It's Contagious!

From a movie that was strongly recommended

A couple weeks ago, I was listening to a podcast while I mowed the lawn—hopefully for the last time this year. As an aside, I just hate yardwork. People who love yardwork? They call it gardening… I call it yardwork.

Anyway, I was listening to an author discussing life hacks, personal effectiveness, reading recommendations, and so on. The content of the podcast isn’t what I want to talk about today, however. What stood out is something he mentioned at the end of the 90-minute interview. He thanked his sponsor, Vimeo—one of many places online to watch videos, short films, feature films, independent content, etc. He then made a few recommendations on what to check out on the site.

Of the two or three projects he mentioned, his most glowing recommendation was for a short film, which I think was called ‘Tomorrowland’ (not to be confused with the big Disney movie of the same name).

He talked about this short film with excitement, saying we had to watch it. It was unlike anything he’d ever seen before, it had won prestigious festival awards, it was thought provoking. I have read some good books on his recommendation, I have used tips he has shared, and I read or listen to something by this guy every week. While I don’t agree with all of his content and suggestions, there is a lot I do like. Although he didn’t go into detail on the plot of this short film, his energy really got me excited about watching it!

It had lots of this kind of stuff

So a few days later, I went to Vimeo and found it, then put on my favorite earbuds and started watching it on my phone. There was a short opening sequence, and then a hypnotic beat as electronic dance music built, ultimately pounding a rhythm. You know the sound: UHH-ts, UHH-ts, UHH-ts, UHH ts. The camera panned over a huge outdoor music festival, with lots of pretty people in tank tops and aviator shades bouncing, jumping, writhing to the music.

Everyone was clearly happy and having a great time, and I would guess there were, maybe fifty thousand of them or more. As the minutes ticked by, the music continued, as did the ecstatic bouncing. I began to wonder what else was going to happen in this film, and when my mind would be blown. Was there going to be a message about enjoying life? Living in the moment? About the tribal nature of this community? About having the freedom—financial and otherwise—to travel and experience anything, anywhere?

Five minutes ticked by, then ten. There was the occasional cut to a DJ or fan praising this festival, but ultimately, this video comprised 13 minutes and forty-eight seconds of the same stuff—pretty young ravers, well, raving—over a pulsing, hypnotic beat. But you know what? I watched every second, waiting for something intriguing to happen. Not because I enjoyed watching 50,000 people dancing, and not because I enjoyed the music—I’m really not a fan of David Guetta and the like. So, why did I endure it?

I watched it because of the energy and excitement radiated by the recommender—he had given great suggestions before, he was excited about the film, and he got me excited about the film. Enthusiasm is contagious, isn't it?

And 13 minutes, 48 seconds of this

Incidentally, upon taking another listen to that podcast, I realized the film he recommended was actually titled “World of Tomorrow.” I was watching the WRONG SHOW. Maybe lawn trimmings and fertilizer got to my head—I clearly remembered that title wrong. I kept watching it, waiting with anticipation for the things to happen that I had gotten so excited about. Obviously, they never did.

The funny thing is, in spite of watching the wrong video, it actually did prove to be thought-provoking.

Think about it—we’re all in dozens of situations each day where we can (or even must) influence others. Our attitudes are contagious; they have a real, tangible effect on others, for better or for worse. This is not a new concept, but it was fun to be reminded of it in such a silly way. It is useful to ponder the importance of attitude.

Whether we are selling to, leading, or just working alongside someone, our energy largely determines our effectiveness—perhaps even more than our aptitude. We all have people we just love to be around, don’t we—who radiate enthusiasm, who have a kind word to say, who have fun no matter what the circumstance or task at hand?

I bet you also know those people who just suck the life out of you, too—they find something to complain about, no matter how good or bad the situations they’re in actually are. Watch out—this kind of emotion is equally contagious!

World of Tomorrow, what I should have watched

The same podcaster with whom we started this conversation talks about how we are the average of the five people we spend the most time with. (He admits he is not the first to talk about this, but he goes back to the theme often). So the question of the day is—what kind of influencer are you? How do you impact the people around you? Does your attitude and energy make them better?

Am I raising the average of those people who spend time with me, by radiating enthusiasm and positivity, and assuming others have positive intent? I appreciate that 13 minutes and 48 seconds of techno beats—time seemingly wasted, it reminded me of the power of enthusiasm, and my own opportunities to improve.

I’d never have guessed what I could learn from 50,000 ravers.

