Category: post

Birthday’s are hard when you’re hardly in a celebratory mood. I’m not much of a “big day” person anyway. I’m a bit uncomfortable when people make a fuss over me. It feels undeserving. I’m never quite sure how to react. Is a simple thank you enough for the well wishes and presents? It never quite seems so. So then I’m left unsure.
People who love to help others are often the worst at allowing themselves to be helped. I certainly fit that bill.
Thank you. Hundreds of thank you’s to the to the hundreds of little wings that have been providing us lift and supporting us through this. If you sent a note on Twitter or Facebook or email or did something concrete over the past week or so, this includes you. Even those who just thought about it and help us in their hearts and minds for a second. Thank you. I am humbled and overwhelmed by the outpouring of love, sympathy, and support we’ve received through this.
One of the most surprising things about sharing this ordeal with others is the many people who have come forward with some form of a “me too” story. Whether is was a “crazy uncle” or a sibling or a parent or themselves. It seems everyone has been touched in some way by mental illness at some point in their lives — large or small. It certainly has helped me feel less alone, less ashamed, and given me more peace and comfort than I thought would be possible in a time like this.
But, it also tells me we have a health crisis. Just as everyone I know has been touched in some way by cancer, mental illness is equally pervasive and worthy of our fucks.
The best way I can think of for folks to help, especially those not local to me, is to give money, volunteer, and support local mental health organizations in your area. Especially those who lobby and advocate directly at the state legislative level. Locally, Mental Health Association of Minnesota is a great choice. There are others, too. And I’m sure there’s a few where you are. Find them, donate, volunteer, etc.
Mental health resources and care are extremely lacking in this country and all over the world. I can say with confidence and knowledge that my son would not be where he is if he’d gotten the help he so desperately needed and that we begged the system for. Our goal and hope now is that this leads to Maxim getting some semblance of the help he needs. I don’t know that I have enough faith in our system to rest on that hope but we will certainly do all that we can to try. Part of that, is doing what we can to fix the system. Maybe if we all did our part we can prevent more suffering and death.
We’ll get through this — because in life what alternative is there? One is either dying to live or living to die so the only reasonable choice is to survive and thrive. Your support is very much appreciated.

I can’t talk about this. Not in public, at least. If you’re a really close friend, and you’re local, and we’re face-to-face, and we have the time, maybe. But then, it’s still hard. It’s too much. Too fresh. Too painful. I’m too sad. I’m heartbroken. I’m ashamed. I’m racked with guilt and suffering and loss. For my son. For a system that’s broken. For lives lost.
I’m not sure how much more I could say even if I could. The investigation is still ongoing. The charges still yet to be filed. The preliminary hearing, still yet to be scheduled. I know as much as anyone else who happened to catch the local news does. Really. This isn’t like in the movies. The system is opaque and slow and confusing. They don’t tell anyone much unless they need to know.
I don’t know what really happened or how or why. Likely, no one else outside of those directly involved with the case do either. And even they likely will never get a complete picture because the only person who was there and is still alive has long had an illness that distorts the very meaning and understanding of reality. He may not even remember anything at all about it or it may have been a voice that told him or it may have been something he thought he was watching on television.
What I can say is that I’m barely holding on. This is testing the limits of my own struggles with mental illness. That which I have worked most of my life to manage. Through mindfulness practice I’ve been mostly above water for over a decade. But, I feel like I’m just treading water right now and I’m getting tired. If not for my wife and my daughter and my other son and his mother and all of of the other people I need to focus on and be "there for"… Well sometimes the best support one can receive is having others to give support to.
So, I’m not sure what more to say. He’s my son and I hope this leads to him getting the help he’s long needed. That we’ve long hoped he would. Before it came to something like this.
I need to be silent for a while. There’s not much I can talk about besides this and since I can’t talk about this that means I likely should avoid talking about anything in a public space.
If you want to reach out via email or message just to say hello or check in, that’d be great. I’ll try to reply.

