Erik Soderborg

This post is dedicated to THE Jeff Glauser.

I witnessed something amazing today, and I’ll do my best to describe what happened in hopes that you find it equally amazing. The lengths that we humans go in order to save face are incredible and fascinating.

So there I was…
…sitting at the stoplight on the south end of the Shops at South Town in Sandy, Utah. You know the light, right? By Starbucks and headed toward Costco.

It’s a crisp winter day with the sun shining. Some snow had fallen earlier in the morning leaving puddles in the road that reflect sunlight into your eyes, forcing you to squint through the brightness, constantly debating with yourself over whether the effort to reach down, grab your sunglasses, and put them on is worth it when you know they will be slightly smudged and you’ll need to wipe them on your shirt but never REALLY get them to the point where you aren’t convinced you may have astigmatism or glaucoma or something because it’s still blurry. Plus, you know that as soon as you go in for the second attempt at wiping them off that the light will turn green and you’ll hesitate for a half second causing the line of cars behind you to lay on their horns and remind you how horrible a person you are for holding up the world. So, you just squint and deal with the retina-burning sunlight.

You know… just your typical day.

I’m on my way to lunch to meet with a good friend, and I’m a bit anxious because the light is taking what feels like forever. It’s 11:58 and we agreed on lunch at noon. I’m still at least 3 minutes away and I don’t want him to think less of me for being a couple minutes late. Not that he’s that kind of person, he’s literally the nicest, least judgmental person I know, I’m just saying I don’t want to be late so if this light could move things along, that would be appreciated.

Anyway, I’m planning on going straight through this light and, to my right, is a big red truck. Now, this big truck is turning right and, as we all know, Utah drivers believe you can turn right at a red light as long as you have come to a rolling stop and traffic is such that you don’t cause an accident coupled with your or someone else’s death, yet you’d somehow still be able to find a way to blame it on oncoming traffic. Utah… amiright?

Come to think of it, most of us in Utah figure a red light is just a green light if we’re turning right. Stopping is optional.

Well, not to big truck guy. He is fully stopped at this light, following laws and waiting patiently.

We also know that if the traffic going ahead of you from your right to the left has a left-hand turn light blazing, you are good to go ahead and turn right as long as that left hand turn traffic isn’t pulling a U-turn.

Are you still with me here? Writing about traffic is fun.

Now, on the sidewalk next to big truck is one of those people holding a sign asking for help. Spare change, dollar bills, a job, etc. In our story, they are asking for change. Well, big truck guy is trying his hardest to avoid eye contact with this man with a sign and is fully enveloped in whatever is playing on his phone and whether or not his left-side mirror is positioned correctly.

It is at this moment that the left hand turn signal goes green for the other direction of traffic, opening a window for big truck guy to now turn right as oncoming, perpendicular traffic coming from his left is stopped to allow for the left hand turn signal traffic.

Who knew describing traffic patterns was so hard?!
Here are some pictures.

Now, the impatient driver behind big truck notices that big truck should be moving and turning right as there is no traffic to hinder his turn, but for some reason, the big truck isn’t. So, impatient driver gives a little courtesy honk.

By the way, the man with the sign is past the big truck and is now side by side with impatient driver’s front bumper.

Big truck guy doesn’t hear or notice the courtesy honk and continues to hold his position (staring at his phone), so impatient driver gives a longer, more aggressive, double honk: honk hooooonk.

I have a view over to big truck driver’s window where he looks up from his phone, into the rear view mirror, forward to the red light, and displays a combination of bewilderment and frustration on his face as the light is CLEARLY still red (like his truck).

In what takes a microsecond, big truck driver realizes his egregious error that has cost the world 3 seconds of its time and left the impatient driver behind him questioning big truck driver’s humanity, but at this point the turn signal has ended and oncoming traffic resumes, making it unwise for him to turn right at this point unless he wants a hefty insurance claim and bill (not to mention protecting his pretty truck).

What is the big truck driver to do? He clearly made a boo boo and tiny driving errors like these are something that no one should make, especially not a manly man driving a big truck… You know what they say about those guys…

So, he digs in his car for a second, rolls down his back, passenger-side window, and calls the man with the sign back over to him. Big truck guy drops a few coins into the man’s cup and poof, no more egg on his face.

