We Carry the Fire

This time of year we are reminded of family. So many holidays smashed into 3 consecutive months will do that. Naturally, as the snow begins to fall, I start to think more of my family. The other day I was shoveling the parking lot at Planet Rock (you're welcome Nick) when I spontaneously looked down at my hands, I thought they looked remarkably like my dad's. I spent the better half of an hour shoveling and thinking of the first time I ever met him. 

I was young, probably sixth grade, so a lot of the details are fuzzy, but I'll never forget him standing there in Summit Place Mall (currently known as Scummet Place). Since that day we've gotten together on several separate occasions, different holidays for stints of two or three hours. I remember meeting his new wife for the first time, a spontaneous red head who outranks anyone I know in the realm of physical activity and pure, unabashed energy levels. I think though, the first time we really met, in other words, the first time we really knew each other, is when I went out to visit him in Seattle, WA. 

To set the scene I was a book worm in college, struggling (in the most relaxed definition of the word) to find an identity that I was comfortable with. I was not active, I didn't run, bike, jump, swim, climb or even really walk that much. I was always under the impression that having severe asthma and allergies as a child I couldn't do these things. So for the most part I gamed, I read, I drank (in healthy amounts) and I hung out with my girl friend at the time. Obviously, I worked and went to class too. There was nothing though, that I really felt defined me, I didn't even have a drivers license. In July I had a week to go out and visit him, I would fly out there and spend about 5 days.

If you've ever flown into Seattle you know that there is nothing like seeing Mt. Rainier protruding up past the clouds, nothing like seeing the Mountain Ranges crowd the night lights of the city. It was dark so I was unaware of my surroundings, but I could tell by his excitement that this place meant a lot to my dad. He couldn't wait until it was light outside and I could see the natural beauty in everything around me. I closed my eyes and imagined my dad, not much older than I am now, coming to seek shelter in this city. It seemed really comforting, all of the mountains paternally towering over you. My dad lives a little less than an hour outside of Seattle, he told me to look out the window when I woke up in the morning. When I did, there was a straight up mountain outside...well not a mountain mountain, but being from Southeast Michigan it was the closest I've ever been to one. It was a truly perfect setting to find myself in.

Over the next few days, my dad and I set about exploring one another. This was the longest we've ever spent together so we talked while we hiked, watched movies, went fishing, hooked the dog up to the mountain board and let it pull us down a dirt path (though, there wasn't that much talking during that last activity). He showed me his favorite spots on the river, where he lived when he first moved there, a couple goofy tourist spots and the best, most breathtaking view of Mt. Rainier. He introduced me to some amazing characters; his best friend he lived with for awhile, his Montana bred boss named Cleave, and his incredibly capable dog Max. Every person and every place I met I experienced as a part of my dad's narrative and subsequently as a part of mine. Everything out there became a part of me and remains that way to this day.   

 

One of the last days out there my dad took me surfing. The weather was colder (not compared to Michigan though, suck it up people!) so there was no one out there, but us. We used his paddle board to try and ride out some waves, but surfing is tough and the paddle board was big and cumbersome. He was able to paddle his way out there and ride out a couple of waves. I'm sure if you surf, that may not be impressive, but if you've never surfed in your life, take my word for it, it was an incredibly difficult task. I tried and got my ass formally and politely handed back to me every time. Each time I washed back up on shore my dad would fine tune everything I did, pick me back up, show me a better way to stand or mount the board, then send me right back out. He probably watched me take a beating about 30 times before finally I got up and rode a wave about 25 feet back to shore. The whole time I was on the board I watched him jumping for joy and pointing in my direction. That moment meant the most to me, I felt a true sense of pride swell up in me, pride in being his son and I felt a pride swell in him too, that pride met mine and they crashed together like the waves on the shore.

When I came back to Michigan there was a fire in me. I picked up mountain biking and rock climbing. I began running almost everyday. I saw this untapped athletic potential and I meant to use it. Not only that, but I got my drivers license, I took to my job and my school with a new passion. I discovered this identity that existed in the mold of my dad's. I no longer feared disappointment from others or guilt, the pride in me burned away the old and left room for a new Kyle. I filled this space with confidence, happiness, awareness and acceptance. Everyday I am more and more comfortable with myself for this reason. Having known my dad in this capacity has been and will be the single greatest thing to ever happen to me. 

