Larry Nocella

Category: Life

  • Influencer Canceled in Record Time!

    Influencer Canceled in Record Time!

    The Epic True Tale of How I Became an Amazon Influencer and Was Canceled In the Span of a Week.

    Chapter 1: A Delightful Surprise

    Congratulations, Amazon Reviewer! You have posted so many reviews and earned so many helpful votes that we are going to promote you to Vine Voices: Silver Tier. What is that? It’s an Amazon program for our best reviewers! You order items that interest you at not cost! Shipping is free. You only need pay taxes on the item as appropriate for your region. In exchange, all we ask is you leave an honest review. You can keep the item.

    That’s the summary of an email I received from Amazon’s Community managers. What a delightful surprise! I had seen the “Vine Voice” badge on other reviews but never gave it much thought.

    A lot of moral panic has followed the information that most young folks want to be an influencer. (Source.) I’m not part of that demo, and I don’t care to “influence” — it looks boring, actually — but here I was, suddenly scratching the surface of that realm, simply by accident! Ha! Take that, younglings!

    I mostly reviewed books, but also home improvement gadgets. I especially enjoyed sharing tips I learned during the installation process. Other people’s reviews had helped me, and I wanted to help others. Plus, reviewing is a healthy writing exercise. You gather your thoughts and articulate them in a sensible, concise, entertaining format. That’s the essence of writing.

    I had been posting reviews to Amazon for at least ten years and scored over 200,000 views according to their stats. When you do something consistently for years, results add up. Eventually, people notice. 

    My first day as a “Vine Voice” was fun! A shopping spree in the world of stuff! I browsed the catalog and ordered a stylus for my iPad, a desktop disco ball laser light for fun, and a few household items. Total bill: $0. Total shipping: $0. Total for Amazon, roughly $60.

    The items arrived fast! The iPad stylus was the first. I loved it! It was much cheaper than the official Apple Pen. I genuinely liked the product and still do. I gave it an excellent five-star review and hit the “submit review” button.

    Interlude

    The days after my induction into the Vine Voices led to some interesting conversations. My wife was genuinely surprised I had been posting reviews that consistently. I laughed. It was nothing to me, and still is. Writing a 200-word essay in grade school was terrifying. As a semi-mature adult, I can now bang those out in ten minutes.

    That convo with my wife was fun because it was a reminder that you can know someone intimately and still surprise them. She had done the same for me by growing mushrooms during the pandemic. People often do fascinating things casually and sometimes it becomes a habit. They don’t think it’s anything special. But by the time others notice they are amazed.

    Having written 100s of reviews over the course of 10+ years, I never thought of it. I just enjoyed the writing challenge. I did it consistently and suddenly an opportunity came to me.

    It was cool. I was an INFLUENCER. I couldn’t wait to tell my friends. Not because I felt like I had “made it” or something, but because part of my comedic persona is to pretend that I am a celeb — when I’m so obviously not. I find it funny. My wife finds it funny and plays along. Most of my friends find it funny, but I know at least a few who find it annoying. Which, of course, makes it funnier. (Hi Michael!)

    Anyway….

    Just by doing a little thing I enjoyed over many years, I had amassed a library of high-quality reviews. Life is so often full of terrible surprises. This was a rare, enjoyable surprise. I went to bed smiling, thinking of the inspirational Linkedin posts I could compose. I imagined a profund quote, “Do something consistently for years, and good things will come…” Yeah, something like that…

    Chapter 2: A Not-so-Delightful Surprise

    We have detected unusual review activity on your account that is against community guidelines. You are no longer enrolled in the Vine Voices program. Further, we have removed all your reviews from Amazon, and you can no longer review anything.

    What. The. What! 

    That’s a summary of an email I received the day after posting my first review as an official Amazon Vine Voice Influencer-type person. Less than a week had gone by since the email admitting me to the program. I had some questions, as I’m sure you do. Here’s a list:

    • What happened?
    • What had I violated?
    • Can I just edit the reviews?
    • How did you tell me on Monday that I’m such a valuable reviewer you’re going to send me free stuff, then on Friday you tell me I’m such a terrible reviewer that my present review is rejected, my future ability to review is disabled, and all my past reviews have been deleted?

