To a sports-obsessed kid with thick glasses and abnormally large teeth. Not to mention, a pair of legs that even chickens would call skinny. Basically, all the makings of a future hall-of-famer. Ok, maybe I wasn’t destined for the major leagues. But, man, did I love the game. All of them, actually. Baseball, football, and basketball came first. But the obsession also included old fogey sports like golf and tennis.
(Editor’s note: I have no clue how to spell “fogey” since I’ve never used that word in my life)
Back to our story…
On this particular day, I was in the big city. Pittsburgh. Just doing my civic duty – dropping my aunt off at the airport. Dragged on another lame mission by these pesky parents. Groan. You know what kids love? Sitting in a car for 90 minutes to run errands in another city. Let the good times roll. I buried my head under a hoodie with my trusty yellow Walkman. Old buddies MC Hammer and Billy Idol would ease this pain.
Walking past the gates, I contemplated whether airports are the worst place on earth…
Wondering if anything cool has ever happened here…
But then something caught my attention. What’s with this big crowd? Also, why are people running through the airport? They’re all heading in the same direction. And a bunch of them are my age.
I decided to question a random kid. He answered quickly on the run:
CRAZY-EYED KID The Pirates are landing right now!
ME Wait, did you say the—
KID Yes! They’re landing here!
And, with that, he disappeared around a corner. I couldn’t see much, but there was an obvious buzz in the air. And then his words finally hit me.
WAIT, THE PITTSBURGH PIRATES ARE HERE RIGHT NOW!!!!!!!
See, the Pirates had clinched the pennant. Led by their MVP. Part human, part superhero…
Mr. Barry Bonds.
This man was the exact opposite of me and my physique. Carved out of stone. No thick glasses. Extremely normal-sized teeth. The dude was Iron Man and Thor rolled into one. And he was about to enter this very airport.
What were the odds of this miracle? I begged my parents to stay until the team showed up. Getting to cheer on the division champs as they arrived back in town?? Life just doesn’t get any better than this.
And then it did.
My parents waited patiently in the background while I made my move. Right into the eye of the storm. Weaving through walls of fans clad in yellow. Dodging any obstacle in my way with the precision of a ninja. Slithering all the way to the front of the crowd. Bruce Lee would have approved. Within minutes, the players were exiting their plane. Suddenly, they were walking RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME.
We cheered wildly for these conquering heroes. Showering the division champs with buckets of love. And, then, there he was. Last but certainly not least…
The MVP.
Barry Lamar Bonds.
The crowd erupted. Nobody louder than me. I thought the roof might fly off into the night. This airport was rocking. And, as he came into focus, a few kids ducked under the makeshift rope. Greeting him with pats on the back and high-fives.
Wait, we can do THAT??
Without a second of hesitation, I shot out of a cannon. At least that’s what it felt like. Nothing would stop me now. Ducking under the barricade, sprinting to Bonds…so eager to share this moment. Feeling like a mini Jackie Chan. Unfortunately, I was more of a spaz than Jackie is. I miscalculated the speed and energy of my windup. Too late to stop now. With a giant crazy smile on my face, I reached back to give Barry Bonds a pat on the back and…
Hit him WAY too hard.
Oops.
Oh well, I’m just an excited kid whose face is 98% teeth and glasses. He’ll understand. I mean, I’m just so thrilled to m—
Uh-oh.
The dude whipped his head around, glaring at me like I was a grown man trying to start a brawl at the local dive bar. We were face to face now. I really wanted to apologize but my mouth appeared to be completely frozen.
Say something.
Anything.
No luck. Just a total freeze job. He stared at me with fire in his eyes. The kind of anger I hadn’t seen since showing my mom the most recent report card. How did I manage a C+ in math? I’m literally Indian. Anyway, focus. How do I fix this situation? In an ideal universe, I’d be able to speak actual words. But that’s currently impossible. So…
Is Barry Bonds about to knock me out of Allegheny County?
(By my count, this moment lasted for approximately 7 hours)
And then…mercifully…he was engulfed by the other, less-spazzy kids.
Somehow, I survived to live another day.
(Hey, maybe the freezing wasn’t so bad after all. Y’know, if I spoke, I actually could have made things worse)
CUT TO:
Last week.
A man stands in line at the post office. Salt-and-pepper beard. Tooth size proportional to face. This particular guy is quite a bit older than Barry Bonds was then. Not sure where the time went. But this man is me.
Still a sports fanatic. Still a bit spazzy. Just no longer armed with the boundless energy of youth.
A woman walks in. Hair unkempt. Racing straight to the clerk in spite of a very long line of customers. With a thick New York accent, she begins yelling at the sleepy postal worker.
LADY My card is stuck in the machine!
CLERK Ok, I’ll get someone to help you soon.
LADY I said my card is STUCK in the machine!
CLERK Ma’am, if you can just wait a minute–
LADY –MY CARD IS STUCK IN THE FUCKING MACHINE!!!!!
