Author: tschroe

You may have read the news that, at 80 years old and having fought stage 4 pancreatic cancer, the beloved Alex Trebek passed away this week. : (

Like millions, I grew up with Jeopardy! on in the background. My mom and older brother, Cosmo, were huge fans. Fun story: While on a business trip to LA, Cosmo told me how he had tried out for the show. After passing the test (which he admits was ‘pretty hard’) he got to play a mock game on the actual stage where the show was filmed. ‘A cool experience,’ he reminisced.

There’s much written about Alex. A long-form New York Times essay and his own memoir earlier this summer. SNL has spoofed him (and, coincidentally, Sean Connery… much love to both), apparently a lot. 

One thing I hadn’t heard or read about him was the guy, Dhruv Gaur, who brought Alex to tears by answering a Final Jeopardy! question with ‘We love you, Alex!’ If you have fifteen seconds and don’t mind getting choked up, you should watch the clip.

Just like the millions who grew up with Alex and Jeopardy! have been sharing this week, I also want to say… Alex, you were wonderful. Thank you for being you.

ps – in a longer version of that clip, Alex says to Dhruv just before revealing his Final Jeopardy! answer, ‘You’re smiling. I like that.’

Yesterday, I was reading the Opinion Today mail from the New York Times. Given that it’s election week and an awful lot is happening, the piece was essentially about needing to make it easy to vote. I could go on about making things easier, simpler, because it’s so natural to over-engineer stuff and make things complicated. Maybe some other time. Near the end of the article, something the writer mentioned struck a chord:

‘It’s nice that people are nice, but it would be a lot better to solve the underlying problem.’

Oh my gosh. That brought flashbacks for me to my corporate days at REI where everyone had even coined a term for it: ‘REI nice.’ Nice, usually. Truly helpful, rarely.

In the case of the NYT mail, the author was referring to the stories of people delivering pizzas to voters stuck in stupid-long lines, and the GoFundMe causes set up for regular folks who can’t afford their medical care. Then he wrote that bit about being nice vs. actually solving the real problem.

The catch, and why it was so widespread that at a place like REI it garnered its own term, is twofold. As humans, we want to be nice because it feels good and then people like us. Yeah, that’s important. Solving the problem, on the other hand, takes hard work, tough conversations, and (the crux) someone being willing to stick their neck out on the line and risk, well, not being liked. Also important, just not nearly as easy.

But essential. Just like making it easy for everyone to vote. Like, as easy as it is to order a pizza.

Where do I start? This week, the beginning. Monday morning. Settling back into things. Reading the headlines. I don’t tend to click into a lot of news stories. Here and there, mostly. Scanning the news bits, toward the end, I came across this one:

A Morning read: As protests raged in Minneapolis, Charles Adams, a police officer and high school football coach, called some of the players on his team. “Before I hit the streets, I have to tell you guys something,” he said. “Just know that I care.”

Like the woman at the City Market who said, ‘Let’s call it… interesting,’ that last part caught my attention. “Just know that I care.”

So I grabbed hold of my coffee, sat back a little, and read Charles’ story. It was really good. Particularly that part, about how he told the guys on his team he cared. That’s huge, and also rare. Definitely so in the world of work. Yet, here was this ‘baritone-voiced bear of a man’ telling a bunch of young high school men he cared about them. 

The reason that headline caught my attention was that word, ‘care.’ As I learned to become a manager, I’d find myself asking, ‘How am I showing I care?’ Charles chose the direct approach. That always works. There are of course lots of ways. Why did it matter that the folks who worked for me knew I cared about them? The same reason it did for Coach Adams.

Adams proved himself early on by showing that he cared more about how the players were doing off the field than anything else. “That way, he could drive them hard on the field, and they would listen.”

For me, I discovered caring was what being a boss was all about.

The other week I was standing in line at the Moab City Market. The woman ahead of me was buying some sort of alcoholic beverage. I didn’t recognize it and admittedly don’t remember what it was. The cashier was sharing with her how she wasn’t really impressed with it. She said, ‘Let’s call it… interesting.’ That caught my attention.

Like I’ve mused about ‘just’ and ‘sure,’ ‘interesting’ is another word that I think is, well, interesting.

