Unfortunate restroom encounters at MIT

I was teaching storytelling at MIT yesterday. It was a long but exciting day.

In addition to teaching two workshops, I received an amazing tour of their new nanotechnology facility, and I’m now convinced that nanotechnology is going to save the world.

You wouldn’t believe the things what scientists can do today with a few atoms.

I also met some incredible people, walked around the campus for a couple hours, taught about 100 students, faculty, and staff, and even reconnected with a couple of old friends, too.

At one point, I passed two young men in a hallway who were multiplying fractions aloud. It was the kind of thing that you’d only expect to see in a movie about a place like MIT, but no. These things actually happen at MIT. Students just walk around, calculating and debating mathematical principles in between classes. Chalk boards are filled with equations that I couldn’t begin to understand.

Very smart people walk the halls of that institution. I felt like a small, insignificant fool crawling amongst intellectual giants.

It also became readily apparent to me why I was not an MIT student. And both times, it happened in a restroom.

During our first break, I left the classroom and walked down the hall to use the restroom. I pushed open the door and walked in, only to find myself in the company of three young women. They turned stared at me, the looks on their faces indicating that this was not a gender neutral restroom. I paused, smiled, and said, “And this is why I’m not MIT material” and left.

Then I turned right and pushed open the door clearly marked “Men.” I stepped over to one of the eight urinals to take care of business. I was the only person in the restroom when I entered, but a moment later, another man entered. Of the eight available urinals, I was using the second from the end. The man stepped to the urinal beside me, which was strange. With six urinals to my left, most men would’ve chosen one farther away, creating some distance between us.

I thought, “That’s an aggressive move by this guy. What gives?”

Then I wondered, “Is this just some hangup that I have? Is this me being stupid and weird, or is this guy a little socially awkward? Who’s in the wrong here?”

Having just taught my class about the importance of recognizing small moments from our lives, I returned to class and told my students about my encounter in the women’s restroom. Then I told them about the aggressive, possibly social awkward man in the men’s room and my quandary over whether the guy was weird or I was being stupid.

Turns out the man, named Tom, was in the room. He was attending my class. I’d been staring at him for more than an hour.

As you can see, I am not MIT material.

Happily, we laughed about the moment, and oddly, he was having a similar moment at the urinal. He told me that he entered the restroom in a bit of a fog, chose the urinal without thought, and then realized that there was a man beside him. He turned, realized it was me, and quickly turned away, thinking, “Damn. That’s Matt. Now what? I can’t talk to him while we’re peeing like this. And why am I standing so close to him? Damn.”

Tom ultimately gave me the tour of the nanotech facility. He gave me some nanotech swag to take home to the kids. He offered to tour my family around MIT if we’re ever in the city,. He was generous at every turn.

I liked him a lot.

It all turned out fine.

But no, I don’t expect MIT to be inviting me to work with them for more than a day at a time. A person who can’t navigate their restrooms without incident really doesn’t belong amongst intellectual giants.

Theatrical wind chill factor

Credit Elysha Dicks for this gem:

When you ask how long a play or musical runs, you should receive two distinct times from the usher:

  1. The actual running time

  2. The play or musical’s wind chill factor

For example:

“The play runs for 83 minutes, but it’s not very good. Quite dreadful in fact. With the wind chill, it will feel like a little more than four hours. Enjoy the show.”

As we all know, it’s the wind chill factor that we should be most concerned about at all times.

Speak Up Storytelling: Sarasweet Rabidoux Kelsey

On episode #44 of the Speak Up Storytelling podcast, Matthew and Elysha Dicks talk storytelling!

In our followup segment, we introduce the "new" new cover of my next novel, discuss a bizarre coincidence, respond to a heartwarming email from a listener, and ask listeners for feedback on a reward for Homework for Life champions. 

In our Homework for Life segment, we talk about how a simple sentence or two - when the words touch your heart- can be enough to tell a great story. 

Next we listen to Sarasweet Rabidoux Kelsey's story about an unfortunate prom encounter. 

After listening, we discuss:

  1. Subtlety in storytelling

  2. The power of nostalgia

  3. Great opening lines

  4. The connective tissue of great storytelling

  5. When it's okay to reference pop culture and when it's not

  6. Saying just enough to serve the story

Next, we answer questions about shortening the length of stories and competing in storytelling competitions against "big stories. 

Finally, we each offer a recommendation.  

LINKS

Homework for Life: https://bit.ly/2f9ZPne

Matthew Dicks's website: http://www.matthewdicks.com

Matthew Dicks's YouTube channel:
https://www.youtube.com/matthewjohndicks 

Subscribe to Matthew Dicks's weekly newsletter: 
http://www.matthewdicks.com/matthewdicks-subscribe

Subscribe to the Speak Up newsletter: 
http://www.matthewdicks.com/subscribe-speak-up

Heloise and the Savoir Faire 

Matt Stone and Trey Parker on But and Therefore

RECOMMEDATIONS

Elysha:

Matt:

The standing ovation has come to signify nothing.

