Mile Nerd

A Simple Time

Let’s gather around the campfire, close our eyes, and try to visualize the days of yore.

Maybe we’ll even be able to remember that a society existed before the coronavirus mass freakout.

Wait, I think I remember it…

It’s all starting to come back to me now…

Such a simple era it was.

(That historic period known as 2 weeks ago in mid-February)

Ah, those were the days…

Our big freakout back then was the “issue” of people reclining on airplanes.

Remember that?

Since I lack the brainpower to solve anything virus-related, I’ll just buckle down and focus on a subject I know very well…

Jackassery.

Think of the coolest humans you’ve ever known. Because I think I can tell you a special trait they all share. Something only found in the best of the best. It’s not about money, status, or being a perfect person. We all screw up constantly in our lives. But the cream of the crop can do something that the masses cannot…

They have an ability to look at their behavior and say:
“Yeah, I was a jackass there.”

And not just with big screwups once a year. No, they can do it on a daily basis. In big ways and small. Sounds simple enough, right? But that leads to being able to really talk to those people and feeling safe in arguments with them. Simple as it sounds, admitting error is literally the definition our society uses for being a “big person.”

On the other hand, think of all the mediocre people you’ve known. Most of them just can’t (or won’t) admit when they’re wrong. At least not with ease. It can often feel like pulling teeth to get them to see when they’re being a jackass. You can only go so far with a person like that. That stubbornness hurts a person’s ability to be a good friend, employee, spouse, parent, and boss.

In 2020, even the obvious shit (like reclining seats) is up for debate now. There are strange opinions all over the place and that can get frustrating. So, as the Dean Of Clarity here, I’m ready to help guide you through this mind-numbing sea of confusion. Welcome to, “Who Is The Jackass In This Situation 101.”

Here are a few real-world scenarios..

Starbucks:
(A) Marketing guy in an expensive suit gets to the front of the line, staying on the phone constantly, and gives the barista a “just one more minute” finger wag while continuing his phone conversation.
Answer: Frat guy is the jackass here. Odds of him seeing it? Slim-to-none.

(B) You walk into the same Starbucks, see people working on their laptops and devices at every table, sigh loudly enough for people to hear your passive aggressive disapproval…and leave.
Answer: You’re the jackass here. Nothing major. Good starting point to embrace the power of seeing your day-to-day minor jackassery.

Driving:
(A) Teenage girl has trouble staying in her lane because she’s making a Snapchat video while driving. You honk at her and she gives you the finger.
Answer: Not only is she the jackass here…this is high-level jackassery that might actually get someone killed one day.

(B) On the same highway, you tailgate a car because the driver is going slightly under the speed limit in the right lane.
Answer: You’re the jackass in this case. It happens. Yes, the driver might be annoying. But they don’t owe it to you to drive at the speed that makes you most comfortable.

Grocery Store:
(A) You wait behind frazzled and sleep-deprived new parents who attempt to buy 27 items in the “10 Items Or Less” lane. No emergency happening…just a lack of sleep and energy. You express that it isn’t fair to the people in line.
Answer: They may have a decent reason…but they’re the jackasses here.

(B) You get stuck behind an old-timer who appears to be from another era. Moving slowly and clearly not part of the typical go-go-go energy of 2020. This person pulls out a checkbook and is chipping away at your patience with each second of this brutal time suckage. You mutter, “Serously?” and bury it under an impatient cough.
Answer: You’re the jackass here. Sure, it sucks to be stuck behind this person….but what makes you entitled to have someone move at your preferred pace and use your preferred method of payment?

Bathrooms:
(A) Men and women share a single one-stall bathroom at work and one guy from Accounting always leaves the toilet seat up. Every single day.
Answer: Like it or not, he’s the jackass there. But, hey, at least he’s better than the dude who pees on the seat and doesn’t flush. That guy might have serial killer tendencies.

(B) Same bathroom. Someone waits outside the door for you to finish. You hear the light knocking but it doesn’t sound urgent. So you continue to do some leisurely reading and…well, yeah, you’re the jackass here.

Theater:
(A) A businesswoman with a new iPhone sits in the row in front of you checks her emails during the movie. Her thinking is, “The movie sucks, I turned the brightness way down, and there isn’t anyone sitting next to me.”
Answer: Her thinking is really about her discomfort in seeing, “I’m the jackass here.” And if she actually takes a phone call, her jackassery goes to the next level. If she uses her speakerphone, she (like all public speakerphone users) should be placed under immediate house arrest.