Phew, crises averted! Big truck guy has saved face.

Well wait just one minute my loyal reader, what about the impatient driver? Now he looks like a real tool for honking at and trying to prevent the charitable transaction between a kind, thoughtful, big truck driver and a man who needs help.

I shift my attention over to the impatient honker…
… sorry, when I skimmed that last line, a word looked like a different word and I had to re-read it to make sure I wasn’t getting inappropriate… Let me rephrase…

When my attention goes to the impatient driver, I realize that he couldn’t see that big truck driver was distracted on his phone, although he assumed it was the case, and now he sees that big truck driver’s lack of situational awareness is actually due to big truck driver’s charitable nature and Christmas spirit. I mean, he just gave the beggar some money despite being the target of honking and future protesters flipping his truck.

I imagine that the impatient driver thinks to himself, “Wow, I was wrong and completely out of line. Now I look like a real jerk to that handsome man in that little Hyundai Accent staring at all of us, watching what really happened.”

Then, he seemingly repents to his higher power, reaches around in his car, and slips a couple coins out his window into the beggar’s cup!

Isn’t this amazing?!

I’ve been wondering if the beggar saw everything go down the same way I did. And if so, I wonder how much more he could earn each day if he could somehow recreate this scene over and over again in a predictable way.

Could he somehow distract the front, right-turning driver to miss his or her initial turn opportunity and cause a line of angry tailgaters (not the football kind) to honk honk at the first position vehicle. Then, collect a copious bounty from people by helping all these well-meaning people save face for missing turn opportunities and honking at the charitable cars in front of them. Does anyone else see a Monty Python skit happening around this? Do they still do skits?

I don’t know if I have any deep, philosophical wisdom to share on this post. Maybe it’s that we humans hate to feel embarrassed about minor mistakes. Maybe we don’t have to be. We all make them and, in our attempt to cover them up, we could be making other people feel insecure about their own minor mistakes, causing a chain reaction that could end up as a lunch-time conversation and blog post.

There you have it… #deepthoughts

Hey, guess what? I try to post something ever so often. Some things are what I would consider witty (hopefully you do too), others are deep dives into the world around us, and still others are book reviews. If you’re into that kind of thing, consider subscribing. The only emails you’ll get are when I post a new story so yay! No spam!

No, this isn’t some script to a creepy horror movie about an evil mother. As a matter of fact, it’s like… the exact opposite of that.

Let’s start with tragedy

“Geez Erik, way to pull us down.”
Well, we need to go here to appreciate what comes next.

My dad doesn’t remember a time when his mother wasn’t sick. She was diagnosed with cancer when he was young and his earliest memories are of her confined to her bed and him driving little toy cars over the mounds her legs made in the covers. He remembers her being weak and frail. The simplest of tasks would wipe out her energy for days.

This story (one I’ve shared in a previous post) is the most vivid memory he has of his mom.

His father (my grandpa) built a series of reflecting pools that fell into one another. These pools were filled with small, shiny pebbles and the water was pulled from a creek that ran through his back yard. There was a five foot drop from the second pool to the last pool.

One day, my dad was playing in the empty pools that had been drained for who knows what reason and he fell from the second pool to the last pool. He landed flat on his back, embedding dozens of these small pebbles into his soft flesh. The fall knocked the wind out of him, and once he could breathe again, he started screaming.

He remembers seeing his frail mother in her white pajamas shuffling toward him and, despite being a 5′ tall woman who had lost most of her muscle mass and body weight to the tortures of 1950’s cancer treatment with near-zero energy levels, scoop him up with unseen, superhuman strength, lift her injured boy and carry him back across the yard to the house. She laid him in bed and plucked each stone out of his back.

This physical exertion wiped out his mother’s strength and my dad doesn’t remember her ever recovering.

On November 18th, 1960, David’s mommy died.
He was 7 years old.
He was the youngest of 7 children and his older sister once told me,
“When mom died, you could see the light just disappear from his eyes.”

How does a parent explain this to a 7 year old?

I spoke to him this past Wednesday at lunch. It has been 60 years since she died and he still struggles to talk about his mom without getting emotional.