Elysha and I attended a play last night. I won’t mention the name because it wasn’t good, and I don’t want to publicly denigrate the effort and art of the people involved.

I’ll leave that to the theater critics.

Instead, I’d like to denigrate the audience.

At the end of this tragically bad, objectively bad play, nearly the entire audience rose to their feet for a standing ovation. It was immediate, rousing, and loud.

It was also ridiculous. Undeserved. Nonsensical. And this wasn’t the first time I have witnessed this bizarre behavior. Standing ovations were once reserved for work of outstanding quality. The best of the best.

Now they have become fairly standard at a performance. Almost an expectation.

Elysha, who also found this standing ovation ridiculous, thinks it’s the result of people who want to make others feel good about their effort. To refuse the standing ovation would be cruel to the performers.

She might be right. In this world of participation trophies and everyone feeling good, maybe the standing ovation has become the theater’s version of the white ribbon.

Congratulations. You stood on a stage and tried hard. Let us make you feel good.

I argued that it might also be the result of people who are so desperate to stand in the presence of greatness that they are using the standing ovation in order to will things like this terrible play to undeserved heights. No one wants to announce to the world on Instagram or Facebook that they just wasted 83 minutes of their lives on a terrible performance, so why not turn it into something great, thus making them seem smart and savvy in the process.

Whatever the reason, it must stop. I saw Hamilton a few months ago. That performance deserved a standing ovation. It was the best thing I’d ever seen.

I saw Rent a couple weeks ago. The play itself deserved a standing ovation, though the performances did not. Perhaps I’m spoiled by having seen the original cast of the musical in New York in the 1990’s several times, but the recent rendition of the show just isn’t as good, and some of the songs are sung at lower keys to accommodate the singer’s limited range.

I rose to my feet that night, not in recognition of the performances but in recognition of the writing.

Last night’s play did not deserve a standing ovation. The writing was bad, and the performances were bad. Even the sound design and sets were bad. Enthusiastic applause in recognition of the company’s effort would’ve been more than enough. Generous, even. But a standing applause?

That audience looked ridiculous.

As they leapt to their feet, I remained seated. After a few moments, I rose, too, but I started putting on my jacket as I stood, avoiding an additional clapping.

I wasn’t standing because I loved the performance. I was standing so I could exit the theater as quickly as possible.

I reserve my standing ovations for greatness. You should, too.

I want to be the blind man with the elephant.

Earlier this week, someone accused me of taking a position on an issue that I didn’t fully understand and suggested that I was acting like a blind man in the blind men and the elephant parable.

It’s not the first time someone has used this parable against me when suggesting that I’m taking a position on an issue that I don’t understand.

In case you don’t know the parable, it goes something like this:

A group of blind men heard that a strange animal, called an elephant, had been brought to the town, but none of them were aware of its shape and form. Out of curiosity, they said: "We must inspect and know it by touch, of which we are capable". So, they sought it out, and when they found it they groped about it. In the case of the first person, whose hand landed on the trunk, said "This being is like a thick snake". For another one whose hand reached its ear, it seemed like a kind of fan. As for another person, whose hand was upon its leg, said, the elephant is a pillar like a tree-trunk. The blind man who placed his hand upon its side said the elephant, "is a wall". Another who felt its tail, described it as a rope. The last felt its tusk, stating the elephant is that which is hard, smooth and like a spear.

The parable suggests that you can’t know a thing unless you know the whole of the thing, and while I agree in principle, I don’t agree in practice. Yes, it’s true that it’s hard to understand something without understanding all or most of it, but I don’t think that my lack of knowledge or understanding should preclude me from staking a position, for two reasons:

  1. It’s impossible to always know what we don’t know. I may think I have an understanding of an issue, only to learn later that I do not. This is not a terrible thing. It’s known as learning. I can’t be blamed for believing that I had enough facts to draw a conclusion, because you can’t always know what you don’t know.

  2. In the instances when this blind men and the elephant parable has been lobbed at me, I’m simply stating an opinion. Taking a stand. I’m not enacting policy. I’m not making an important decision. I’m not choosing a course for myself or others. I’m simply staking out an intellectual position and, as always, inviting criticism, agreement, and inquiry. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with someone taking a position on an issue they may not understand fully if they do so with an open mind, an open heart, and a willingness to be corrected by someone with greater expertise.

This is not easy for everyone to accept. I’ve been told many times that commenting, evaluating, assessing, or even judging things that I don't fully understand is wrong, foolish, and even offensive. It’s been suggested many times that I am opinionated, argumentative, pugnacious, and aggressively contrarian.