(B) You spend big money to see Denzel on Broadway. You make a glamorous weekend out of it for this to be a special gift for your best friend (who just got dumped). You excitedly enter the theater, sit down, and realize that your seats are directly behind two very tall basketball players. You are bummed for good reason…this weekend cost a small fortune. The theater is packed and there aren’t any other seats available. Your passive aggressive grumbling begins. Deep down in your frustration, you hope they hear it because you can’t see over their massive heads.
Answer: The situation sucks, but you are the jackass here. There are various non-jackass reactions available, but all of those involve expressing yourself like a normal, healthy adult.

Jussie Smollett
(A) A celebrity fakes a hate crime and lies about it. Pretty clear domino effect…
Claim a hate crime when there’s no hate crime…do damage to actual victims of hate crimes.
Much like lying about a rape when there wasn’t one will do damage to actual victims of rape.
Answer: Smollett is the jackass here and should pay the appropriate legal price for his actions.

(B) Let’s pretend I am so much angrier about fake hate crimes and fake rapes than I have ever been about a real perpetrator of either of those crimes.
Answer: I’m the jackass here. And that kind of mismatched emotion speaks volumes about me.

And now to our conclusion…

Reclining Seats On An Airplane
First, the anger in this national debate was somewhat illogical. It would have made more sense if the emotion was directed at the airlines for squeezing people into small spaces to such a degree. This reminded me of a Whole Foods near my home that was built with abnormally small dimensions. There is no possible way to have 2 shopping carts fit in an aisle there at the same time. The store was designed perfectly to create confrontations. And there is drama happening every single day in that Whole Foods. So let’s assume that some airlines have created a similar mess. Well, most people still don’t want to make formal complaints, attempt to figure out solutions, or even do the most basic research about which airlines offer the most legroom. When it comes down to it, the masses would rather just book the cheapest flight they can find and then bitch when they get on the plane. For the special people who actually care about looking fairly and reasonably at a situation, let’s break this one down…

Any elbowing, shoving, kicking, or pushing on a flight for non-extreme reasons is clear-cut jackassery. Any pounding on the back of someone’s seat like a brain-dead gorilla belongs on the list of things we shouldn’t have to debate.

Answer: There is zero excuse for pounding on someone’s back when all they’ve done is reclined their seat as it is designed to do. Yes, flying is often a pain. Yes, it blows when someone reclines and you get even less space. But if you have an issue with someone reclining (other than during takeoff and landing), then it is in fact your issue. If it’s that important to you, just ask like a sane person if the person in front would mind sitting up a bit. Under no circumstances is the appropriate response banging on someone’s chair simply because you can’t speak to a human. No banging is acceptable. Not even when you’re behind the gross travel slob who farts 57 times during a flight. And not even with the nasty barefoot lady who puts her toes up on the tray table next to you. If you deal with these people by shoving them…you must enroll in Jackass 102 immediately.

Laker Town

It’s been just over a year since I retired from writing about miles and points. I haven’t looked back to see how interesting (or strange) the things are that have popped into my head each month since. But that’s how it goes…whatever is in my head is all I write about now.

Over these past few days, I’ve absorbed countless hours of information about a helicopter crash 10 miles from my home. My brain is currently in obsession mode. I just can’t turn this coverage off. I’m watching and reading everything.

A little backstory…

Los Angeles is (obviously) a different kind of place. One that confuses the hell out of tourists. It can feel like an endless maze of freeways, obviously. But it’s also more like 100 towns than it is a typical big city with a real center. My sister moved here a few years ago and I warned her how important it would be to build her own community. Because, in a lot of ways, the city doesn’t offer a normal sense of one.

LA is full of people from somewhere else. Which is why you don’t hear any chatter about LA pride like you do so often in New York or Texas or wherever else. A big percentage of this city arrived here later in life with their roots planted elsewhere. Even the buildings tend to lack history here. If you want to walk through a 200 year-old relic that overflows with interesting stories…jump on a flight to New Orleans. Here, old structures get replaced by something new and shiny every time. But Los Angeles does have one institution that fills its people with pride. Something so powerful that it can even pull this city together with a semblance of community…

I am, of course, referring to the Lakers.

It’s hard to describe just how much this city adores their team. More than Dallas loves the Cowboys…more than New York loves pizza…hell, even more than Alabama loves illiteracy.