I guess, like ‘sure,’ there are times when using it can be good. It all has to do with inflection. Mostly, however, I tend to feel like using it is dubious. Not to be trusted. Next time you throw out an idea and get a, ‘Hmm, that’s interesting… ‘, listen to the inflection and draw your own conclusion. And if you use it yourself, play it up a little with an adverb to make sure the other person will actually believe you, heh.

The Big 5-Oh. Fifty of these. I randomly celebrated thirty of them. I wasn’t really sure why then, I’m still not sure why now. Fifty, though, seems more legit. I guess less legit than a hundred, or ten thousand, but in some way still legit. More than thirty at least. I’m not sure why.

In these random musings, I’ve rambled about things like mitigated speech, hope (twice, in fact), doing nothing, just saying ‘hi’ (and heck, using the word ‘just’), and a bunch of other stuff. Oh, and spiders. 

For this one, I want to throw out a question for you: What’s something you keep coming back to because you haven’t figured out how to go about it yet? 

Let me know. You can send an email to hello@discoversendline, I’m the only one who’ll see it. Not that it has to be some deep, dark secret. If I can’t think of anything helpful for you, maybe I know someone who can. I can’t wait to hear from you.

After wrapping up an intense virtual week before heading out on this trip for a while, as in literally after I finished the final session, I told K I was going for a walk. A run would’ve been tough given the smoke at the time. A walk would have to do. Randomly, iTunes picked a song that seemed poignantly relevant. I have no idea if poignantly relevant is a proper phrase. Maybe the song was just poignant. Whatever. It’s a good song. As it comes to an end, Aleksa sings…

Draw yourself a line and stand behind it

Blurry-edged your mind can still refine it

We are all

Sparks of light

We are all sparks of light

A proper ending to a proper week. If you’re into random music suggestions, this one is good. Check it out.

We’re in the middle of Nevada. Well, not the middle middle. We’re in the middle of nowhere in Nevada. Specifically, though, we’re at Great Basin National Park. Neither K nor I have ever been here. It’s actually really pretty spectacular. Like those two adverbs in a row? I may be getting sloppy with my writing. Or it was intentional. I’m rambling. I should get to the point. These are supposed to be short. 

What’s my point?

Oh right, for fun today since we’re here we hauled Sefton up to the second tallest point in Nevada, Wheeler Peak. After a little scrounging, K found the summit register. In actuality, she found the mailbox where the register is kept. In it, there were a few water bottles, some pens, a sign that said, ‘Wheeler Peak, 13,063 ft.’ And the register, of course. After signing our names, we scrolled through the last few pages of entries. 

While doing so, a thought occurred to me: No one is ever mean when they write in a summit register. There’s never anything hostile, or condescending, or racist. Never any gatekeeping. In contrast, there’s always words of gratitude, thoughts of joy, expressions of hope. And well wishes, like what Nancy wrote the day before we found her entry:

9-28-2020

Nancy Davidson

just shy of 70 years old

Peace be to all

Kindness & compassion

Namaste

Right on, Nancy.

For our final session last week, Greer and I ended it with a question: ‘Where are you gonna be this time next year?’ All of them said, ‘Bend.’ They’re all invited to Bend for an in-person throw-down at LOGE like we were planning on having this year. Beyond that, I noticed every single one of them started off by saying, ‘I hope… ‘

What’s the randomness? This week, K and I finally relaxed by watching good ol’ MI6: Fallout. At one point following an epic fight scene in none other than the men’s room, the character Walker utters, ‘Hope is not a strategy!’

He’s right.

To each of the folks last week, once they wrapped up sharing where they apparently all hoped they’d be in a year, I offered something similar to Walker. More specifically, how I use the word ‘hope’ when what I’m talking about I can’t control. For the things I can, which to some extent includes where I’ll be a year from now, I choose a more empowering verb. ‘I will,’ for instance. Because, after all, hope isn’t a plan.

Oh my gosh, this week has been awesome. Despite the fact I should have been at LOGE Camps in Bend and instead I’m sitting home at Katie’s desk logging in remotely to a week’s worth of sessions I’m leading with Greer Van Dyck, yeah… it’s been awesome. I feel like I’ve amassed a year’s worth of randomness. Wait, does that mean they’re not random?