They say these things as if they are bad. They say them as if those words possess negative connotations.

Yes, I’m all those things. Absolutely. But in being all those things, I also openly invite correction. Retort. Argument.

I am happy to be the old man, feeling the elephant’s tail and thinking it a thick snake because the alternative is either remaining silent or reaching a level of expertise before ever opening my mouth.

I can’t remain silent. That’s just not me.

And I can’t always reach a level of expertise because, again, you can’t know what you don’t know.

If I’m wrong, tell me I’m wrong. Engage in debate. Teach me something new. Increase my level of expertise.

But please don’t suggest that I remain silent until I know enough. Just tell me what I don’t know.

Thoreau on regret

Henry David Thoreau offered this advice on regret:

“Make the most of your regrets; never smother your sorrow, but tend and cherish it till it comes to have a separate and integral interest. To regret deeply is to live afresh.”

Thoreau believed in regret. He believed in tending and cherishing it. He believed in making use of it.

I agree with Thoreau. Although it’s quite popular to say that we should live without regrets - let the past be the past - I have always found my regrets as fuel for my fire.

It’s not unlike the fuel I find in those who have doubted me, maligned me, turned their back on me, let me down, and attempted to tear me down. When I am feeling less than energetic or lacking in motivation, all I need to do is think about the soulless cowards who tried to destroy my career or the guidance counselors who never spoke to me about college or the person who turned her back on me over something trivial and out of my control, and I’m suddenly filled with the desire to achieve and excel and crush the world again.

The same holds true for regret. Whether it’s regret caused by a failure of my own or is the result of something out of my control, I often remind myself of what it feels like to miss an opportunity, fail to achieve a goal, or fall short of making a dream come true.

That simple, painful reminder fuels my fire and sends me charging into the day.

Thankfully, I don’t have too many regrets. With Elysha, Clara, and Charlie, how could I? But I have a few - and a couple big ones - and I allow them to inform my current and future decisions. I allow their sting to incentivize me from never feeling regret again.

Socrates said that an unexamined life is not worth living. I’m not sure if I would take it quite that far, but I would argue that the unexamined life is the deliberate and wasteful disregard of regret. It’s a missed opportunity to learn from your mistakes and use them as fuel for the next struggle.

I agree with Thoreau. Make the most of your regrets. To regret deeply is to live afresh.

Change of plan

Remember the cover of my new book that most of you liked so much?

It’s been changed.

Twenty-one Truths About Love was received exceptionally well during the sales conference except for one thing:

The sales and marketing folks didn’t love the cover.

And honestly, I didn’t love it initially either. I was eventually convinced that the cover was well designed and would effectively garner the attention of readers, but that cover is a thing of the past, and we have a new cover that I love.

I really, really love.

I hope you do, too. You can preorder the book (which would help me immensely) here.

Trump is an inarticulate, lying coward who refuses to answer to the American people

In cased you missed it, in just the last 24 hours, Donald Trump has:

  • Told reporters that his father, Fred Trump, was born in Germany, which is not true. Fred Trump was born in New York.

  • Suggested that the noise from wind farms could cause cancer.

  • Repeated his claim that the Barr memo clears him of obstruction of justice, which is specifically and pointedly does not.

  • Claimed that he never called for the full release of the Mueller report, which he did so with great specificity less than a week ago.

  • Stated that is was a "great honor" to fund Great Lakes Restoration Initiative. In fact, Obama fully funded the program and Trump's budget proposes a 90 percent cut.

Oddly, most of these irrefutable lies will go unchallenged because Trump and his administration no longer hold themselves accountable to the American people, and Republican lawmakers allow these ridiculous and oftentimes damaging lies to be spoken without challenge because they are gutless cowards who are only concerned with their reelection.

Two strategies that Trump has employed to avoid accountability include:

#1: Trump is afraid to conduct a press conference. He has conducted exactly two press conferences since taking office and both were disastrous because he cannot stop lying, makes racist and sexist claims, and is utterly inarticulate.

Instead, he only takes questions in situations when multiple unamplified reporters are allowed to briefly shout questions at him, usually over the roar of a helicopter, and he is free to ignore any of the questions being asked.

Compare Trump’s two press conferences with the number of press conferences by previous administrations:

Obama: 65
Bush: 59
Clinton: 69
Bush: 89
Reagan: 15
Carter: 52

This is a President who habitually lies and refuses to allow the American people to hold him accountable.

#2: Sarah Sanders has almost abandoned the decades-old policy of daily White House briefings. Rather than taking regular questions from the press, Trump and Sanders almost only appear on Fox News.

This allows Trump to lie about his father’s birthplace and suggest that the sound from windmills cause cancer without concern that the press many ask him pointed questions on the matter.