(Everything stops. All eyes moving from iPhones to real life. The crowd is now fully engaged)
CLERK Ma’am, do not speak to me like that.
(The lady looks down at the floor. For a very long moment)
LADY (softly) My card is stuck. Please help me.
She walks back out to the infamous machine. Very quickly. Her eyes glued to the ground the entire way. Seemingly shocked by her own outburst. Once she disappears from sight, the murmurs begin. A few nervous laughs. Multiple sneers.
All the usual reactions.
A full buffet of awkwardness.
It’s my turn at the counter. I tell the clerk I’m not in a rush. Asking: “Do you want to help her first? Just trying to make sure you don’t get killed, bro.”
(My contribution to the awkwardness)
A lady at the next counter bellows, “She already left. Fished her card out and looked super embarrassed.”
“As she should be,” adds an old man from the back of the line.
I finish my postal errands and walk past a Toyota in the parking lot. It’s her car. And she’s crying softly inside of it. Engulfed in a storm. She certainly doesn’t seem insane. And I can’t imagine she’s dangerous. Just looks like a person having a very hard time. Obviously, I don’t know a thing about her. Whether something was done to her today. Or long before. Maybe some urgent need to get that card back? Possibly to make it to a job she’s barely hanging onto? For all I know, it’s a paycheck that could be the only thing between her home and living on the street. It’s even possible I witnessed someone having the worst day of their life.
I don’t know if any of that is true.
Because I have none of the facts.
(And, clearly, I’m not a defender of disrespect)
But, looking into that car, it just feels like this person could desperately use a friendly interaction. A kind word or gesture. Maybe I have 5 seconds to provide a tiny moment of warmth?
I really want to say something. Even just ask if she’s ok. Something human.
But instead?
I freeze up.
Much like I did 30 years ago. The same way I have on many other occasions in between. All such different types of moments. But, in the end, it’s still a freeze job.
Screw that. It’s not my responsibility. And it isn’t my business. She was obviously wrong. This doesn’t concern me. I shouldn’t butt in.
(Even just to ask if she’s ok)
(Even if I know in my heart that she’s in need of kindness in this moment)
I keep walking…start the engine…drive away…
Reminding myself on the road home…
“I shouldn’t butt in.”
I seem to say things like that a lot. And it’s logical. Most things are, in fact, not my business. And, yes, I often could make things worse.
But there’s a nagging flip side here.
Looking back through the years, I’ve never felt good about these freeze jobs.
Maybe you can relate.
All the times we couldn’t speak. In all the different ways.
Maybe it’s easier to think stuff like…
“I could make things worse” or “I shouldn’t butt in”
…than it is to find the courage.
Maybe we just say those things to feel a little better about ourselves.
Important question. And we’ll get to that answer. But, first, let’s rewind the clock…
It was 3 years ago. Kobe Bryant and his daughter (along with 7 other parents and children) just died in a fiery helicopter crash. This happened 10 miles from my front door. The emotional impact was palpable around me. You could feel it in the air for days. In every room, store, and gas station you entered.
As is often the case, I decided to write a post. It wasn’t really about Kobe. More about the reaction post-crash. Obviously, I’m a people-watching fanatic…eyes glued to the world like it’s a riveting season of Breaking Bad. I find our species so interesting. And strange. I enjoy sharing these observations with you.
Typically, the feeling is mutual.
But not always.
The following is an email conversation after that post. It was my first time speaking with this person. Edited down for readability since it was a 3-day long back-and-forth…
—–
Kobe was an admitted, violent rapist. Society looked the other way and he got away with it. The teenager he violently raped had vaginal trauma and neck injuries and he claimed this was consensual. That so few people talk about this contributes to rape culture.
I feel bad for the teenagers that died in the crash. I have no tears for the adults that chose to hang around with a rapist.
The Rapist Kobe Bryant’s early death is some small piece of delayed justice.
—–
I hear you. Believe me, I really do.
If he raped her, yes it absolutely went much like so many other situations. Powerful man overpowering a victim who gets tossed aside. All while the powerful man continues to live a privileged life. If he did it…well, then he shouldn’t have spent a day outside of prison since.
However, I just don’t know that he did it. I wasn’t there.
—–
We have much more than her statement. We have her injuries. They were confirmed on examination by a nurse. Multiple vaginal lacerations and trauma. Neck bruises and injuries. That is not consensual sex. It just isn’t. Sex should not leave a woman injured like that. I am so dismayed that anyone could hear about those injuries and call it consensual sex.
Rape apologists used to want to say that if a woman wasn’t injured there could not have been a rape. Now when there are injuries rapists fall back on the ridiculous “rough consensual sex” defense. Why are so many people willing to do backflips to create doubt when the physical evidence is all there to show rape??
The apology was so important to the woman that she agreed not to use it in her civil suit. Does that sound like someone who is faking rape?