When I went back into Planet Rock after shoveling the parking lot, I wasn't just warm, I was burning from the same fire lit two years ago.

The Sound and the Movie

While at the book store looking for gifts I found a favorite book of mine in high school. As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner, I remember I picked it for a project at school and I was a little daunted because The Sound and the Fury, by the same author, was a pretty tough read. Any way, I'm not trying to boast, but the book had some importance to me. That being said, when I say it was being made into a feature length film with James Franco, I had mixed feelings.

Now Hollywood has always made books into movies, for some reason though it's just now starting to get to me. I was never so elitist to complain about this inevitability. Yet, there was something about seeing this book turned into a movie as well as this rumor that David Foster Wallace is going to be played by Jason Segel in a potential biopic, that really pushed me over the edge. I don't really understand how this movie carried with language, can be turned into a movie with the impossible task of capturing the attention of an audience who is largely looking to be visually stimulated. I went over to Book Riot to hopefully find some fellowship in my anger, but was met instead with Jeff O'Brian's interesting take on the matter.

O'Brian posits that movies are logistical nightmares and therefore the story is best left up to an author. He believes that books are the best of story making technology because there is the least amount of friction between creation and imagination. It is up to the movie to create a vivid world of format for the story of the book to exist in. The two should be working together creating a parallel of form and contact that will convey a more whole and immersing message. The film's job is to captivate and the novels job is to enlighten. I thought this was an interesting perspective, but I feel as though the storm is not quite over.

In part I agree with O'Brian, but I don't like the fact that there is an infinite cache of books for producers and production companies to choose from. What this means to me is that there will be a very real effect on both works of the past and works of the future in addition to the literary world as a whole. If a great work of fiction written some time ago is today coupled with a terrible movie, our reaction to that book is forever changed for generations to come. Similarly, today a lot of authors seem like they're just writing screen plays in book format and publishing companies are quick to raise those books to the public eye because movies are what sell. I don't want the literary world to continue this indentured servitude to the film industry.

Technically I have no proof any of this is happening or will happen. I just hope when future teachers play the Great Gatsby film to accompany the book, someone is there explaining directorial decisions. I hope that the poetry of As I Lay Dying is not lost because "who needs it? James Franco is hott!"

Thanks for Listening,

Kyle

Eek! A Homeless!

Living in Metro Detroit, having worked in Downtown Detroit and currently working in Pontiac, Michigan, I have had plenty of experience with homeless people, poor people asking for money and panhandlers. The amount of pure, unabashed chastising I have gotten for giving to others, ranges somewhere in the infinity range, as it will probably continue to occur. Apparently there is just no right way to feed someone, but I don't buy that (no pun intended). There are a series of experiences I would like to share that may alleviate some of  the "protection" people feel they need to dish out whenever I'm asked for money...or anything for that matter.

Let me first start out my admitting I am a grade A sucker. If someone says they need money for the bus, I tend to believe them. Do I give them money? No, not always, but I do believe they need money for the bus and not heroine or something. That being said if someone is asking for a little spare cash for some food, that is different. I would also like to start out with another disclaimer: not all people begging are homeless. For example, this dude who asks for money in Downtown Royal Oak, is my neighbor, he has a home, but I think many think he is homeless. I think this is an important distinction to make. When someone comes up to me and asks me for money, I don't just assume they are homeless, but I do assume they are in need, my neighbor most certainly is.

Another important thing to consider is that 842,000 adults and children are homeless in a given week. This means that sometimes a homeless person will be truly homeless one moment, have additional resources the next, but could go right back to being homeless and the number will continue to fluctuate. This is another important disclaimer because we need to acknowledge the vast amount of homeless in America, but we don't necessarily need to isolate them from the poorest population as though they are separate problems that are not interconnected.

Anyway here's an argument I hear all the time: the ole' teach a man to fish axiom. You don't want to make begging more lucrative and working less lucrative. I do think it is important to give people jobs, but you can't just pick up a homeless man or woman and put them in a factory to start working, that era is dead (well, it moved to China and other high producing countries, but that's a separate blog post). If you have the skills and resources to pick up, provide transportation and job training as well as a job to a homeless person, then by all means please do it. I personally don't have this capacity, but I do have the ability to help others with their day to day burden of life.