28 years to the day after she died, on November 18th, 1988, his youngest son (me) was born. My recent birthday is bittersweet for him.

My Mom

For those who have met my mom, I don’t need to say much. For those who haven’t, let’s just say she marches to the beat of her own drum. No one, and I mean no one, tells her what to do or what to think. Her Dutch pride and stubbornness were most definitely passed on to my siblings but somehow must have skipped me…

She protects her family like a ferocious mama-bear, willing to fight an actual bear if her kids (and now grandkids) are threatened. She likes to tell the story of my oldest brother in elementary school getting picked on by a couple older boys. My brother came home crying and spilled the beans on what had happened. My mom tracked those two bullies down and, in what would probably get you and I arrested these days, not-so-gently showed these kids what happens when you pick on one of Barb’s kids.

She is one tough cookie who could probably still kick the crap out of me (if she could catch me).

Unfortunately, she and my dad had a rocky marriage. I love them both to death but they spent nearly two decades in an unhappy marriage… for me.

A Crazy Time

The spring of 1996 was a whirlwind. I was in 1st grade and love was in the air. I had just developed my first crush on a girl and, looking back on it, did not handle this crush well. I spent the next 5 years shying away from talking to her, saying a total of probably 10 words to her over that time. However, I did later name one of our dogs after her so you can’t say I’m not romantic (and a bit creepy).

Back to the story… in April 1996, my mom and dad got some heavy news and had to explain something that I wouldn’t fully understand until later.

“Punkin (what my mom still calls me), your mommy has cancer.”

If you’ve been paying attention to dates, you’ll now realize that my 7th birthday was 7 months away. Once I connected the dots, I started crying uncontrollably. She grabbed me, sat me on her lap, and held me while trying to console her bawling son. She asked what was wrong, because surely a 6 year old couldn’t know what that all entailed.

I forced out one word at a time between gasps of breath and sniffling my nose.
“I… don’t wanna… be… like… dad! Buwaaah!”

My mom, slightly confused, assured me that she didn’t want me to be like my dad either.
“Oh Erik, I don’t want you to be like him either! He’s a strange, lazy man with no real ambition and you don’t have to be like him.”

Now I’m confused…
(Still sniffling and struggling to breathe) “No mom… I don’t… want… my mommy… to die… when I’m 7… like his mom… died… when he was 7!”

Mom: Oh, yeah… that too…

Fears

My mom’s biggest fears were not seeing me grow up and not being able to know her grandkids. She was on the phone with her best friend at the time and expressed these fears to her friend with my older sister sitting next to her. When she hung up, my sister told my mom that she was pregnant with what would be my mom’s first grandchild.

Treatment

The next year was packed with hospital visits.
In May, my mom started chemo. For that summer after chemo, my parents and I traveled the state because Utah had a little county passport you could get stamped by visiting each county. The county I remember the most was Kanab because my mom spent a few years as a kid living there. She showed me where her elementary school was. I didn’t realize it then, but my parents were trying to spend as much time together and with me in the event things didn’t turn out well.

The chemo caused her to lose her hair. Her hair would start growing back and I remember running my little hand over her head and thinking it was the coolest feeling in the world. But then her hair would fall out again with another treatment and she would have me pluck the little puffs of hair out of her head.

In September the stem-cell rescue (bone-marrow transplant) began. She had no immune system to fight anything and the slightest cold would have killed her so she had to be isolated in the hospital for a month. I could see her occasionally, but we had daily phone calls during the TV show Wishbone where she and I would sing the theme song together and talk about that day’s episode.

October: My mom’s first grandchild is born. She lived to see it.
November: Radiation and my 7th birthday.
December: On Christmas Eve in 1996, she graduated from radiation and went into remission.

Near Death

In April, my mom wasn’t feeling well. She went to the hospital and it turned out that she had a gall stone that was causing serious damage. The stone split in two with one half lodging itself in her liver and the other half in her pancreas.

She was put into an induced coma as they operated on her. They cut her open from her sternum to her belly button and later she learned that they had lost her for a full minute before bringing her back to life. The doctor told her later that he had operated on the exact same situation 2 weeks before, but that girl didn’t make it. My mom was lucky to be alive.