    Well folks, those questions are still outstanding.

    As of this writing, I still don’t know. I have emailed them multiple times, asked for clarification and apologized for whatever it was that upset them so. My Vine Voices career is over. From Influencer to Canceled in less than a week.

    Other parts of my Amazon account still work fine (where I buy stuff – of course) and some where I create content for Amazon (write books, buy ads to promote my books, develop Alexa skills.) Those still work perfectly. But no more reviewing for me, it seems. Yeah. Weird.

    Chapter 3: My Many Possible Sins

    No matter how many times I contact community help, I haven’t gotten an answer. Left with no options, I start thinking back. Maybe they didn’t like when I did (whatever). Maybe they didn’t like when I did (other thing).

    I assembled a list in my mind of all the things I might have done that triggered this absurd series of events. Then I think, ya know, if you have a LIST of possible infractions, maybe you weren’t as well-behaved as you thought. I just wish if that was the case, they would have told me sooner. And not told me I was such an asset before immediately telling me I was such a liability.

    A list of my possible sins:

    • Rating my brother’s book. My brother is also an author, writing under the name “L. Ted Nocella.” (His books here.) As a show of support, after purchasing one of his books, I gave it a five-star rating. I wouldn’t give him a full review because that would look obviously biased (Man loves brother’s book!) Since I was the first to rate the tale, we noticed when it came down shortly after.
    • The bidet attachment joke. I recently reviewed a toilet bidet attachment. It was a normal positive review. I genuinely enjoyed the product and called it a “game-changer” (what kind of games you playing?) The potential problem? I wrote a line in the review, “I haven’t seen an asshole this happy since Trump got elected.” They flagged it, I took out the joke, and the review went public. Things like that had happened before: little violations that got flagged. I always made the edit, never argued. No problem.
    • The mysterious scolding. In keeping with their extremely impersonal, clueless tactics, a few months ago, I got an email from Amazon Community managers, “You have violated a policy. This is your first warning.” This came out of nowhere with zero context. I had no idea what it applied to as I hadn’t posted in a month or so. I wrote back, asking for clarification. No response.
    • My review signature. I always signed off on reviews like this, “Larry Nocella, author of the novel Razor Wire Karma – available on Amazon.” That little line at the end was a blurb approved by Amazon Community Management. I’ve written dozens, maybe 100s of reviews since with that signature. No problems. If only I could find that email exchange where they told me it would be acceptable…

    Chapter 4: I Make My Case

    Against all odds, I found the email convo I had in 2013 – a solid ten years ago – with Amazon review management. In that email, an employee of Amazon instructed me how I could add the signature (fourth bullet above) so it would be acceptable. Since 2013, I haven’t deviated from those instructions.

    I was like Vader closing in on Skywalker in the 1977 film… “I have you now!” (Video.) … but the results were as disappointing for me as they were for the Lord of the Sith.

    I immediately sent the exchange to community help with a note, “Is this what you all are upset about? Because I got permission from you.” I offered to edit all my reviews if the policy had changed – that wouldn’t be a difficult task.

    What did I hear from them? They say they reply in 24 hours! Can you guess what they said? Yes, you can!

    There was no reply.

    Chapter 5: It’s Not Me, It’s You

    If I was a standard-issue crybaby conservative, this would be the point where I monetized my perceived persecution. I would run shrieking into the public square that I had been canceled by big tech, that they were biased against me… You know the script.

    But I’m not a crybaby — Nor a conservative! Don’t insult me! — and I believe in reality. The boring reality is, like any huge tech company, Amazon has mostly terrible customer service and inconsistent community management. I got tossed around in the machine’s gears, that’s all. There’s no grand conspiracy to silence me, just everyday bureaucracy.

    Then again, everyday bureaucracy isn’t always a bad thing. I won’t mention the time Amazon sent me an extra popular and expensive electronic device. When I took the honest route and told them, they didn’t advise on how to return it. After waiting forever for a response, I just kept it. I’m not going out of my way if they’re not. Don’t fret, Amazon. I just made that story up. Or did I?