The Lakers have been the gold standard for athletic franchises over the last 40 years. You’ve heard all the “Hollywood” stereotypes of “too cool for school” California people, right? All the vanity about how they look? Well, throw it out the window when it comes to the Lakers. Expensive luxury cars are decorated in purple and gold flags just like the old clunkers are. Famous faces are dressed in the same mismatched team gear as blue collar fans. And every bar on every block…in rich neighborhoods and poor…will erupt with the same jubilant cheers during each playoff win.

This disconnected city comes together for their beloved team every season.

Contrary to current opinions, Kobe was neither the best nor the worst human being who has ever lived. But he was the recognizable face of a remarkable franchise for a long time. I’ve watched movie stars giggle like starstruck teenagers when getting a chance to meet the guy.

In the 20 years that I’ve lived in this city, I’ve never experienced a collective emotion like what has happened since that helicopter went down. I haven’t seen anything close to this. It feels like everything stopped for a few days here after that crash. But it’s national news. As always, my biggest passion is observing humans. And there’s just so much to observe right now. These are my thoughts on various subjects that have to do with all this. My writing will be much sloppier than usual because I’m obsessively reading and watching everything right now. Please forgive the unusually poor grammar and consider this to be more of a stream-of-consciousness type of writing than usual.  

Thought 1 – Death is wild

It’s incredible how we humans will keep seeing death over and over in our lives and then continue to respond to it by saying stuff like, “I can’t believe it. I just talked to him yesterday.”

Obviously…logically…we talked to him yesterday because he was alive then. And now he’s dead. But that seems to be a very difficult part of our human nature. We just can’t grasp how precious life is or how suddenly it all ends. We understand the concept in our heads, but then each day we go right back to acting like it’s a sure thing we’ll wake up tomorrow.

No wonder we’re all so drawn to people who live life fully like the valuable commodity it is.

Thought 2 – Celebrities  vs. “regular people”

This whole concept of celebrity is strange. But so many people automatically think of “celebrities” as either better or worse than “regular people.” And that takes a weird dynamic to an even weirder place. It’s so scary how easily we lump individuals into a “type.” Shouldn’t it be common sense that there are both wonderful and awful white people, black people, Christians, Muslims, celebrities, coal miners, rich people, poor people, and everything else? Why’s it so hard for us to see humans as individuals? Automatically thinking of “celebrities” as good or bad is absurd. We have more thoughts about Kobe than the others simply because we’ve spent more time watching him. It’s impossible to have as many opinions about the others in that chopper because we haven’t had years of footage of them. That doesn’t mean they’re better or worse. Just that they’re strangers to us and he isn’t.

At first, I found myself thinking, “It must be extra tough being a family member of the other passengers because the story is all about Kobe.” But then I looked closer at the coverage. Those other names and faces are being shown all over. And then I heard this man talking about how helpful it has been for him to see so many other people grieving at the same time. Finally, it was touching to see this foundation dedicated to helping the other victims with the financial side of this. I believe they’re receiving significantly more attention than they would have if this were just a “regular” helicopter accident.

Thought 3 – Being sad for people you don’t know

I went to the post office yesterday and the clerk was a sweet woman who looked to be in her early thirties. She greeted me warmly and asked how my day was going. I told her it seems like this has been an odd week for everyone. That’s literally all I said. And then I noticed her eyes welling up with tears. She said, “I’m not even into basketball, but can’t watch any of the stories. I don’t know why it makes me cry but it’s just so sad.”

Why do people get emotional when someone famous dies?

It seems to be a very common theme. I’m hearing a bunch of stuff like, “I can’t believe I’m this sad about someone I didn’t know.”

But…why?

First, we’re human. It would be very strange to feel nothing when hearing about a guy taking his daughter to her basketball game and them dying in a fiery crash on the way. But, beyond that, I think the more positive memories we have with someone…the more they mean to us emotionally. And millions of people had countless good times “with” Kobe Bryant from afar. Grilling steaks with loved ones while cheering on a team can become real highlights in our life. Those can become great memories for us. Doing that kind of thing for years while watching a person can become a relationship of sorts. So, I don’t think it’s strange at all when I hear this impacted someone like a “real” loss would. Especially because these people died prematurely.