I can’t talk about this. Not in public, at least. If you’re a really close friend, and you’re local, and we’re face-to-face, and we have the time, maybe. But then, it’s still hard. It’s too much. Too fresh. Too painful. I’m too sad. I’m heartbroken. I’m ashamed. I’m racked with guilt and suffering and loss. For my son. For a system that’s broken. For lives lost.
I’m not sure how much more I could say even if I could. The investigation is still ongoing. The charges still yet to be filed. The preliminary hearing, still yet to be scheduled. I know as much as anyone else who happened to catch the local news does. Really. This isn’t like in the movies. The system is opaque and slow and confusing. They don’t tell anyone much unless they need to know.
I don’t know what really happened or how or why. Likely, no one else outside of those directly involved with the case do either. And even they likely will never get a complete picture because the only person who was there and is still alive has long had an illness that distorts the very meaning and understanding of reality. He may not even remember anything at all about it or it may have been a voice that told him or it may have been something he thought he was watching on television.
What I can say is that I’m barely holding on. This is testing the limits of my own struggles with mental illness. That which I have worked most of my life to manage. Through mindfulness practice I’ve been mostly above water for over a decade. But, I feel like I’m just treading water right now and I’m getting tired. If not for my wife and my daughter and my other son and his mother and all of of the other people I need to focus on and be "there for"… Well sometimes the best support one can receive is having others to give support to.
So, I’m not sure what more to say. He’s my son and I hope this leads to him getting the help he’s long needed. That we’ve long hoped he would. Before it came to something like this.
I need to be silent for a while. There’s not much I can talk about besides this and since I can’t talk about this that means I likely should avoid talking about anything in a public space.
If you want to reach out via email or message just to say hello or check in, that’d be great. I’ll try to reply.

I’ve found, as I get older and wiser, my approach when it comes to deciding whether or not to upgrade my devices is increasingly like that I’ve read of Amish communities.
You see, it is not that the Amish shun modern technology. It’s that they take a very long, mindful, and considered approach as to what technology to adopt, weigh the pros and cons of how it might affect them, their homes, their communities, their way of life and if any of those trade-offs are worth it. Phones, for instance, are fine — as long as they’re not in the home and used only when absolutely necessary. And, if it’s not in any one home, then why not just have one phone in a central location that the whole community can use? So, one can see from this example that really what is at stake with the Amish approach is a question of true value — beyond the material — that every technology must pass and only applied in specific ways in order to be adopted.
Another thing I’ve learned about the Amish is there is also always the question of how a thing can be done as well or better either with an alternative technology or one that is already on hand… Do we need a tractor when we have a horse and plow? The tractor may be easier but what host of troubles does it bring? Then we have to buy gas and parts when it breaks and you can’t hook a buggy up to it and take it into town to sell pies and quilts. Then it’s noisy and disrupts the peace in the community and our neighbors. So, “easier” and “faster” are not things that always trump other considerations for the Amish. These are weighed against other factors equally. Better in one or two ways may be bad in too many others.
This is what has been coming to mind for me as yet another iPhone has been released. I’m still using an iPhone 5 that I, quite reluctantly, “upgraded” to 2.5 years ago. I loved my iPhone 4 but its decreasing battery life and increasing inability to run apps I thought “mattered” to me forced my hand to move up. The iPhone 5 continues to serve me well. That said, battery life and camera performance are my main concerns. I’m aware that upgrading to the iPhone SE would solve both of those in the same, handsome, form factor. That said, there are some thoughts that keep coming up for me…
Upgrading to the SE would mean a change of phone plans and additional cost. You see, when the carriers dropped the subsidized payment model — where you got the phone for “free” with contract — it actually allowed them to raise the price. Now, you either buy the phone outright or make monthly no-interest payments but you still pay the same monthly price for most plans as you used to when you got the phone for free. I’ve priced this out and, basically, what it means for me and my family if we take the monthly no-interest payments route is we will me paying about $40 more per month if both my wife and I upgrade. Kind of a big hike.
If camera and battery life are my main sticking points — if the performance and ways I use it are just fine — then there are other ways I can approach those. I could get a battery case to extend my life or even install a new battery myself — both for less than $30.00. I have a nice, small, lovely camera that I could use for those times when I wish the quality were better. Are there ways I could make it easier to take with me most places? Maybe a nice leather strap to keep it around my neck or a nice pancake lens so it slips easily into a pocket.
My point being that I’m considering all of my options in my considerations. If I have alternative solutions to my two main concerns that are less expensive, in many ways simpler, and solve the problem then why should they not hold considerable weight? Like the Amish, upgrading to something “better” does not always mean it is the best choice and sometimes that means using something that is considered old and outdated to the majority.