Quicksand

The 80’s were a great decade, weren’t they? In a freeform, poetry-slam, stream-of-consciousness spew, I give you a bunch of reasons this was the greatest decade since, well, at least the 50’s or 60’s…

• Rubik and his Cube; He-man and his sword; Michael Knight and his talking car, KITT
• The A-team and their van; Michael and his Jacksons; The Duke Boys and their cousin Daisy, of course. (And you thought I was gonna mention their car)
• The golden ages of Star Wars, pro wrestling, and shopping malls
• John flippin’ Hughes, Phil freakin’ Hartman, and the birth of Homer Simpson
• E.T., The Gremlins, The Goonies, and Indiana Jones
• Computers went from, like filling up airplane hangars to sitting on your desktop
• Montana to Rice, The Lakers and the Celtics, Bird and Magic
• Beastie Boys, Joy Division, New Order, Bauhaus, Talking Heads, Rush, The Smiths, Run-DMC, REM, firehose, U2, and so on, and so on, and so on.
• Eight-track died, CD’s were born, and there was plenty of vinyl and cassette tape for everyone
• Prince was in his prime, and Madonna was still tolerable
• 10 speed bikes, skateboards, hair mousse; wearing neon anywhere and anytime you pleased
• Ice cream cones at Thrifty Drug: twenty-five cents plus ten cents for each extra scoop. I am personally responsible for making the ice cream lady’s forearms look like Popeye’s!

I could go on and on. I was born in 1970—so I did a lot of living, learning, and growing in the 80’s. I talk about this decade the way my parents talked about the fifties—only when I was a kid, candy bars were a quarter, not a nickel; though in both eras we all wore Converse Chuck Taylors (heck I still wear my Chucks).

The 80’s was still a pretty innocent time too, compared to today. As kids, ten or twelve years old, we’d go out hiking and biking and exploring all day, get home for dinner, then go roam the neighborhood for a couple more hours ‘til our moms would call us home, like runaway dogs. Only runaway dogs got in less trouble.

But back then, getting into trouble meant swiping an apple off a neighbor’s tree, or TP’ing a friend’s house, or having dirt clod fights. (What, you never pulled up a weed in the backyard and hucked it, mud-caked roots and all, at your buddy, yelling out ‘hand grenade?’)

Today’s trouble is, well, trouble. Kids make the news for stealing cars and planes and stuff. In the 80’s, if you got on TV it was usually because you guessed how many jelly beans were in the giant jar at Alpha-Beta, or your soccer team won the big game.

Anyway, I don’t want to get deep into the cultural, technological, or philosophical reasons for the decline of kid-hood, or whether my observations are true, statistically or scientifically speaking. But I do want to tell you about some real trouble I did get into with my brothers and friends in the early 80’s. It started with a typical adventure in the hills above our neighborhood, in Martinez, California.

We lived on a pretty typical suburban road; in fact, with a name like Center Street, you couldn’t get much more typical. We had houses and houses on each side of our home, and across the street, more houses faced ours. Behind those houses, however, there were fields and hills like you just don’t see much of anymore, at least not in the Bay Area.

We’d hike those hills, sharpening bamboo stalks into spears for protection, carrying walking sticks and homemade slings. I’m not sure what kind of trouble we were anticipating, as we saw no creature more threatening than a lizard or mouse or squirrel, but we were armed and ready for anything.

This particular summer day, our friends Aaron and Chris joined my brothers Mike, Rusty and me on a trek in the hills. As we poked around, looking for cool rocks to collect, animals to track, or trees to climb, we heard a cry for help up ahead—Aaron was in trouble! As we ran up to him, we could see he was in some muddy sludge and was stuck knee deep and, we feared, sinking fast.

TV had taught us all we needed to know about quicksand!

TV had taught us what we were dealing with – it was quicksand! Now, I haven’t bothered to research the natural properties and geological characteristics of quicksand in a scholarly manner. I don’t need to, as I have seen its occurrence in different settings, in various parts of the country. Specifically, on The Six Million Dollar Man, The Dukes of Hazzard, and Gilligan’s island. That was enough evidence for us to know we were dealing with the real thing!

Aaron had the good sense to stop wiggling and fighting it—we knew that was a recipe for disaster, and he’d be a goner for sure, sinking in further and further. And there was no bionic man around to save us; in fact, we were a good mile or more from home, or any houses for that matter. We were in the quicksand-riddled boondocks. We got close to him, but not too close—there was no sense in all of us sinking to our necks in this stuff.

Putting our collective eight to twelve-year old heads together, we grabbed our walking sticks and another nearby branch and stretched them out toward the helpless victim. We braced the sticks, pooling our strength to give Aaron something rigid to grab hold of and pull himself out. For what seemed like ages, we pulled and pulled and finally freed him from his doom.

