New blog home
I've changed blogging locations. Blogging from Erik Hansen is now going on over at a Wordpress blog, http://erikorama.wordpress.com/.
My pleasure
There's a man from Budapest who bags groceries at my local Whole Foods. His name is Jan (Sounds like Yaan.) Always friendly. Always smiles. He comments on the weather by using words you use to describe food: "what a delicious day" he might say if it has been sunny all day. (I'm usually shopping in the evening, after sundown.) Is this intentional? Food store. "Delicious day." I'm not sure. He also always uses the expression "my pleasure" after people thank him for bagging their groceries. And he says it with such relish! (Sorry! Couldn't help myself.) But the way he says "my pleasure" convinces you that it has been his pleasure to figure out the best way to place your groceries in that bag so that no harm comes to the tomatoes.
I have found myself saying "my pleasure" instead of "you're welcome" when someone thanks me for something I have done. 'My pleasure' has so much more power than 'you're welcome.' Just the act of saying 'my pleasure' is pleasurable. And just saying those two words reinforces the fact that you did have pleasure in helping this other person. And it makes you want to help people more so you can say "my pleasure!" more often. "You're welcome" has none of that power. I'm amazed at the difference in the two phrases that at least outwardly seem to convey the same meaning.
Recently got an email back from a friend who I had thanked for something. She responded with: "My pleasure." I loved that. Maybe this is catching on? Or have I just been missing something for a long time?
Be more than you seem, again
We had a new instructor at spin class the other day. I'm semi-embarrassed to admit that I go to a spin class at a health club, but I've got to say it really helps me get through the grim un-lighted days of winter. Exercise is good for the mind. It wards off depression, and it keeps me in shape for summer bicycling season.
So the new spin instructor shows up, noodles around with the adjustments on her bike at the front of the room and in the process of introducing herself, also mentions (lets us know!) that she is an ironman (2.5 mile swim, 112 mile bike ride, full marathon) athlete. And she's got three teenagers (she can't be that old!). This was her way of credentialing herself to us. But you know, who cares? I don't care if she's the best ironman athlete in the world; all I care about is her leading a good spinning class. But this is the way the world has been. Is? It's the (old) resume way of the world. "Let me tell you what I've done." But the world is now more like the movie industry, where, famously, "you're only as good as your last movie." Same for spin class: you're only as good as how you lead the class.
So, don't come in and tell us all this crap about yourself. We don't care. Just come in and lead the class. We'll decide if you're good or not. Nothing you can say will have any influence on that. Then in time you can let us know about yourself and your interests. But for now, just impress us with how well you can help us get the most out of this 45-minute session at 8 in the morning.
And just the other day I was talking with a guy who goes around doing workshops about how to properly demo software to potential clients. He said that when he does a workshop he doesn't introduce himself. He just starts in. Then later on if someone asks him about himself, he'll then talk about who he is and what he has done, etc. In the meantime, though he is demonstrating his knowledge and how it can help these people. That's what they're there for, not to worry about where he went to college.
So the new spin instructor shows up, noodles around with the adjustments on her bike at the front of the room and in the process of introducing herself, also mentions (lets us know!) that she is an ironman (2.5 mile swim, 112 mile bike ride, full marathon) athlete. And she's got three teenagers (she can't be that old!). This was her way of credentialing herself to us. But you know, who cares? I don't care if she's the best ironman athlete in the world; all I care about is her leading a good spinning class. But this is the way the world has been. Is? It's the (old) resume way of the world. "Let me tell you what I've done." But the world is now more like the movie industry, where, famously, "you're only as good as your last movie." Same for spin class: you're only as good as how you lead the class.
So, don't come in and tell us all this crap about yourself. We don't care. Just come in and lead the class. We'll decide if you're good or not. Nothing you can say will have any influence on that. Then in time you can let us know about yourself and your interests. But for now, just impress us with how well you can help us get the most out of this 45-minute session at 8 in the morning.