    I recently learned one of Amazon’s goals is to be Earth’s most consumer-centric company. (Source.) Is this how a consumer-centric company acts? Definitely not.

    But that sounds angry. I’m not angry, just bummed. It was a fun, if brief, ride, but there are plenty of places to publish reviews, and I should be working on my next novel more anyway!

    So don’t worry, Amazon, this is just a temporary hate phase of our love-hate relationship. I can’t review any more, but I’m still a customer. Like any good union-busting, cheap-labor-exploiting, family-business-killing, double-yacht-funding, tax-dodging monopoly, I just can’t quit you.

  • Boring People Don’t Exist — No One Is “Basic”

    Boring People Don’t Exist — No One Is “Basic”

    “You’re boring,” he said. The comment took me by surprise.

    It happened decades ago. I was an intern at a chemical lab. A coworker – an adult, I was still a teen — came into the lab and began working at a different station. We each were concentrating on our own tasks in silence for several minutes when suddenly he said, “You’re boring.”

    “What?” I answered. It felt like an insult, but I wasn’t sure. Plus, I wanted to buy time. How should I respond?

    “You never talk,” he said. “You don’t socialize. Boring.” Then he left.

    “But I have nothing to say at the moment,” I thought, not terribly hurt. I had never cared for him. Instincts validated.

    Still, the audacity stunned me. What kind of jerk tells someone they’re boring to their face? What kind of adult says that to a teenager?

    But I was new to the workplace, so I stayed quiet and observed. What counted as “not boring” for him was boring to me. When he socialized (as he called it) he complained about traffic, about the weather, about our job.

    His idea of “not boring” and “socializing” was whining about everyday stuff. Smaller than small talk, just casual complaints. I decided to play along. The next time we were both in the lab area, I said, “How about that traffic, huh? Terrible!”

    That led to an instantly forgettable exchange about the tiny annoyances of life. He never called me boring again.

    The Greatest Sin in American Society

    That was the only time in my entire life I was ever called boring. I have been loved, liked, disliked, even hated, but I’ve never been called normal. Or boring. One thing I’m not is boring.

    That may sound boastful, but that’s not the intent. Because I believe what I just said applies to you. And everyone. No one is boring. In the modern vernacular, the term is “basic.” No one is “basic.”

    Mediocre thinking goes like this: If your tastes and preferences are seen as unoriginal or just at the surface of any field, they are called “basic.” By extension, you too must be “basic.”

    Calling someone “basic” is also used as an insult, as in, “You’re not interesting. You’re boring.”

    You’re being accused of committing the greatest sin in American society: failure to entertain.

    But I don’t believe anyone is basic. I think everyone is interesting. They just don’t show it. For whatever reason, they often keep their most fascinating selves hidden. For fear of judgment, for privacy, whatever. There are dozens of reasons why people might hide their true nature, and probably a dozen more that are unique to them.

    An Error of Judgement

    The accusations sound like you did something wrong. In my case, I never liked the chemical lab guy because he was a small-talking blabbermouth. In keeping with my theme here, he may have been interesting in some way, but I never saw that side of him, and after he casually insulted me, I never cared to.

    The worst people are interesting, just not necessarily the people you want to get close to. Serial killers for example. Interesting, and definitely not basic or boring, but not admirable.

    What I couldn’t articulate at that time was this: People aren’t boring. They just don’t trust you yet, or ever.

    What I Could Have Said

    In retrospect, I laugh at this fool from my distant past.

    “I’m not here to entertain you.” I could have said. “And you’re not exactly a day at the carnival yourself, Mr. Small Talk.”

    Well, I could have said all that, but I didn’t want drama at my first real workplace. Maybe that’s why that fool considered people boring. He was clearly judging and others instinctively knew it. When people sense you’re judging them, they close up tighter.

    That’s your loss. Not theirs.

    A Whole New Weird, Wonderful World

    I once made these comments in a business meeting. Later, a colleague approached me and said, “You’re right. I really appreciated what you said about being fascinated by people’s secret lives. I have a secret I don’t tell anyone. I sell sex toys.” Then she gave me her business card.