For example; Uncle DD frequently stops into the climbing gym I work at in Pontiac. Usually we give him a gigantic bag of returnables to go make the deposit on. Sometimes he asked for money, but mostly he wants pizza, so we'll buy him some every so often. DD has been coming in for as long as the gym has been in existence. I've talked to him, given him rides places, fixed up his bike and bought him pizza. DD is only homeless sometimes, but upon talking to him, I think he resents the word homeless, which you know...makes sense. One day he comes in and asks for bottles, I go downstairs and grab some, when I come back up he's talking to someone. She's trying to give him the phone number for an organization that can help, she's telling him it doesn't matter what his story is because he can get help regardless and she's handing him a brochure. I give him the bottles, he also asks for a winter hat and I give him one of mine. That night, the woman he spoke to told me that she knows I think I'm doing good, but that he needs real help, not hand outs. I don't necessarily disagree, but I gave him a hat and a means of making some money for his kids, that I know he has because I've built a relationship with him. She gave him a phone number and this idea that his story doesn't matter. I'm not saying I helped more, but I did make sure that he doesn't have to buy a hat, that he doesn't have to worry about food that night and I think that is important. For the record, I've helped DD find housing programs as well, when he wanted it.

I'm not trying to ride my high horse through Pontiac. I'm not trying to tell anyone what to do, but believe it or not, homeless people are our neighbors, they are members in our community. Get to know someone you see on the street everyday. Afraid your money will be spent on drugs? Why don't you get to know someone, then you'll know if they have a drug problem. All it takes is an acknowledgment of what kind of help should be given, which only takes one conversation, which is not necessarily that hard. Sometimes you might not be able to give money, ask if you can help in a different way, when you can't do that just give your condolences and walk on. But if you can spare the time to talk, I can promise that it will be far more well spent than one dollar. So back off, I'll do it my way, you do it yours. I can promise you my moral fiber and I do not need your help, they do.

Thanks for Listening,
Kyle

Congrats, You Are Officially an Elitist!

On Tuesday I had an interview with Oakland County Government. I'm incredibly excited and it went far better than I could have even hoped. Keep me in your thoughts.

It seems lately that I've had a lot of conversations with people about the value of college. It seems I'm always either defending it to my friends or I'm convincing them that some job will come up that allows them to use their brain. Being the optimist is becoming harder and harder for me. Soon I will have to be paying my immense debt back to some collections company the Government sold it to. I've really been racking my brain about whether or not it was worth it.

 On the one hand, if my life is a series of statistics, going to college was a good idea. According to the O.E.C.D. as a graduate from a four year university I'm supposed to make 84 percent more than a high school graduate. Maybe. In fact it only really puts me in the right odds to do this. It essentially gives me more chips to put on the roulette board, but I could still be making all of the wrong decisions here. As you can see I'm not the only one in the casino. It's also infuriating to see that the only one who doesn't seem to be profiting here is me. Again, according to the O.E.C.D. the government makes a profit of about $231,000 on each American who graduates from colleges. I would be fine with this fact if I were any closer to using my degree in a career setting and making a higher income to be taxed. But I'm not.

And it isn't for lack of trying. I've hit the job Market hard, really hard. The problem is, once again, I'm not the only one. According to the United States Labor Department, the percentage of Millennials who are unemployed is a whopping 16.2. Follow that up with the Harvard study that says most of them are employed with a part time job anyway and you have a recipe for hopelessness in the job market. We are told time and time again that we'll make more money with a college degree, but, correct me if I'm wrong, I think we need a job first. The problem I foresee is that everyone has a degree, there is supposed to be a staggering 1.8 million additional bachelor degrees given out in the next YEAR, suddenly my degree feels less like a golden ticket to a career and more like admission to a rat race. 

But maybe that's not why I went to college at all. Maybe I went to college for awareness. If you believe as David Foster Wallace does, then maybe you went to college for awareness too. Maybe you feel that the life lessons, lifetime friends, appreciation for your capability and belief in your mental discipline is essentially invaluable and whether you finished College or not, maybe those things can't be quantified or qualified with where you are in your life right now. Maybe you loved college and you're just scared that a promise has been broken to you and maybe you know you need to make new promises to yourself to help you get through this. Maybe you'll never trust a promise from generations "wiser" than you again, but you can promise yourself that you're going to do everything in your power, every little thing, to get that worth back one tiny, insignificant moment at a time. Maybe you think this is naive and stupid, but without it you'd drown in your crippling monetary debt and the debt you think you owe in expectations. Or maybe you don't think any of this and you're just really angry. I think maybe that's O.K. too. 