—–
Sure, personally I THINK it’s very possible that Kobe raped that woman. And if he did, I think he should have been locked up every day since then. All I’m saying is that I don’t KNOW he did it. Let me tell you some personal stuff so you can understand where I’m coming from a bit better…
Some of the most important women in my life have been sexually assaulted in the course of their lives. Women I love with all my heart. One of them was raped and it changed everything for her. Driving her to drugs and the brink of suicide. I know it happened because I know her. It broke my heart into a million pieces. Which is nothing compared to what it did to her. But I still wouldn’t want to be on a jury involving strangers. No matter the crime. I don’t claim to be good at that kind of thing and I’m certainly don’t pretend to be trained for it.
I would be terrified to let a guilty person go free. I would also be terrified to put an innocent person in jail.
If you or any other stranger were to tell me you have been raped in your life, I would almost certainly believe you. But I wouldn’t KNOW it to be true. I don’t have any relationship or history with you. We are, in fact, strangers. And it is my right to say, “I don’t know.” Because I don’t pretend to know the details of every situation happening in the world. To be clear…
That’s very different than saying, “Kobe didn’t rape her.” I’m certainly not doing that. I’m just saying I don’t know what happened in that room.
—–
(Let’s skip ahead a bit in the conversation)
—–
I am not saying rough sex never happens–just that MULTIPLE injuries and lacerations followed by a rape nurse saying these injuries are not consistent with consensual sex should be good enough for anyone to say yes, rape did take place. Did you notice Kobe’s victim had a drug overdose years later? Very common as you know for rape victims.
If one were to err, statistically we are far safer erring on the side of a rape victim—the number of false rape reports is infinitesimally small. I am asking that you give the same weight to the physical evidence in Kobe’s rape case and say, yes, it did happen.
I am honestly quite sad that you have said yes, although you do not know, you do think Kobe raped someone and yet still chose to honor him on your website.
—–
Oh, I’m certainly not attempting to honor him. Not at all. I said very openly and publicly that if he did it, he should be in jail. The numerous internet tributes to Kobe Bryant right now completely ignore the rape topic altogether. My post was such a small percentage about him. It was many scattered thoughts about the aftermath of a newsworthy event. There are a lot of things on my mind about the whole thing and I shared some of them. In no way is that post saying Kobe is an amazing guy who didn’t rape a human being.
—–
Thanks for recognizing the kind of generational trauma that a rape brings on. I am just so tired of how many cases there are of sexual abuse and think our society is not doing a good job of stopping it.
I used to counsel survivors of rape and sexual abuse and you get to see the common thread through survivors. Wanting an apology is huge. So many want an apology and I don’t believe a faker would care one way or the other about that.
There was a huge power differential. This is another common characteristic of rapists. They go after the loweliest victims, the ones least likely to be believed. Why would superstar Kobe “need” to rape a hotel worker? Remember Dominique Strauss-Kahn also sexually assaulted a hotel maid but went free on this consensual nonsense again. They go after the help because these are the people least likely to have the resources to fight them in court and win a criminal verdict. They choose their victims because they get off on the power differential. Are you familiar with the case of Jimmy Saville in the UK? That will make your skin crawl. He targeted girls in orphanages or correctional schools, because who will believe them? Rape is very much about power. That is part of why 90-odd year old women get raped still. It happened here recently.
It all adds up with Kobe. Every last bit of it. Please don’t let your experiences as a man cloud it for you. I think sometimes men over-worry about false accusations happening to them.
—–
Outside of the trauma and horrific pain a rapist causes…it’s also, in a basic sense, just absurdly selfish. Being willing to hurt someone that badly for personal desires. It’s frightening to know what some humans are capable of.
Like any person in their right mind, I’m not pro-rape. Quite the contrary. We’re talking about a disgusting and incomprehensible act. A violent crime. My mind really struggles to grasp how a man can even physically perform that act while someone is begging them to stop. But that doesn’t negate the fact that our society is in a very strange place right now. In so many ways. For example…
We often expect everyone to KNOW everything about every situation. To somehow be an expert on all current events. And if an opinion about a world event doesn’t fit into the correct box, people can get very upset. What’s my point? Simply that it’s ok for people to say, “I don’t know what happened.” Look, I don’t actually know all the information in that case. That certainly doesn’t make me pro-rape. But I just don’t consider it to be anyone’s responsibility to HAVE TO know what happened in a hotel room with Kobe Bryant.
It’s one thing to be upset with someone who says they know he didn’t do it. But it’s a whole other thing when someone is just saying, “I don’t know what happened.” Particularly when I completely agree that if he did do it, he should be in jail.
—–
There are no nuances in Kobe’s rape case. Rape is a crime of not having consent. His statement says he thought he had consent, but that he now realizes the woman did not see it that way. Therefore he himself admits the woman did not consent. No consent=rape. Do you understand that “thinking” you had consent is not a defense to rape?
If you can’t say you KNOW rape was committed when a man admits he later saw the woman did not see it as a consensual act, well then that is beyond disheartening.
