op Ed page" because I have much more control over the former than the latter.

I admittedly don't do this with every goal. Sometimes I like to apply pressure to myself, particularly in areas of expertise. This year, for example, I set a goal of winning three Moth StorySLAMs. A better goal might have been to compete in X number of Moth StorySLAMs, but having won 32 of them, I didn't mind applying a little pressure to myself in this area.

Happily, I won four StorySLAMs in 2017, exceeding my goal. 

Also, don't be afraid of failure. In the past 6 years, my success rates have been:

2010: 44%
2011: 62%
2012: 30%
2013: 60%
2014: 60%
2015: 59%

Not stellar. A 52.5% average.  

But I'm comfortable with the failure because I know I am setting meaningful, challenging goals. I want to be pushing myself at all times. That would be impossible if the goals I set were easily attained. 

Make 2018 a year when you set goals that put you on the path of making your dreams come true.  

You can't be "useless after 8:00 PM" if you want to be productive

I was speaking to someone this week about being more productive, and over the course of accounting for his time, he informed me that he is "useless after 8:00 PM."

In short, the only way he could possible spend his time after 8:00 is by watching TV.

This is ridiculous, of course. 

Had the person in question been working two jobs or working or playing in a sports league after work or volunteering in a soup kitchen during the dinner hour, I might understand this claim better, but this person works a typical 9:00-5:00 job, followed by dinner, dishes, and television.

This is not the way to live a productive life. 

Please note:

I'm not judging this particular life choice (out loud), but when you come to me hoping for advice on living a more productive life and tell me that you can't accomplish anything after 8:00 PM, I'm going to take issue.

Happily, I also have a solution to this after-dinner malaise: 

Exercise. 

Exercise is one of the most dependable mood-boosters. Even a 10-minute walk can brighten your outlook and increase your energy level.

It's counter-intuitive, I know. Spend energy to get energy, but anyone who exercises regularly will tell you that this is true. Exercise is an enormous energy booster, and on days when I am not able to exercise, I feel the sluggishness.

In fact, in warmer months, it's not uncommon for me to go on a 15 minute run around the neighborhood at 9:00 PM if my hope if to be productive and alert past midnight. That 15 minute burst of speed and effort does more for me than caffeine ever could.

Theoretically, at least. Caffeine sadly has no effect on me. I can drink a 32 ounce caffeinated drink and still be asleep ten minutes later.   

My cross to bear.

But exercise!

Walking. Running. Playing a sport. Climbing aboard an elliptical or rowing machine. Coming over to my house and mowing the lawn or cutting up the enormous branch in the backyard that I still don't know what to do with.  

Just 15 minutes a day can make an enormous difference. 

When I work with people on personal productivity, I look primary at three things:

1. Efficiency during the work day (can you complete tasks faster if more thought is put into planning/methodology?)
2. Prioritization: Are you spending too much time on things that aren't important?
3. Time: How are you spending those hours outside the typical work day? 

Too often I discover that people lounge in bed after awaking (which hurts their ability to fall asleep quickly and maximize their sleep) and spend most (if not all) of their evenings in front of the television. 

While I'm not judging these behaviors (out loud), they are certainly not helpful to the person who wants to be more productive and make their dreams come true. 

Instead of plopping down in front of the TV, go for a walk. Try to make it a jog or even a run. When you return, you'll feel refreshed, invigorated, and prepared to take on the world. Ready to make your dreams come true.

It's not impossible. Just remember:

Those actors, athletes, comedians, musicians, and performers who you are passively watching from the comfort of your couch: They are making their dreams come true right before your eyes. They are doing what so many want to do but so few can do.

The writers and directors and producers of the show... same thing.

Visual evidence that making your dreams come true is entirely possible. But probably not if you're useless after 8:00 PM.

Americans would never allow someone like Roy Moore to work alongside them. Except for Republican Senators, of course.

Politics is the only arena where a gutless coward like Mitch McConnell can say, "I'm going to let the people of Alabama decide” about whether he should work alongside a pedophile like Roy Moore.

IN EVERY OTHER ARENA, PUBLIC OR PRIVATE, Americans would take a stand.

Can you imagine a dental hygienist or a machinist or a nurse saying: 

"Yes, this man has multiple female accusers claiming that he sexually harassed and/or assaulted them when they were underage, and yes, these women possess an enormous amount of circumstantial evidence supporting their claims, and yes, he was banned from a damn mall for harassing young women, and yes, he once called a girl out of high school math class to ask her on a date when he was a 28 year-old assistant district attorney, but if the boss thinks it's okay for him to work alongside me, I'm fine with that, too."

No, Mitch McConnell. You can have an opinion on Roy Moore regardless of what the voters of Alabama decide. That's called leadership, dumbass. It's called "having a spine." It's what good, decent people do everyday. We make moral choices instead of transactional choices. 

Yesterday Donald Trump offered his full support to Roy Moore for the first time. 

Last night the Republican Party followed suit, restoring their support for Moore after withdrawing it two weeks earlier.   

The party of the religious right has abandoned every shred of decency and goodness in order to guarantee that their massive transfer of wealth from the middle class to the wealthiest Americans can proceed as planned.   

This is a party whose leader has been accused of sexual assault by more than 20 women and who has admitted to sexual assault on tape. He is a man who bragged about going backstage during his beauty pageants in order to see women naked in their dressing rooms. 

Now they are also the party that supports pedophiles for the United States Senate.

They are a party of transactional, gutless, immoral politicians who choose to sit on the sidelines and allow evil men to rise to power when it's convenient for their agenda.