    It was of no interest to me – honest! – but here was someone I knew nothing about. Yet when I expressed my admiration for people’s non-workplace persona, she knew she could trust me. And now I’m a regular customer… KIDDING.

    The world and the creatures in it are full of wonder and secrets. If you just think people are boring, they’re not going to correct you. If you demand they dance for you, they’re going to freeze up. Earn their trust with genuine curiosity and the world gets even more interesting.

  • How to Be Happier

    How to Be Happier

    Was working some things out in my head about #gratitude and #happiness and put this together. Think of it as a micro-mini #tedtalk about #mentalhealth It helped me maybe it will help you. Stay happy, friends!

    @scooter_bae

    Was working some things out in my head about #gratitude and #happiness and put this together. Think of it as a micro-mini #tedtalk about #mentalhealth It helped me maybe it will help you. Stay happy, friends!

    ♬ Lofibeats chillhop(943906) – Enokido
  • I’m Depressed! I’m Here! Get Used to It!

    I’m Depressed! I’m Here! Get Used to It!

    This tale was originally published on my blog years ago, then republished again on Medium in honor of World Mental Health Day 2017. Now here it is again. It helped me to express these things. Hopefully it helps you.

    THE FIRST DECISION

    The two most important women in my life come from opposite ends of the privacy spectrum. My mother lived by old-world Italian reticence, private to a fault. My wife is at home in the modern era, spilling every detail of our lives onto Facebook in real time.

    Living between these extremes, the pros and cons of both styles jump out. There is dignity in privacy, in not broadcasting every trifle. At the same time, there is value in sharing, in using experience to learn from and teach others. Those opposites pulled at my decision as I pondered if I should write this. Do I tell you something I’d rather keep private? Or do I spill the ugly details?

    I’ve decided to share. Why? Because of you of course. Yes, you. Reading this. You. Or maybe someone you know.

    Because there is definitely a time when sharing beats silence, and that’s if you can help people. Mom was all about helping people, so while I lean toward her style of privacy, I think she’d appreciate why I’ve decided to come out.

    What I’m trying to tell you is I take an anti-depressant. Were you expecting me to say something else?

    BACK SEAT DRIVERS FOR YOUR LIFE

    Well I’m not gay (maybe metro, but not gay) and it seems that coming out as homosexual would present a whole different set of challenges than announcing you’re medicated for depression. That said, I think I can sympathize. Depressed or gay, there are some interestingly similar responses from the ignorant.

    In both cases, you’re told it’s a choice, that you can “get over it,” that you’re just being lazy, selfish or self-indulgent. Funny thing is, all those accusations invariably come from people outside the experience. Non-gay people tell gay people what being gay is like. Non-depressed people tell depressed people what being depressed is like. It’s like having a back-seat driver for your life, for your entire being.

    Maybe it’s human nature. Maybe it’s the evil twin of the American dream or positive thinking. If you believe the myth that you can be anything, then if someone is sick or unfortunate or wired differently, you’ll say it’s their choice.

    Regardless, as usual when I encounter ignorance, before eviscerating it I enjoy a good laugh. Yeah it’s my fault. I’m lazy. There’s nothing I love better than looking around at the miraculous good fortune I’ve had, all the love and comforts I’ve enjoyed my whole life, and still feeling sad. It’s awesome to feel bummed when there’s no reason to! It makes me so happy! Oh wait…

    We’ll get back to battling ignorance later. Sadly, it’s not going anywhere.

    THANKS TO THOSE WHO LED THE WAY

    So yeah, I take an anti-depressant. No biggie. Each morning, I wake up, pop a pill and life goes on. And like the clever campaign to remind gay kids that things get better (see It Gets Better Project) I’m hoping this essay will do the same for those suffering from depression as I did. When I finally realized I had to take a pill to stay sane (or my best impression of it) I found great comfort in the fact that others had struggled with this ailment and still enjoyed great success in their fields.