—–
(Let’s skip ahead a bit more)
—–
I’m happy to keep debating with you if you’d like, but I have to ask – what is it that you want from me? I respect women as much as I respect men. I give respect to the majority of people in my life (unless they lose it later through their own actions) simply because they’re humans. To me, real fairness isn’t about saying men are the problem or women are the problem. But, rather, judging an individual on their own behavior. I don’t care if they’re black, white, Indian, gay, straight, male, female, or whatever. But I’m certainly not right 100% of the time. We all form opinions based on the information we have and those opinions change with new information.
I will say that I see people as individuals as well as anyone I know and don’t automatically think less of anyone based on their religion, color, gender, race, or anything like that. I’m not going around raping anyone or preaching that rape isn’t so bad. I’m just a guy who said he doesn’t know what the hell happened with Kobe and that woman. And it seems like you’re saying that the medical report plus a prepared statement from attorneys should be enough to say, “He did this. I know it.” I just can’t do that.
But I also don’t know why you need me to – with this degree of effort. I’m not on that jury. I haven’t consulted with a dozen different doctors to get their opinions. I’m not a crime expert. Nor a legal mastermind. I just don’t know why you want me to say I know Kobe raped that woman or why it matters to you so much. I don’t want anyone being raped. Ever. But it’s not for me to decide that case.
—–
Dunken hookups can never be consensual. Drink impairs the ability to give consent. Impairment is a reason you can legally get out of a contract, so if a drunken person is legally recognized as being unable to sign a contract, how can they give consent for sex? They can’t. I am sorry if this is an uncomfortable truth, but having sex with a drunken person is rape. Having sex with a retarded person is sex. Compos mentis is a thing.
What I need from you is for you to realize your inability to admit this rape that very clearly happened means you may not be the good guy you think you are. The ONLY thing arguing against Kobe raping that teenager is his statement that he thought he had consent and that is not credible in light of all the physical evidence and the teenager’s account. Period. Anyone who cannot admit this and want to preserve some nonsensical idea of innocence for Kobe is no ally to women.
And it would be nice, given how much you said about Kobe in your post, to amend it to include he was arrested for rape.
—–
Is it possible that you may not be the reasonable person you think you are?
—–
(And the conversation eventually reaches a “conclusion”)
—–
I’m in a war for women’s rights. I don’t care if someone that can’t call a rape a rape thinks I am unreasonable.
You are from India, right? A country that has practically institutionalized rape. Maybe examine what attitudes about women have been generationally passed down to you before adding to the misogyny problems the US has.
—–
At this point, I find myself caring much less what you think of me. This doesn’t appear to be a situation where I am talking to a reasonable human being. Please realize that you keep saying things that I did, said, or thought…that are not what I’m doing, saying, or thinking.
You’re from America, right? The same country that has school shootings all the time? That means you’re a lunatic who wants to watch children die, right? See where this path leads? Somewhere unreasonable and unfair. So please look in the mirror before pointing your finger so aggressively at people who are in no way against the thing you claim to be at war for.
(Oh, and I’m an American who grew up in Ohio and West Virginia)
Now, let’s take another trip back in the rewind machine. To a time when I uttered the name Donald Trump in a post. While making it clear that I’m not a super political guy. And certainly not a fanboy of Joe Biden. But I did want to make a point…
That we need to figure out a way to have at least some shared beliefs again. On some of the obvious stuff. Having a basic, shared foundation builds conversations. And relationships. So, yes, we should at least be able to look at the most obvious scumbags – like an almost-cartoon version of a shitty person – and, at minimum, not pretend he’s an awesome guy. That’s all. It has nothing to do with politics. Everything to do with our ability to be honest.
Here were a few of the memorable responses…
—–
Love the blog but sad to see you drinking the Cool Aid about our President.
—–
MileNerd, get out of Commiefornia before they brainwash you. DJT = greatest president we ever had.
—–
Well, I guess you got Trump off your chest. As for me, I think he’s a very smart business man. Like most super smart people, they lack some other skills like people skills, giving a speech etc. To look at his good qualities, they far out weigh his bad. People in leadership respect him.
—–
My replies were various versions of this…
Sorry, just needed a minute to pick my jaw from the floor. It’s one thing to vote for the guy. But, just to be clear…
You actually think the host of Celebrity Apprentice is a “super smart” individual who is respected? Honestly? I mean this with no sarcasm, but it’s really one of the most fascinating things I’ve ever seen. That people actually view that man in that way.
Ok, let me ask you this – what would it take for you to change your opinion of him? I’m genuinely asking. What specifically would you need to see to change your opinion?
(And would it matter if you saw video footage of it? Let’s say it was footage of him doing something to a child. Or a clip of him killing an innocent man. Just as the most extreme examples possible)
I’m asking this question for real. Because if you haven’t seen enough yet, I am legitimately trying to understand what it would take. Is there anything you could see from him that would change your opinion?
