Over the years, I’ve had a decent amount of time to reflect on my own psychology. I’ve always been very big on the idea of doing no harm… put simply, I aim to have a damn good time while I’m alive, while being as kind as possible to everyone around me. Though this sounds good on paper, in the past, this mentality has caused me a significant amount of grief. The root of the problem lay within my own psychology… I cared too much (bear with me, you’ll see what I mean).
In the past,at the end of each day, my brain would systematically review the social interactions that had occurred, and it would identify the areas where I felt I had made mistakes… moments where I seemed to have unintentionally caused others to feel uncomfortable. This, of course, was a certain expression of perfectionism – I was on a constant quest to better myself, and this was just one of the ways I seemed to go about doing it. Problem is, I really, really felt horrible whenever something I did had a negative effect on someone else.
It had a lot to do with my past. Suffice it to say, when I was growing up, I became pretty familiar with being on the receiving end of disrespect – I was bullied quite a bit. When I reached adulthood, I still remembered how terrible it felt to be disrespected, so whenever I thought I had made someone to feel like that, I felt exceptionally bad. I never wanted anyone else to feel like I did so many times growing up. I felt so strongly about this, actually, that I would often find myself losing sleep… having difficulty just being within my own head, mentally beating myself up for the mistakes I’d made each day.
With time, I came to realize that the intensity of my emotions were usually disproportional to the actual impact they had on the individuals in question. I would get conclusive evidence of this when I would approach people afterwards, and apologize for instances where I thought I made them uncomfortable. These gestures were always appreciated, but in about 75% of cases, I learned that the people in question weren’t affected at all, or not as deeply as I had assumed. Over time, given these experiences, I slowly got better at beating myself up less. My heightened caution and sensitivity had a lot to do with my past… but my past wasn’t representative of the present. And just because I felt things so deeply, didn’t mean others felt things exactly like I did. It was a good realization to come to.
Believe it or not, there were also external factors that seemed to accentuate my worrying, in certain cases. I remember a distinct time where I felt more anxious and worried than usual, and I had a harder time being happy… it was odd. I remember questioning, what changed? Why, all of a sudden, was I having more difficulty with something so basic? Cheese. Yes,cheese. There had been a significant sale on cheese at the grocery store (I swear, I’m not joking), which lead me to buy higher amounts of cheese than usual, which I then ate more of than usual. (I have a hard time writing that and not cracking a smile, but it’s totally true.) I even found a correlation between my anxiety and the cheese, by consulting my food logging app. Now, I wasn’t a doctor, nutritionist, or an allergist, but I could see a pattern. I gave away all my remaining cheese, and decided to test my theory… I removed cheese from my diet, as a test. Sure enough, once I stopped with the cheese, my anxiety and nervousness dropped, and I started to feel normal again. Weird.
So, with a combination of age, experience, and dietary factors, I found myself with a better mentality. I should feel badly about what I’ve done wrong, but only for a moment – after all, I’m human. Feeling a moment of deep, honest regret is what ensures I don’t repeat the same mistakes. But the days of beating myself up endlessly were gone… in my mind, I would mentally visualize a dark cloud appearing over me, giving me grief for my errors, but unlike in the past, I acknowledged it, made a note to do better, then smacked it away immediately. Message received, no need to dwell.
I’ve also been really lucky in life with regards to meeting key people that understood my psychology very well. Among them, is particular co-worker, who coined an expression that I’ve since adopted and use regularly: reasonable perfectionism. You can drive yourself batty trying to do the absolute best job possible, or, you can do a very good job based on your experience, but not obsess to an unhealthy, unreasonable level.
Over the years, I’ve learned to trust in my experience as a human being. I still make mistakes all the time socially, but I don’t torture myself as much as I did in the past. I just keep growing, learning, and with that, I make less and less mistakes. I continue to have a damn good time, while continuously improving my ability to be considerate and kind with everyone around me. And, as long as I always feel at least slightly embarrassed at how I acted in the year before, then I must be doing something right.
Note: November 13 is World Kindness Day. I figured it might be a good time to release this blog post, which I’ve had in a mostly-complete state since June. I also figured it’d be a great time to start my weekly game giveaways, as announced in my recent video. One free copy of The Binding of Isaac is now available. Simply add it to your cart via my Giveaway “store”!
In a recent blog post, I shed a bit of light on some difficulties I faced in my personal life:
“2015 hit me like a semi. My life changed drastically, and I quickly found myself in a world where I could not find that feeling of peace that I had learned to use as my compass. Changes happened too quickly, without enough thought and comfort, and, as a result, my stress skyrocketed.”
2015 was indeed a very rough year, but back in 2014, I had major conflicts with my family, my girlfriend, and even my mentor. As the year came to a close, I had no choice but to laugh at how unbelievably dark things had become. If asked to total up the problems I faced, I’d use one word: hate. Not hate like hate crimes, or anything super serious like that, I mean more like the kind of hate people encounter on the Internet. No matter what happens on the Internet, no matter how positive, you can be sure that there will be “haters” commenting along with it.
Hater (Haters) is a term which refers to a person or group who expresses hatred in public forums, especially those found on the World Wide Web such as YouTube.
But, without them, let’s face it…. the Internet just wouldn’t be the Internet. The general advice is to ignore them, and to continue doing what you’re doing – content creators are told to get a thick skin, to not let the negativity hit home. That particular logic even has its own unofficial slogan: “haters gonna hate,” one of my favorites. Put simply, you’re never going to be able to please everyone, so don’t let people’s hate/opposition get in your way. Just do what you do.
This is all fine and good, but when you have members of your family “hating” on you for choices you’ve made in your own personal life, the story becomes significantly more complicated. In my case, it began when I entered a particular relationship in 2014. Even though the relationship was my business, I faced what I can only describe as an extreme amount of opposition from my family. It was to the point where intentional actions were taken to disrupt the relationship between me and my girlfriend. This created a lot of stress, and added a lot of unnecessary turbulence at an early stage of the relationship, and eventually, contributed to its demise. (Looking back, the relationship wasn’t a good fit – it would not have lasted anyway, but in no way did that give ANYONE the right to disrupt my life from the outside.)
A few months after, I clashed with another family member. I won’t get into specifics, for the sake of anonymity, but suffice it to say that it all started with a very innocent e-mail, with zero ill-will behind it. I sent this e-mail after checking the wording with multiple friends (four, not kidding), just because I felt the e-mail might be perceived incorrectly, particularly knowing the individual in question and their psychology. My goal was to communicate this innocent thing, while wording it exceptionally well so that the person hopefully wouldn’t react poorly due to misunderstanding. Despite all this consideration and care, the person, in the end, flipped out (to put it somewhat bluntly), and sent me multiple e-mails, accusing me of a variety of things: actively seeking to doing harm, having a mental illness, being cold, heartless, you name it. I’m simplifying it, though. The things said in these e-mails were absolutely, 100% written with the intent of doing maximum harm, with zero consideration that the person on the receiving end was a blood relative. I could never imagine myself sending something like that to stranger… let alone a blood relative.
In both of these cases, I had approached my family with the utmost care and consideration. I knew things were somewhat sensitive, and I specifically took steps to make a positive outcome more likely. But yet, despite my efforts, my consideration, there I was, demonized, deemed a horrible person… a very bad man.
After these events, I had no choice but to cut contact with the family members in question, as the exchanges had gotten too poisonous. I also ended up having to part ways my mentor, as mentioned my blog post titled The Suit Bag, which further added to my sense of having been shunned, alienated. Looking to discuss everything that had happened, I found myself a therapist through the CLSC, which turned out to be one of the most valuable experiences in my life. I’d always been a fan of therapy, always open to self-reflect and hear an objective opinion, but I never felt I had enough to discuss, until 2014 came along. Ultimately, the therapist agreed that I needed to temporarily cut contact from my family – boundaries had been seriously violated, and too much residual emotional turbulence was present. We agreed to slowly re-establish a non-poisonous relationships with key family members over time, and, today, I can say that the plan was absolutely brilliant. Without it, restoring friendly relations would not have been possible so soon.
But while I was still in the thick of it, reflecting on the nasty e-mails I had received, and the opposition I faced, I couldn’t help but find a little humor in my being deemed a “bad man,” a devil of sorts. My care and consideration had manifested itself clearly and generously – for that innocent e-mail, for example, I had recruited 4 different people, 2 male, 2 female, to ensure that I wasn’t saying anything that could be misinterpreted. This was going WAY overboard in terms of caution, almost to the point of lunacy. That’s how careful I was… yet… it earned me the most brutal series of e-mails I had ever received in my life. To move forward, I naturally turned to my old coping mechanism, my ability to find humor in even the darkest of times.
I also had the idea of going a little further with it…. I thought: let’s try to use some of the negativity to make other people laugh as well. After all, it’s what I’ve been doing on my blog all along – turning negative life experiences into amusing stories. I liked the idea of grabbing the negativity, repackaging it, and making people laugh. There was a certain justice to it, in my mind. And the beauty was, no one needed to know that I was doing that – just me knowing that I had used hate to make people laugh, was justice enough. So with that concept born in my mind, I went on living my life, and knew that eventually, I’d get an idea that would work with that.
The first idea I had was while browsing items in a grocery store. I spotted a bottle of Nutella, a product I specifically avoid because it’s so tasty that it pretty much guarantees over-consumption. In other words, it’s kind of an “evil” product due to its amazing tastiness (for me, anyway). So on this particular day, when I saw the bottle, I laughed, and thought if the devil existed, it would make total sense for him to create Nutella, and watch the world succumb to an inevitable state of obesity, accelerated by its tastiness. Again, I laughed: before me was proof that the devil existed. Knowing other people found Nutella just as tasty, I got home, and decided to turn that idea into a public service announcement graphic, for kicks. Keep in mind, the idea originally had nothing to do with the events of 2014. But something happened while I was actually creating it.