I’m asking, because it’s what I do. To some it may sound hokey or, to the skeptical, disingenuous, but it is really what I love to do — especially through my written work. Some may say it’s my personal brand. I like to say that writing is how I make this world better, friendlier, stronger place. The way that happens is this; if my words or advice can help just one person, even just a little bit, it makes them feel better. They, in turn, are more likely to help those around them, and so on and so on. Thus, the whole world gets a little bit better.
Perhaps, my books can help you. Get this one if you are looking to achieve a simpler or more intentional life. If you are looking for a more mindful approach to technology, this one is the one for you — even if you don’t use Apple products most of the ideas still apply. If you are looking for practical, actionable, advice on living, this one will help you for sure.
I’ve also published a book about writing (especially for an online audience) and one on meditation that anyone can do. These are meant to help too.
I also have a free newsletter that has been warmly received. The schedule, format, and topics are irregular but I’m confident that those that subscribe find something helpful show up in their email inboxes every once in a while. Take a look at the archive if you’d like to get a sense of what I write about there.
Sometimes, I speak to organizations and groups and try to help them. If you are a part of an organization or team that you think would benefit please let me know.
Finally, I now offer personal one-to-one sessions for those seeking my direct help, counsel, and advice. Rates can vary based on level of engagement. Get in touch to discuss pricing and details to fit your need and budget.
The bottom line is that I’m always looking for ways I can help others. It’s who I am. It’s what I do. Let me know if there is some way I can help you.

I was feeling overwhelmed every time I opened Twitter but I couldn’t put my finger on exactly why. Nothing had changed, recently. I hadn’t added more follows — I try to keep that number around 350. The most frequent and active Tweeters I had already relegated to a list called "High Volume". All the companies, sites, and news, etc. were in a list called "Interesting". I have several mute filters in place for the things I don’t care about. I very carefully choose who I follow and regularly evaluate and curate that list. In other words, I thought I had done all of the "right" things but, still, my main timeline felt — well — like it was not mine.
It felt like I threw a party, invited specific people to it, but then all these other people I didn’t know showed up with them. They came and hogged the conversation, ate too much food, and kept me from being able to really hear and talk to the people I invited. Bad uninvited guests.
I was describing the problem to my friend Jason and he reminded me that he wrote up a post a little while back about how he keeps his Twitter sanity. He suggested a few things from it that he thought would help me. His is a very reasoned and well thought out strategy and you should do yourself a favor and take the time to read what he has to say. That said, I wanted to highlight one item in particular that made a HUGE difference for me:

Turn off retweets for everyone you follow the moment you begin following them.

Now, since I had not been doing so before and planned to not add any more followers, I had to turn off retweets from everyone I already followed. This seemed daunting and tedious at first until I realized the better strategy was this; every time someone retweeted something and I saw it in my timeline my next action would be to turn off retweets for the person retweeting. This made the process far more doable and immediately caught the most frequent retweeters. I should mention the interesting part of this choice is that turning off retweets does not turn off "quote" tweets — where the person sharing has something to add. It only eliminates straight no-value-added retweets.
Now, after working on doing this for the past couple of weeks, my main timeline feels like mine again. It’s a party of my invited guests and I’m truly interested in what they have to say.
Don’t get me wrong, I get the general point of a retweet. Sometimes, people just want to share something with no additional comment. The problem is that, if I wanted to hear from those people, what they think, or what they had to say I would follow them. I don’t. I follow who I want to follow and I want to hear what the people I follow have to say and, if they want to share something and have something to add when they share, that’s cool. Because then I’m hearing what they think about what they are sharing.
So, I’m now back to feeling a little less overwhelmed by Twitter largely thanks to this. Hopefully, it will help for a while.
As an aside, I feel like Twitter — much like Facebook — is increasingly a service that requires a bit too much fiddling with to make it useable. It now suffers from the same "go into settings and tweak this and do that and turn these off and download this app and it’ll be OK not great but OK" that Facebook long has. If I didn’t care what my friends were up to and thinking so much it’s hardly be worth the trouble. And, though I have not reached it yet, it is on the verge of becoming such a needy puppy that it won’t be worth it. I have such a complicated and conflicted relationship with it these days.

Worry is wasted energy if not converted to action. It serves no purpose other than to drive action. Worry is alleviated in two ways:

1. Taking action on that which worries you.
2. Letting it go and redirecting that energy elsewhere.

Worry is born of desire — desire for change. If worry does not drive the action for change, or if there is no action you can take that will strive for or effect change, then what good is your desire?
But, in my opinion, one of the biggest problems with worry is that it makes one believe they are doing something. Especially when there is no action one could take that will affect change. That worry is all you have to do. That if you worry about something enough it will somehow effect change.
Worry is the catalyst between desire and “done” — nothing more. It should not exist outside of that structural tension.
So, if you’re going to worry, at least worry about important things. Things that matter. Things that you can take some action on. Make your worry worth it. Use it to get things done.