—–
No response. And I did also get a few more articulate emails. Like this one…
I like your blog but to believe Donald Trump is all the evil things you hear in social media or news outlets is not healthy. Can he be a jerk? Sure it’s not like Joe Biden is some saint. Everyone has to make a choice for who they think the best leader is.
You seem like an intelligent person and maybe that’s why I enjoy reading your posts. I wouldn’t expect you to change your vote based on some points I could write here but after the election regardless of who wins take some time and do a bit of research into Trump. Sure he can be a blowhard and the Democrats have gone crazy in hatred toward him but there is more to the story. He is not a racist. He has never supported foreign wars, I doubt there are many people who dislike the Russians more than Donald Trump. He is not the evil enemy you may have been led to believe. Do yourself a favor and look for what lies you may have been told along the past 4 years. Sure you still may not support the President but don’t believe the hype. I’m more worried about you seeing how the media has played the American people than who you vote for. There are larger long term issues at hand. The Social Dilemma movie on Netflix is a good place to start but it is biased to the left so understand it’s a threat to both sides. Oh and thanks for voting, people have died for your right to vote.
—–
Thanks for the email. In fairness, you’re talking to someone who doesn’t need to pay attention to hype. I have 3 very good friends who have worked for Trump. When that reality show was in production, my closest friend at the time actually lived with me. His job? Working on the crew of that particular show.
I say this with plenty of specific knowledge. The guy is a complete and utter scumbag. And has been for many years. Long before anything to do with politics. Not really a mystery what kind of person he is. Pretty easy to see from decades of his own words and actions, but I’m happy to tell you some of the private stories. Doesn’t sound like you would believe them, though.
I would just suggest one thing…
Instead of telling others to learn more about Donald Trump, maybe the best course would be for you to do that. There might be people out there whose opinions are based on things other than watching the news. People who might have a longer history around the man than you do.
Guess how many of those people wrote back?
Zero.
Whether I replied with sarcasm or not. Even if I flat-out said, “I have personal information on this exact subject that you might be interested in knowing.”
They had no interest in it.
No desire for new information.
I’ve shared all these interactions for a reason. The following is what I learned from them…
1 – It’s very rare that a conversation isn’t worth the time. Even the ones above.
Obviously, these examples aren’t the norm. Through the years, there have been countless kind and pleasant emails. Almost all of them. But there’s a reason I write back to everyone and always have. Even when it seems pointless. (Editor’s note: If you didn’t get a response along the way, I was either overwhelmed by something and lost track of your email – or you didn’t check your spam folder. As far as I know, those are the only two possibilities)
The thing is, guys…these conversations helped me learn more clearly who I’m not. You probably know some “I don’t wanna talk about it” types. Well, I’m not that. And sometimes the awkward or unpleasant stuff reminds you who you don’t want to be. Some conversations are messy. Some just suck. But, unless a person is legitimately insane, I believe it’s always worth the time to try.
2 – Blind spots. Obviously, these interactions were good examples of how blind spots work. But I’m not just pointing a finger at others. There are also things we don’t want to feel differently. You and me. Maybe not politics. Maybe not the guilt or innocence of Kobe Bryant. But we do the same damn thing in our own heads. We lock in. Forming our opinions, adopting our beliefs, and shaping our perspectives – and then we build a bulletproof wall around some of them. It’s the basic point of therapy. To help us off our mental merry-go-rounds. Maybe you know what I’m talking about. The stuff we cling to with all our strength.
Admitting you do it too is huge. Being able to see those parts of yourself where you don’t entertain the possibility of bring wrong. Shit, they’re called “blind spots” for a reason, right? Most people can’t see them. We’d rather just talk about what a great flick The Matrix is. And then ignore all the ways we live in our own matrix in our own lives. Seeing is only the first step.
I don’t want to be a person who just believes what he believes day after day no matter what…and then dies thinking all the same shit forever. Too scared to consider where I have things wrong. I don’t want to put myself in such a small box. And I don’t want to do it to others. I’d like to be better than that.
That’s what I’ve learned.
3 – Final lesson. It’s easy to look at those emails and think, man, that shit is crazy. But these were also MY worst interactions. My worst communication efforts. And I never felt great about it. My day-to-day conversations go so differently. Sure, some people really are lunatics. But I don’t think any of those emailers were. I’ve learned that people are in pain. From things that happened long before a strange conversation.
Why was it so important for that woman to hear me to say, “Yes, Kobe raped someone in Colorado”? Obviously, she is in pain. In some way that I don’t know or understand. It can get covered up with anger and intensity. But something happened along the way to create it in her.
How can any non-lunatic look at Donald Trump and see an awesome guy? Whether they realize it or not, there’s pain underneath. Caused by people in their lives or bad politicians. Who knows. But something did happen along the way.
Is my job to fix it? Absolutely not. We all need to do our own work on ourselves. It’s an inside job. But I learned that it’s something worth remembering. People are in pain. And that’s so easy to forget.