The only casualty that day was Aaron’s right tennis shoe, and though we poked and prodded with our sticks, it was a goner. We made our way back home, Aaron enduring briars and rocks with his muddy stocking-foot. I’m sure his mom wasn’t pleased with the loss of his shoe, and may not have seen the big picture—we had rescued him from certain death! However, in the end, we were all okay, and we were sure to avoid the pit of quicksand on future adventures.

So what made me think of Aaron’s brush with doom? I’m not sure, actually. But I have tried to become increasingly aware lately of things I do that waste my time, waste my energy, or otherwise halt my progress. I’m guessing you have your own personal pools of quicksand too. What are these quicksand traps, and what tools of defense do I wield to prevent their overcoming me?

• Multitasking. If I am doing too much at once, bouncing between Outlook and OneNote and funny internet stuff, I am doomed, and sink into a pit of ineffectiveness. Before I know it, an hour or a day have gone by, with me checking lots of menial tasks off my list, but not accomplishing any work that is real or critical. To prevent it, my desktop background has a question in big, bold, type: “What is my focus today?” Believe it or not, it helps!


• Failure to prioritize. Like the muddiness of multitasking, failure to prioritize ensures activity without impact, busy-ness without progress and growth. How do I combat this? Lately, by asking myself this questions: “What is the most uncomfortable thing I need to do today?” Sometimes I have trouble seeing what is truly the most ‘important’ thing in my list of to-do’s. However, I can always easily identify the one I most dread. Getting it out of the way first makes the rest of the day go smoother—I can see things much more clearly without anxiety sapping my spirit.
  
  
• Forgetting myself. I get into periods where I fail to exercise regularly, or I pay no attention to what I eat—I am the undisputed heavyweight champion of the world in yo-yo dieting. I’ve gotten pretty good at staying engaged in the other areas of my life—studying scriptures, reading good books, praying regularly. Maybe you could throw me a rope here, and help me figure this fitness piece out?

The good news about quicksand? It’s easily beatable, if you travel in packs and watch out for it. Had Aaron encountered that pit while wandering on his own, he might still be there, or at the very least lost both of his shoes.

What are your pits of quicksand, and how do you combat them?

Kayak!

I went kayaking one time. Exactly one time. Exactly one miserable time, and it was enough. It’s kind of sad, because you know what? I bet I’d like it, had the conditions been better on this inaugural excursion. Allow me to explain…

My brother-in-law Chris is pretty much Captain Awesome. Just a great guy; he fights fires and saves lives as his day job (in South Central LA, no less), and climbs glaciers, kayaks oceans, and bikes across continents for fun in his spare time. His wife Minette is no less awesome. In fact, her awesomeness likely supersedes her husband’s, as she’s also saving lives as a nurse practitioner, and adds marathon running to her list of hobbies, on top of everything she does with Chris.

Chris and Minette offered to take me kayaking on the mighty Columbia river once, when our families were vacationing at Cannon Beach, a scenic little town on Oregon’s North Coast. I was excited—I’d never been in a kayak before and I loved the outdoors. It seemed to me that it would be like mountain biking, except on the water. In a boat. Okay, it would be nothing like mountain biking, but I wanted to do it nonetheless.

Chris and Minette had their own gear, and they tracked down a rental place for me 20 miles upriver from the beach house we were staying at. On a sunny morning in late summer, we drove their SUV to the spot we’d be starting our paddling—right next to the rental place.

We went into the shop, and I sat inside a few kayaks until I found the one that felt the best; it also happened to be the biggest one they had available. It seemed to fit me just fine—we made some adjustments to the seat and to the little things that are kind of like stationary bike pedals—you rest your feet on them for leverage while paddling.

Uncle Chris taking the boys on a test run

Feeling like the kayak was maybe just a little snug, and certainly not too tight or too small, we launched into the slowly driving current. Chris and Minette gave me some pointers, and I took to it pretty well. I did a fair amount of rowing in rowboats, rafting in rafts and canoeing in canoes as a teenage Boy Scout, and I was enjoying the gentle breeze, the peaceful solitude of the wide, rolling river, and the companionship of these great friends, whose family I’d married into eight or nine years earlier. I was feeling really good, except for maybe a little thing or two.

Before I continue, I should tell you some things that I inherited from my family. Not cool stuff like glass eyes, mansions or treasure maps, but physiological things. I’ll generously call them traits. The first I’ll mention can be imagined easily enough by hearing what my Dad’s Uncle Howard used to call my younger brother Tim when he was young: ‘hog legs.’ Yes, the Anderson boys have strong legs—we can bike, squat, leg press, and hopscotch with the best of them. But with this great power comes great responsibility—responsibility to buy pants that have ample room in the upper-to-mid thigh area.

It is not unusual for an Anderson male to buy pants four inches too big in the waist to account for our gargantuan thighs. While I never earned a cool nickname like hog-legs (which seemed like an affectionate term of endearment to Tim, I’m sure), I do have some of that going on in my legs, if you catch my drift.