    If others (Terry Bradshaw, Howie Mandel, Woody Paige, Mike Wallace and Maurice Benard to name a few) hadn’t come out as having similar annoying mental quirks, then the challenge to prevail would have been much tougher. I’d be uncertain that success was something I could ever achieve.

    Their openness about their (our) illness inspired me, and the few times I’ve opened up to those going through the same thing, I’ve seen the positive effect sharing has. “You too?” They ask, surprise in their faces. “But you’re so… together. Fortunate. Successful. You’re an awesomely totally cool chick-magnet.” Okay, I made up that last sentence, but the point is, people in the midst of battling depression, what feels like a battle for your very soul, are surprised at the possibility that it can be overcome.

    So while I’m not as famous as the dudes I mentioned, let me add my name to the list. I’m Spartacus! A pill-taking Spartacus!

    THE SUDDEN CRASH THAT TOOK A LIFETIME

    So now, my story… It begins innocently enough. I’ve always had an overabundance of thoughts about anything and everything. I’ve obsessively filled countless notebooks with scribbled ideas large and small. I thought it was cool to have such an active mind, but I do remember sometimes lying in bed, hopelessly begging my mind to stop racing.

    I also remember enduring a common symptom of OCD: the urge to put things in some kind of order. One part of my mind would say “Who cares what order the folders are in?!” The other part would insist I put the folders in a certain order. I would do it just to shut up the obsessive part, even though I knew the activity was pointless.

    None of that was unmanageable. It was annoying, but not crippling.I even thought of my racing mind as a benefit and/or hazard of being a writer. Athletes become physically fit but risk physical harm by pushing their bodies, writers become mentally fit but risk mental harm by pushing their minds.

    In my early 30s, the engine of my racing mind started to overheat. My life went through massive upheaval, and even though I’m sharing, details aren’t needed here. Let’s just say a lot of bad crap happened in the span of a few months. There were multiple deaths of people I loved, I hated my job, and other heavy aspects of my life all churned into a mix that literally knocked me flat.

    The crash coincided with the arrival of fall, the shorter days bringing down my mood more than they usually did. I stopped doing things I enjoyed, I spent days terrified, and I wasn’t sure of what. I wasn’t suicidal, but the idea did cross my mind. Of course, I preferred running away. But to where? To do what? I had no idea.

    I got to a point where I was afraid to get out of bed. I remember the day of my crash, thinking, I have to go to work, I have to go. But I was so scared of another day at a job I hated, I can’t describe it. I would rather have had a deranged person charge at me with a knife. That kind of fear would have made sense. No such luck. I put on the bravest face I could muster and went to work, and that’s where I crashed.

    By “crashed” I mean the fear became so strong, I couldn’t breathe. I could barely see. Finally, I woke up on the floor of the men’s room. I blacked out a second time at my desk a few hours later. My wife rushed me to the hospital. I thought I had survived a heart attack, but when they ran all the tests they said my heart was completely fine. “You had a panic attack,” the E.R. doc said, and I wasn’t even sure what one was.

    A STRANGE JOURNEY BEGINS… STRANGELY

    The E.R. gave me some meds, told me to see my primary doctor for possible long-term meds and maybe a referral to a therapist. The journey had begun, but not without a detour that’s worth mentioning.

    The crash happened around Halloween and of course I had been invited to a costume party. By then I was sky-high on the drug they gave me in the E.R., my pupils huge even in bright light. Inside my mind, everything was vaguely funny.

    You can see the result of my stoned state in the strange picture included at the start of this article. Pre-crash, my plan was to use a child’s Batman costume and cram my adult-size body into it just to look ridiculous. The thing exploded except for the ears, belt and cape. I added “buffs” from the TV show Survivor for modesty.

    Friends came over prior to the party. “You’re not seriously going out in that?” they asked. Though my mind was in chaos, my immature side is apparently indestructible. Confronted with disbelief, my resolve hardened. “Hell yeah I am,” I said. At the party, I met these two very nice ladies whose names I forgot (or never knew) and we had what felt like a three-hour discussion about something. They were fascinated with my costume and I was just glad to be alive. That’s all I remember. I have no idea what any of us said.