Whatever, heh. This week I wanted to throw out something Barett shared during his presentation: Fractals. 

His presentation was about engaging with the Catholic church to initiate a conservation movement at a scale perhaps of which humanity has never witnessed. It’s a bold vision, to say the least. Props to Barett. Getting back to fractals, though, he threw out the concept as a means of planting. As in, literally planting plants. The reasons he mentioned for why it could work were compelling:

• It’s easy to estimate cost and order materials
• So it’s easy to prototype
• So the process of actually planting stuff then is easily taught
• Which means the maintenance is also, well, easier

As I chew on it, I realize that in addition to the literal applications like his, there are likely far more figurative ways to use the concept of fractals (which is really just repetition) when thinking about how to do things. And yeah, I may be asking Katie (our family gardener) about how to use fractals when, well, designing our landscaping…

Yesterday I was talking to Tyrhee Moore for a panel I’m moderating next week. He was sharing the story of how he founded Soul Trak. Buried in the narrative was a word he used: Obligation. I thought that was cool, so I asked him about it. How did his feeling a sense of obligation to kids and the outdoors drive him to do everything it took to create something like his non-profit from nothing?

Turns out, for him, it made all the difference. 

That word stood out for me because I’ve thought about it myself, in my own experience. As a boss, a feeling of obligation to those who called me that to champion them, to challenge them, and to keep them on track. Even when it meant making tough decisions, having hard conversations. As a husband, a feeling of obligation to my wife to be supportive, to call her on her shit (in reality this never happens–it’s always the other way around), and to listen.

I’m sure you get the point. Instead of me rambling on, maybe take a second to think of that word, too. Obligation. What does it mean to you?

ps – the awesome photo is by a buddy of mine I met back in my REI photography days, Clayton Boyd. The photo look is all his. The expression is all Tyrhee…

I’ve talked before about this random French cartoon, Minuscule. Sefton was watching it again this week in the living room while I was making espresso in the kitchen. Here’s where the randomness comes in. Wait for it… 

I’ve been working on a session for an upcoming retreat I call, ‘Creating Your Legacy.’ One of the questions we’ll talk about is around this concept of what’s the thing for which each of the folks wants to be remembered. Umm, so what does that have to do with French bugs? Admittedly, nothing really. Except I caught the soundtrack of whichever short episode S was watching. It was Bach’s Prelude in C-major.

Here’s the randomness: Talk about legacy, about being remembered.

In 1977, NASA launched Voyager 1 and 2 into space. Onboard was a time-capsule of sorts, a snapshot of human legacy, in the form of a Golden Record. Images of nearly everything imaginable, sounds from all around the world, greetings in just about every language on earth. Music. Particularly, Bach’s C-major prelude as performed by Glenn Gould.

Hearing it also reminded me about one of my favorite two-minutes of film. The final short film* in the movie 32 Short Films About Glenn Gould. You’ve probably heard Bach’s prelude before. There’s a reason it’s considered a piece of our shared legacy. If you haven’t, you might enjoy it.

* If you only click one link, that’s the one to click…

I wanted to share a story about assumptions. Mostly because it was a little humbling for me.

Last month, I was hiking with a couple of friends through the southern Sierra. Rather than taking our chances on a route over a ridge we didn’t know was possible without climbing gear, we hiked a long way down the Mount Whitney trail to head back up to Upper Boy Scout Lake. We were sitting a bit off the Whitney trail on the path leading to the lake when an older gentleman started past us. I waved and then said, ‘If you’re heading up to Mount Whitney, the trail goes the other way.’

He was kind in his response. ‘I’m going to Upper Boy Scout Lake. I think this is the trail.’ Indeed, it was. ‘Ahh,’ I sheepishly corrected myself, ‘yep it is. Have a great trip!’ I tried to make up for my having basically doubted his ability to get to Upper Boy Scout.

Immediately, I felt bad. Why had I thought there was no way he could be heading there? No doubt, if even to some degree because of his age. Sure, I understood the trail to be a steep, rugged approach mostly used by climbers heading up the burly Mountaineers Route on Whitney or to climb the airy east ridge of Mount Russell. Regardless, it wasn’t fair of me to make an assumption about this man’s ability.