At face value, it’s fairly clear that the focus of the shot is the Nutella bottle, given the emphasis by circle. It also makes sense when most people think about Nutella, and how absolutely delicious it is, compared to other foods. But here’s the thing… in the graphic, what if I wasn’t talking about the Nutella? Notice how my website appears pretty clearly, and that it bears my name? Perhaps I’m warning people that I’m the devil, and that they should know that I exist.
Now, obviously, I knew that I wasn’t the devil. But given the turbulence encountered during the year, I knew that there were an increasing number of people out there that really thought I was, despite my own efforts. Playfully, I added that subtle suggestion – my way of converting some of that concentrated negativity into something that could potentially make other people laugh. And I loved what that symbolized, getting something useful out of unnecessary harshness.
Here’s another example, the cover to a fictitious book:
Money, Please: How the Key to Female Attraction Was In Your Wallet This Whole Time. Read the blog post.
It was born innocently enough: someone texted me “money please,” and that got me thinking.
It was the sheer simplicity of the text, “money please,” that spoke to me. To me, those two words perfectly summed up what some unfortunate, bitter men might think of women: that they’re only after money, in life. Though I absolutely didn’t agree with that view of women, and their desires, I did find humor in the fact that those two words, together, were so brilliantly suited to be matched with that stereotype/mindset. So I kept it in mind, and knew that eventually, I’d want to make use of that idea in some way, for humor.
That was the foundation of the idea, but what triggered me to get it done, was something else: I realized that the whole concept would make it possible for me to have quotes on the front page of the book, and that those quotes could opposeme, given that the humor behind my idea was based on me acting ridiculous to begin with. In other words, I could re-use the hate that was directed towards me in the year, and wield it, yet again, to support the humor that I was going for in my post. It made sense to me that certain readers of the fictitious “Money, Please” would be against the premise of the book, and I liked the idea of putting those quotes right on the front, as if I was so ridiculous, as a fictitious author, that I didn’t realize they were against my book.
Ultimately, I included two main quotes:
“You will live and die a very lonely life.” – Amy
This quote represents a fictitious female reader that (rightfully) disapproves of the ridiculous premise presented by my book. It makes it clear that I realize that I’m being silly, in case that wasn’t obvious enough… and it also makes me seem so stupid that I’d include negative quotes on my own book cover. Now, in reality, this was a verbatim quote from one of the hateful e-mails I received. A nasty thing to say, but in this context, very appropriate.
“Oh, Matt.” *shakes head* – Yasmine
This next quote is something that was said to me via chat, at one point, and when I replied to understand what she meant, I never heard back. While it doesn’t qualify as hate, I found it pretty silly that something so cryptic would be left unclarified like that, especially since I hadn’t spoken to the person in months. So I included it on the book as a hat tip to the how silly modern communication can be, these days – something Aziz Ansari touched upon in his Modern Romance tour.
So, in the end, when I recycle these negative things, it’s almost like I’m getting a certain therapeutic value from doing so, even if people aren’t aware of them. In fact, there were numerous cases where I felt a lot better about a negative events that occurred in my life right after I wrote about them on my blog. It’s kind of a great way to organize your thoughts, and in my case, I usually also use the opportunity to inject a little humor, the element that allowed me to get to where I am today.
Now, at the end of the day, I look back on the difficulties of the year 2014 as yet another significant learning opportunity, where I had some really tough obstacles plopped in my path, and I was forced to find a way to get through them. I sympathize with my family, my mentor, and even my ex-girlfriend – they each had their own life circumstances that lead them to behave in the ways that they did back then, which contributed to the craziness of my 2014 – but it surely affected them as well, in their own ways. I must also express a sincere thanks to my therapist, who was there to talk when I felt most alone, without me having to put that burden on my friends.
As you may know from some of my prior blog posts, I sometimes push myself to extremes when it comes to which foods I eat, how I approach weight loss, and how I approach exercise. Somehow, extremes seems to work better with my brain, rather than slowly progressing towards an ideal change. So, I was intrigued when I randomly encountered a video on YouTube featuring Penn Jillette, one half of the magician duo Penn & Teller. In the video, Penn describes how he lost 100 pounds… while still being able to eat whatever he wants. Now, don’t get me wrong – I fully understand how much the Internet is plagued by gimmicky weight loss headlines, but take it from me… there’s an interesting message embedded here.
If you just read the title, or just watch a fraction of it, you might very well conclude that he’s insane and move on. And frankly, you wouldn’t be entirely wrong. His approach is a bit nuts, but in due time, you start to see that there’s more to it than the face value. Penn starts his story off with a disclaimer, communicated with an amusing amount of bluntness:
“If you take medical advice from a Las Vegas magician, you are an idiot who deserves to die.”
Ooook then. So if you understand that and move on, he describes how he kicked off his weight loss effort by eating only potatoes for 14 days. Yes, potatoes. Whole potatoes. No adding salt, no altering the potatoes in any way. No specific meal times, either – he approached it with simplicity: if he was hungry, he ate a potato. As a guy that likes extremes, I respected his lunacy.
After the 14 days, he expanded slowly into other foods. He explained, for example, that an ear of corn tasted like candy to him, after his potato consumption spree. It was as if his potato diet had rebooted his taste buds. Whereas, in the past, he’d be overwhelmed with the taste of butter, salt, and wouldn’t quite taste the corn. This, I could relate to completely. As a former vegetarian of 8 years, I learned to appreciate the subtleties of non-meat consumption. Veggie hot dogs, for example, were never particularly tasty when you were used to eating delicious, actual meat sausages. But when you never had meat… your sense of taste adapted, and the veggie hot dogs began to taste fairly good.
I’ve had other experiences that illustrated this, also: switching from regular V8, to its low-sodium variant, and from 2% milk, to skim milk. In both cases, immediately after switching, I couldn’t believe how much weaker the flavors were. But, sure enough, as I kept at it, I got used to it, and before long, the super-exaggerated sodium content of the original V8 was no longer appealing to me. And 2% milk suffered a similar fate – its flavor became too intense – skim had become my normal. It’s not that the new foods themselves were lacking in flavor – it’s that my taste took some time to adjust to the subtleties.
This is echoed quite brilliantly in Penn’s conclusion, where he states the following:
“After this whole, incredibly restrictive diet, and all of this willpower, and all of this climbing a dietary Everest, as I sit here right now on the Big Think, I now eat whatever I want.But, what I want has changed profoundly.“
Penn used a potato mono-diet as his Everest, and once he reached the summit, he began allowing other foods to enter his diet. He describes his post-14-day diet with two words: whole plants. No animal products, processed grains, added sugar, salt. However, every two weeks, he allows himself to consume food just like a regular person. But something interesting happened – since the potato frenzy, and his subsequent whole plants diet, he finds he doesn’t crave animal products, or junk food like he used to. So, even though he indulges occasionally, he tends to select healthier options almost as an instinct, driven by his newfound tastes.
This all, naturally, reminds me of my weight loss adventures, and brings me back to a time where my own taste buds were appreciative of simpler foods. It is in this spirit that I purged my home of meat products once more, and jumped right back into near-vegetarianism. I say near because I’m in the process of depleting certain products, rather than giving them all away, such as the low-sodium Lipton Chicken Noodle soup that I enjoy. Yes, it contains “dehydrated mechanically separated cooked chicken” ?_?, but, I figure it’s better than flat-out taking a bite out of chicken flesh.
I must emphasize, in closing, that there’s nothing inherently wrong with moderated meat consumption. I’m merely switching back to a diet that seemed to work better for me, habit and fitness-wise. And for this, I must thank Penn. His video reminded me of the role that taste plays in a diet, and in particular, its malleability.
It all started with Prison Break Race… from that point on, I was hooked on the obstacle course lifestyle. It didn’t take long for me to try a few more: Mud Hero, 5K Foam Fest, Polar Hero. The first promised a gratuitous amount of mud, the next threw foam into the mix, and the last was fearlessly scheduled during the winter. Each was interesting, and may even be featured in future posts.
When selecting races, I was always driven to go for the most unique first. So when I heard of Color Me Rad, a 5k race where you get blasted with colorful dyes while running, I was definitely intrigued. I knew I’d have to try it at least once, so I signed up immediately. It’s important to mention that unlike the races I did in the past, this one did not have physical obstacles – only dye.
Now with obstacle races, typically, there’s so much mud and water involved that it is generally advised to leave your phone in your car. I’ve always done that, and I figured Color Me Rad would be no exception; however, I was wrong. Color Me Rad surprised me by including an extremely convenient protective case for phones. For once, I could actually bring my phone with me, and take photos of the experience. Great thinking on their part.
Prior to the actual race, since I wore contact lenses, I pondered how I would protect my eyes from all the dye that would be thrown at me. To do this, I went to the dollar store and bought a really cheap diving mask. I took the most colorful one they had, bright neon green, and, since it wasn’t the best quality, I went ahead and cut out the part that was under the nose, so I could continue to breathe despite wearing it.