Can we get back to normal?

In May of 1997, my mom went back to work. Let me remind you that this is a month after dying and coming back to life. My mom is amazing.

And life was getting back to “normal.”

In August, just 9 months into remission, the cancer came back, this time in her hip. To make matters more uncomfortable, because of her compromised immune system, she got chicken pox again.

After another round of radiation, she was back in remission.

Incredible Odds

My mom was put in a support group of 10 other women going through a similar thing at the time. My mom was the 2nd oldest of the group at 43. They were all given 5 years to live.

This group would meet occasionally to go to lunch and provide support. They discontinued these get-togethers because one by one, others in the group would deteriorate and pass away.

At the end of 5 years, only my mom and one other lady were left.
80% mortality rate.

It’s estimated that 253,450 women will die this year from cancer.
That is 253,450 baby girls whose parents have to watch their daughter wither away and die. That is made up of wives whose husbands are now left without the love of their life. That is made up of young mothers whose kids will be raised without a mom. That is made up of soon-to-be grandma’s who won’t get to see their first-born grandchild.

5 months from now marks the 25th year that my mom has survived cancer. Using that 253,450 number per year, 6,082,800 women have died from cancer since my mom was diagnosed. The number is likely more than that given our cancer treatments and survivability rates have improved over the last 25 years.

Why was I so lucky?

Grateful that I’m not like my dad

I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve been told that I’m just like my dad. Some say I look like him, others that we share the same humor outlook on life. My mom, whenever I did something that ticked her off would yell, “Ew! You’re just like your dad!”

I love my dad. He is my hero, but I am grateful that I didn’t share the same fate as him in relation to my mom.

My mom lived, and is still alive. She got to see her first granddaughter come into the world, and 14 more grandkids since. She retired from work after a long career and now takes care of a bunch of dogs, goats, chickens, and bunnies doing whatever the hell she wants in retirement. Things turned out pretty good.

My mom – the teacher
In contrast to the millions who aren’t lucky enough to be raised by their mom, I was.

And she taught me how to love.
Not just how to love, but to express that love with words, and hugs, and gifts, and time. She taught me to defend those we love at the sacrifice of our own well-being.

She taught me about the power of self-belief.
She looks back on that time with cancer and tells me how she would not allow herself to die and leave me alone. She would visualize the chemo fighting the cancer in her body. She would visualize her body’s cells destroying the cancer and telling her body to do what it needed to do so she could raise her punkin’.

She taught me empathy.
I am a religious person and genuinely believe that the only reason she survived when others didn’t was her Dutch stubbornness…

I joke. I believe there was divine help. I feel fortunate that technology had progressed as far as it had between my grandmother and my mom in the treatment of cancer. I am grateful for the friends, family, and neighbors for the cards, meals, prayers, and countless acts of service for my family during that time and since.

When I think about God and miracles and the spiritual aspects of this story I struggle. In my mom’s case, there were 9 other women in her group whose families were praying and pleading with God to spare them with against-all-odds miracles. Blessings were given. Deathbed bargains were made with God in hopes of saving them, yet 8 out of the 10 didn’t get what they were hoping and praying and pleading for.

There is so much hate and negativity and sorrow and pain and tragedy in the world each and every day. The people that we meet and with whom we interact are going through unimaginable trials. Countless people are praying and hoping that they or their loved one will make it, only to learn that they didn’t. My mom taught me to be grateful for what we have, but be sensitive to the others who don’t.

I hope we can appreciate what we have, because in the blink of an eye, what we have and hold dear and cherish, could disappear.

I love you mom.

They told me to work hard and forego the play.
Then others told me no, you must “seize the day.”

“Family can wait, more money should come first.”
“No, my friend, I’m sorry, but you’ve got those two reversed.”

“Good health is most important to living a good life.”
“Woah, hold on, the real question is how hot is your wife?”

Who am I, and what should matter most to me?
Can I just pay somebody else to tell me who to be?

Gurus and leaders endless ‘truths’ will impart,
and all their fancy books are recommended for my cart.

Influencer photos with nothing real to show,
All throw out their advice saying, “trust me, I know.”