    Looking back at that time and that stupid embarrassing picture, I am always reminded, in your worst hour, you will survive. You will look back, and you will laugh. Every Halloween this picture makes the rounds among my friends, its full significance never known publicly until now. That picture (termed “Batgirl” by my buds) is a symbol, a reminder. That was my darkest hour. Even then, I was still enough of myself to act like a jackass.

    HELLO IGNORANCE MY OLD FRIEND

    So getting high for a party (even if legally) was fun, but it doesn’t make for a solid future life plan. As I mentioned earlier, what has made this whole journey so challenging is the ignorance. People don’t understand depression. That included me. Even victims aren’t immune from stereotypes and myths. The bad information made everything worse. My mind began racing with worry.

    Sure I could take these drugs for a long time, but was that going to turn me into a chemically lobotomized zombie? Was I going to be so spaced on meds that I would show up to work in my Batgirl outfit? Would I ever be genuinely happy again? Most of all I worried about my true nature. Where did I end and the pill begin? Would I lose the essential Lar-ness that we have all learned to love, hate, tolerate or ignore? Would my personality become something false?

    All the fears represented by those questions never came true. Once the daily pill settled into my brain, I felt normal. The pill doesn’t guarantee happiness. It simply gives me a chance to experience happiness and sadness in a normal way, as opposed to an unnaturally debilitating way. I would describe clinical depression as different than sadness. Depression is something else, much more powerful and primal. It’s practically supernatural in how it shuts down your most basic drive.

    As I was fighting back against my internal ignorance, I was also taking on external ignorance. A nurse once told me to just exercise more and eat right, think positive, and I’d get over it. Think about that: a medical professional telling me to just walk it off. That advice was truly laughable because she knew so little about me and had no idea that was how I always lived. I love thinking positive and eating healthy and have never quite understood people’s desire to sabotage themselves with alcohol and drugs. In moderation those things are entertaining, but I like them a lot less than the average fun-loving dude.

    Fortunately, my doctor was awesome. He kept saying “If I told you to shake off high cholesterol, I’d lose my license. This is exactly the same.” It took me a while to accept that, but my experience has proven him right. The lesson I learned was, don’t judge the cure, just go with it, do what you have to so you can get back in the game.

    YOUR BRAIN AND COMPUTERS

    The way I understand depression is by comparing the human mind to a computer. Both have two parts: hardware (the physical material) and software (the instructions that run inside the hardware.)

    A human mind is the same, it has hardware (your brain cells and the chemistry within) and software (your thoughts.) A psychiatrist is a hardware specialist, they deal with brain cells and brain chemistry. A psychologist is a software specialist, they deal with your thoughts. If your depression is psychological, it is possible you can think your way to happiness. Say you’re too hard on yourself, you might be able to train yourself to stop self-punishing thoughts and snap out of sadness.However, no amount of mental training can fix a chemical problem.

    Using the computer analogy, if your software is running poorly, you can just install new software (think new thoughts.) If you alter your computer’s internal chemistry (say with a spilled coffee) no software is going to fix that.

    For me, my software (my thoughts) was and always has been upbeat and positive, but I still got KO’ed by depression because in my case, it originated from a hardware malfunction. No matter how great your software (your thoughts) it isn’t going to work if your hardware (your brain chemistry) is messed up. Make sense? Well it does to me.

    YOU AGAIN?

    So where I am now, things are damn good. As for this challenge to my life, I’m at the “and he lived happily ever after” part.

    For those also struggling, remember things were rocky before I got here. I’ve never liked taking medicine. A part of me just doesn’t because I want to be self-sufficient and independent. Relying on meds of any kind (even basic pain killers) activates some macho part of me that views reaching out for help as weak. Some people say that anti-depressants are over-prescribed. That’s no doubt true in our “do anything for money” society. But that doesn’t mean it’s true for all.