And just the other day I was talking with a guy who goes around doing workshops about how to properly demo software to potential clients. He said that when he does a workshop he doesn't introduce himself. He just starts in. Then later on if someone asks him about himself, he'll then talk about who he is and what he has done, etc. In the meantime, though he is demonstrating his knowledge and how it can help these people. That's what they're there for, not to worry about where he went to college.
Trying to tell the/your story
A friend sent along this link to Ira Glass of National Public Radio's "This American Life" talking about the early days of his career and how he had to work through all the horrible, sucky stuff he had to do. Working through what is not necessarily great work. He sits there and critiques (what was I talking about?!) a radio show from his early days. The point is it takes a long time--maybe forever?--to figure out how to tell the stories you want to tell. And inasmuch as this is aimed at a 'creative' audience, writers, radio people, reporters, anyone trying to tell their own or someone else's story, I think it also applies to everyone--everyone! Because one big part of our common humanity is the need to tell stories. That's what we do all the time. All the time. You get together with a friend and say, "I have to tell you what happened to me this morning!" You're telling your story. But you don't think twice about it when you're telling it. We are speakers. Talk comes naturally to us. To then turn around and try to write that story is for some reason, an entirely different animal. Weird.
And then I see this review of Paul Auster's latest book, Man in the Dark, in The New Yorker. The final line reads: "The narrative juxtapositions and the riddling starkness of Auster's prose create an absorbing if mildly scattershot effect, breathing life into a meditation on the difference between the stories we want to tell and the stories we end up telling."
Why do these things pop out at me now? And connect? I suppose it's that I'm working with a friend who is trying to tell his story. A piece of his story. But he's run up against that issue of, "When I tell this story to friends at dinner, it's always interesting and amusing and unless they're lying, they say it's a compelling story, but when I try to write it down, it doesn't sound like me and I don't even want to re-read it." That age-old dilemma. We are story tellers as speakers. Talking is natural. But writing is not. And for some reason (that 8th-grade English teacher?), people get totally constipated about writing their stories. Perhaps it's just that gap between the oral and the written. Or perhaps it's just the fact that it takes a lot of practice to make that written story sound as good as the spoken one. Perhaps it's that we've been talking longer than we've been writing. Or maybe we spend a lot of time actually thinking about how we're going to talk our stories. I know that I might have some experience and before I actually tell anyone about it, I might think about how I'm going to describe what I experienced; try to find the right words in my mind that will convey what happened. And perhaps we all do that; perhaps our training as speakers is so innate, so 'within us' that we don't think about the oral practice that we do all the time.
And then I see this review of Paul Auster's latest book, Man in the Dark, in The New Yorker. The final line reads: "The narrative juxtapositions and the riddling starkness of Auster's prose create an absorbing if mildly scattershot effect, breathing life into a meditation on the difference between the stories we want to tell and the stories we end up telling."
Why do these things pop out at me now? And connect? I suppose it's that I'm working with a friend who is trying to tell his story. A piece of his story. But he's run up against that issue of, "When I tell this story to friends at dinner, it's always interesting and amusing and unless they're lying, they say it's a compelling story, but when I try to write it down, it doesn't sound like me and I don't even want to re-read it." That age-old dilemma. We are story tellers as speakers. Talking is natural. But writing is not. And for some reason (that 8th-grade English teacher?), people get totally constipated about writing their stories. Perhaps it's just that gap between the oral and the written. Or perhaps it's just the fact that it takes a lot of practice to make that written story sound as good as the spoken one. Perhaps it's that we've been talking longer than we've been writing. Or maybe we spend a lot of time actually thinking about how we're going to talk our stories. I know that I might have some experience and before I actually tell anyone about it, I might think about how I'm going to describe what I experienced; try to find the right words in my mind that will convey what happened. And perhaps we all do that; perhaps our training as speakers is so innate, so 'within us' that we don't think about the oral practice that we do all the time.
Is that a photo of you?