Who am I to doubt everything they say?
Yet here I am still thinking, “Who are they anyway?”

Life is a cascade of different kinds of choices.
Each getting more confusing with all these different voices.

Maybe they’re right. Or wrong. I’m really not all that sure.
But, who will I allow to guide my own life tour?

Is it God, Karma, or some other guy on LinkedIn?
Or am I all alone, and should give up on all this thinkin’?

By reading every book resting on my shelf,
Will I find someone else, while losing my own self?

So, for now, I’ll work, I’ll play, and try to get some rest.
While beginning to ignore what ‘they’ all say is best.

Maybe you’ve found what you feel is the right way.
Or maybe something you knew was true, somehow change today.

Don’t be offended if your words don’t instantly persuade me.
Hell, they could all be correct, and I simply don’t agree.

You may see this post, comment, like, and share it.
But don’t miss the point, I didn’t write this thing for merit.

These words are not some doctrine, inspired or divine.
But the one thing you must never forget,
Is that these words are mine.

If you haven’t heard Disturbed’s version of the Sound of Silence… you absolutely have to check it out. Song covers don’t usually blow away the originals, but this one does it. And I fully expect some hate mail for this view. Actually, I would absolutely love it if someone mailed me a physical letter with a disagreement… but alas… it will be comments in the digital world.

Life is nuts.

New job.
Family.
Planning the most amazing event ever (Man Games).
My obsessive reading habit.
Exercise.

Whew… it’s a lot.

But here is where I have found some peace that helps slow down the day and start it on the right foot.

Silence.

Have you ever tried to sit still, in complete silence?

It is impossible!

My house creaks, the kids scream, the construction crews across the street are noisy, and I get it, your vehicles need to beep when you’re going in reverse… but are you ONLY driving your machinery in reverse? #stopthebeep

I’ve actually invested in a set of noise cancelling headphones… just for the noise cancellation feature. They arrive today so I’m super excited.

But here’s where the sounds of silence are absolutely wonderful.

Every morning, I wake up, at an hour that I won’t share, and listen to the silence around me.
My wife shifts in bed as I head to the shower.
I move as quietly as I can so as to not wake up the world that lives in my house.
The dogs get up and want food so their little claws click across the tile in the kitchen.
I brush my teeth and pause for a second, looking in the mirror (“hey good lookin'”). I can hear myself breath. I can feel my heartbeat.

I head to work. My drive is about 10 minutes down a slow, winding road. Right as I pull out of my driveway, I roll down the windows, turn off the A/C, and shut off the radio. Silence (sort of).

It is the sounds of this silence that get me amped for the day. If I pay attention, I hear sprinklers shutting off. I hear the subtle whooosh of cars on the road behind us. My engine purring.

As I make my way to work I hear more cars. There’s a fountain in the front yard of one of the houses I pass with water pouring down a rock feature. I can actually hear the tires as they roll over different parts of the road that have been covered with tar.

The smells are fun as well. I smell wet grass from the before-mentioned sprinklers. There is a taste of dirt as I drive through a construction zone (the perpetual reverse drivers). Some homes have beautiful flower beds and, if the breeze is just right, I’ll get a whiff of wonderful flowers.

I see trees, gardens, manicured lawns.
I see a slow-moving snake of cars filled with people headed to their jobs, probably just as groggy as I am, and I hope they enjoy it.
I see the majestic Wasatch mountain range that towers over the valley.
This drive is so peaceful.

During this drive, I’m not only noticing the sounds and smells, but I’m trying to connect with my inner self.

What is the plan today?
How are we doing, self?
How is life going?

I’m a religious man, so I take the time to pray while I’m driving.
“Are we good?”
“Where can I be doing better?”
“Hey, thank you for this. Life is something else, isn’t it?”

This 10 minute drive does wonders for my mental, emotional, and spiritual well-being.

I have many flaws. Just ask Caitlin. And they wander into my brain during this time, but they are quickly replaced with an overwhelming awe for the world around me.

Can I make a suggestion (or two)?
Find the time to embrace the silence.
Find opportunities to shut out everything else and listen to the things you take for granted.