Come race day, my mask worked… for the most part. I ran with it up on my head, and when I approached a color “gate” (a specific point in the race where their staff throws/shoots dye), I pulled it down to guard my face. Now, generally, you’re told that their staff is specifically instructed to NOT target a person’s face. This makes sense; however, my experience was a little different. At the first gate, no less, one particular staff member specifically targeted my face, laughing in an almost maniacal way. If I was wearing a GoPro, replaying the footage in slow motion would have been priceless if only for the guy’s facial expression and momentary lunacy. After the encounter, I reflected and figured I was likely being targeted because I had some form of facial protection, unlike the majority. Not all staff members succumbed to momentary lunacy, however – the majority behaved reasonably.
Regardless, by the end of the race, despite being equipped, I was completely covered in dye. The mask did a fairly good job, but it didn’t stop the dye from finding its way to my eyes – it only reduced the amount that made it through. Granted, I was at least partially to blame. At another color gate, near the end, I decided to walk slowly to increase the time their staff had to shower me with dye. A bit overconfident, you might say – but the dye, in and of itself, was no big deal. What was a big deal, unfortunately, was having to take a big breath during this slow march through the gate. In doing so, the timing was such that I inhaled right as a huge yellow dye cloud slammed against my face, giving me a big dose of yellow, and a heavy coughing fit to match.
Still, despite these inconveniences, it was an interesting experience – and if I were to do it again, I’d probably go even crazier with the facial protection. I’d engineer something more functionally reliable, while also making sure it looks exceptionally ridiculous for everyone else’s benefit. Without any face protection, I’m not sure I’d do it, though. Even when I ran through the gates, due to the timing of the throws, sometimes, the powders still messed with my breathing – which is kind of the last thing you want messed with.
For the majority of my adult life, I’ve been overweight, and at certain times, obese. For many years (though particularly prior to 2011), my discomfort regarding my weight kept me from experiencing life to the fullest.ย I wasn’tย comfortable in my own skin, so I was much more likely to spend time alone,ย rather than be social… at least in the real world. (You don’t excel at software development without being at least a little bit introverted.) I went out like normal humans, but probably at a lesser frequency that you might expect. I spent more time typing things into glowing machines, and would often enjoy gaming as a hobby – it had social elements, but it was kind of taboo, where non-gamers wereย concerned.
In any case, Iย tried to solve my weight problem multiple times throughย dieting, but all attempts, ultimately, would fail in the long run… with the exception of one. Today, my intention is to share my trials and tribulations with you, and hopefully give you some insight into the struggle that I’ve had to cope with for many years. I understand, at the same time, that there are othersย that have way worse problems,ย and to them,ย I sincerely wish the best. This is a story of how I went from weighing my all-time high of 260 pounds, to my goal weight of 210 pounds. Before I getย into the details, please keep in mind that I’m not a medical professional or anything like that, so my experiences should not be seen as any form of expert advice. All I know is which approaches worked for me, and which didn’t work for me. But first, I must set the stage a little bit.
My career officially began when I graduated from college and was hired by a local software development company. The job was originally meant as an unpaid internship, but I was fortunate enough to be offered employment immediately afterwards, and ended up taking it. The first 2 years at this new job were absolutely fantastic… and how could they not be? I was, after all, a developer at heart – and here I was doing development with small but focused group of talented people with whom I could improve my craft. So I took to it like a sponge to water, and enjoyed the jobย significantly. Weight-wise, I was around 225 pounds, which is overweight – but not devastating or surprising given myย height ofย 6’3″, and my sedentary lifestyle.
It was around year 3 when I realized that I wasn’t enjoying my job as much as I had in the past. In my youth, I reasoned thatย perhaps I was getting used the work life and its associated predictability – the same type of work schedule every day. Wielding this logic,ย I tried to just keep my head down and keep to my tasks and productivity. Around that time, however, I injured my foot, and was instructed to work from home for what totalled to be something like 3 months. Due to the doctor ordering that I move less, I missed out on a lot of exercise, and quickly grew to my fattest state: 260 pounds. To this day, that remains the record in terms of weight gain, in my life. After my foot healed, my weight lowered a bit, but it would usually hover around the 250 area. During the time of my injury, I developed bad eating habits – and therefore, weight was gained through overeating, first and foremost.
I can’t say I had zero breakthroughs in the weight loss department during this time, however. For one, I came to realize that the fear of death was a fairlyย effective motivator in the weight loss arena. I learned this because at a certain point, at my heaviest, I agreed to participate inย a big Paintball event that a friend was organizing. (Paintball is a very demanding sport, physically, if you’re not used to running around all day. I’ve written a post about my experiences in the past.) Some might take a relaxing approach to it, but I was always the type to run to and from cover continuously, it was anything but casual. Because of my experience with howย physically demanding it was, and the knowledge that I was much heavier than when I last played, I came to a certain conclusion. If I ran for a whole day after sitting at a computer for the majority of my life, at the weight ofย 260 pounds,ย my heart mightย very well explode.ย To this day, I believeย that my logic was mostly rational. Perhaps a littleย extreme, but my concernsย came from experience – I knew how hard I pushed myself physically when on the field, and I didn’t want to stop doing that. So,ย in the month preceding the event, I kid you not… I lost a total of 15 pounds – about 3.75 pounds a week. I did this by simply eating an abundance of vegetables, while never eating bread, pasta, or meat.ย Death, my friends, is an excellent motivator.ย However, my approach was pretty aggressive, to the point where it was likely unhealthy. Soon enough, however, after having survived Paintball, myย diet slowly went right back to what it was before. I didn’t have the right habits, norย the mentality to keep it all under control.
Years 4 and 5 were very depressing years, for me. I still continued to learn and grow at my job, but I had this increasing feelingย that I wasn’t where I was supposed to be. I had decreased interest in the craft, difficulty focusing, and to make sure it didn’t cause any problems at work, I would put in additional hours to compensate. Though committed to the job, the additional work would then lead to more depression, as I would have less free time, and more time in something that no longer really interested me. Once my contract came to an end, I found myself reflecting on the experience.
It was through this reflection process that I eventually came to terms with what I had been feeling all along – that it was time to move on. What struck me was the feeling of peace that I had towards the whole situation. Throughout my time at the company, there were moments where I considered leaving, but each of those moments were born out of anger, and frustration – not so much at the employer, but at my overall career situation. Yet, when it was all over, I was filled with a sense of peace – to the point where I had no doubt that the conclusion would be “the right thing” for both parties. That feeling of peace was so pronounced that it stuck with me to this day – to the point where I consider it a compass of sorts. Here’s how I see it: when I feel that peaceful about a decision, then it was undoubtedly the right decision for me to make.
Though I came to terms with the situation and found a peaceful balance within myself, I also thought back to the issues that had occurred within the physical realm. For example, I remembered how I neverย reallyย took a full vacation, over the years, and realized that it was probably a big part of the issue. The lack of a vacation was due to a workaholic-type lifestyle, whereby I would continue to work on weekends and week nights for my own personal projects,ย rather than just enjoy my time off.ย And, thus,ย I had little time to just have fun. I felt like that certainly amplified the problems that I had over the years, and I knew I could have approached it better.
So… what did I do when I realized this, no longer employed? I flew to Atlanta, Georgia, and stayed there for not one, but TWO months – a mega vacation of sorts. This proved to be a period of rebirth, as I joined my sister in a quest to go to the gym every day, while hiking every now and then. As a result, fitness went from being a way to lose weight to a lifestyle – no matter what, every single day, my sister and I went to the gym (in an almost machine-like fashion… sound familiar?). While there, I also managed to get some significant hiking achievements: I hiked part of the Appalachian Trail, and Iย climbed to the highest point in Georgia – Brasstown Bald, viaย Arquaquah Trailย – 4 hours up, 4 hours down. I already felt like I was worlds apart from the guy who used to sit in front of computers and code.
In addition to the hikes and general gym access, I noticed that my consumption of food took on a certain comfortable predictability. My breakfast usually consisted of a protein shake and a bowl of aย cereal, and my lunch was usually either two veggie dogs, or two veggie burgers. I even enforced a certain rule that I felt would help me control my consumption: I decided I could only eat bread or pasta once a day – meaning that if I had one, I couldn’t have the other. So if I had veggie dogs or burgers, I wouldn’t have pasta or bread at night – instead, I’d have rice, or something light like that. However, if I skipped the bread during lunch, then I could have it at night – so I had some flexibility. (I had tried to eliminate pasta and bread in the past, but quickly found that I felt far too weak without them. I was likely poorly managing my intake, not eating enough calories and/or protein.) My weird bread/pasta limit seemed to work best, for me. (Again, in case it isn’t abundantly clear by this point, I am not a nutritionist.ย This worked for me, but I didn’t break down the science of why it worked.)
By the time I left Atlanta, I had lost 20 pounds – bringing my weight to 230 pounds. I attributed this to my newfound eating habits, and my devotion to the gym life, which I kept up the whole time I was in Atlanta. My return to Montreal concerned me, to a degree, as I knew I would be less inclined to go to the gym by myself. My sister was a huge motivational factorย behind why I got fit – we were both obsessed with maintaining the habit of going every day – not one could be missed. My concerns were mostly right – I didn’t continue the gym habits once I got back home; however, I did hang onto the dietary rules that I established while over there. The result was that my weight remained roughly the same – it would just fluctuate between 230 and 235 based on how well I followed my own rules.
Fast forward a few months, and I started working as a consultant for another organization. Unlike my past programming life, the role I played in that organization was much closer to what I was looking for – something that used my writing abilities, and my interest in web publishing. I had officially moved away from a development path, and it felt great. (It should be noted, however, that the programming life was not necessarily bad – it’s just something that I wanted to do, did, and then felt like I needed to move on. I have much respect for my past employer and the time that I spent growing as part of their team.)