They can’t.

Resolution update: March 2019

Each month I review the progress of my yearly goals and report on that progress as a means of holding myself accountable.

Here are the results for March.
__________________________________

PERSONAL HEALTH

1. Don’t die.

I didn’t even come close to dying in March, which I can’t say for every month of my life.

2. Lose 20 pounds.

I lost a whopping five pounds in March for a total of eight pounds for the year.

I exercised a lot and had no time to eat.

3. Eat at least three servings of fruits and/or vegetables per day, six days a week.

Done! Along with bananas, grapes, apples, and pears, I also ate carrots that I cooked myself and green beans that I did not cook and didn’t really like but ate anyway.

Also, potatoes in any form count as a vegetable.

4. Do at least 100 push-ups, 100 sit-ups, and 3 one-minute planks for five days a week.

Done.

Also, I told my students that I do this, and they do not believe me. I may start doing these exercises in class.

5. Do burpees three days a week.

I did three burpees every single day in March. By some miracle, I have no wrist or thumb soreness at the moment.

I don’t think three burpees a day are doing anything for me.

I’d also like to reiterate something about burpees:

They are stupid and ridiculous. This was a terrible idea.

WRITING CAREER

6. . Complete my seventh novel before the end of 2019.

Still waiting for a go-ahead from my editor regarding my next book. This is the problem with being two books ahead. No one is in a rush for your 2022 novel.

My agent plans a phone call in April if no response is received.

Again, I could just start writing the damn thing.

7. Write/complete at least five new picture books, including one with a female, non-white protagonist. 

No progress.

8. Write a memoir.

I did not like the half page I wrote in February, so I started again. I have about two new pages written, which might as well be no pages written.

9. Write a new screenplay.

No progress. But my friend, David, just finished a screenplay and has a little heat right now, so I’m slightly inspired.

10. Write a musical.

No progress.

11. Submit at least five Op-Ed pieces to The New York Times for consideration.

No progress.

12. Submit one or more short stories to at least three publishing outlets.

No progress.

13. Select three behaviors that I am opposed to and adopt them for one week, then write about my experiences on the blog.

No progress. Also, I need three behaviors to attempt.

Thoughts?

14. Increase my storytelling newsletter subscriber base to 3,000.

56 new subscribers in March for a total of 557 new subscribers in 2019. My list now stands at 2,667 subscribers. Though March marked a steep decline in subscribers, 3,000 is well within reach.

If you’d like to sign up for my newsletter, you can do so here:

15. Write at least six letters to my father.

None written in March. None written this year.

16. Write 100 letters in 2019.

One more letter written in March. Five overall. Off to a flying start.

17. Convert Greetings Little One into a book.

A kind, generous, and amazing human being has begun work on this project.

I am thrilled.

STORYTELLING

18. Produce a total of 10 Speak Up storytelling events.

Three shows produced in March:

  • A Speak Up show at Space Ballroom in Hamden, CT on March 3

  • The Great Hartford Storyslam (in concert with the producers of two other shows) on March 23

  • A Speak Up show at Real Art Ways in Hartford, CT on March 30

A total of four so far in 2019.

19. Begin selling Speak Up swag at our events and/or online.

Logo is 99% finalized. Printer for our swag is secured. We are hoping to begin selling tee shirts, hats, and such at our live podcast taping on May 18 as well as online.

20. Pitch myself to at least 5 upcoming TEDx events with the hopes of being accepted by one.

Done! I’ve pitched myself to five TEDx conferences so far.

One has expressed interest. Two passed. I await word from the final two.

I’m also speaking at a TEDx salon in April.

21. Attend at least 15 Moth events with the intention of telling a story.

I attended one Moth StorySLAM and one Moth GrandSLAM in March, bringing my total to five events so far.

22. Win at least three Moth StorySLAMs.

I finished in second place at my Moth StorySLAM in NYC in March.

Two wins so far in 2019.

23. Win a Moth GrandSLAM.

I finished in second place by a tenth of a point in a Moth GrandSLAM in January.
I finished in fourth place in my Moth GrandSLAM in March.

I’ll now need to win a NYC GrandSLAM now to complete this goal.

24. Produce at least 40 episodes of our new podcast Speak Up Storytelling. 

Four new shows released in March. A total of 12 so far. We haven’t missed a week in 2019.

Listen to our latest here or subscribe wherever you get your podcasts.

25. Perform stand up at least four times in 2019. 

I’ve hit a bit of a snag in terms of this goal. The open mic night where I’d been performing was shut down thanks to stupid people behaving in stupid ways. I have an opportunity to perform in a local comedy showcase, which I will do, but I was in need of another open mic.

Thanks to you, dear readers, I have leads on two possibilities.