Meditate, find your inner self, pray, connect with God, or the universe, or nature, or whatever it is that you believe in, but connect.

I’m telling you, the best way to connect with yourself, is to disconnect from everything else.

Life is awesome. No matter what anyone tries to sell you through fear, chaos, or manipulation… Life is precious.

Live. Love. Laugh. Enjoy this time because, as Macklemore once (several times) wrote,

“I wish somebody would have told me babe
Some day, these will be the good old days
All the love you won’t forget
And all these reckless nights you won’t regret
Someday soon, your whole life’s gonna change
You’ll miss the magic of these good old days.”

If you’ve never played in an event with referees, this may not be as visceral a situation to you as it is to those who have played in such competitions. Likewise, if you’ve never actually been a referee, and only a participant, it may do you some good to step into a referee’s shoes every once in a while… or just once should do the trick.

We’re going to use basketball as the competition just to make things easier for me, because I’m sure that’s all you readers care about… my well-being.

Basketball was my life growing up so I’m most familiar with it as a sport, and referees can have a lot of influence on the outcome of the game.

You see, a referee must make decisions and calls based on the split-second actions of 10 other humans running around within specified lines, throwing/dribbling a ball, and running into each other. And, as we all know, a basketball game to parents of a 3^rd grade child who can barely lace up his own shoes, is life.

Millions of parents across the world are certain that their little Billy is going to get noticed in some obscure gym by some college… no… pro scout who will sign their little pumpkin to a multi-million dollar shoe deal right there on the spot if Billy can just dribble the length of the court without bouncing the ball off his foot. Think of how many free throws Billy could miss if the referee would just open his eyes and call a flagrant foul on that bully opponent who intentionally aimed his breath in the direction of Billy!

Nearly every call a referee makes during a basketball game is considered wrong by 50% of the people in the gym at that time. If a referee calls a foul, the player, coach, team, and fanatical parents of the person who committed the foul are fully convinced that the referee is a moron, should get his glasses checked, and somehow developed a life-long grudge against the kid and his parents for no apparent reason.

Billy could tackle another player like a linebacker meeting a running back at the line of scrimmage (sorry for mixing sports here) and still, the parents and coach would scream at the ref, accusing him of favoring the other team.

In fact, I once refereed a church ball game, which of all basketball settings you would think is the most tame. I mean, the game begins with the teams petitioning to Jesus to keep everyone safe and kind to one another, inside a building with religious pictures and words all over the place promoting love and acceptance, what could go wrong? This should be a nice, casual experience for everyone.

Nope.

I found myself having to separate full grown men, usher someone off the court because he was bleeding profusely, and receive some choice words directed my way full of several expletives I didn’t even know were legal to string together in that order.

I was just doing my best to maintain order but so many opinions and so much disagreement left me feeling like everyone in the gym wanted to fight me in the parking lot.  

Here’s the connection I’m trying to work through. It seems as though the major (and many minor) life decisions are no different.

Well, hopefully not the bloody, expletive-riddled church experience.

I mean the referee/game relationship.

Here’s the poorly formed, way-too-complex analogy I guess I’m trying to make:

Life is a game… and sure, you’re kind of player in the game… but you’re also kind of the referee… so this gets super confusing, but being a referee sucks… because half the people in the gym (your life) are convinced you’re making the wrong calls.

Phew… we worked our way through that one together.

A Life Changing Decision

This past week, I gave my employer my 2-week notice. It was a tough conversation to have with my boss, who I enjoyed working for and respect immensely. I don’t think she saw it coming and it wasn’t a good feeling knowing that some people were now going to have to take on some more work because of my departure.

I am learning that, to the employer, the timing of an employee voluntarily leaving (assuming this employee was decent at his or her job) is never convenient.

I was responsible for projects that needed to be wrapped up. Couldn’t I have waited until they were done?

Well, once those were done, I would be in the middle of another 4-5 projects… meaning I’d have to wait for those to be done while other projects were added on… lather, rinse, repeat.

The loop is infinite if you are responsible for areas in a growing company, so I am convinced that there is no “good time” to leave a company.