Thanks for Listening,

Kyle

Catching Wind of Catching Fire

I caught the new movie Catching Fire last night and it was pretty...not that bad. I might even go so far as to say I was pleasantly surprised! Probably not enough to convince myself to read the books, but definitely enough to see the third one. While I will be no where near as scathing as this review, I would like to point out some interesting and unexpected aspects of the movie. No spoilers if you haven't seen it.

The movie seems to feature every classic dystopian stereotype you could imagine. Oppressive governmental regimes, a complete lack of privacy, revolution cusps...the list goes on and on. The Games themselves are really just a gladiator style starving people pacifier. One where people watch violent entertainment to distract them from their real problems, namely: starvation. While that is always usually pretty interesting, I feel the idea, having been used since ancient Rome, is a little tired. What I did enjoy is the idea of fashion and public image as either a means of pacification and distraction or a subtle nod to dissension or revolution. Katniss's (spelling? Who cares!) stylist was always using her wardrobe as a canvas for government subordination, but also subtle acts of rebellion. I enjoyed that the upper class was obsessed with what the famous pledges were wearing. Phillip Seymour Hoffman (What?) had an interesting spiel about destroying public image, how when we juxtapose our public heroes' seemingly lavish lifestyle from their ideas, we distance them from the very people they fight for. Think Michelle Obama for instance, do a segment on her wardrobe following a story about poor people and suddenly she's a villainous bitch. Thanks Fox News!

I also feel that I finally understand the Hunger Games. Usually in a dystopian novel, you observe some criticism of the world we currently live in, like in 1984; it seems the government is infringing on our freedom of speech, ten years later, here we are. I never quite saw what was happening in our current day and age that would eventually lead us to forcing kids to kill each other. As a result I always thought it was a cheap way to add sentimentality to the gladiator style, distraction, cheap, dystopian story. After watching this movie with an outstanding adult cast that essentially did nothing and watching these kids bear the emotional acting weight of the film, I realized that is exactly the point. It's a generational allegory! The youth are meant to bear what the adults can't handle and the adults sit idly by because of guilt or disenfranchisement or pure hopelessness. I thought that was way more exciting and interestingly toyed with.

Overall though, I felt pretty lost. Having not read the books was frustrating, I thought the first movie was so full of holes and awkward that much of the excellently crafted symbolism in the second was lost on me. I also didn't really care about many of the characters, there were too many with fragmented back stories that came out of no where, but that I was expected to care about. When certain characters died it played out like it was sad, which people dying usually is, but I mostly found this sucking the development time away from characters I actually wanted to see and learn more about.

One more thing! I thought the way the score was used is really interesting too. It's a triumphant and short little tune complete with royal sounding brass and base drums. What I liked is that it was only really played in moments of extreme gaudiness or to honor dead people within the actual games. This made the theme song that sounded victorious seem desperate and haunting. I thought that was neat.

I think the whole movie is neat. Go ahead and read the Wikipedia article about the first movie, then treat yourself to the second.

Thanks for Listening,
Kyle

F*** Your Campus Bookstore!

This past weekend I decided I will probably get most, if not all of my friends books for Christmas. I think books can be personal, they give you something to do and, even if you're gift receiver is not the most avid reader, they also make good decorations. Another thing I realized over the past weekend is that I don't have near enough appreciation for independent bookstores as I think I should have. Although, I'm not sure I think I should have any appreciation at all.

It actually occurred to me on business Saturday, when I heard that, in honor of the day, a handful of famous authors were working a shift at local independent book stores. I thought that was super cool. In some ways I think it's very important to shop at your local bookstore. For one, it helps promote local authors, people who aspire to be writers will often hand bind there books and float them in their neighborhood bookstores. Jane Roper  and many other contemporary authors claim that they would not have been able to get published in the online shopping world of today. It's also good for local economies, fairly recent studies show, without taking inflation into account, that if you spend $100 at a local store then $68 will stay in your local community, but when you spend $100 at a chain only $42 will remain in your local community. Not to mention there is a certain aesthetic appeal to shopping at bookstores, they're warm, they have a nostalgic up north cabin smell and perusing through books can be cathartic in a way that most retail shopping experiences can't do for me. Though I wonder if the bookstore is really more a novelty (no pun intended) than anything else.