26. Develop and teach a Storytelling Master Class, in which participants have an opportunity to tell at least two stories over the course of the day  or tell a story and then retell it based on feedback.

Done! Scheduled for June 1. Enroll today!

27. Pitch at least three stories to This American Life.

No progress.

28. Pitch myself to Marc Maron’s WTF podcast at least three times.

I wrote to Marc early in January, asking for him to consider me as a guest.

No response yet.

If you know Marc Maron, or know someone who knows Marc or know someone who knows Marc’s producer or booker, please let me know. I know that Marc and I would have an amazing conversation, and it’s currently my biggest dream to get on his show.

NEW PROJECTS

29. Host a fundraiser for RIP Medical Debt, which would allow us to relieve the medical debt of struggling Americans for pennies on the dollar.

No progress.

30. Complete my Eagle Scout project.

No progress.

31. Print, hang, and/or display at least 25 prints, photos, or portraits in our home.

No progress.

32. Renovate our first floor bathroom.

Final design decisions have been made. Work will commence very soon, I hope. Awaiting Elysha to schedule the work.

33. Organize our second floor bathroom.

No progress.

MISCELLANEOUS

34. Cook at least 12 good meals (averaging one per month) in 2019.

I made no meals in March, but in fairness, our number of family dinners in March were limited due to a very full calendar.

Four down. Eight to go.

35. Plan a reunion of the Heavy Metal Playhouse.

No progress.

36. Ride my bike with my kids at least 25 times in 2019.

I rode my bike with Charlie three times in March for a total of three rides.

37. I will not comment, positively or negatively, about physical appearance of any person save my wife and children, in 2017 in an effort to reduce the focus on physical appearance in our culture overall. 

Done! I did not comment on physical appearance with the exception of my wife and children in March.

Done with ease.

38. Surprise Elysha at least six times in 2019.

No surprises in March (except for some bad ones).

Two surprises complete so far.

39. Replace the 12 ancient, energy-inefficient windows in our home with new windows that will keep the cold out and actually open in the warmer months.

No progress.

40. Clean the basement. 

Incremental progress. Every week I throw away or organize a few items. It’s still going to require a full day at some point and perhaps a trip to the dump or even a dumpster.

41. Set a new personal best in golf.

Weather has made this impossible.

42. Play poker at least six times in 2019.

No progress.

43. Spend at least six days with my best friend of more than 25 years.

Bengi and I spent a Sunday morning walking the track in his town and catching up, and it was fantastic.

I hope to see him again in April.

44. Post my progress in terms of these resolutions on this blog on the first day of every month.

Done.

Speak Up Storytelling: Matthew Dicks

On episode #43 of the Speak Up Storytelling podcast, Matthew and Elysha Dicks talk storytelling!

In our followup segment, we talk about a moment on a Moth GrandSLAM stage and a moment in a classroom that unearth two potential stories.

Then Elysha departs, and we listen to Matthew Dicks's story about an unusual late night walk with a friend. 

After listening, we discuss:

  1. The best place and most effective way of beginning a story

  2. The importance of beginning and ending a story well

  3. Choosing appropriate backstory and the most effective way of presenting it in a story

  4. Strategies for preserving surprise in a story

  5. Volume and pacing during a performance

LINKS

Homework for Life: https://bit.ly/2f9ZPne

Matthew Dicks's website: http://www.matthewdicks.com

Matthew Dicks's YouTube channel:
https://www.youtube.com/matthewjohndicks 

Subscribe to Matthew Dicks's weekly newsletter: 
http://www.matthewdicks.com/matthewdicks-subscribe

Subscribe to the Speak Up newsletter: 
http://www.matthewdicks.com/subscribe-speak-up

This is underwear

Elysha sent me this photo yesterday with a message that read:

“Taking the liberty of throwing these away, honey.”

I want to go on the record as saying that:

  1. It took me a moment to identify this photo as underwear.

  2. I swear that my underwear did not look like that when it entered the washing machine. My underwear as clearly engaged in a washing machine rumble of sorts.

  3. Even if Elysha’s underwear looks as damaged as mine, I would not have thrown them away without her permission because I’ve ruined too much of her clothing already to take any chances.

  4. I was pleased to see that Elysha was folding my laundry, though I also know that so did so only to clear a path for her own laundry.

  5. Underwear is a weird word. Elysha can rightly say that she’s throwing away “these” even though she’s only throwing away a single item, or she could’ve said that she was throwing away “a pair of underwear” even though there’s nothing about underwear that would cause you to see them as two of anything.

Storytelling in the Classroom

This week I was featured in Thom Gibson’s podcast “Storytelling in the Classroom” along with friend and storyteller Jeni Bonaldo. I discuss the ways I integrate storytelling into my school day, and both Jeni and podcast host Thom Gibson tell stories to their students, and I offer a critique of both.