Thought 4 – A need to canonize or crucify

Kobe clearly wasn’t a perfect man. And I find it strange how we suddenly start viewing people as that after they die. But it’s also odd that so many others are convinced they know…without a doubt…this guy was a violent rapist. If true, then obviously he should be in jail. But what do most of us actually know? Whenever there’s a settlement and statement, there is so much negotiated that we simply have no knowledge of. So, why do we need to act like we know what happened? Whether we think of him as innocent or guilty, why do so many of us feel convinced that we know what happened in that hotel room?

Media is a very powerful tool. And social media has taken that to another level in the last few years. It happens more than we realize. Media tells us what to feel. And then we feel that. We’re programmed no matter what side of a narrative we’re on. I find this to be a very dangerous trend.

Obviously, nobody should get away with rape. My point is this…if you see him as the bad one and the other victims as the good ones, what are you basing that on? Your intimate knowledge of the lives of the people on that helicopter? Because I don’t know if you have that. And if you see Kobe as a heroic figure who could never rape anyone, what are you basing that on? All the times you hung out together by the lake? I think many of us are very comfortable forming strong opinions with limited information.

(Clearly, there are legal and medical experts who are much smarter than I am when it comes to the specifics of a case like this. And if they do actually know it intimately, then I’m certainly not referring to them and their expertise)

Thought 5 – What about luck?

I’ve been trying to read about the crash itself, but it seems like those answers won’t come for months (if at all). And I don’t know if that really matters. We move on while those families stay devastated by this indefinitely. And I guess that’s how this stuff goes. Life moves on, but the families involved in tragedies are left with a supersized hole in their world. There has been a staggering amount of love and emotion with this incident, while similar deaths happen every day. I guess it’s good that this one captured our attention. And maybe one day we’ll really grasp just how short all this is…how lucky we are to make it to the end of a day.

Or maybe we’ll just keep acting as if tomorrow is a sure thing.  

Realistic Resolutions

I should probably be more realistic about my New Year’s resolutions.

Like many of you, I will eat better…

For a week.

I’ll look deep into the eyes of my family and friends to articulate how much they matter…

Just as infrequently as ever.

And I’ll exercise with WAY more intensity…

(until I get tired of doing that)

So, instead of improvement, maybe my goal for the new year should be avoiding any further decay. On that note, here are…

The 10 types of people I want to avoid becoming in 2020:

• Dude who uses his speakerphone in public.
  What possible explanation is there for being that annoying? I certainly can’t go down the path of speakerphone dude in this new year. Because then I’ll just be a quick hop away from becoming a total sociopath….one who does the darkest of deeds…yes, texting in a movie theater. It’s critical I keep a close eye on my speakerphone use in 2020.

• Man who wakes people up from naps for no reason at all.
  You know the type, right? That special breed of jackass who wakes people up just to say something inane like, “Wow you were out for a while, huh?”

• Guy who says “that’s hilarious” instead of laughing.
  It seems so simple. When something is funny, humans laugh. How the hell do you mess with a natural reaction that even a toddler has perfected? Hopefully I’ll make it through the new year without screwing up my basic human instincts.

• Someone who insists on greeting others with a kiss on the cheek.
  How does that work, exactly? Do I kiss one cheek or both? Is there some light fondling involved? Man, I feel like I just figured out all of the various handshakes. Well, hopefully I can continue to draw the line at hugging.

• A person who uses phrases like “the biz” or “the hobby.”
  Clearly, this is unforgivable. But, beyond that, if I start using words like “slay,” “hashtag triggered,” or “movember,” please find me and scream loudly in my face. I will deserve that.

• Guy who can’t figure out how to enter an elevator.
  After a lifetime of getting into elevators, why is it still such an unsolvable puzzle for some? Is it really that difficult to let people out before trying to squeeze awkwardly past them? Fingers crossed that I can escape 2020 without joining the ranks of the elevator morons.

• Dude who brings his stinky food on an airplane.
  Remember the middle seat guy who ate a can of tuna 90 minutes after takeoff? Well, I do. Because he sat inches from me last week and I’m still recovering from it. Which brings us to…

• Foodie who makes weirdly sexual noises when eating.
  I enjoy great cuisine as much as anyone, but do we actually need to hear orgasmic moaning in a restaurant? If you happen to hear those types of sounds from me at a dinner table in the new year, please consider it a midlife crisis situation. And send help.