The local bookstore is often used as the stand alone poster child for this new local-vore trend that seems to be sweeping the nation. Though, I was reading Farhad Manjoo's recent article in Slate, and I felt he offered up some interesting points. For example, should we really be demonizing large online retailers like Amazon? Amazon is selling books at an alarming rate. I think some authors and readers like to believe that there is something more to books than just sales and while that might be true, without sales, there would be no authors or readers. If you enjoy the bookstore experience, please go there and buy your books and please, shop local whenever you can, but let's not romanticize book stores in the eyes of authors and consumers. In my experience, book stores are largely inefficient for the consumer looking to purchase specific books. If you've ever been to John K. King's Book store, you'll learn soon enough that there are no databases designed to help you find whatever book you're looking for, you have no choice but to browse or ask a slightly less confused sales associate. Even large independent bookstores like the Strand in New York can't afford to pay for rent, property taxes (in New York) and employees without jacking up their prices. At Amazon, the book prices are cut in half while still providing a fair profit to the authors and publishing companies. When comparing the two, it seems that the institution that sells more books at a fair price is doing the author and the consumer more justice.

Honestly I would steer people in the direction of libraries. Libraries are all about access, they often support local authors and even if you want to buy books, they often have affordable book sales. There is nothing more community driven than a library in my mind, but that being said, I can't necessarily buy all of my Christmas books at the library right now... Odds are, I'll probably get some really old, grubby books at the local bookstore. Fresh clean books are almost too impersonal for a gift and I like the surprises that I might not have found if I had gone the Amazon route. I just thought I'd drop in to give my two cents: Bookstores offer a very unique, but specific enjoyable experience, but don't let that fool you into thinking that buying your books anywhere else, like Amazon, is going to ruin the literary world.

Thanks for Listening,
Kyle

Like a Young God

I've been looking for a new job since August now and I think the most frustrating thing to come across are these, apparently abundant, pyramid schemes. I've even interviewed with one of these "companies". Coming up; I'm almost recruited to be a cog in an incredibly well oiled machine and how I almost become the next Willy Loman. Stay Tuned. 

First of all, what is a pyramid scheme? According to Dave Roos, a contributing writer at How Stuff Works, there are two kinds of schemes. The first is a product scheme, this operates by getting people to buy a package of products from the distributor to turn around and try to sell. These usually don't work because the product won't sell, or doesn't sell very well. Those of you who watched Hey Arnold might remember the episode where Gerald tries to sell watches. The other is a naked scheme, in which no product is sold, but people are tricked into investing money into a company. On the other, other hand, there are these Multi-Level Marketing companies as well. MLM companies might seem more legitimate because they don't require an up front cost like training or starter kits, they focus more on selling product for money than recruiting people and they allegedly work you on commission without stealing your money. Many believe that, although the MLM and the pyramid scheme share very similar structures, the MLM is far more legitimate. This is how I got roped into applying at Detroit Business Consulting.

Detroit Business Consulting (warning, website will play bad music at you), is a multi-level marketing company located in Troy, Michigan. Basically their job is to sell companies to other companies. What was explained to me is that I would be traveling around selling AT&T or Resteraunt.com to businesses. Each sale I would make a certain percent back on commission. Once I was with the company for so long, I could have my own team of sales personnel make money for me, then when they got their own sales team, I would take a chunk of their profit as well as the team's profit after that. You can literally see the pyramid being built. But let me back up. 

I just graduated college and I'm trying desperately to get a job. I started applying for jobs via Linkedin, when all of a sudden a recruiter messages me that a position has opened up at Detroit Business Consulting. I hit their website and do some looking around. The engineers behind the site did a good job keeping exactly what the company does extremely vague as well as plastering the Better Business Bureau's seal of accreditation. So of course I accept an interview. Basically there were two interviews, I show up to the first one and talk myself up to the "Independent Business Owner" whose job it is to hire new recruits to make him and his boss's boss "rich". I make it to the second interview. This time I meet with a sales executive, the guy I'll be working Making money for. He takes me out to coffee and explains to me exactly how this works. 