You can listen to the podcast wherever you get your podcasts or here on YouTube:

Life!

Hope springs eternal!

After the tragic death of our crocuses last week at the hands of the little girl next door, Charlie discovered a single crocus emerging from the earth yesterday afternoon in the same spot as last week’s floral massacre.

It appears that she didn’t kill them all.

At least one more was waiting to emerge from the frozen ground.

It made us both so incredibly happy.

I lost The Moth GrandSLAM on Tuesday night. This is how I feel about losing.

On Tuesday night, I competed in a Moth GrandSLAM at the Cutler Majestic in Boston.

It was my 25th GrandSLAM championship since 2011, but no matter how many of these championships I compete in, the GrandSLAM never gets old for me.

It’s my favorite storytelling show by far.

I told what I thought might be the best story I’ve ever told at a Moth GrandSLAM or any story slam, but when the scores were tallied at the end of the show, I had finished in fourth place.

For a person who is exceedingly competitive and possibly obsessed with winning, I was surprisingly fine with my fourth place finish, for two reasons.

Two years ago, at a GrandSLAM championship in New York City, I drew the first spot in the show, which makes it almost impossible to win. As great a story as you may tell, recency bias will doom your chances every time. I’ve won from first position at two Moth StorySLAMs in my life, but the quality of stories in a Moth GrandSLAM make this highly unlikely if not impossible.

In fact, telling a story in the first half of a show makes it hard to win at a Moth GrandSLAM.

After drawing the #1 from the hat, I started pacing around the stage, angry and annoyed. Muttering under my breath. Snarling.

In short, I was acting like a jerk.

Thankfully, Elysha was with me that night in New York. She pulled me aside and said, “This is your 20th GrandSLAM. You’ve won six of them. For most of these people, it’s their first GrandSLAM ever. Probably the biggest stage they’ve ever performed on. Maybe their only GrandSLAM ever. So how about you stop acting like a jerk and just be grateful to be here.”

She was right. It was exactly what I needed to hear.

Ever since that night, I’ve approach every one of these championship competitions with an open heart. Remarkably, I’ve stopped obsessing over winning.

I wish I could say the same for The Moth’s open-mic StorySLAMs. I’ve won 39 of them, so I shouldn’t obsess so much over winning them either, but winning a StorySLAM gains me entry into the GrandSLAM, which I love so much. So winning the StorySLAM remains important to me.

It gets me something I want.

But not the GrandSLAM. Instead of focusing on winning, I focus on having fun, telling a great story, and assisting my competitors whenever possible. If it’s their first or second time on a GrandSLAM stage, I always take a few minutes to advise them on the tricks and techniques that I’ve developed over the years to tell a story to a theater of 1,000 people. I try to ease their nerves, make them laugh, and allow them to relax enough to do their best.

Elysha was right. I should be grateful to be able to stand on that stage and tell a story, and I am.

Even better, the winner of Tuesday night’s Moth GrandSLAM was one of my storytelling students. She had spent a weekend with me at Kripalu in 2018, and the story she told on Tuesday night to beat me was a story that I had workshopped with her months ago.

In fact, I had three former storytelling students in the cast with me on Tuesday night. All three had gotten their start in storytelling in one of my workshops, and one them, Tom Ouimet, a brilliant storyteller has graced the Speak Up stage many, many times.

This also wasn’t the first time that a former student has beaten me in a StorySLAM and GrandSLAM. It’s happened several times, and I’m sure it’ll happen again. It’s also not the first time that I helped to craft and revise a story that was later used to defeat me.

As a teacher, this makes me very happy.

So I finished fourth on Tuesday night. I told a story about my lifetime struggle for faith and a moment of transcendence in a hot dog line at a minor league baseball stadium. I told the story from fourth position - not a great spot in the lineup - but I’ve won Moth GrandSLAMs from the second and fourth position in the past, so it’s certainly possible.

It really might be the best story I’ve ever told in a GrandSLAM.

But I didn’t win. That’s okay.

I saw some old friends. Made some new ones. Spoke to audience members who loved my story. I even signed six copies of my book Storyworthy during intermission, brought to the show by audience members who knew I was performing.

It was a great night. I was grateful to take the stage. I was thrilled to watch my students perform. I was honored to hear all of the amazing stories told that night.

Winning would’ve been nice, but it’s not the most important thing anymore. Not by a long shot.

My students are ruining my chances at greatness

A 2017 study found that working near people who are good at their job makes you more effective at yours.

Sitting within 25 feet of a high performer at work improved a given worker’s performance by 15 percent, while sitting within 25 feet of a low performer hurt their performance by 30 percent. 

Role models, it would appear, are very important.