After a while of offering my consulting services to this new organization, I found myself looking at an old weight loss app that I had on my phone – Lose It. It was still set for the weight goal of 225, a goal I established many years before, and also the lowest weight I remember being as an adult. In an effort to finally achieve that goal, I decided I’d started logging everything I ate.ย Every. single. thing. Since I told the app I wanted to lose two pounds a week (the maximum it allows), it provided me with a calorie count that I had to respect every day. As long as I did that, I knew that I was doing everything I could do to get my weight under control.ย In addition to logging what I ate, I also logged the exercise that I did – even the time I spent walking to and from work.
The result was interesting: exercise became something that could allow me to eat more tasty food, rather than something I had to do to lose more weight. After all, I could eat absolutely anything I wanted – all I needed to do was log it, and ensure that the total food consumed per day would not push me above my calorie budget. Naturally, I learned that certain foods were simply “not worth it” from a calorie point of view, and would instead focus on tasty but reasonable foods that I could fit into my daily life. Not only that – I also saw the calorie limit imposed by the application as more of a target to hit, rather than a limiting factor. The way I saw it, eating the number of calories it asked was ensuring that I wouldn’t lose weight faster than 2 pounds a week. This meant that I saw the limit as something I needed to reach, rather than something I needed to evade. I’m convinced that this positive outlook was helpful in maintaining my weight loss progress, and it also helped create a controlled decline.ย The unfortunate reality of being obese is that one’s skin stretches to accommodate the added fat. When I began losing weight, I wanted to do what I could to helpย my skin to return to its original tightness. To me, controlling the rate of weight loss seemed like a perfectly logical way to do so. I exercised also – but the main effort was in making sure that I had a that controlled drop, rather than a suddenย one.
Nutritionally speaking, the approach I took was quite simple: calories were the main metric that I used in determining what I should and shouldn’t eat. I also kept an eye on the protein, sodium, cholesterol, and carbohydrates, and chose my foods to be best aligned for health. Protein needs to be high given my height and build, sodium and cholesterol values had to be limited, and carbs – well, I had an unfortunate issue with carbs. If I consumed too much sugar too fast, I’d get migraines – so I was careful not to overdo it – but aside from that, I didn’t really do much planning, nutrition-wise. I just limited consumption along with the app, and tried to stay reasonable.
It wasn’t long before I saw results from this app-based approach. I would weigh myself every day, and log it in the application – this allowed me to see my progress. I quickly learned that the weights would vary slightly every day, but that the average was the key. Sure enough, as long as I met my daily calorie budget, my average weight readings would gradually drop. To the point, actually, where I hadย reached 223 pounds – achieving the goal that I had sought for so many years.ย Eventually, though, I reached the limits of my app-based consumption, and I had to think of another way to lose the weight.
Exercise, the logical next step. I remembered what made me successful back in Atlanta – a strict schedule that had to be followed every single day. I came up with the idea of a 30 day challenge – whereby I defined a set of rules that I would follow, where fitness was the focus. Basically, what those 30 day challenges meant was that I returned to having a strictย regime of exercise every day. When this particular endeavor was combined with my intake control, the results were astounding – after two months, I lowered my weight down to 210.
I was absolutely thrilled, as you might imagine, considering the weight issues I struggled with, up until that point. After I completed the 30-day challenges, my weight eventually found its way back to 225, and it would bounce around there every month or so. I learned to be comfortable with that weight. Yes, according to the BMI charts, I was still considered overweight, but at least I wasn’tย labelled obese anymore. And, quite frankly, I still enjoyed plenty of good food, and still felt pretty fit despite my so-called overweight status. I could even misbehave for aย day every now and then, calorie-wise,ย as long as I was careful to compensate in the days that followed. And that system worked, and worked well.
Then, the year 2015 hit me like a semi. My life changed drastically, and I quickly found myself in a world where I could not find that feeling of peaceย that Iย had learned to use as my compass. Changesย happened too quickly, without enough thought and comfort, and, as a result,ย my stress skyrocketed. My weight rose to 238, and would go up and down a few pounds every week or so. (If you look at my blog archives, the year 2015 has only two posts. Extremely abnormal for me.)
2016, thankfully, restored a huge amount of stability. I’mย happy to say that I’mย starting to feel that feeling of peace again.ย I still have a ways to go before I feel 100% back to normal, though,ย and my weight tells the same story:ย 238 pounds. Not catastrophic, not great, but totallyย forgivableย considering how drastically my life changed recently. I’m pretty confident than when I feel fully at peace again (or more so), I will find myself in the right mental state to achieve that weight of 225, that sweet spot.
So, to anybody out there that has been dealing with weight issues: I hope my story at least provides a certain form of insight. I can’t guarantee that my unique interpretation of the events will be useful to anyone, but I like the idea that it’s described and out in the open, for general consumption and consideration. Hopefully my story helps someone, even if in a really tiny way.
And again, everyone, when in doubt, check with professionals. I’m just a dude that did things one way, and had good results. My success could very well have come at the cost of something else, which I didn’t necessarily understand or see. Best of luck!
In 2014, I was minding my own business on Facebook, when all of a sudden, I saw an ad for something called Prison Break Race. A 5K obstacle course, sort of akin to the popular Spartan Race series, except, this one had a unique premise. You and many other “prisoners” manage to escape confinement, and have to run through a 5km (3.1 mile) obstacle course, while avoiding guards that are actively trying to catch you. No, this wasn’t just a for-fun backstory – there were actual people that would be trying to catch you. As soon as I heard that, I was sold. Within minutes, I paid for my own right to be chased by prison guards, a unique life experience. I had never signed up for an obstacle race before, but this one got my attention.
There were roughly 30 obstacles to overcome, and we were warned in advance that if we failed a particular obstacle, we’d have to do 20 burpees before we could move on. Knowing very well what I had gotten myself into, I made sure to run 5km fairly regularly leading up to the race, and practised those burpees. The obstacles were of various types – one involved us diving into a lake to swim under barrels, another had us crawling under barbed wire in the mud, another had us jumping over flaming embers, and another involved us leaping from a second-story structure into a 9-foot deep mud pool. Yep. Mud was going to be a big part of the whole adventure.
Ultimately, the race was challenging, but fun, and the parts I enjoyed the most were the 4-6 instances where we encountered large groups of prison guards. Basically, the prison guard element was a flag football kinda challenge. At the start of the race, each runner received three flags, which would hang behind them, from a belt. And, when a prisoner tried to get past the guards, they would do everything in their power to steal them. If, by the end of the race, you lost all your flags – you’d be considered caught. Put simply, you’d have some mud-based punishment to endure, in consequence – but you were still allowed to finish the race.
We prisoners soon realized that we’d be better off as a large group, to increase the chances of getting through the guards unscathed. So, often, when arriving at a field of guards, we’d wait for more runners to accumulate. And, when we were enough, we’d run forth, battle cries aplenty, dodging as much as we could. We did everything we could to avoid losing our flags. Unfortunately, after the fourth field of guards, I’d personally lost them all (two were actually stolen within the same field of guards). As per the rules, I had been “caught”… but my race wasn’t yet over. In fact, I realized I had an opportunity ahead of me – I could help my fellow prisoners… with deception.
When I reached the fifth field of guards, I waited for runners to accumulate, and told them my plan. I told them that I would act like I still had flags to lose (by desperately trying to dodge them, while keeping my back pointed away)and when I would have enough guards chasing me, I would give the prisoners a sign, allowing them to run through. This, believe it or not, worked exceptionally well. I quickly had two guards trying to grab me, and in my attempt to escape, I had lured them away from the other prisoners. When the time was right, I yelled out, and signalled that it was time to run through. By that point, one guard reached around me, and yelled to his colleagues, frustrated: “He’s got no flag!” But at that point, it was too late. Many of my brothers and sisters escaped.
The prisoners I helped escape thanked me afterwards, and all seemed to have a good laugh at the scenario. And that, honestly, was the key – altogether, Prison Break Race was a downright fun experience. And it promoted the fitness life that I adored, with short but intense challenges. I was officially hooked that day, and have since completed numerous other obstacle courses. However, to this day, no race was as fun as the time I paid to have prison guards chase me. I highly recommend it.
In 2013, I met a girl – we’ll call her Elizabeth. We initially connected on an online dating site, and after messaging back and forth, we decided to meet in the real world. Our first date consisted of us walking around the old port, chatting, and eating at a restaurant in Chinatown. She was a frequent traveller, one that would fly from city to city, and stay a few months in each location, exploring the world, all on her own. She spoke of crazy adventures overseas – tales of freedom, exploration, adrenaline. Meanwhile, my stories revolved largely around carefully typing things on a keyboard, quietly tweaking computer programs, websites, written works. As the night progressed, this contrast between worlds made it difficult for us to relate. Her stories were great – for example, one involved her racing down the side of a mountain on a bicycle, with lamas roaming around in the nearby slopes (if I remember correctly). In a way, she reminded me of what I had wanted to achieve when I was younger, but hadn’t – travel, exploration.
Overall, we didn’t really hit it off. To this day, I feel our different lifestyles had a lot to do with it. There were a few awkward moments throughout the night, but one was particularly amusing, and yet, completely accidental. We were walking downtown, and at a certain point, I asked her if she wanted to grab a bite to eat. She looked at me and said, with a laugh, “Where, McDonald’s?”, and pointed ahead of us. Sure enough, there stood a McDonald’s – a common “joke” restaurant for bad first dates. I didn’t realize there was one nearby, but the comedic timing of the moment was impeccable.