While all of this goes down, the interviews, the phone calls with the recruiter, the coffee, all I saw was sadness. I had coffee with Trevor, according to the website it doesn't seem like he's with that company anymore. Trevor wanted me to be a part of his team. We talked about music and being young looking for a job. I could tell he really enjoyed talking about this stuff too. He excitedly told me how fast I could move up, how he saw traits in me that he saw in himself, that I could have my own sales team in no time. Then we started talking about music some more...and coffee. I realized Trevor just kind of like talking to people, Trevor was a cool guy, but Trevor needed me to be part of his team so he could make money, so Trevor had a crazy look in his eye. I can't look at the website without getting bummed out, it seems so sleazy and so desperate, but that's kind of how I feel when I'm looking for jobs. No wonder why they appeal to young, vulnerable college students, it's operated by young vulnerable college students with agendas. We both had a desperation in us and I think that's kind of sad.

I turned the job down and went to work for Quicken Loans for a short time. While I was working at Quicken I met a lot of people who had applied at DBC before too. They seemed to be utterly disgusted with what it wanted them to do; traveling sales, making money for other people, using other people to make money for yourself. They all had the same story, they had just graduated college and this company sought them out. The Multi-Level Marketing company seems like it is a pyramid scheme; it dilutes the market forcing you to hire other people to sell to their circles for you, it seems that only people at the top make money (1% of the company according to Roos) and they are a recruiting machine. Ultimately though, I think we were so mad at them because they tried to find this fear in us, this fear of being unemployed, of going no where in life and tried to use that fear to work us into their system. While I agree that it is frustrating, I can also see that these people were in the same position as me some time ago, people who broke down and took the job because it made them feel good enough, now they're just trying to make ends meet too. I can't be mad at that, I can't even blame them.

WILLY: Biff Loman is lost. In the greatest country in the world a young man with such—personal attractiveness, gets lost. And such a hard worker. There’s one thing about Biff— he’s not lazy.

LINDA: Never.

WILLY: [with pity and resolve]: I’ll see him in the morning; I’ll have a nice talk with him. I’ll get him a job selling. He could be big in no time. (Act 1)

Thanks for Listening,

Kyle

Empire of Gratitude: The Power of Thank You Notes

It's my freshman year of college and I'm issued up a challenge. Write 1 thank you note a day, everyday, for the entirety of the school year. Was this the greatest lesson in humility I've ever learned? Probably, but to be perfectly honest, I'm not really sure what to call it. Coming up: how a single thank you note, turned into an empire of gratitude...stay tuned.

The challenge was simple, I felt I could easily write a thank you note a day. But lets back up a second. Why was I even doing this? My buddy Cam got me hooked on the idea, he explained his own experiences with thank you notes and the power they seemed to have. It did seem pretty alluring, this idea that I would be documenting my appreciation of the people in my life. Challenge accepted. So I set to work, the first thank you note I wrote was on a standard size, 3 by 5 note card to my roommate Luke. Sometimes I wonder if he still has it. It was incredibly simple, I just thanked him for being a good friend, signed it, then put it on his desk for him to find. From then on, day by day, I wrote a thank you note.

There were rules I set for myself. The number one rule, the very standard, was that I could not be seen giving the thank you note to the designated person. I didn't want this to become some vain, self centered endeavor and I was afraid that if I received the instant gratification from handing someone a thank you note, then that's exactly what this would become. Other rules included: only writing the notes in pen because I wanted to come across genuine and erasers don't really help that cause, only 2 thank you notes per person because I didn't want a crutch and no holiday/birthday notes, because that is sappy as hell. Very soon after my first week of thank you writing it started to dawn on me that this would be much harder than I thought. I was going to have to get creative.

After I burned through all of my closest friends and my family fast enough, I began to write thank yous to people outside those circles. I wrote a thank you note to all of my professors and slipped it under their office doors. One professor I couldn't find so I showed up early to class and slipped it under the locked classroom door. When class started he found it laying on the ground; he bent down, picked it up and put it in his pocket. That was his last year at the university before he retired, I hope that thank you note meant something to him. I know his class meant something to me, it was the single hardest class I have ever taken in college and I tried my hardest because I knew it was his last class ever and I didn't want it to be filled with total duds. The academic community only extends so far, I took 4 classes a semester, that only amounts to 8 thank you notes total (math!).