But what does this mean for me?

I’m a man who spends his workday within 25 feet of two dozen fifth graders at almost all times.

Two dozen 10 year-old children who can sometimes perform at a high level but can also spend enormous amounts of time staring out windows, watching pencils roll down their desks, and doodling the image of a pig’s head hundreds of times on dozens of post-it notes.

These are kids who jam important papers into the far reaches of their desk never to be seen again, somehow lose library books on the 50 foot walk from library to classroom, and can struggle getting water from the drinking fountain to their mouth without somehow making a puddle on the floor.

Even when they’re performing at their highest level, it’s not like our optimal levels are commensurate in any way.

I’m worried. I think my students are bringing me down. Hurting my chances at future success. Decreasing my productivity.

And this has been going on for two decades…

I deserve hazard pay.

Just imagine what I could’ve been if not burdened by hundreds of inefficient, disorganized, distraction monsters over the years.

Spring! Then murder.

Spring has sprung!

Every March this tiny patch of crocuses bloom in our front yard. It's the first sign that winter is finally in the rearview mirror and warm and sunny days are ahead. 

On Sunday the crocuses finally appeared. Tiny, purple and orange bursts of life from an otherwise cold, lifeless ground. We were thrilled. We treasure these little flowers so much. 

Ten minutes later, while our backs were turned, the little girl next door ripped them the flowers from the ground and left them lying in a pile on the dead grass like trash.

She didn't know how much these little flowers mean to us. It’s not her fault.

Still, my children and I were upset. We really love this patch of purple and orange gold.

But I often while teaching storytelling that what’s bad for you in real life is often good for the story. Or as I’ve heard my friend, Catherine Burns of The Moth often say:

“You either have a good time or you have a good story.”

You can bet this moment made it onto my Homework for Life, and it's probably storyworthy as well. 

Amusing. Surprising. Joyous. Plus a little anger and some sadness and grief. 

Good material to start a story. Maybe not a story worthy of the stage (though you never know), but entertaining nonetheless.

Speak Up Storytelling: Ted Zablotsky

On episode #42 of the Speak Up Storytelling podcast, Elysha Dicks and I talk storytelling!

In our followup segment, we read a heartwarming email from a listener about Homework for Life and our new favorite review from a listener.

In our Homework for Life segment, we talk about how storyworthy moments can often be identified by finding moments in our lives that cause us to ask big questions and express controversial ideas. 

Next we listen to Ted Zablotsky's Voices of Hope story about returning to his father's hometown decades after the Holocaust.  

Voices of Hope is an organization dedicated to preserving the stories of the Holocaust, and we partner with this organization to help the children and grandchildren of Holocaust survivors tell their stories. 

After listening, we discuss:

  1. Telling stories about other people through the lens of your own story

  2. The effectiveness of telling your story in scenes

  3. The power of a subtle ending

  4. Remaining within the moment of a story at all times and not projecting forward

Finally, we each offer a recommendation.  

LINKS

Homework for Life: https://bit.ly/2f9ZPne

Matthew Dicks's website: http://www.matthewdicks.com

Matthew Dicks's YouTube channel:
https://www.youtube.com/matthewjohndicks 

Subscribe to Matthew Dicks's weekly newsletter: 
http://www.matthewdicks.com/matthewdicks-subscribe

Subscribe to the Speak Up newsletter: 
http://www.matthewdicks.com/subscribe-speak-up

RECOMMEDATIONS

Elysha:

Matt:

Why you should not complain about the common core

Occasionally I will meet an adult who has somehow been convinced that America’s “common core” curriculum is rubbish. They look at the way that their child is solving a math problem, fail to comprehend the method or rationale that their child is using, and therefore assume it’s stupid.

It’s more than likely that the adult in question is stupid. At least in that particular moment.

In defense of the common core, I always say the following:

First, the curriculum that you were taught was different than your parents’ curriculum, too. And your parent’s curriculum was different than their parents’ curriculum. Curriculum is constantly evolving. Always changing. The previous generations of Americans were simply smart enough to avoid politicizing something that is better left to the experts.

They didn’t allow idiot pundits to change their mind about something they know almost nothing about.

So shut up about the way you were taught to do things. Your parents probably thought the same thing about the work you were doing in school. It didn’t make sense to them, either. They simply weren’t arrogant jackasses about it.

Then I write a problem like this down and ask the person to solve it.

562
- 387

I have yet to meet a person who does not regroup (or borrow) in order to solve this problem.

Teachers don’t like to use the word “borrow” in math these days because borrowing implies an eventual return of the borrowed item, which never happens in problems like these. When you “borrow” a number to subtract, it never goes back to its original place. It can therefore be confusing to some kids given the definition of “borrow,” but I have met adults who are angry over this simple, logical shift in terminology.