When you decide to turn in your 2-weeks, to one team, you have made the wrong call, betraying any loyalty or trust someone had in you. To some, you never cared for anyone to begin with and have secretly sabotaging the company since the day you got there. Some family, friends, and LinkedIn connections are quick to throw in their two cents about how you’re probably making the wrong decision and it’s too risky.

Important note: my boss took it amazingly well and had nothing but kind things to say and amazing encouragement. She is in the group below.

To the other team, the new place to which you will be taking your talents in hopes of wonderful times, you made the right call. The timing is perfect. There are projects with your name on them that seem to have been built just for you. Your previous work impressed the right people and they want your skill, talent, work ethic, humor, and viral blog following to join their team. This side has similar friends, family members, and LinkedIn connections now calling you brilliant and destined for greatness.

Same decision. Two very different perceptions.

I’m finding more and more that most decisions I make have a negative impact on one group of people who firmly believe that I am acting with intentions that range anywhere from dumb to murderous. These same decisions have a positive impact on another group of people who firmly believe I am acting with dignity, wisdom, and kindness.

How can it be both ways?
How do I know which group to listen to?

7 seconds of politics

An election is months away. If you vote for Donald Trump, half of the country thinks you are saving the world while another half thinks you are a racist, homophobic, sexist, moronic imbecile.

If you vote for Biden, half of the country thinks you are saving the world, while the other half thinks you are a racist, sexist, socialist-loving, soulless, moronic imbecile…

See what I mean?
So, good luck with your vote this year!

Moving off politics…

Even seemingly small decisions turn into your own children shrieking that they’re going to run away from home because you never really loved them.

“Seriously?! I just told you to brush your teeth!”

This fight wakes up your 2-year-old from her nap, interrupting your wife’s nap time, and now your entire house thinks dad is a jerk who is only good for… well… ruining nap times.

Wait… this isn’t a daily occurrence for you like it is for me? Hmm…

Look. Life is cray cray right now for everyone. Life is always crazy at any given moment (except when you’re reading these entertaining posts… amiright???). There are people in your life who are your biggest fans and will cheer you on no matter how absurd and crazy your actions are. They are the types that would wake up in the middle of the night to come pick you up out of a destroyed car you drove into a ditch after four too many drinks. These fans will then start ranting about how the car maker should’ve made the seats less comfortable so you could stay awake and that the road itself didn’t seem to be up to code.

“You’re awesome. It’s not your fault!”

Caitlin is really good at this with me.

Not picking me up out of a ditch.
Nor the driving into a ditch part.

Just to be clear, none of that previous paragraph actually happened. It was just a random example of how my mind comprehends loyalty.

Let’s try this again.

Caitlin is really good at listening to my decisions (that don’t involve nap time) and making me feel like I am brilliant and anyone who disagrees with me doesn’t have a working brain cell left in their skull (she goes a little over-the-top sometimes).

Some unqualified advice

I’m no psychiatrist. I’m not a spiritual leader, intellectual, or philosopher, so take this advice for what it’s worth.

Any decision worth making is going to piss some people off. Know that going in. Some people genuinely want you to succeed. Others feel like your success is getting in their way, or is somehow threatening to them. You can’t change that.

When you find yourself needing to make a decision, do what is right to you, even if it may tick some people off.  

Unless that decision is to bash my blog… then keep that to yourself…

“What is right though Erik?!”

Not a clue. Still trying to figure that one out.

I was driving home from a late-night pickleball battle. Once a week I’m able to go out after the kids have gone to bed and get what some would consider exercise. We play from 9 pm until that moment when a ball is flying toward your face at 75 mph and the lights suddenly shut off. That ball you were about to cram at the other team disappears and pegs you in the eye, which tends to be precisely at 11 pm.  

This past week, my partner and I crushed it. Undefeated. The freeway was mostly empty on the ride home and I was listening to an audiobook while contemplating the mysteries of the universe. It was a good night.

I’ve driven this route so many times that my brain and body are on a form of autopilot as I drift onto the off-ramp, following a car that seems to be going slower than my liking, but what’s the rush?

The off-ramp lane merges to the right and into another set of lanes that head toward my house. The far-right lane doesn’t have a stop light or stop sign so the car in front of me and I should just be able to maintain our cruising speed and continue on our merry way.  