Anyway, as the end of the night neared, it was clear that we weren’t a good match – or at least, we weren’t at that point in time. We parted ways, and I left with a kind of weight on my shoulders. As I walked home, I found myself comparing my own achievements to hers, and after doing so, my spirits dropped. I was regretting that I hadn’t followed my aspirations, while I was younger. It was the type of moment where I questioned my own worth – I had a hard time accepting that my conquests, while hugely different, were conquests nonetheless. I was clearly in a self-conscious state of mind, which made me more doubtful than I should have been.
In the days that followed, I thought of Elizabeth and her conquests, every now and then. I remembered her mentioning, among many things, that she loved to walk, and would roam for hours whenever she arrived at a new city. I was inspired by this habit of hers, and eventually decided to try it out for myself in my very own home town – what if I was visiting Montreal for the first time? I took the metro downtown, and wandered the city streets, with no particular goal in mind, other than to explore. I discovered stores, enjoyed the green areas, and, eventually, I found myself at Mount Royal‘s lookout.
After a few days of doing this, I had an idea. I wanted to commit to the process of exploring the city, but in way that wasn’t at all casual.I wanted to push myself. Looking back, on a certain level, I can admit that I was looking to prove, to myself, that I had value, worth, and that even without accomplishing those youthful dreams, I was someone I could be proud of. This is how my first 30-day challenge was born.
At the time, I wasn’t aware of Matt’s adventures, but it’s entirely possible that I saw the video before, and forgot, simply. But, whatever happened, I found myself craving the same thing Matt had recommended – trying something new for 30 days. I just… took it a little bit to an extreme. I ended up doing two somewhat complex 30-day challenges, back-to-back, with no break in between.
My first challenge was as follows: I had to reach the Mount Royal lookout every single day, and take a photo of the city from there. 30 consecutive days, with absolutely no tolerance for missing days. If I missed one, the challenge would be considered a failure and I’d have to restart. And, I also decided that I would need to accumulate 5km (3.1 miles) of walking while going to and from the metro and the lookout. This would allow me to explore Montreal, discovering new stores, art, the like. Furthermore, to challenge myself a little bit more, I decided I would also exit at semi-random metro stations, and would then navigate to the lookout without consulting any maps, or my phone… no directions. I had to rely on my memory of the streets, and, of course, Montreal’s not-so-challenging geography (when in doubt, head up the mountain).
I also had this really strong belief that it was a bad idea to tell people what I was working on before I was done, especially given that I was really enthusiastic about my initiative. I had multiple memories of moments where I shared my enthusiasm in the past, and was faced with pessimism in return, which sometimes took a lot away from my motivation. So,I didn’t tell anyone what I was up to until I was 25% through the challenge. I could have said nothing until the end, but I figured 25% was a good compromise. (Plus, I work as a social media guy, after all, I kinda like sharing what I’m up to.) And so on day 8 (26.67%) of my first challenge, I let my Facebook friends in on my little bit of madness.
Annnnnnd, 30 days later, I successfully finished. I completed the objectives every single day, regardless of the weather, regardless of how I felt – I just did it. The resulting photos were awesome – in my opinion, they showcased the natural beauty of Montreal, and offered an interesting perspective. I think this had a lot to do with me reproducing the same angle every day, and the fact that I wouldn’t always head out at the same time. The full set of 30 photos can be seen below.
My second 30-day challenge started immediately after the first. (In fact, on the last few days of the first, I finished testing out what I’d do for my second 30 day challenge – meaning I pretty much did two challenges per day for the last ~2 days.) As per my procedure, on day 8, I announced what I was doing on Facebook:
“30-day challenge #2 is one where I have to bike at least 20km a day for 30 consecutive days. As part of my rules, I have to complete one lap of the Gilles Villeneuve circuit every day (Parc Jean Drapeau) – but after that’s done, I’m free to do my usual exploration. Oh, and like last time, I have to take at least one photo per day, and make it available online. However, these photos can be of anything, not just the Montreal skyline.”
It was a different adventure, but, like the first, I also completed it successfully.
Unlike my first challenge, I also wrote a title and description along with each photo. I recommend viewing the album on Flickr. When I completed this second challenge, I took to Facebook with this message:
“I’m happy to announce that I’ve successfully completed my second 30-day challenge. As part of it, I biked 20km (12.4 miles) a day for 30 consecutive days (that’s 600km, or 372.8 miles!). (In fact, due to spare kilometres every now and then, the total distance travelled is beyond 700km/434 miles.) The result? I’m pretty damn happy, but also really looking forward to resting.”
As the post suggests, by that time, I had realized that I was a bit nuts for doing 60 consecutive days of exercise, without allowing my body to take a day off (particularly in the second 30 day challenge). That’s why my third 30 day challenge started a few days after, and get this… it had no mandatory fitness component. Its main focus was on me purging my apartment of useless belongings, donating as much as possible, and trashing where there was no other solution. It was a psychologically sound idea, but, due to a lack of a fitness component, I quickly found myself getting bored of it. It wasn’t long until I abandoned the idea altogether. I did take three photos during that time, however, and only one was particularly noteworthy:
So, after 60 consecutive days of fitness challenges, I finally allowed myself to rest. There were days where I hadn’t felt particularly well, but I still pushed forward and continued my obsessive pursuit, in an almost machine-like fashion. Looking back, the challenges were amazing experiences – they kept me physically fit, and allowed me to accumulate a beautiful collection of photos to share afterwards. And, they reminded me that I did, indeed, have value – something I had lost sight of after that night, with Elizabeth. Of course, had I thought more clearly that night, I would have known my value, without embarking on a crazy 60 day journey… but then again, where’s the fun in that?
Over the years, my work has led me to spend more and more time at the Palais des Congrès de Montreal – specifically, at the job fairs that are usually hosted there. Attending these fairs usually means I have to speak for an entire day to an almost endless sea of people. Though eventually exhausting, this is something I absolutely love to do. It’s kind of like those for-fun sci-fi convention interviews I used to film, except it’s practically non-stop, and it’s about introducing people to services that may be useful to them, as opposed to making them laugh. The key to my enjoyment, I think, is that I genuinely love the services I represent.
So anyway, back in June 2015, I was scheduled to attend two back-to-back fairs at the Palais des Congrès de Montreal. The first was a well-known, big fair, and the other was a smaller fair that was being organized by an organization in Montreal. The smaller fair was free, since it was the first time they were doing it, and they mentioned having a complementary service to help transfer booths from the big fair to the smaller fair, in another part of the Palais. This, was an interesting option.
Usually, I am always present to the take apart the booth, but this time around, I knew I’d have to leave early due to another event I had scheduled, conflicting with the big fair. A colleague would be alone for the last hour, to both dismantle and move the booth. While fully possible to accomplish, it was still a bit challenging to do alone. Because of this complication, we gratefully agreed to the smaller fair’s offer to assist in the transition – it got us out of a bind. (To this day, I consider this a great strategic move on the part of the organizers – they timed it so it’s right after the big fair, which is convenient to begin with, but then they top that convenience by eliminating the challenge of re-locating exhibitor’s setups. Smart.)
With that in place, let’s fast forward to the last day of the big fair – a woman walked over to our booth, and introduced herself. We’ll call her Susan. Susan was a representative from the smaller fair, and wanted to meet me specifically, since I’d be an exhibitor the next day, manning the booth solo. She double-checked that we did in fact want the free service to transfer our stuff, which I confirmed, and asked her, to be certain, “when I arrive at the Palais, what do I do? Simply ask the staff I encounter where to go, and they’ll let me know?”. She replied saying it’s as simple as going to the main floor, and everything will be obvious and clear. Good. Hours later, I left the big fair, and my co-worker stayed to hand over the booth to the guys from the smaller fair. By the end of the night, I had received confirmation from my co-worker that the gear had been handed over to the reps from the smaller fair.
The next morning, I timed my departure from home so that I’d have enough time to stop by my client’s workplace to pick up some needed materials, while also leaving enough time for me to set up the booth, since I figured it would need to be put together again. After picking up the required materials, I hopped on the metro, and headed towards the Palais. I was wearing a black suit with a white shirt, and was carrying a heavy laptop bag that hung over one of my shoulders, and a backpack, also pretty heavy, on my back. I also had a bottle of water, one I planned to use at the fair.
So I travelled, via metro, to the Palais des Congrès as planned, with enough time to set up the booth and to prepare things before visitors arrived. As discussed the previous day with Susan, I walked up to Palais staff and asked about the fair I was planning to attend. To my surprise, the staff member looked puzzled, and said that as far as he knew, there was no such fair taking place there. He pointed me to an info booth on a higher floor, letting me know that the woman there would know if anything like that existed.
Concerned, I called my client to confirm that I had the right location. Everyone agreed that the Palais was the right location, from the documentation they’d received, but they were also equally concerned given the staff reactions. My colleagues told me to hang on, that they’d call the organization that was hosting it directly, so we’d know for sure. After hanging up, I sought out the info booth lady that I was referred to, and before long, we were both googling, trying to find more info about the fair online. While we were doing so, I got a call from my coworkers. They confirmed what I was beginning to suspect via googling, that the location was the organization’s actual address, not the Palais as we all misunderstood. The info desk lady had also been reaching the same conclusion.
In a flash, I stepped outside, hailed a taxi, threw my stuff in the backseat, sat down, and told the driver the address I wanted to get to. Roughly 30 seconds after he started moving, I told him that by the way, I’d have to pay with credit card, or debit. The driver informed me that cards probably wouldn’t work, as he was having problems with his card reader, and likely wouldn’t be able to process it. He mentioned something about having battery issues, and then said I wouldn’t have to worry about it, since it’s roughly 10$.