I just assume that these folks have far deeper issues related to self-worth.

Once the person is done solving the problem, I ask why they regrouped.

Answers vary, but it essentially comes down to one of two things:

I was taught that way, or you have to regroup (or borrow) to solve the problem.

Then I show them how to solve without regrouping. I explain that if you understand negative numbers, this problem becomes rather simple. No pencil and paper required. Instead of regrouping (or borrowing), simply think of the problem as

500-300
60-80
2-7

Or 200 - 20 - 5 = 175

I might have also solved the problem using rounding to change the problem to 562 - 400 + 13.

Also simple.

Thanks to my understanding of what lies behind the simple algorithms, I can solve problems like these almost instantly in my head. So can many of my students.

But when these same students go home and try to explain these concepts to close-minded parents who are either upset that they don’t understand the math or have been convinced by a politician that this new common core is bad, things don’t go well.

They become angry.

They can’t understand why their child isn’t just borrowing from the hundreds and the tens. They blame the curriculum when the real problem is that they can accurately solve a math problem but don’t understand why their solution works.

It’s understanding the why that leads to a career in the STEM fields.

It’s the why that turns children into future scientists, engineers, astronauts, programmers, biotech researchers, financial analysts, actuaries, and more.

Before you become upset that your child’s curriculum makes no sense to you, try to remember that this is nothing new. You’re not special. Curriculum has been evolving for as long as education was formalized in a school setting, and it will continue to evolve.

Americans of the past simply trusted the experts, avoided leaping to conclusions, asked good questions, and didn’t allow politicians and pundits to dictate their opinions.

Physics and philosophy at bedtime

Before bed last night , Charlie, age 6 asks:

“When the Big Bang reverses and the universe compresses into a tiny dot again and then we have another Big Bang, will we all eventually get born again like this time, or will it be different?”

“That’s a big question,” Elysha said.

I wanted to say, “Who the hell has been teaching you physics and philosophy? Where in the hell did you learn enough to ask a question like that?”

Before I could say anything, Charlie answered his own question. “Probably not,” he said. "Probably not."

Charlie eventually told us that he was reading about the Big Bang in a book. Clara then reminded us that I had explained the Big Bang to both of them a few months ago. Charlie added that his babysitter, Kaia, had answered some questions about it, too.Before going to bed, I explained the possibility of entropy (let him go blow someone else’s mind) and touched on the theory of the multiverse.

But he’s only six years-old, so he might need a second lesson.

Adults here sucked

A youth hockey game in Canada between the Kitchener Jr. Rangers Red and the Cambridge Hawks Red in October of last year ended in a score of 41-0.

This means that the Kitchener team scored more than a goal per minute.

The coach of Kitchener stated that once the game got out of hand, he made it mandatory for his players to pass the puck five times before trying to score and also instructed them to bring the puck back into their own zone before going up ice.

Apparently that didn’t work.

One might wonder why eight year-old boys couldn’t find a way to take it easy on their opponents when the score reached 15-0 or 20-0 in a game where the score almost never enters double digits, but I didn’t wonder about that for a single second.

My immediate thought was this:

Bad coaching. Inept adults must’ve been in charge of the winning team. Morally questionable human beings.

The eight year-old players probably enjoyed scoring at will, but they are eight years-old. They’re supposed to make ethically dubious decisions. They’re supposed to act terribly from time to time.

Adults are supposed to know better.

I don’t coach hockey. I can’t skate. I haven’t played a game of competitive hockey since I was ten years-old on the local pond.

But am I wrong in thinking that the coach could’ve found a way to ease up on the scoring while also preserving the dignity of the losing team? It seems like that could’ve happened if the coach had been even a little effective.

Maybe when the score became 20-0, you change your mandatory five passes to ten passes. Would that have been so hard?

In Cambridge’s previous six games, they were outscored 91-6, which also sounds excessive, but if you do the math, the average score in those games was 15-1.

Still not great, but a far cry from 41-0.

This also means that six coaches found a way to avoid utterly humiliating the Cambridge team, and in the process, probably taught their own team about grace, sportsmanship, and decency.

I’m sure that some people will argue that coaches should teach kids to play hard at all times, and that easing up on a team and not trying your best is actually more insulting and humiliating than beating them by such a lopsided score.

To these individuals I say this:

You probably don’t work with children on a daily basis. Or you’ve probably mistaken the high stakes business of professional sports with low stakes enjoyment of youth sports. Or maybe you’ve probably placed winning ahead of learning.

Maybe all three.

If you think it’s better to play hard and beat a team by a 41-0 score rather than finding a way to show some decency and generosity to your opponent, you and I simply have a difference of opinion related to priorities.

You think one thing is important. I think something else is important.

And I think that you are wrong.