I wrote a thank you note to two cafeteria workers. Rosetta, a friendly African American woman who had the best friggin' mac and cheese, mac that reminded you of home, made you warm inside because it reminded you that the only time your mom let you watch TV at dinner was when you ate mac and cheese. This made me feel slightly better about eating in a cafeteria. So Rosetta got a thank you. I had another cafeteria worker give it to her. The other was a man everyone referred to as Chef Jeff. Jeff was a spit fire cafe worker. Other than making subtle alcohol references to students, singing loudly to himself and making fart noises, Jeff worked the pizza station. I genuinely enjoyed Chef Jeff's ability to take students outside of their heads while they were walking around the cafe. I literally watched a shy girl run away from the pizza station at full speed because he asked her how her day was going. Hilarious. So Jeff got a note. After placing it on the counter and hurriedly walking away I heard him ask another worker "you think there's money in it?" Success. I even wrote a thank you note to the cafeteria itself by sticking a note card in the suggestion box.

Each note was personalized, there were always at least three sentences expressing heart felt reasons why I was thankful for that person. I wrote a thank you note to the maintenance crew in the residence hall I lived in for keeping the halls clean. I wrote a thank you note to my Resident Assistant because he really worked hard to make a difference on his floor, but we were freshman so we didn't care, but I wanted to show him that I cared, so Sean got one. Musicians I thought were particularly good at the open mic I attended, got one in their guitar case. My step dad, got one on his dresser. Old high school friends, got one in the mail. Food court Subway employee, got one...somehow.

I'll never have a way of knowing if some notes made a difference or not, if my feelings of gratitude were taken seriously or even if some notes got to the correct person. Some people wrote thank you notes back and a couple people from there even started a writing correspondence with me. Some people would tell me they appreciated the notes, others I could see appreciated the note, but we kept it at that. My mom, in pure mother fashion, was concerned as to why I was writing them. In some ways so was I. I know that everything I wrote was genuine, that I meant every word (this was in pen after all), but I couldn't shake the feeling that maybe I was just doing this for myself. I don't want my ever wise hindsight to decide this though and I never could figure it out then. All I know is that I never missed a day, not one, and if that's the case, there had to be something meaningful driving me to do it.

The last thank you note at the end of the year was to Cam, for getting me started. There have been several times in my life that I have desperately wanted to start again, but the challenge does not seem repeatable. I've tried to get others to do it with me, I've tried to give people thank you notes as gifts in hope that they could try it too, I've tried to pick up a pen and a note card and try again, but the momentum is not there. My days of writing thank you notes are over, but the lessons I learned in gratitude and appreciation will continue to stick with me.

And sometimes, very rarely, I run into someone who says they still have one hanging up or stashed away some place

 and that always means the world to me.  

Thanks for Listening,
Kyle

Minimum Wage, Rock Climbing and Pizza

For anyone curious as to why I haven't posted in the ole' blog for awhile, it isn't because I was attacked by Turkey Tom, but it is because I've been camping and climbing in the great state of Kentucky. This past trip, with my good friend Brad Barr, really opened my eyes up to what climbing has been to me over the years and why it has evolved into such a love hate relationship. Coming up, stories of minimum wage, rock climbing and pizza, stay tuned!

There are tons of reasons why I love to climb. The amount of self confidence and discipline it has taught me is essentially invaluable. The very idea that when you're climbing, you are in total control of your body is exhilarating. I love the physical fitness aspect of it, the accomplishment and the inevitable goal setting. I also make ends meet working at a climbing gym in Pontiac Michigan. I essentially have two responsibilities: one is to teach first timers everything they need to know to keep themselves safe in the indoor climbing world. The pure amount of psych I see on any given day is truly inspiring. The second is to coach the climbing club for young kids. Teaching young kids that they are capable of doing so much more than they give themselves credit for, then proving it by testing their skills against things their parents can't even climb is easily the most enjoyable thing I have ever had the pleasure of doing. It truly is a great job, I wish I made more money, but who doesn't, right? Climbing is very much ingrained with my life and the lives of others, yet this world of confidence and achievement, seems to me to be shrouded in something else entirely.

It's late, it's cold and Brad and I are holed up in the basement of a pizza place that doubles as a campsite for climbers. We had just finished up our first day of climbing and we were in the middle of an exhausting attempt to warm up inside. I was reading and Brad was messing around on his phone.We were both also subtly listening to the conversation behind us. Two climbers were lounging back at a table and tearing down one of their friends. They ripped on this guy for everything; his technique, the fact that he said his hands hurt, what he warmed up on and how hard he climbed. Brad and I had come on this trip to do some really easy climbing, not to crush some difficult stuff, I can't speak for him, but it was like these guys were talking directly about us.