A few days ago, I walked into the bookstore that is just downstairs from one of my clients and asked the shop owner, "What have you read recently that you just loved?" I walked away with a book I know will make a great Mothers Day present for my wife, the first book of a series that sounds fantastic, and a half dozen other recommendations for future purchases.
Unsurprisingly, walking into a bookstore and asking the shopkeeper, "What do you just love?" Will put good books into your hands. "I love [name of book/genre/subject], what do you recommend?" does the same. This works in libraries too. Also, record stores. I’ve even seen it work in restaurants.
The other day, when out to lunch, I asked the server what the "Yum Yum" sauce on one of their specials tasted like. He attempted to describe it and I got the general idea but, without my asking, he went a step further and brought out a small sample of it. He knew that the best answer he could give was to let the sauce speak for itself. I didn’t end up getting the dish but I likely will next time (the sauce was good).
The point being that, in general, at many independent establishments the people who are there are experts at what they have, what’s good, and what you’ll likely enjoy. They love being asked for their opinion and a surprisingly few amount of people do so. So, take a chance next time you’re in one and ask questions. My bet is that you’ll be happy you did.

I was about ten years old when I first got turned on to the music of Prince. It was my next door neighbor, Michael Johnson, who got me into Prince. We were hanging out one day and he told me about this guy I just had to hear. He put on For You. It was funky and challenged many of my notions I had had up to that point about so many things.
But, it wasn’t just the music that hooked me. Michael told me that Prince was a local guy. Not just local to Minneapolis but local to South Minneapolis — our ‘hood. He graduated from Central High — just like my Dad had a few years before him. He grew up only about a mile away. I soon found out that just about everyone in the neighborhood had some direct connection to this kid — they knew him. They went to school with him or played basketball down at the park with him, or their sister dated him, or played in some basement band with him, or they just saw him around. This skinny kid with the giant afro who was either always in the music room or on the basketball court. This kid who in just a couple of more years would become known worldwide.
I became a big fan. A fan of the music and the little guy I heard so much about around where I lived. Later on, we moved away — to Iowa City, IA and then to New Haven, CT. Prince’s fame began to grow. First with Controversy then with 1999. No matter where I went, when I mentioned that I was from Minneapolis, people immediately brought up Prince. “Oh, where that Prince guy is from! ” or “Isn’t that where Prince is from?”. It worked the other way too. If someone gave me a somewhat quizzical look when I mentioned Minneapolis, all I would have to say was, “Where Prince is from…” and the recognition was immediate.
By the time I moved back to Minneapolis, Prince was a huge star. The whole world knew about him now. Purple Rain had just come out and his music was everywhere. His videos running every hour on MTV. And, in too many ways to count, he literally put the Minneapolis music scene on the map. And, there was so much happening here. The punk scene was exploding with great bands like Hüsker Dü and The Replacements. Prince himself was bringing up his friends with him like Morris Day and The Time. It was one of those magical times in the city when, every night, you could go out to a local club and hear a band or artist that now is a household name. Of course, Prince was bigger than all of them — a bonafide superstar now.
But Prince never left. He could have had houses all over the world or lived anywhere he wanted but he always called Minneapolis home. Almost everyone in Minneapolis and Saint Paul had a Prince story. He lived here. He worked here. He played here. He showed up and sat in with some local band, or was at some restaurant, or was buying fruit at the supermarket. No matter how famous he got, what levels of superstardom he achieved, he was always just Prince here in the city the world now knew. He was always around and everyone could tell you a personal story about him.
I say all of this not only to tell you the story of what Prince meant to me in a formative era in my life but so that you can understand the depth of the loss we are feeling here in this city — in his city. Imagine if New York City lost the Empire State Building, or Paris lost The Eiffel Tower… Well, we lost Prince. We lost the icon that the rest of the world knew us by. We lost the symbol that was our city to so much of the rest of the world. The thing that, no matter where you went beyond this place, all you had to do was say his name and people knew and respected where you came from.
He’s gone now, but just like the Empire State Building or The Eiffel Tower, people will not forget. There’s a great line in the in the musical Hamilton about the idea that we have no control over who lives or dies or tells our story. We don’t have control over any of that. But, what we can control is to make sure we become a part of a place, or a part of the people there, so that there are stories to tell should people wish to tell them. The better the stories we leave, the more likely people will be to tell them. Prince left a lot of stories to tell and we will be telling them here amongst each other and to the rest of the world for a long time to come. He left us some great stories.
(The photo above is the last known photo taken of him, riding his bike back to the office, just like normal.)