• Person who won’t learn the difference between “your” and “you’re.”
  Normally, I’d say that’s the rock-bottom scenario for me. But there’s still one potential 2020 outcome that’s far more disturbing…

• Dude who continues to say “Happy New Year” in April.
  If I become that type of creature, it will probably mean that I’m also a leave-the-Christmas-lights-up-all-year man. Which is a clear indication that I’ve given up completely. No matter how bad this year gets…even if all else fails…I must draw the line at “Happy New Year” greetings before winter turns to spring.

Since it’s only January 1^st, it’s still safe to wish you guys all the best in 2020. Let’s all aspire to be something…anything…other than the people above. Happy new year, nerds!

Make It Personal

“Do you have any writing tips?”

I don’t think I heard that question one time in all the years I was doing the MileNerd thing.

But I’ve gotten it multiple times since retiring the blog and typing whatever the hell I feel like once a month.

Man, it’s a tough question…  

First, I’m obviously no Ernest Hemingway. On an Ern scale…my brainpower is closer to Ernest Goes To Camp. Or possibly Ernie from Sesame Street. I’m a very low-ranking Ern. But I guess this niche hobby has always had an absurdly poor level of competition. When I was MileNerd-ing for all those years, I wasn’t exactly surrounded by professional writers. Anyone would have looked great compared to those shady twatwaffles who were shitting out their sales brochures disguised as blogs.

Anyone can seem like Charlize Theron if the rest of the room is full of Roseanne Barrs.

But I thought about it recently. Since so many people seem to like what I do with words…maybe I’ve actually picked up some things here along the way. So I’ll try to answer the question as best I can.

Here are the top 5 things I’ve learned about writing over the years:

1. When a writer habitually misspells words (as if it’s a lifestyle choice), people will assume that writer is a dumbass.

Is that opinion always accurate? Probably not.

But showing basic care about spelling does matter. Sure, an occasional typo is normal. That’s not what I’m referring to. There’s plenty of abnormal out there right now. Scan any comment section on the internet and you’ll eventually find the words, “Your an idiot.” If, as a writer, that doesn’t make you want to run into a forest and scream…then it’s possible you’re not much of a writer yet.

Musicians will nerd out with music…tech geeks tend to nerd out with gadgets…and writers always nerd out about language. It’s pretty simple…if you are, in fact, a writer…words REALLY matter.

2. Good writers will put their personalities out there in a vulnerable way.

Comedians often talk about “finding their voice.” And I believe it’s similar for writers. You need to dig out your personality to fill the blank page with life. It took years for me to understand the difference between saying:

(A) Hilton’s devaluation is disappointing.

and

(B) Hilton is now essentially a fax machine. I know it exists in the world, but I have zero use for it.

Obviously, we all have such different personalities. Typically, there’s a correlation between a writer getting “better” and that writer finding their unique voice. Readers want you. Give them that.

3. Trying to impress readers with big words is amateur hour stuff.

Your writing goal should be connecting to other humans…not proving your intelligence to yourself.

Do – Find ways to make things personal.
Don’t – Use vocabulary as a way of proving your superiority over readers.

Last month, I wrote:
“We ate bologna sandwiches at his house and tandoori chicken at mine”

For me, that’s more effective than writing:
“We shared several extraordinary meals of various cuisines”  

Remember…the more personal it is, the more universal it is.

4. Have an opinion about what you’re saying.

Why bother writing words if you don’t give a shit about them?
Embrace the fact that you’re a storyteller. We all are. Even with something as dry as miles and points, you can do better than just reporting facts. Look for little opportunities to paint a picture.

Last month, I wrote:
“He was everything I wasn’t. Confident, handsome, and possibly the most athletic person in the world. He dribbled a basketball like he had Olympic tryouts the next day. His blonde hair bounced gracefully as he drained shot after shot. What was this…a Salon Selectives commercial?”
 
See how that last sentence is the payoff? Everything before it was a setup to get to that line. So, once I finally get there…the extra detail works so much better than just saying:
“What was this…a shampoo commercial?”

Find those moments of specificity. Don’t overuse them, because your writing still needs to flow. But having those little moments, within a well-written piece, will make people fall in love with your writing. Obviously, do it in a way that’s 100% your own. Allow your voice to come out. If you’re not naturally funny, there are SO MANY different ways to be specific.

5. Be willing to throw stuff out.

I find that good writers can be obsessive about it. You really know when you finally put a perfect sentence together. It sure as hell doesn’t happen often. And, for a writer, that moment feels amazing. You’ve solved a very challenging puzzle.