This one really irks me: people who use photos that were taken 10 or 20 years ago as their website/twitter/facebook photos. C'mon people, get with it. Do you intend to meet any of your clients in person? Won't they be a little surprised when the real you doesn't look much like the virtual you? What's wrong with using a current photo of yourself? Could it be any easier to do? Get someone to take a picture of you and then upload it to your computer and then to your various sites. The next time I meet someone whose picture doesn't correspond with their current age, I'm going to say, "My how you've aged since you got on the web." Why not put up a new picture every month? Why not?
Forget happiness
Okay, so I was writing about 'happiness' in this blog at one time. But I couldn't sustain that. It's not that I don't believe in happiness; I do. But I believe in other things more. Though I was intrigued by that study done by Nicholas Christakis in which they put forth the idea that you can by made happy by people in your social network. (Here's page about Dr. Christakis and links to various of his studies.) Then we find out that the hacker who got into the Twitter accounts of various celebrities found 'happiness' was the password used by the Twitter staffer. As they say, "the fairly weak password, 'happiness.'" I guess no one will be using that as a password for a while.
The thing that really put the brakes on me thinking about happiness was an article in the NY Times from October, 2007 about Charles Schulz, the 'Peanuts' cartoonist. Turns out that whenever anyone asked him why Charlie Brown never got to kick the football, he replied, "Happiness is not funny."
He's right. It's not funny. For me, funny is more important than happy. Maybe it's a Scandinavian thing.
The thing that really put the brakes on me thinking about happiness was an article in the NY Times from October, 2007 about Charles Schulz, the 'Peanuts' cartoonist. Turns out that whenever anyone asked him why Charlie Brown never got to kick the football, he replied, "Happiness is not funny."
He's right. It's not funny. For me, funny is more important than happy. Maybe it's a Scandinavian thing.
Pan Mass Challenge ride completed
(Reproduced below is the email I sent out to folks after I completed the Pan Mass Challenge ride in August. Yes, this is way overdue. And why am I posting this now? Just for the record, I guess. And maybe to pick up a last-minute donation to the Jimmy Fund.)
Dear Friends,
First of all, thank you again to all of you who have donated to the Jimmy Fund this year. I do appreciate your support.
And yes, the ride is done, all 192 miles. It was a good weekend for riding, and even the rain showers Saturday evening in Bourne were not too disruptive (except for one of the wood beam supports holding up the Big Top tent getting knocked over by a wind gust). I took a short refreshing swim in Buzzards Bay to celebrate the first 111 miles. Salt water, gooood. Mostly everyone made it, 5,390 riders. 2,700 volunteers to help us on our way. A few folks ended up in emergency rooms but I'm told there were no serious injuries. Thankfully.
Once again I was with a group that stopped Sunday morning to have mimosas in Barnstable (an homage to the winner of the Tour de France, who on the last day of the race drinks—sips?—some champagne as the peloton makes its way to Paris for that last torrid bit of racing around the Champs d'Elysee) and we stopped again in Wellfleet to cool off in the pond there. (Clearly we are not interested in an early finish at Provincetown.)
Lots of scenic countryside. Lots of people lining the roads, clapping, and thanking us. And the young boys and girls with their arms outstretched, waiting for the bicyclists to veer towards them to slap hands. You start thinking everyone in the state of Massachusetts is out there rooting for you. Well, maybe not the fishermen we see beside the Cape Cod Canal at 5:30 a.m. on Sunday, their lines casting out into the mist over the water. They had business of their own.