I’ve had countless amazing interactions through MileNerd. A few of which have evolved into deeply special relationships in my life. I’ve seen it over and over again….you just never know where a conversation might lead. But I think when we’re too quick to discard someone into the “crazy” box, we remove all potential. All possibility. It’s very easy to think of someone as crazy. Shove them in that familiar box and stick that familiar label on them. I’ve learned that I don’t need to be in such a rush to do that. Why not stay a little more open to the possibility that someone might surprise us?
The final email I want to share with you was the best one from last month. Actually, it was my favorite from the entire year…
—–
Hello Mr. Walia, I’m a churning-obsessed 18-year-old fellow Indian-American from norcal who just came across your blog from some random Reddit post on some CC sub, last night at 2:03am. It’s 8:12am as I write this. Sir, I just wanted to tell you … you’re far and away the most riveting writer I’ve ever come across. Over the last six hours, I’ve cried, let out insanely loud bursts of mirth, and empathized with just so much of what you’ve written (started at Jan ’19). I mean this sincerely, you’ve really changed my perspectives on so much and your wisdom is frankly insane. I’m going to have to disagree with you on the written word not having the potential to change minds — you just have for me. Honestly, I’m simply not quite sure what to say; I haven’t come across a work of art as moving and impactful as this diary of yours. I can’t wait to share this with those I love. I wish you the very best of luck (which there’s quite a lot of, I’ve now learned) in your health, well-being, and future endeavors, and you have a new lifelong reader who can’t wait for the 1st of the month eagerly enough as long as you keep the site active 🙂 In gratitude. PS Lebron isn’t better than MJ, I agree. But Wilt is…
—–
Obviously, the email made my day. Impossible for it not to, right? But it also helps me with the original question…
“What do I want this blog to be in the new year?”
Man, I haven’t even known how to describe with this is. Sure, I knew what it was. MileNerd was a miles-and-points blog for nearly a decade. A place to go within that hobby without fear of being taken advantage of. But I retired it. And, four years later, I don’t even think MileNerd is an appropriate name anymore.
Today? I assume you are here because you like how I write. Maybe even how I think. And, yeah, I do have a talent for this form of expression – when I take the time to tell stories with care.
But…
That email really clarified something for me. And not just because he said a lot of flattering shit.
When someone takes the time to reach out to a stranger, any stranger, with such warmth…that is a rare breed. It bridges the gap between us. And that’s what I hope to be in 2023. As usual, one month I’ll tell you a funny story. The next month, I might try opening my heart in a vulnerable way. But it’s all just in the hope of making a human connection.
Of bridging the gap.
Thousands of people showed up here each day to get information on deals. For years. Over 100 emails awaited me each morning asking for help. Asking for information. Asking for something. Guess how many still reach out to say, “Hey MileNerd, I’m hitting this one hard and just wanted to make sure you were aware of it.”
Maybe two or three.
Post-retirement, there are still a ton of loyal readers. How many of them take the time to express any feedback about the posts that resonate?
A small handful.
That isn’t meant as criticism. Am I asking for that? Hell no. But what I am saying is that’s the kind of person I want to be. Someone who takes a little more time for connection.
I haven’t actually been able to articulate why I spend these hours each month telling stories.
(Not until a rare breed of an 18-year-old made it so damn obvious)
Words can make an impact. Words can connect. Shit, sometimes words can even make us feel less alone.
I want this blog to be about human connection.
And I guess I always did.
But an 18-year-old kid reminded me how much that matters.
It has, somehow, been 4 years since the MileNerd days. Huh? I stopped writing a daily miles and points blog…4 years ago?? Could have sworn all of that was just yesterday. This whole time thing needs to chill, right?
Alas, it never will.
As we accelerate into the holiday season, here are my scattered thoughts and observations from 2022…
Favorite purchase of the year? Theragun (yes, I’m old).
Critical things to be great at in this crazy world? I nominate: Stress management and ability to focus. Massive connection between those 2 things and what someone accomplishes with their time.
Birthday parties for babies. Why?
Lessons. They’re what you receive when you don’t get what you want. Wise people pay close attention. The masses lick wounds and wait for that same lesson to appear yet again.
Movie theaters in airports. Who says no?
How to know when you’re old? It’s right around the time you start making sound effects when you stand up.
Seek clarity in your relationships.
Most underrated skill? You see it in the people who routinely say things like this with ease: “That’s on me.” “I screwed that up.” “Wow, I had this all wrong.” Really observe. Watch how those people always seem to grow. Not a coincidence. Most don’t want to see where they have things wrong. They’ll build their entire universe around that avoidance. Remaining stuck until the end. Do everything you can to avoid that mental prison. Search out the ways you are wrong.
Speaking of babies, why do their clothes have pockets?
Favorite movie of the year? “Everything Everywhere All At Once.” By a wide margin.
If you back into parking spaces…reevaluate everything.
“Attitude is the difference between an ordeal and an adventure.”
How to know when you’re old? It’s right around the time you start asking, “When did college students start looking like high school kids!?”