Another gift we Anderson males are blessed with? Extreme rigidity—the opposite of flexibility. I never saw my dad touch his toes—or anyone else’s for that matter. One summer, as a teen I ran three miles every day, all summer long, stretching and everything, and I could still barely bend over and touch the tops of my socks. And this was the 80’s, when your sock-tops flirted with your kneecaps!

Not only can I not touch my toes, I can barely straighten my legs, especially if I am sitting down on the floor. When I sit on the ground, legs outstretched in front of me (loosely using the term ‘outstretched’), my upper body’s natural state is about a 45-degree angle to the ground. Envision freezing a video of a normal person doing a sit-up, right in the middle of sitting up. That’s me, trying to sit up straight, if my legs are parallel to the ground.

This complete lack of flexibility, combined with my Ahh-nuld-like thighs (or maybe Kevin James-like thighs, to be honest) has left me with limited options for comfortable lounging, especially if there is no furniture at hand. Criss-cross applesauce? No thanks. A picnic? Sure, if I can bring a chair. Sitting on the sandy beach? I’ll lay down or stand up, or maybe dig an elaborate contour into the sand to cushion my abnormality of a physique, but otherwise I won’t be sitting.

Perhaps I should have thought of all this when sizing my kayak. Clearly, I didn’t think of any of it.

Maybe I should have done a dry run too!

About a half an hour into our ‘trip,’ I started to feel some real discomfort. My lower back was starting to stiffen. My hamstrings felt as tight as piano wires. I tried to wriggle around a bit inside the kayak, but you literally sit down inside the foul contraption, and have some rubber prom-dress-like thing keeping you attached to it, keeping water from getting in and you from popping out. There would be no wriggling or bending of the legs, knees, lower back, or anything that wasn’t above my belly button.

The discomfort turned into pain, and eventually into panic. My peaceful sighs of nature-loving satisfaction became heavy breathless gasps, as the kayak maliciously tightened its grip on my lower body.  A half mile or so down river, a giant tanker menacingly inched toward us. The gasps turned to grunts and squawks—yes, I literally squawked, seemingly forgetting how to form words. There was an island just a hundred yards away, and I managed to blurt out, “I... need... break!”

I paddled feverishly toward the island, wanting to get out of the boat and stretch my legs. I was also nervous about the tanker approaching; surely it was going to pin me to the river bottom, sealing my watery grave. Finally, my kayak made it to the island’s sandy shore, and I lifted myself up, ready to free myself from the torture. As I did so, something completely unexpected happened.

I swung my legs out of the body of the kayak and planted my feet on the warm, welcoming sand. Standing up, for what seemed like the first time in years, I fell face first to the ground. As I attempted to get up again, I had a strange sensation. I couldn’t feel my legs! Now, I don’t mean I had little feeling, or that they felt weird, I mean I could not feel my legs.

A few more times I tried to stand up, on legs that were suddenly made of fleshy colored jello. They buckled, they wobbled and they splayed all over. I tried to walk, taking steps to steady myself, but my feet seemed to be pinned to the sand—they wouldn’t budge. Chris and Minette handed me a water bottle and told me to just lay back and rest until the feeling—or at least the blood—came back to my legs.

I laid back, propping myself up a bit on my elbows, trying to will the life back into my inanimate limbs. After several minutes, I could move my legs a bit, and then a bit more, and after maybe fifteen minutes, I could get up and walk around. I guess sitting in that position, wedged into the kayak that was just a bit too small, compressed some nerves and arteries in my legs and put them to sleep, rendering them useless. It was clear our kayak trip was going to end hours earlier than we’d expected. 

The kids with Uncle Chris and Aunt Minette

I wedged myself back into that kayak, feeling like a clown getting into a tiny circus car. I made a valiant effort, but I just couldn’t maintain that posture—I was done. Chris tied my kayak to his and paddled us toward our starting point, with me laying back, halfway out of the kayak, trying to stretch out a bit. I imagined he looked like some native American tribesman, towing behind him a giant, pale six-foot sturgeon that the whole tribe would live off of for the winter. But at least I was getting somewhere, and wasn’t confined to the floating torture chamber.

We made it back to the car, dropped off the infernal death trap, and drove back to the coast, my legs no longer tingling. All the family got a huge kick out of hearing about my brush with doom, or at the very least, with discomfort. They were in tears as we related the tale, especially the part about Chris towing me back. 

I’ve been in canoes, rafts, rowboats, and fishing boats since then, but I still have no urge to try kayaking. At least not until I can rent one that's made for a six-foot-long inflexible, pale sturgeon.