As innocent as I intended my suggestion to be, it served as a good reminder: Don’t make assumptions, Thom. Put another way: Everyone has their own story.

I finally wore holes through my favorite pair of jeans. Those jeans were awesome. They’ll be missed. Despite how hard it was to move on, I finally broke down and bought a new pair of jeans. When I tried them on, I found that little tag in the pocket. I think that tag says it all.

I forget what I was going to write about this week. If it was important, I’ll remember what it was and share it with you later. In the meantime, I just want to acknowledge how awesome my wife is, and extend to you my hope that you have someone in your life who can tell when you’re overwhelmed. Who kicks you out the door to go for a run because they know you well enough that going for a run will help. She was right. 

So I did. Up Castle Rock, then down Castle Rock. Along the trail to and from our house. She convinced me that instead of trying to plow through some work before doing some more work, I needed to take a breather and unwind on a run. The work could wait.

I guess my point this week is, ultimately, hoping you’ve let yourself be known. For being grateful when a lot of the news kind of sucks. For being sure to tell that someone how much you appreciate them when they kick you out the door.

Doris, Warren Buffett’s older sister, passed away this week. She was 92. At the end of the New York Times article about her life, Warren was quoted saying, ‘She really wanted her last check to bounce.’

I thought that idea was kind of cool.

I’ve written in the past about simplifying a message. How Warren would write his Berkshire Hathaway annual letters with his two sisters in mind. I’ve also mentioned in these randomnesses about Todd Henry’s book, ‘Die Empty.’ That idea about wanting her last check to bounce reminded me of that book.

For some work I’m doing with Oregon State University’s pilot outdoor industry leadership program, I was chatting this week with Sierra Domaille. Earlier this year, she launched her magazine, HiHeyHello. Oh, and she was gracious enough to send me a copy of the first issue a few weeks ago. Before talking with her, I sat down to thumb through it.

It’s gorgeous. In her ‘Letter from the Editor,’ she tells the story of the magazine’s name:

‘Stopping to say ‘Hi’ is a small act of intention that can break down barriers and be kindling to conversation and change. It’s a first step to learning someone’s story.’

She’s right. For an introvert (umm, that’d be me), that can be tough. It’s a good reminder, I realized. So simple. Note to self: Just say ‘hi.’

I was sitting at the airport in between flights reading (sigh) something political in the New York Times. A phrase buried in one of the comments stood out:

‘The known is always safer than the unknown.’

Is it really?

Granted, I was on my way home after hiking nine days through the southern High Sierra. It was tough. There were a lot of days we had no idea how we’d get to where we had pointed to on our map. No trails. Just up or down. We looked forward to those. It was cool figuring out where to turn, which route to take.

There were also days on trails. We looked forward to those, too. We could zone out, stare ahead of our feet, and just go.

What’s the point? I’m not sure. Sometimes one may seem safer than the other. Both are necessary. Maybe it’s just a good reminder for me to be careful using words like ‘always.’

British anthropologist and evolutionary psychologist Robin Dunbar developed the idea that based on our brain size, 150 people is the maximum number of meaningful connections any person can have. This is the number of people you can reasonably keep up with—you know enough about them to ask about their family or their new house. 

Here’s another way to think of it: How many people could you run into somewhere and ask them something personal without feeling like you were being nosy?

ps – if you don’t want to read the whole Wikipedia article, maybe scroll down to the part about Gore-Tex under the ‘Popularization’ sub-head. Interesting stuff. Thanks again, Malcolm Gladwell.

This week I posted our floor jack and jack stands for sale on Facebook Marketplace (umm, who knew how popular those things were!?). In my notifications, I saw that a page I follow for the classic tale The Little Prince was doing a live reading with Kristen Scott Thomas (The English Patient has long been high on my list of Best Movies Of All Time – no judging!).

She had just finished up reading. Bummer. I quickly scrolled through the comments while being pinged to death by folks interested in our floor jack. This one grabbed my eye. It’s true.

‘The magic of a good story is that while it initially speaks for the author, each reader finds their own story to take away.’

ps – speaking of good stories, if you haven’t read The Little Prince, I’m judging you like you judged me for liking The English Patient. Read it. You won’t regret it.