    In my case, I fought as hard as I could against taking the medicine, and I just couldn’t hack it. I even went off the meds twice, succumbing to what I’ve learned is another common ignorance about mental health: that you can be cured and then go off the meds. In 2003, my life was going crappy, so it made sense I needed the meds. By 2006, my life was much better. Yet when I went off the meds, I felt as bad as I had in my darkest hour. I also went off them again in 2009 just to try it out. The symptoms came back like clockwork. I’ve done my personal testing, so now I’m convinced.

    Every time I settled on the drugs and the internal noise quieted, my mind was still, at last. For the first time in my life, I could control my thoughts. No more racing. The stillness was awe-inspiring. Is this how other people live? I wondered. It’s beautiful. I remember lying in bed, staring at the wall, not thinking of anything.

    I’ve experimented with meditation, I’ve been to mountaintops, islands and deserts, but I’ve never experienced such peace.

    CONSEQUENCES

    So here’s my message to those who are depressed: you’re not alone. You will survive, but only if you get help. Go to the doctor, go to a therapist, go to the hospital, check yourself in a mental home. Whatever you need to do to survive, don’t judge it, just do it. You won’t be cured overnight, but there is no reason to prolong your suffering.

    Along the way from that low point on the public bathroom floor to this very moment, I’ve met so many wonderful people, I’ve been humbled. I never knew I was so blessed. It almost makes me want to swan dive onto the toilet floor again, just to see the moving and comforting sight of those who I suspected were my friends proving themselves as such by rushing to my aid with many words and gestures of kindness and support.

    So now that I’ve shared, I feel good that maybe this will help someone, but what about any negative consequences? What if some future employer sees this and refuses to hire me? Or an insurance company sees it and refuses to cover me? What about me occasionally toying with the idea of getting into politics? This could be slander fodder for my opponent. What if they succumb to ignorance and think I’m some unstable lunatic? Should I re-think this sharing business? What if something bad happens?

    So be it. I will take that on when or if the time comes. My only concern now is for someone like me, who might right now be scraping themselves off a public restroom floor and wondering what the hell just happened. To them I say, you will be all right, you will overcome.

    Maybe right now, someone is heading to a costume party with a head full of drugs and fears, wearing a Batman outfit designed for five year olds. To them I say, yes the walk home will be painfully cold and difficult, but it will not last forever.

    Friends will warm you with their arms around you and before you know it, you’ll be laughing again.

  • Maximum Returns with Minimal Investment Using This Simple Trick

    Maximum Returns with Minimal Investment Using This Simple Trick

    Photo by Caleb Chen (@calebchen) on Unsplash (unsplash.com)

    I was proud of myself. I was doing a good deed. But before it was all over, there would be tears. What happened?

    Back before remote work, Stephanie (not her real name) was always bringing in snacks for the team. Every Thursday or Friday, we could count on a spread of goodies in the break room.

    She did it with such regularity and quiet dedication, we came to expect it. People tossed a halfhearted “Thanks,” her way as they ran to gobble the goodies. But eventually even that faded, and people silently ran to grab the snacks that magically appeared.

    But that one special day was different, because on the way to the office I had picked up a huge, sweet Starbucks drink. I was going to give it to Stephanie, as a concrete appreciation for her generosity.

    I set the drink on her desk.

    “Good morning, Stephanie. You always bring in treats for us, so I brought this for you.”

    …and she burst into tears.

    She wailed a little too. I panicked. The tears were coming so fast and loud, I was terrified that I had done something wrong. What had I missed? Perhaps her friend had been seriously injured by a rogue Frappaccino. Had my offering brought back terrible memories? Argh! Me and my stupid ideas.

    No, she finally clarified. She was just touched. Then she cried some more.

    What made it worse was that on the same day, our new manager was starting. She was patrolling the cube farm, getting to know us, and here I am standing next to a coworker, while that coworker is bawling her eyes out.

    “Stephanie, it’s okay. Please be quiet,” I said. But then I realized, that sounded ominous and creepy. My new manager kept looking over at us to see what the disturbance was. Fortunately, Stephanie got control of herself. She assured me the tears were happy tears.

    I start with the anecdote as but one example of this simple truth: People are starving for appreciation.