As the world keeps score of every screwup in a “Gotcha!” way, it becomes more important to fight this in ourselves. Our world may have forgotten. We must remember. Mistakes are ok. Messing up was never supposed to be a way of proving that someone sucks. We can be better than that.
Have Apple Pie a la Mode for breakfast at least once before you die.
Generalize less.
Listen more.
Truly forgive someone who has wounded you before you die.
Favorite meal of the year? Hawksmoor, New York City.
Still having heavy conversations in writing? Don’t justify it. Just be honest. That comes out of laziness or, more often, fear. And it’s not helping you or anyone else. If you care about someone, this is part of you show it in our new world. Don’t have those conversations in writing.
Favorite athlete of the year? Steph Curry.
Confidence is only possible when you show up for yourself.
Self-loathing is only possible when you believe a lie about yourself.
Elevators seem like a pretty straightforward process. The people inside walk out. Then, the people outside walk in. How are we still struggling with this?
Don’t forget to breathe.
Emotional maturity is rare. Most people don’t even know how to define it. Being obsessively even-keeled and repressing your emotions is not maturity. So, what is? For one thing, not shutting down around emotions (including your own). Being able to handle healthy pain, anger, intimacy, and intensity. Knowing it’s all a normal part of life. And being able to differentiate (A) someone trying to hurt you, from (B) someone just being a human being with feelings.
If you include politics in your social media bio…reevaluate everything.
Just because you’re done with your past…doesn’t mean your past is done with you.
You are not your crazy thoughts. You are the observer of them.
If you won’t change habits, nothing will ever get better.
How to know when you’re old? It’s right around the time you have a favorite mug and form strong opinions about salt shakers.
Give in to love. Before it’s too late. Maybe you grew up in a home that didn’t show you a healthy form of love. Hurt people hurt people, right? Maybe you never figured out how to put down the self-protection. But there is someone in this world who deserves your trust. All of it. In our youth, we didn’t understand it because we couldn’t. But now it’s clear. There’s nothing more special than love. Allow it in. Accept it with care. And treat anyone who gives it to you with kindness.
As a society, we literally use “literally” incorrectly.
Trying to please everyone is a great way to ensure you won’t please anyone all that much.
Who do you want to be in 5 years? How would that person spend today?
How to know when you’re old? It’s right around the time you develop a magical ability to drink one beer and wake up fat.
“A different version of you exists in the mind of every single person who knows you.”
Fight for yourself and your wants. Nobody else can. There isn’t a cavalry that exists to do that job. Somewhere inside is a person with dreams – and the clock is ticking fast.
How to know when you’re old? It’s right around the time you strongly consider Birkenstocks.
Don’t auto-reject the people and things outside of your comfort zone. Turn down the volume on head-shaking. Turn up the volume on curiosity. Swim around in discomfort.
If you feel it’s wrong for people to use their reclining seats as intended…reevaluate everything.
Favorite quote of the year? “Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one’s courage.”
Finally, I know this has been a rough year for so many of us. In a wide variety of ways. If you need to hear this, please hold on to hope. You. Fucking. Matter. Rich or poor…happy or miserable…popular or lonely. No matter how much the world can make you feel otherwise…you matter. And you always will. It isn’t something you have to earn.
This isn’t some Sandra Bullock romcom featuring the delightful British actor Hugh Grant. It’s real life. And I’ve never been so late for a flight. It was supposed to be a simple 23-minute Uber ride. How have I been sitting in this slow-moving Buick for over an hour?
My driver has a hard-to-identify accent which accompanies his mysterious odor. I have many questions. Why does it smell like cabbage in his car? How does he have so many vowels in his name? And why won’t he just follow his maps? Nobody is smarter than technology, sir. Nobody!
Ok, just breathe.
Miracles happen every day, right? Paris Hilton has a career…the Kardashians are billionaires…and Herchel Walker impresses actual human beings with his brainpower.
I can make this flight.
The driver with 6 vowels in his first name speaks calmly into his iPhone. Not a care in the world. Does he know how close we’re cutting this? Also, what language is he speaking? It sounds totally made up. How do I know there’s even a person on the other end of that phone line? Maybe this is a movie. A Halloween thriller about being trapped with a slow-moving, cabbage-hoarding lunatic.
Beads of sweat are marching down my forehead.
I decide to initiate conversation…
“Maybe just follow the map? That’s probably the fastest way, right?”
He glares back at me coldly in the rearview mirror without saying a word.
The silence is deafening.
I scroll through ESPN scores as if I’m not trapped in a deathmobile at 3 miles per hour. This is fine. I’ll just ignore the fact that my left leg is starting to twitch. Who needs body control anyway?
Miraculously, the deathmobile begins moving at a normal rate of speed. Then much faster. The Man With Too Many Vowels In His Name has found a hidden reservoir of motivation. We race through town. All of his terrible shortcuts are now working. He’s actually a hell of a driver. It’s as if a switch got flipped – moving him from comatose to caffeinated.