I looked in my wallet, concerned, as I knew that I didn’t have much cash on me. As I did so, I audibly told the driver what I had in there. Five dollars, two dollars, one American dollar (not sure why, but okay), some change. Seeing that I didn’t have ten dollars, I told the driver that he might want to stop the cab and let me out, given my lack of cash. Despite my insistence, he told me not to worry about it, we’d figure something out. I assumed in the moment he would try to make his card reader work in the off chance it did, or something… wasn’t sure. ?_?.
Next thing I knew, we reached the destination, and the fare totalled a measly 12$. Normally, a fairly simple amount – in this case, too much. I asked the driver if he wanted to at least try the card reader in case the battery worked all of a sudden (he had doubt before), but he denied, and said not to bother, it wouldn’t work. I reminded him then and there that I didn’t have 12$, and offered to pay him whatever I found in my wallet – which, as you read before, was roughly 8$ including a random American dollar. (Why on this day, no where near a vacation, did I have an American dollar in my wallet? Who knew.)
As I handed him the money, it occurred to me: I needed a receipt. After all, my presence at the smaller fair was for my client – the taxi ride was theirs to reimburse. It occurred to me, however, that it would be a tad bit awkward to ask for a receipt when I didn’t even pay the guy enough for the fare. He was already being a nice guy, and what would he actually put, anyway? A partial payment? It was odd, so I didn’t even bother.
I gathered my things, stepped out of the cab, and as it drove away, there stood the organization – through the glass of the building, my destination, at long last. I glanced at my watch, and noticed I had 20 mins to spare, despite the chaos of the morning.
Then, I realized something. I didn’t have my laptop bag with me… I had forgotten it in the cab. My head snapped towards the taxi, but just as it did, he passed one green light, and was heading for another set of lights. I realized this would be my only chance… I didn’t even have a receipt by which to identify the taxi that had dropped me off. So I started to run like a lunatic down the street, as if my life depended on it, in a black and white suit. The cab, meanwhile, made it to the other set of lights, which were red. It was clear he wanted to turn right, and if he did that, given the distance, I knew I would lose him. I ran faster, my backpack bouncing against my back, water bottle in my left hand.
That’s when the light turned green. The cab I was racing after had only one car ahead of him, and it was starting to turn. I wouldn’t be able to make it, despite the extreme amount of effort I was putting into running with all my gear. I saw a woman on the street ahead of me, and yelled ahead, yes, just like in the movies, “Stop that taxi!”, as I continued my sprint. I couldn’t even tell you exactly how she did it, given how heavily I was running, but this woman, amazingly, stopped the taxi.
A few seconds later, I caught up. The driver rolled down the passenger window, and had this look on his face, a mix of complete puzzlement and confusion. I said, completely out of breath, “my bag….. I forgot…… my bag.” I then looked around through the back window in search of my lost baggage, and that’s when it hit me. There was nothing in the back seat. I was wearing the bag the entire time.
When I exited the taxi earlier, the bag was likely leaning against me in a way where I didn’t feel the weight against me, and as such, I felt like it was missing. Embarrassed, still breathing heavy, I lowered myself to his passenger window again and said, without hesitation, “I’m sorry, it’s not there. I’m an idiot. So sorry.”
As the taxi left, I stood back up, catching my breath. The woman that helped me stop the taxi approached, and said, “Man, that was intense. Just like in the movies.” I laughed, and said if she knew the whole story, it would be one hell of a tale. She smiled, and crossed the street, resuming her life, and I proceeded to walk back towards the goal, the organization’s entrance. I laughed at the morning I was having, and couldn’t help but kick myself a little bit for, you know, not noticing that the thing was securely strapped to me the entire time.
I soon found myself facing the organization’s building, and after a brief second outside to catch my breath, I entered, and was greeted by its friendly staff. I was shown that there were sandwiches, coffee, cookies, nice things like that for exhibitors to munch on. Given the chaos that led to me breaching their doors, food was the last thing on my mind – but I appreciated they had such offerings. I could feel the sweat under my white shirt, and I was thankful for my suit, as it would help mask that. I was also still sort of catching my breath from the run, but I didn’t want to delay setting up the booth. They brought me to my booth, which was in a great location, right beyond the front door. I set things up, and after the core elements were in place, I decided it was time for a washroom break.
In the washroom, I had to do the best that I could to wipe myself down, given how sweaty I had become from the run. I really didn’t want to be greeting potential clientele looking like I had been body building all morning. I cleaned up, made sure I was looking presentable all things considered, and headed back to my post.
The fair was organized so that waves of visitors would come down, at given times, and since I was at the front, that meant there would be downtime as the traffic progressed into the fair, in between waves. An hour or so later, having spoken to a few different people about my client’s services, the contrast of morning versus afternoon really struck me. Here I was, calmly discussing my client’s services with people, where, just an hour before, right on the street near the entrance, I had been running, screaming for someone to stop a taxi… to retrieve an imaginary bag. The contrast really made me laugh. I’d been chatting with the other booths in my area, and figured I might as well bring others in on the story, while we were without visitors, in between waves.
It seems I wasn’t the only one to appreciate the humor – the story was a huge hit. One particular representative said it was the best story he had heard in the last 10 years, which was pretty cool to hear. It wasn’t the most enjoyable morning for me, but I’d always been the one to try to find humor in all events, and I was happy to see others did as well. Eventually, the Director of Communications of the organization came by. One of the representatives that knew my story insisted that I should tell it one more time, for the director’s enjoyment. Yet again, it was met with a great response, and for the rest of the day, numerous derivative jokes were made, all of which were enjoyed. I was reminded multiple times, playfully, that I need to be careful to not forget my bag when I was leaving the fair.
After the fair ended, we migrated to a local lounge, where we all networked, and every now and then, jokes were made about my adventures. I made some really great connections that day for my client, they got sign-ups, and though it wasn’t originally intended – I had a really unique story to that allowed me to bond with a bunch of potential contacts. I walked out of that bar that night really content with the connections I made, the laughter that was shared, all of it.
For a while, that was it. The story stayed with those that I shared, but it wasn’t yet unleashed here – I kept it to myself. A few months ago, I went to another fair, and while setting up the booth prior to the doors being opened, I was approached by someone, very cheerfully: “This guy! This guy has the best stories!” The director. After all that time, he remembered, and still enjoyed it.
So I’m not sure what I was doing, initially, but at a certain point in time, I found myself watching a YouTube video of some random guy shaving his own head. This, of course, is the exact type of situation that YouTube can bring about with its near-endless collection of videos. (According to them, 100 hours of video are uploaded every minute. That’s a lot of cats.) So regardless of the original idea that triggered my binge-watching, I evidently decided, at one point, that I wanted to know how people managed to shave their own domes. And so I got an answer to that question, and while doing so, I also discovered an interesting YouTube personality. Over time, I watched more of his videos, and eventually, subscribed.
Though most of the videos I’ve watched were published 5-6 years ago, they still live on in my brain, and make me laugh. Meet Shawn Cannon, otherwise known as “mastergunner99” (a nickname he got in the military for being really good at shooting accurately). This military background brought forth interesting stories, one of which I felt I just had to share today. The video’s titled “Hello Stupid,” and it’s a really entertaining recollection of what it was like for him to go through the U.S. military’s CS gas training. (This is where the military voluntarily exposes its soldiers to CS gas so they know what to expect in the event of a chemical attack.) Now, I know, this doesn’t sound too entertaining, but once you hear his tale, you’ll see what I mean: it’s all about his storytelling, plus his unfortunate luck. Those who enjoy black comedy will likely get a kick out of this. Sorry for what you lived, Shawn, but you made a lot of people laugh! Thanks for that.
By this point, I think pretty much everyone that knows me understands one thing: I really like hanging out with geeky people in costumes. Despite a recent video where I expressed doubt about continuing my yearly Dragon Con attendance, I did end up attending for a fifth consecutive year. However, unlike most years, I flew to Atlanta without knowing whether I’d do the interviews that I’d become accustomed to. Overall, I was in a mode where I was thinking about where my online presence was going, and whether I would continue spending my free time as I was. This was largely due to the timing, as I’d recently experienced a certain amount of turbulence in my personal life. Though I weathered the storm, it was the ideal environment to bring about some good ol’ self-reflection and improvement. In the end, I decided that I’d book my flight to Dragon Con and simply fill in the blanks as the date approached. To make sure that approach could work, I planned to have my equipment and suit with me so I had options at my disposal. A few days before my flight, I pretty much concluded that I’d attend two days of the Con, rather than four, and that I would use those days to focus on photos and having a good time, rather than doing my usual interview work. I figured this open approach would make it easier for me to just enjoy the experience, thereby facilitating creative flow. That kinda played into the whole “fun first” attitude that I’d taken on since I encountered that patch of rough air. Plus, I thought it’d also give me an opportunity to reflect on conventions in general, and perhaps derive some humor from some of those reflections.