But…

You’ve got to be honest when something just isn’t working. You can’t be precious about throwing stuff out. I mean, as an overgrown child…I’ve been trying to find a way to land a joke about the number 69 for years. Literally years. But, thankfully, I can usually see when I’m being an idiot. And none of those jokes ever worked…so they all got thrown into the dumpster.

That’s where a lot of your ideas are destined to go.  

Other times, you’ll come up with something that you know in your gut has potential…but it isn’t fully there yet.

Here’s an example…

I started scribbling notes about an idea called, “When The Space Aliens Invade” way back in 2011. But I never figured out how to express my thought in a way that lands. So, let’s head into the lab to see why this stayed in the unfinished pile.

When the aliens invade

You’ll finally have something real to worry about

There won’t be any time to fight over politics

We won’t be insecure about brand names

Or the size of our homes

You won’t need more botox in your face

And can stop chasing after dollar bills

Nobody will be bullied because of the color of their skin

Or worried about who’s marrying who

Mothers won’t pressure daughters about weight

Fathers won’t care about sons being manly

Homeless or rich

All sides of the track

We’ll be in it together

Side by side

No time to call each other names

Or to look down our noses

We’ll pick up those who fall

We’ll ask for help

We’ll all be on the same team

Brothers and sisters

Finally

So…when do the aliens invade?

As you can see, there’s a decent half-idea there. The start of something interesting that doesn’t quite work yet. It’s one of many things that I started to write but couldn’t quite figure out. Maybe I’ll figure it out and maybe I won’t. Overall, I think this is what I’ve noticed about writing…

Most people don’t nerd out with it. So, if you actually care enough to spend time in the pursuit of finding your voice…if you actually obsess about how to get your thoughts “just so” in writing…

You are a writer.

And you should probably keep doing it.

Beyond that…if you learn anything else along the way…let me know.

Road Trip

It was the summer before fifth grade. My parents said, “We’re moving to West Virginia.”

I climbed into the old station wagon…fiddled nervously with my calculator watch…and wondered what was waiting on the other end of this road trip.

Western Virginia? Never heard of it.

As a skinny 10 year-old wearing the thickest glasses known to mankind…I certainly wasn’t going to take over this new town. I was far too busy being self-conscious. About everything from the style of my clothes to the size of my nose. But I knew life must move fast in West Virginia (a sentence that had never been uttered before), and maybe it was time for me to grow up.

Driving through the new neighborhood felt like entering a cold, strange forest. Massive trees everywhere. Each one taller than the last. By my calculations, there had to be a 99% chance that the new house was haunted. But my parents looked thrilled to walk through that door. And their first-day fun might have lasted…if I didn’t overflow the toilet within 10 minutes of our arrival. My mom watched me loiter aimlessly after breaking the bathroom, and strongly suggested:

“Take a walk. Explore your new surroundings.”

Now that was a great idea. Exploration. It’s exactly what a grownup would do. So I put on my lucky off-brand Air Jordans (in case I needed to run through the haunted forest). And off I went. Like a tiny Neil Armstrong discovering new worlds. As I reached the end of the street, a loud neighborhood kid yelled from his driveway:

“Hey weird kid, come over here!”

Uh-oh.

Was he going to tease me about my absurdly thick glasses?

Did he sense my fear?

How did he know I was weird?

As I tiptoed toward his house, I got a closer look at the guy. We seemed to be the same age. And he was everything I wasn’t. Confident, handsome, and possibly the most athletic person in the world. He dribbled a basketball like he had Olympic tryouts the next day. His blonde hair bounced gracefully as he drained shot after shot. What was this…a Salon Selectives commercial?

Then he rolled the ball over and said, “Shoot it!”

Gulp.

My messy brillo hair stayed in one unmoving clump as I dribbled the ball…

…right off my foot.

Sigh.

But, for some reason, the future Olympian and I hit it off.

Maybe he’d never seen a brown guy before.

Maybe he was secretly impressed by my calculator watch.

Or maybe he just needed a friend too.

However it happened…I suddenly felt less alone. And that changed everything for me. West Virginia wasn’t a strange, possibly-haunted forest anymore. It was a fun playground. I hung out with my new buddy all summer. We ate bologna sandwiches at his house and tandoori chicken at mine. Rode bikes for hours at a time. I’d known zero curse words a few weeks ago…now I was fluent in all of them.

Maybe this was grownup status?

Nope.