We arrive at the airport. I thank him profusely and he stares at me like I just called his mother a prostitute. Alright, time to go. I hustle over to the Clear security area. They scan my eyeballs and escort me to the front of a very long line. People stare angrily as if they’re all related to The Man With Too Many Vowels In His Name.
I have 9 minutes to make it to the gate. Nothing can stop me now.
(Right then, security stops me)
They need to look through my bag. Either because of liquids or because I’m a hairy brown man with sweat pouring down his face. Not sure which. They run a quick test on my saline and I’m free to go. I now have 3 minutes to make it the gate.
I run as fast as these hairy legs will move.
I can still make this flight.
Luckily, it’s Southwest Airlines. I arrive to find the usual clusterfuck of humanity. Two overflowing lines of confused people trying to figure out where to stand. I’m covered in sweat. So I squeeze in between all of the other flustered, sweaty people. Just in time to board our Greyhound bus through the sky.
This is quite a group. Even the flight attendants look like characters straight out of The Grapes Of Wrath.
Hungry.
Tired.
Covered in dust.
I stumble to my seat in the back of the bus plane. It’s quite possible the two other people in my row have never been spotted outside of a DMV. One of them is a tall lady wearing the most makeup I’ve ever seen on a face. It looks almost like Ronald McDonald is sitting in that window seat. She’s just staring at the tray table in front of her. Completely still.
No reading.
No music.
Just staring.
Who’s in the middle seat? An elderly gentleman wearing multiple sweaters. At least 3 of them. All underneath his extra-thick winter coat. Do I understand avoiding checked bags? Absolutely. But this guy is a human walk-in closet. He’s overflowing out of his seat area. And why on earth would he choose a middle seat? He’s clearly not with Ronald McDonald over there.
Has anyone in the history of Southwest Airlines made the choices that this old dude is making?
Ok, let’s not assume. Maybe he isn’t aware that he can sit wherever he wants. So, I decide to let him know. He’s roughly the size of Texas right now and could use some extra space.
“Would you like to take the aisle seat, sir? It’s yours if you want it.”
He smiles and nods. And thus begins the lengthy process of watching someone try to roll out of a middle seat cocoon. I debate whether I should give him a hand. Or maybe a push. Eventually, I realize the choice is clear…
Do not touch anyone on this plane.
As I finally settle into my seat between Grimace and Ronald McDonald, I realize something. There’s no way I’ll be able to use the bathroom on this flight. It might take hours or a crane to move him again. Could be wise not to order any drinks. I mentally pat myself on the back for helping out a man buried under 42 layers of clothing. But, wow, it’s a tight squeeze. I decide to request a small bit of comfort…
“Just lemme use the armrest please.”
Grimace nods and smiles.
(And then immediately takes over the armrest for the duration of the flight)
On the final night, I settled in to watch a game at the crowded sportsbook. Wanted to make sure the empty seat was free. But before I could finish the question, my boisterous seat neighbor bellowed:
“It’s got your name on it, pal!”
We were off and running…
Joel, by his own admission, is in a “sweet spot.” Life is cruising along. He’s a successful 62-year-old attorney from Texas with a magnetic personality. Health, career, and friendships? All good. And, surprisingly, the guy is more than just a talker. Dude really knows how to listen. To the point that I had to ask him about it…
He attributed his skill to two factors:
A job that is mainly about being a negotiator. The key to success, according to Joel? Listening.
His father. The greatest man he has ever known. His hero and example.
Whenever someone talks about their father as a best friend, it honestly sounds like a foreign language to me. Genuinely hard to comprehend. And when Joel started talking about his parents’ beautiful marriage, that seemed even more alien. But different stories, different impacts…
The football game continued on, the drinks kept flowing, and the conversation kept deepening…
No longer just a run-of-the-mill chat.
We were talking about everything now…
Turns out that Joel has no kids and no wife. But he was married once – three decades ago – to a woman who broke his heart by cheating on him. And, really, by lying. See, integrity is very important to him. That’s how his parents were.
As Joel answered my questions with passion, I was genuinely surprised by what was happening behind his eyes…
This 62-year-old man who had his heart broken at 32…
Was still crushed by this.
Today.
He really loved her. Having gone into it with his heart wide open. With dreams of a marriage like the one his father had.
But, when that didn’t work out, what happened next?
For the next 30 years (and counting), Joel covered up his pain. Much like we all do.
With…stuff.
Careers or drinking or anxiety or whatever else we use. Fill in the blank. It’s all the same attempt to distract ourselves from sitting in our hurt.
Joel still can’t see it after all this time…
The problem wasn’t his going “all-in.”
He just went all-in on the wrong person…for the wrong reasons…
And then “protected” himself for the next 30 years.
Like we all do in our own ways.
We get hurt, learn the wrong lessons, and then try to “protect” ourselves in such strange ways.
But what if you are actually so much more than your self-protection?