So anyway, apart from knowing that I’d be revisiting the Dragon Con atmosphere that I loved, I was looking forward to speaking to a contact I met last year, a woman that I saw as a mentor of sorts. She was a fairly well-connected producer who had her own film crew, and like me, she was involved in interviewing people at conventions, and had her own company associated with that. Last year, she had offered valuable advice at a pivotal time in my life, and though we didn’t spend all that much time chatting, we did get along pretty well. She also introduced me to certain Dragon Con speakers she knew, and the like. Given how I was reviewing what I was doing with my web presence, and I valued her advice, I thought speaking to her would prove helpful. I was also looking forward to seeing her again; it’d been a while. So as the Con approached, we connected via Skype, and I sought her general advice regarding where I was thinking of going with my web presence, while also hinting at some of the obstacles that I’d faced and bested since we last spoke. Unexpectedly, by the end of the call, I was presented an offer: since I had no specific plans at the Con, she offered to book me time with one of her own camera crews. This was huge: as a guy who wants to be on camera, it’s kind of hard to do so without having someone to hold the camera, especially at conventions where they typically reject stationary setups. I mean, sure, I could have devised some sort of a gadget that I could fashion around my waist, with an awkward metal arm extended out to achieve the best selfie-interview angle possible, but that seemed a little tacky. Just a little. A crew to follow me around seemed a lot better, as it would also potentially allow me to do more comedy-type skits, which I felt I didn’t have enough opportunity to try. Now, as far as I understood, I’d still have to do my own video editing, I’d still have to pay for my own travel, but I’d have the benefit of having a crew, and a certain support structure. In return, of course, the footage filmed would be signed over to her.
I saw it for what it was: an opportunity to learn from my mentor, while having an actual film crew following me around. Now, it’s true that I got pretty damn close to that in 2013 with my friend Joseph Pereira and his massive shoulder-mounted rig, but at the time, the on-screen time was split between the two of us – the idea of having a dedicated crew interested me. I also liked the idea of not imposing on anyone – if the crew’s sole function was to fulfill that role, then I wouldn’t worry as much about whether they’re having a good time. Still, right from the start, my mentor was clear in saying that there would be no guarantee of being paid for the filming I would do at Dragon Con… and I really didn’t mind. (Though most might not realize this, my primary reason for doing what I do online is that I simply enjoy it.) So, despite having no guarantee of being compensated by my mentor, the offer was attractive to me. And, beyond that, I saw it as a challenge: what if I threw myself into this new team? What if I just rolled with it, had a good time? It would certainly bring forth many new experiences, and that’s always good for blog posts, even if I totally make a fool of myself. So I happily agreed to film with her crew, and asked her to send me a copy of the legal document I’d have to sign, so I could review it. Surprisingly, she refused, and said that I had to trust her.
Whoa, what?Yeah, I know what you’re all probably thinking: red flag. But you have to understand, though I didn’t speak to her much beyond last year’s Dragon Con, this woman quickly understood things about my mentality, and she wanted to help push me beyond certain barriers. For example, she challenged me last year at Dragon Con to be less analytical in the selection of my guests, because she felt that I could pretty much interview anyone – there was no reason to pick and choose. Everyone’s interesting, whether they’re in costume or not. So, in her reluctance to send me the release agreement, she was reminding me that sometimes, my robotic mind could take a break. Therefore, I agreed, in the moment, that I would defer my judgement of the legal document until I saw it in person. That much I could do without putting myself in a vulnerable position, legally.
Before continuing with this tale, let me emphasize: last year, meeting this person was an extremely positive experience for me: she confirmed what I had long since suspected in my mind, what I was building towards, and beginning to see: that I could go far in the industry if I wanted to. The opportunity of working with her crew meant two things:
I’d have an opportunity to work with experienced professionals, and,
the concern of finding a camera crew would evaporate, leaving me instead to focus on my on-screen performance.
Through the collaboration, I could refine my interviews, explore more creative skits, and overall, just create even more stuff that I could be proud of. There was also the side-effect of increasing my visibility on the web, and if all went well, my readership, views, audience… maybeeven generating more income from from it. (She said she’d provide some monetary compensation when and if the content we filmed got picked up by a network.) Think about it: in my shoes, in a self-reflective phase, wouldn’t that be a really attractive prospect? To fast track my progress, potentially? Naturally, I was excited about where it might lead.
But I’m not one to be driven purely by my emotions, I calculate, I think. So after the call, despite the good news, I knew that my decision would ultimately be made at the moment that I saw the legal document in front of me. I usually preferred seeing things like that in advance, being a thoughtful creature… but I respected her decision, and shifted my focus to getting ready for Dragon Con, but not just any Dragon Con… a unique one.
As my first order of business, I proceeded to get my suit dry cleaned, while also packing the bags I’d have with me. The plan was to meet up with my mentor in the morning, hang around with her team, and then eventually film with them. I’d be traveling by public transportation, otherwise known as the MARTA (a network of trains and buses). I knew that this would mean carrying around my suit with me, in a suit bag (a thin, protective layer of material that is closed with a zipper)… plus my backpack, which contained a change of clothes and various other supplies. At a certain point, I was told I’d have the opportunity to put my stuff in one of their hotel rooms, to lessen the load, which was good. Since the meeting was in the morning, and I planned to use public transportation to get there, I knew I’d have to leave even earlier to get there on time. Plus, I hadn’t yet bought my pass, and I knew that that usually involved waiting in a line. Seeking to be my usual cautious self when it came to timing, and wanting to avoid hauling my heavy suit around too long, I arranged to have a lift to the place where I had to buy my pass, a specific hotel. I also made sure I had enough cash to pay for the full four days outright, rather than credit – I knew from experience that would result in a shorter line.
So on the first day of Dragon Con, I awoke in the early morning, and packed the last few things that were pending. Soon after exiting my room, though, I realized that the person giving me the lift seemed to be under the impression that I wanted a lift to the MARTA, not the registration hotel specifically. Furthermore, the lift’s departure time wasn’t what I expected – she offered to drive me out there two hours later than anticipated, which would have made me miss the meeting. Since I knew the person offering me the lift was lacking in the sleep department, and probably really didn’t want to do stuff in the early morning, I simply asked her to drop me off at the latest possible time that I could manage. And rather than having her drive me to the hotel, I just agreed to the MARTA drop-off. She needed the sleep, and I didn’t want to abuse of her generosity.
So next thing I knew, I was dropped off at the MARTA station. I immediately approached one of their Breeze card machines (necessary to access the MARTA network), and entered an order for a 3-day pass. When doing so, I selected credit as an option… however, eventually, it asked for a zip code. I wasn’t sure what to put since I was from Canada. Before comically defaulting to 90210 (or looking up the zip code where I was staying during my stay), I noticed a sign on the wall. Put simply, it stated that if the zip code differed from the credit card’s billing address, I’d have to call for assistance. Since I didn’t have time to spare, I immediately cancelled my transaction and decided I’d pay with cash. There was an assistance phone to my left, but I didn’t want to add that experience to my life at that particular time.
So I repeated the same steps, only this time, I fed a 20 dollar bill into the machine, and waited. And… waited. And… waited. For some reason, after paying, it seemed to be stuck on the “issuing card/change” step. There I stood, watching attentively as it struggled, forever lost in its thought, until I decided it was taking too long… I’d have to call for assistance (/sigh). The first thing the woman on the phone asked me to do was cancel, if I could. I tried that, but the machine didn’t respond, sure of its own sanity. Out of ideas, she dispatched an attendant to come assist me, and asked me to wait. At that moment, I sent a message to my mentor letting her know that I would likely be late due to transport issues (late lift arrival + waiting for attendant). A few minutes after, while still waiting for the person, the machine suddenly dropped out of the “issuing card/change” step, and threw a message to the screen: “cancelled due to lack of user action”. I had never been so happy to be kicked out for inactivity. Unfortunately, it also seemed to have forgotten that I had given it 20$. It had simply devoured my cash, without even having the decency to issue a receipt, so I had no proof that it accepted my money to begin with. After about 15 minutes of waiting, the attendant arrived – but given the lack of proof, he couldn’t refund me the cash. He said he needed to have witnessed everything, and since he didn’t, I’d have to file an incident report so an investigation could be launched. I agreed, and followed him back to his office, as requested.
Eventually, we approached this office with a big dark tinted window, likely double-sided so MARTA people could see out, but everyday folk couldn’t see in. As we approached the door, he turned and asked me to wait outside for him, to which I complied. And as I waited, with each passing minute, I debated whether 20$ was even worth the trouble, considering that I was going to be late for my meeting. After almost 10 minutes, he resurfaced with a form, one which he had pre-filled with the information I had already provided. He explained that the investigation might take up to 10 business days, and that I’d have to submit that form at one of two other stations to get it started: either Five Points (the center of the MARTA network), or Airport (the furthest station possible). My stop was the one right before Five Points, but I had to make it for that meeting, so I thanked the attendant and went on my way. I’d either have to mail it in, or visit that station sometime in between my Dragon Con days.
Since I wasn’t really an expert in their MARTA layout, when I landed at the right station, I popped out my phone to help me get situated. As was often the case during Dragon Con, downtown Atlanta had an abundance of cosplayers roaming its streets, and as long as I had a general sense of where my destination was, it was actually possible to follow the people in costume to find my way around. So I did that, and once I found the hotel, I was happy to see that the lines were short – my strategy of bringing cash had also placed me in the better of two payment lines. I soon got to the payment booths, where I paid for a 4-day pass given the filming I had agreed to, rather than the 2-day pass I was thinking of getting before. I then left and worked on locating my aforementioned mentor, which didn’t take all that long, thankfully.