Now normally people are nothing but supportive when I climb easier than them. Those who can climb incredibly well like to encourage those with high ambition, at least where I'm from. Yet, it seems when climbing on the same level, often times, not always, but often, there is a resentment of confidence. Everyone enjoys stating that climbing is a community and helps build confidence, but I've observed on numerous occasions people demonstrating said confidence, only to be ripped apart in private conversation within there communities at another time. I've witnessed  tons of climbing communities featuring that one dude that everyone hates because he's really braggadocios. I've even felt it bubble up in me a couple of times! I can feel this aura in certain people, people who want their climbing partner to fall on certain moves so they can be the only one who hits the move that day. How does a world of such competition and contempt breed a world of  such confidence and community?

On our second day, it was almost the same story, but worse. This time we were eating pizza with sweet potato, tomato, artichoke and banana peppers and playing a game of chess in the main restaurant area. I watched a super buff climber mercilessly pick on this skinnier guy. The buff climber told the skinny kid he was disgusting, said he had filthy, clammy hands and that if he touched him with those hands he would fight him. This didn't even have anything to do with climbing, this was like I was watching a PSA about bullying right before the camera freezes and we learn that what was happening is wrong. The skinnier climber just took it in a way that we often accept bullying from people that we believe we admire. This began to boil up a loathing for climbing and climbers that I think I had been sitting on for awhile. While I understood that this is not all climbers, this is not the first time I've seen this or other selfish behaviors in the climbing community and I wondered if it was even a community I wanted to be a part of at all. If it was a community I wanted to continue to usher young kids and innocent first timers into. That night, I had some serious doubts about my all time favorite hobby.

The next day Brad and I woke up and got ready to leave. We were going to do three more routes that day, some really easy, good to end your trip on, stuff. When we got to the location we walked up a 5.6, a 5.7 and a 5.8, all fairly cut and dry. The entire time we were climbing I could feel Brad's eyes move to this 5.10a called Dynabolt Gold just slightly to our right. When I finished the .8, I told him we could give the 10 a whirl, we thought it would be good to end the trip on. For those of you who don't climb, 5.10's are harder, but not the hardest, it was also cold outside and the route was slightly overhung, so you couldn't really rest on your feet and your hands were pretty numb. After the previous night, I was severely lacking in the confidence to climb it, so Brad led it first. He took one take, meaning he rested on the rope one time, probably because his hands were cold. When he came down, he pulled the rope back down with him and told me to go for the send; this meant, no rests on the rope and no falls. I tied into the rope and began climbing.

The 10 was harder than I thought, everything I grabbed was good enough, but the moves were big. There were good natural points to rest, like a giant flake or a double knee bar (where you jam your knees into a horizontal crack and take all your weight off your hands). Brad walked me through every move that was remotely difficult, any time he heard me exerting effort I heard his voice crack like a whip, telling me to "come on". He pointed out the knee bar and victoriously cheered when I clipped the final two bolts on the route. We were one of two groups in the valley that day and our sense of community, our confidence, could be heard in echoes all across the gorge.

Climbing has given me a lot; a job, a hobby and a hell of a work out, but after this trip I realized where I went wrong. Climbing never gave me confidence or a community, Brad did, or any number of my climbing friends who are encouraging and genuine. I think because I enjoyed climbing so much I tried to pull out of it these qualities that are not unique to climbing, but are unique to friendship. You can't really climb alone, you always need a partner and in that way climbing has given me friendship. But I will never again believe that climbing alone is what has inspired in me to drive myself, it is everyone I love that's done that, climbing is only an immensely fun vehicle in which to get there.

 And now, a poem:

Imagine you are Alex Honnold climbing the north face wall of Half Dome, 2000 feet and no rope or safety precautions. 60 Minutes’ camera crew is trained on you. You climb the mountain the way God intended it, you climb to feel a part of the sky. You trust your body and it responds by squeezing out the last of your adrenal gland. Pain begins to ignore you as you dance up the side of the cliff. You begin to make the mountain uncomfortable; you are a breath of hot air on its cheek. With less than 50 feet remaining fear begins to catch up with you. You are racing up the cliff now, taking all manner of gray matter into your wet bloody fingers so you can place your feet on dew drop sized marbles glistening on the rock face. Your foot doesn't place just right and you almost die. The cameras roll none the wiser as you pull yourself to the peak.

The white wind sings past

Trees purr, the sun drums feebly

The mountain is deaf

Thanks for Listening,

Kyle