    Scratch that. Edit. People are not merely starving for appreciation. They are thirsting for it. Nearly dying for it. The zillion-dollar social media industry (including this site) is built primarily on an infinitely renewable resource: people’s need to be noticed and valued.

    All you have to do to satisfy that universal need, to get someone on your side, to make them happy, to make the world a better place, perhaps even accidentally bring them to tears of joy is show some gratitude.

    Say “Thanks.” That’s it. Completely free. Completely effortless. It’s well-known that showing gratitude makes you happy, too. Minimum investment, maximum impact. Even crypto-hype doesn’t live up to that kind of ROI.

    We humans want others to be amazed by us, even if what we do isn’t that amazing. We want others to say they’re jealous of us. Most of all, we want a little thanks.

    So do it. It’s free. Show appreciation. Show gratitude. It’s also useful because sometimes, for whatever reason, you will have nothing else to give, or you’ll be forbidden to give more.

    Not everyone agrees with me. I was once taking a management course and the trainer advised the opposite.

    “Never say thank you,” she said. “Never say thank you to someone for doing their job.”

    Fortunately, the class erupted in open revolt. A debate ensued. The consultant held her ground and the debate stalled. Agree to disagree.

    But to that anonymous trainer, I say, “Go ahead, never say thanks.” See how far that gets you. See how the people around you (in work, life, all other relationships) react. Watch as your competition — who does deign to say “thank you” as a matter of respect — motivates effortlessly while your team mopes.

    I can’t help but think that surely one of the other courses this alleged business expert offers is a lecture on how to improve morale. I’ll save you the time: say thank you.

    Even when someone does their job. Even when someone does what’s expected. Even when it’s not amazing.

    Of course, it’s not necessary. Of course, you don’t have to. But why not? It’s free. 100% free. It’s kind. It makes people feel good.

    You might even bring someone to tears of joy.

  • Sinbad the Sailor, Barbara Bush, and Life Lessons

    Sinbad the Sailor, Barbara Bush, and Life Lessons

    My wife once worked at a mall where Barbara Bush was touring for a photo op. Yes, that Barbara Bush, matriarch of the American political dynasty. Wife of one president, mother of another. As you can tell, we Americans have a rich history of defying monarchies.

    Anyway, a friend of my wife, a guy who worked at a bakery, made Mrs. Bush a cookie, just for her. As she strolled through the mall on a practice run, he offered it to her.

    Mrs. Bush politely refused the cookie and said, “It looks delicious but they won’t let me have it.”

    There are different ways to interpret Mrs. Bush’s words.

    Maybe she genuinely didn’t want the cookie and didn’t want to hurt the man’s feelings.

    Or maybe, and I think more likely, because of her high-profile position, she was wise to refuse food from a stranger. It might be poisoned. The “They” who wouldn’t let her have it were her bodyguards and security team. Such is the life of the rich and powerful: full of distrust.

    I like this anecdote for its muted sadness and the wisdom it reveals.

    We working-class folk look at celebrity and riches with such envy. They seem to have everything. But there is so much they don’t have. We don’t see the price they pay for all that glitz.

    I’ve said it before. It’s worth repeating: Money has a cost.

    Gestures of small kindness are blocked for being too risky. Those around you can never be trusted, do they love you or do they love your influence? People fake their entire lives, all in the name of being near power and wealth. There is nothing some won’t do for riches.

    The life that looks great from the outside isn’t always so great. Less has a whole lot more.

    I first encountered this wisdom at the ending of the 1974 film The Golden Voyage of Sinbad. After Sinbad rescues the king and returns the crown to him instead of keeping it, his princess friend is perplexed.

    She asks him, “Sinbad, you gave away a whole kingdom, priceless treasure, why?”

    Sinbad mansplains: “I value freedom. A king is not truly free. Why, he’s even told who he must marry!” Clip here: https://youtu.be/7wi4kDiOlnY?t=72

    Cute, right? Good point, Sinbad. Now marry her!

    Sinbad the Sailor called it, back in the 70s, before Barbara Bush and the cookie incident.

    The truth hasn’t changed since then. If anything, it’s only gotten more true. There’s pros and cons to every position. You just need to appreciate where you are.