Surprisingly, I had managed to make it roughly on time… I greeted everyone, and we jumped right into discussing the things we’d be doing. As you can imagine, there was a certain excitement to the whole meeting, for me, as it was the start of something really new, interesting. Fast forward a few minutes, and I had met more of her people, including the film crew, with whom I was to film some stuff in the coming hours. Next thing I knew, I was sitting opposite my mentor at a two-person table on a large outdoor balcony/rooftop type area (a few floors up the building, not the top), and a release agreement was placed in front of me. I read it, and it all seemed fairly standard, but I still wanted to call my sister, a lawyer, to get her opinion on the terms. My mentor wasn’t too thrilled with the idea, but she allowed me to do this. The result of the call was what I expected: it seemed, to us at least, that it was probably a boilerplate agreement, nothing really major to worry about: but there was one thing that bothered me: the scope. The language in the waiver wasn’t too specific, so basically anything she filmed of me would be hers, without compensation (other than a 1$ payment received immediately after signing), with no time limit and no specific event context. I thought about it, and decided that I wanted one change: a limit to the scope.
So I returned to my mentor, and mentioned the change that I desired: that the scope be explicitly set to Dragon Con 2014, after which we could revisit the possibility of me signing the broad release agreement. I suggested she think of it as a trial, simply, so I could test out the experience with her team. Long story short, she didn’t like this. Out of principle, she said1 she wouldn’t alter the agreement, at all, and that I’d either have to sign it as is, or not sign it. She mentioned how at least one specific high-ranking celebrity had signed the agreement, and that if they could do it, I could do it too. She emphasized how in that exact moment, that agreement was my first leap of trust – if I couldn’t actually bring myself to put aside my concerns and sign the document, according to her, I was never going to make it in the industry. Me not signing, in her opinion, would be proof that I would always be an obstacle to my own success. I continued to insist, and she even went so far as to say that I had no value (quite a change from everything else she told me in the past), and that she was taking a risk on me. I could understand this to a degree, but I disagreed with the whole “no value” part. When I mentioned that, she replied saying that I did have potential, and she was merely approaching the whole scenario as she felt any producer would. In other words, it was a test, and it all swung back around to trust, which in her mind, was the first step… signing that document was a symbol.
(1Whenever I refer to things that were said, please keep in mind that it’s never verbatim, and not necessarily in the order things were actually said in the moment. I’m merely simplifying the otherwise complex structure of certain conversations.)
When it came to trust, I felt I was being reasonable: I was willing to trust her to compensate as she felt fair, even though the agreement only promised a 1$ compensation right after signing. That was a compromise, of course, because legally, I’d have no guaranteed right to compensation beyond the 1$. But it was a calculated risk, and I felt it would have been acceptable given that my own solo efforts weren’t primarily driven by money. But beyond that, I really liked her as a mentor, and ideally, I wanted things to work out. Though I felt I was making a fair compromise based on trust, she wasn’t satisfied… she really wanted that signature, without any compromise of her own. And on my side, I knew with absolute certainty that I’d be foolish to just sign up out of sheer emotion, ignoring what I felt was unwise, an agreement without any clear limits. My request was simple, after all… I simply wanted her to write Dragon Con 2014 in pen, that’s all… but she refused, wasn’t willing. And so, after coming all that way, I had to refuse. The release agreement retired to her bag, unsigned. It was a sad conclusion, but I knew I had done what was right for me.
We still sat there and spoke, for a while, despite the unfortunate conclusion that had just reached. And then, at a certain point, her crew started gathering again, as they were were looking like they needed to mobilize. At around that time, she pointed at the suit bag that I’d been carrying around all day, and told me to get dressed, as I’d be going on camera soon. As you might imagine, at this point, I was really intrigued… how could she still want me to be on camera if she didn’t have the explicit right to use my footage? Did she simply not mind, and was putting trust… in me? So I asked her to clarify, and she claimed that she didn’t even need me to sign it anyway, and that shealready had footage of me giving her the right to use my material.
Now here’s the thing: last year, I did give permission to be interviewed by her people, but there’s no way that the audio clip I provided would ever reproduce the exact, broad terms she was looking for in that release agreement: if anything, it was just something like “sure, you can interview me.” Now, as you can imagine, I realized her choice of words were probably influenced by her annoyance with my refusal… to be taken with a grain of salt. But given the nature of the comment, I felt like it was a little close to being a fear tactic to get to me to comply. Who knows, maybe I misinterpreted it… but regardless, with the events that preceded, it meant that I was growing really uncomfortable with the whole arrangement. So eventually, I communicated that, and parted ways with her. I didn’t like seeing the plans crumble, but I felt I had to trust my instincts and walk away.
So, after a long, crazy morning, I emerged from the hotel, and realized that I now had to carry around my suit all day, despite not really needing it anymore. Among other things, no more filming plans meant no more hotel room to stash my suit bag. It might seem like a small thing, but I had a heavy suit in there, with two spare shirts backing it up. At Dragon Con, the main thing I would normally do is walk around, appreciating costumes, and taking photos of pretty much each one I saw. Do you know how annoying it is to fumble around with a suit bag in your arms before you can take a photo with your phone, sometimes needing both hands? Now, you might not realize this right away, but this wasn’t any old suit bag. Think about what that suit bag symbolized, at that point: it contained the clothing that I would wear, on camera, with this film crew – and it’s the exact suit that I flew with in case I’d get a chance to film. A suit bag that I would have left in the hotel room of one of my mentor’s teams, a team that would have been my team (at least for that Con). Furthermore, it was also related to me classing up my look on camera, an initiative that was partially motivated by my mentor’s support last year. So it was a really positive thing…. which then kind of turned into a negative after the whole deal imploded.
I tell you, that suit bag just got heavier as the day went on. I fumbled with it between photos, while I ate lunch, while I met people, and while I attended panels. During panels, I simply flopped the thing on the back of my chair, and used it as extra padding. And then there were other cases, like in the bathroom: you know how there are usually places to hook hangers in stalls? Well, that’s great, but there’s usually nothing when you’re washing your hands. So in those moments, I’d have to put my backpack down, then flop my suit bag right on top of that, while I washed up. By the time I went back to pick it up, it had usually slid part-way down the backpack, and found itself on the floor. All day, that suit just continued to remind me of the day’s unfortunate events.
Up until, eventually, I decided I was done… I was tired, and quite frankly, I wasn’t having the best day, considering how the super exciting meeting ended pretty much on the opposite side of the spectrum. I knew I did the right thing, I had no regrets, but I was pretty tired. Instead of heading straight home, I summoned the energy to take the MARTA to Five Points, one station over, where I handed them the completed form so they would eventually release my 20 dollar bill from custody. Then, I boarded the train to head back to the station where I was dropped in the morning. As I sat in the train, I flopped my suit bag on the seat next to me, and I began to reflect on the events of the day. Among other things, I remembered that I paid for the full 4 days, expecting to be with my mentor and her crew, rather than the 2 days I had originally planned. 4 days only made sense if I was filming, which was no longer the case, so I decided that I would skip the last two days, and instead go rafting with my sister, my original plan. I also decided that I would approach the next day’s Dragon Con as I originally intended – I would have fun, re-experience it as I once did, and derive humor from it. Losing the cash for those two extra days was unfortunate, but I tried to look at it with positivity: that money was supporting my beloved Dragon Con.
So as I was pondering all this on the train, it came to a halt, abruptly. Me and the other passengers looked at each other, all expecting a message via the intercom, at some point. We waited, silently, and eventually, someone’s voice crackled through the speakers. We just couldn’t actually understand anything they were saying…. there was too much static, the person was talking too fast, and they were not really pronouncing their words too well. A couple of us laughed out loud, and shook our heads at the stereotypical bad subway audio. Eventually, we understood “mechanical problems,” and that was enough. One woman actually spoke up, and told us all how she’d been delayed all day with the MARTA, and that she couldn’t believe she encountered yet another problem on the same day. I glanced at my suit bag, flopped over next to me, and laughed internally… yea, I knew what it was like to have a messed up day.
After a few minutes, the MARTA resumed, and I eventually found myself at my destination. It’s at that point that I realized that there were no buses leaving from that station directly. So I called my sister to see if she could pick me up, which she agreed to do, but cautioned that it was traffic hour, and that she might be delayed as a result. Upon hearing this, I instead suggested that I hop back into the MARTA train, and travel to the next station (which I knew would have bus service), and then simply find my way back to her place by catching the bus. I reasoned that it would be cool to get used to the public transport system in Atlanta, given how often I visit. She agreed, and I went off on my journey, which was fairly straight-forward, in my mind.
Unfortunately, in my fatigue, I got confused about which train was the right one, and missed two in a row. The third I thankfully caught, and it did in fact get me to the right place. So from that new station, I walked down a few blocks, and began to wait at the bus sign, alone. After a while, I realized that it was actually pretty hot outside, it being Atlanta in the summer, and all. This seemed problematic given a general lack of tree cover, and a rising suspicion that the bus just wasn’t coming – I thought I missed it. So I called the hotline I saw advertised for the MARTA, and after waiting a minute or so, I confirmed with a MARTA employee that it was, in fact, on its way… it was just late. After what seemed like forever, with my suit bag cleverly hooked into the bus sign, I spotted the bus in the distance. It was a long, tiring day… a lot went wrong, but when I boarded that bus… only one thing mattered in the universe… and that was that they had air conditioning cranked to the max… and it was divine. And so there I sat, with a grin on my face as I enjoyed the unexpected, super-powered air conditioning, something our buses definitely didn’t have in Montreal, and despite the unfortunate events of the day, the turbulence, for a moment there, I was pretty damn content.
I stopped near my sister’s place, marched up to her door, unlocked it, and I dropped that damn suit bag right on the table, at long last. It was a lovely moment in time. I started the day with really high expectations, only to have them fall apart. I lost a mentor, a machine ate my money, a train broke down, my suit bag experienced more of the world than ever before… altogether, it wasn’t the best of days. But you know what? I’ll never forget how amazing that air conditioning felt in that bus, at that moment.