See, fifth grade was only days away and I was terrified that my peers would laugh at the weird kid.

Could I convince my mom to take me shopping somewhere cool…like Burlington Coat Factory?

No such luck.

Well, when school started…through some sort of magic…I wasn’t the freak that everyone laughed at. For some reason, other kids actually wanted to be my friend. Sure, there were times I felt out of place. Like the first day of deer hunting season – when the 2 Chinese boys and I were the only dudes in school. But, overall, it started to feel like home. Most days, the bell rang and I biked around the neighborhood with my friends. All these years later, only one of those afternoons is still tattooed on my brain…

I remember every detail as if it happened just yesterday…

We were running through the streets shooting water guns, laughing, and acting like the clowns we were. When, out of nowhere, we heard a loud scream from the house in front of us. Not cartoony like in the movies. It was the actual sound of terror. And it stopped us in our tracks. For the next couple of minutes, we heard violent crashing and yelling followed by a woman’s desperate screams. She was pleading for this person to stop doing whatever he was doing.

Until it finally stopped.

A man stormed out of the house, jumped into his car, and peeled tires as he raced away.

We stood in that street…water guns dangling by our sides. All of us had dysfunctional families, but this was something very different. It was clear that the man had beaten up a woman inside that house. We heard it all. So I turned to my friends and asked what we should do. I wasn’t the leader of the group…just its nerdiest member. But it was obvious…even to a group of kids…that something seriously wrong was going on inside that house. Everyone looked frozen, so I decided to knock on the door. I thought maybe that’s what a grownup would do?

I tiptoed up to the porch and gently touched the doorbell.

(My armpits were sweating like there was a faucet inside my shirt)

A few seconds later, a woman appeared. She was young and pretty….it looked like she could have been one of the teachers at my school. Her face was in terrible shape. Two black eyes were starting to form and she was swelling up.

(I was completely overwhelmed by the moment)

With a whisper I asked, “Do you need help?”

She looked at me coldly and responded:

“Mind your own business.”

And then she closed the door.

The years passed quickly. Like other kids, I spent less and less time playing outside. My glasses were replaced by contact lenses…the calculator watch was replaced by video games…and, eventually, the bicycle was replaced by a car. I was 17 now. A badass with the freedom to drive anywhere.

(Which usually meant the local mall)

One random day, I walk out of the arcade…

And see her sitting in the food court.

She’s 7 years older but I could never forget her face. I grab a slice of pizza (that I’m too nervous to eat) and sit a couple of tables away. Time has not been kind to her. She seemed young before…now she looks totally lifeless. More broken. I’m not a mind reader, but it’s certainly possible he’s been beating on her for all these years.

And then she sees me.

It looks like there’s a moment of recognition. The faintest of double-takes. Maybe I’m imagining it. Then again, I’m literally the only Indian male my age in this town. I take a quick peek back and notice one of her lifeless eyes has a tear in it.

Oh man.

What the hell would a grownup do in this situation?

And then I think back to her words from all those years ago:

“Mind your own business.”

So I did.

I threw out my uneaten pizza, turned in the opposite direction, and left the mall without looking back.

In the years that have passed, I’ve thought about her from time to time. Why did she take it? What broke her self-esteem? And did that man eventually kill her?

I don’t know any of those answers.

I’m sharing the story with you because it’s always stayed in my head.

As I got older, I learned that nobody is 100% “grown up.” We all carry some childlike (and childish) stuff inside ourselves. I can look back at that moment with the kind of adult thoughts we all have:

“It’s not your problem”

“There’s nothing you can do”

“That was really dangerous”

“Those people are both crazy”

And so on.

But, when it really comes down to it, I’m more proud of the 10 year-old boy who knocked on that door than I am of the young man who ran out of the mall.

And here’s why…

Nothing outside of our own little world is our business. A lesson we learn so well as grownups. We become experts at keeping a safe distance. At disconnecting to protect ourselves. Sure, we can freely defend our space in traffic and eagerly point at celebrities’ flaws from afar. But what about putting ourselves out there in a vulnerable way? What do we do when we might actually get hurt?

We mind our own business.

Sure, I was just a little kid. And of course I couldn’t have actually done anything to help. But I hadn’t learned how to close myself off yet. I hadn’t learned how keep my armor carefully fastened at all times. For just a moment, I didn’t mind my own business.

Maybe I could learn something from that kid.

And maybe you could too.