But I have to tell you one story. Last Wednesday I was out on a training ride and stopped at a red light in Newton. A car pulled up beside me and the woman behind the wheel rolled down her window and asked me if I was riding in the Pan Mass Challenge. "I am," I said, thinking it was interesting that this time of year everyone in Massachusetts assumes anyone on a bicycle is training for the PMC ride. And that's kinda cool. Then she said, "My daughter died of cancer two months ago." That was like a kick to the gut. She said it matter-of-factly, but you could see her struggling not to cry. This was a woman in her late 40s, so her daughter was what?, 20-something? "I'm terribly sorry to hear that," I said, and then she related how her daughter had worked at Monster, the job search company, and how her colleagues had raised all sorts of money for the Jimmy Fund. That was such a sad encounter. Your first reaction is to think you've failed this woman and her family. Daughter. Dead. That's so tragic. On the other hand, I think someone on a bike represents hope for this woman and I guess that's another reason why we all continue to do this ride.
So far, $21,000,000 has been raised. The goal is $34,000,000. If you'd still care to donate, you've got until October 1st.
I hope you're all having wonderful summers.
Thanks again,
-erik
(I didn't bring my camera so I don't have any pictures this year.)
To make a donation online: https://www.pmc.org/egifts/default.asp?Add=EH0050
Pan-Mass Challenge, again
I'm participating in the Pan-Mass Challenge again this year. The event is the first weekend in August. I'm deep into training, in fact will be riding 125 miles on Wednesday, from my front step to Provincetown. And then the fast boat home. Long time in the saddle but come August, have got to two of these rides on Saturday and Sunday.
In case you're not on my distribution list, here's the email I sent out. Would love to have your support:
Dear Friends,
I'm participating in the Pan Mass Challenge for the third time this summer. For those of you who supported me in this ride in the past, thank you again. Last year's event raised $33 million (!!) for the Jimmy Fund, which in turn supports cancer research at the Dana Farber Cancer Institute in Boston. This year's goal is $34 million and I'm sure we'll make it.
For those of you who weren't included in my appeal last year, the Pan Mass Challenge is a 2-day, 192-mile bike ride (not a race!) from Sturbridge to Provincetown, MA, that takes place the first weekend in August. This is no cake walk. I've been training since April and will complete at least two century (100+ miles) rides in advance of this year's challenge. Billy Starr, executive director of the event, completed the first Pan Mass Challenge in 1980 to honor his mother who had died from melanoma at the age of 49. The challenge has grown every year since, and has contributed over $200 million to cancer research.
For those who donated last year, I hope you can do so again. And for those of you I'm reaching out to for the first time, please help me further the fight against cancer.
To donate online, go to this address:
http://www.pmc.org/egifts/giftinfo.asp?EgiftID=EH0050
My donor ID is EH0050.
Thank you for your generosity. (100 percent of your donation is tax deductible.)
If you prefer to donate by check, please make it out to Jimmy Fund or PMC and mail it to me at the address below. If you've got other questions, please feel free to call or email me:
erik [at] erikhansen [dot] com
617 264 4717
You can get more information about the Pan Mass Challenge at this web address: www.pmc.org
My photos from last year's ride can be found here: http://tinyurl.com/5zue8p
Thank you again for your support.
-erik
Erik Hansen
228 Winchester St.
Brookline, MA 02446
Can't call? Don't say hi.
I got an email from a friend the other day. He had seen a guy I know the day before. He wrote in his email: "'So and so' says hi." I know we all do this, but when you think about the act of asking a third party to say hi to a friend of yours, well, it's actually an insult. What you're saying is, "I don't have the time or inclination to call or write you myself, so I'm saying hi via this other person who knows nothing about our relationship." Now, that's sincere. Right? The Rule: Don't ask a friend to say hi to another friend. Make the call yourself. Otherwise, keep your mouth shut.
Tattoo you
You know how you go to Google and search for pictures of yourself? You don't? Oh. The last time I searched my name I once again didn't find any pictures of myself but I did find this image of a different Erik Hansen. (There are a gazillion Erik Hansens. Very popular Scandinavian name.) Not that I'm going to get a tattoo or even thinking of getting a tattoo but if I were to get a tattoo, I'd like it to look like this one. Irregular, not too slick. It's got a nice earthy quality to it. (I probably should have saved this post for Talk Like a Pirate Day, but, well, I didn't.)