I saw the brake lights go on and I assumed they were just slowing down a bit to glide through the turn at less than the 5 Gs I normally try to achieve at this particular turn, giving me the opportunity to pretend I’m a race car driver.

I assumed incorrectly.

He must have been an idiot.

Rather than reading the many signs informing the world that our lane doesn’t need to stop, this guy decides this is a good place to slam on his brakes.

I wasn’t tailgating, but the sudden stop meant I had to react quickly, otherwise I was going to end up in his back seat… while still in my front seat.

Luckily, my reflexes have been fine-tuned over several years of children throwing things at each other and at me. I have years of catching these same kids as they tripped over sidewalk cracks, fall off bikes, and attempt to spill every bit of food or drink all over my nice pants and shirt. I had been preparing for this moment my whole life.

I slammed on my brakes and had to veer to the left of the sedentary vehicle in front of me. I laid on the horn, rattled of some words I shouldn’t repeat, and was ready to start ascribing every adjective representing a person of low IQ to this guy.

I had heard of people who try and get people to rear end them in attempt at getting insurance money, and I was sure this was what was happening.

I stopped so close to this car’s rear bumper that I could tell you the ID on the license plate decal and see the flaws in this car’s bumper paint (probably from other victims he had lured into an accident).

The driver and his car just sat there motionless for an inordinate amount of time. I started thinking he was going to throw his car in reverse and try to back into me, or worse, get out of his car and try to murder me.

Let’s be honest here, I’m not super tough, so if someone is going to try and murder me, they are 100% going to succeed in murdering me.

As my life is flashing before my eyes and I’m considering recording a final message to my family using my phone’s voice recorder, something moves in front of my murderer’s car.

I was the idiot

At 11:30 at night, at this particular crossing of a freeway off ramp and side street, a father was on his bike, escorting his daughter across this intersection. The guy in front of me was no crazy, insurance fraud, murderer. He had narrowly avoided taking the life of these two people.

His awareness, and the fact that he wasn’t texting and driving or distracted enough to miss two random people riding their bikes in the dark of night, meant that four of us avoided a potentially deadly accident.

In the matter of seconds, I went from autopilot, to rage, to certain death, to gratitude, to embarrassment, and finally, to reflection.

We like to judge people, including ourselves

“We tend to judge others by their behavior, and ourselves by our intentions.”

Stephen M. R. Covey or Albert F. Schleider… I’ve seen both attributions

If you’ve ever driven in Utah, I think you’d agree that this quote is pretty accurate.

I don’t have enough fingers or toes to count the number of times I was sure the other drivers were out of their minds (to put it mildly) as they wandered into my lane, cut me off, or (the most unforgivable) were only going the speed limit in the fast lane of the freeway.

“We all know that the fast lane speed limit is 15-20 mph faster than the posted speed limit!” I shout while shaking my head and throwing my hands in the air as I have to pass these fools on the right.

Admittedly, I have also caught myself accidentally wandering into a lane I shouldn’t, cutting someone off, and yes… only going 5 mph above the speed limit in the fast lane with an absurdly-lifted truck riding me waaaaay too close.

“He must be overcompensating for something.”

Isn’t it interesting that every time I make a mistake driving, I sheepishly mutter, “I’m sorry” in my car and try to avoid any eye contact as the person I’ve wronged drives next to me… slows down so they don’t pass me… and stares me down for a couple seconds? my gaze is fixed directly in front of me, or away from the other driver as I admire the beautiful scenery out that window and not the window nearest to this other person.

I tell myself it was just a stupid mistake and that I’m going to focus better.
“I’m still an excellent driver!”
“Everyone makes mistakes sometimes!”
“I’ve already confessed my sin and experienced the process of repentance!”
“I’m a good person, I promise!”

However, anytime someone wrongs me on the road, I’m certain they hate puppies, probably stole the car their driving, and should be locked up because they are clearly a threat to society based on their behaviors.

Caitlin’s brilliant idea

Caitlin has this genius idea that I think would actually solve a lot of road rage. Also, if any investors out there want to make several dozen dollars, let me know, we can make this dream a reality.

She wants someone to invent a sign that goes in your car and can light up.

The sign has two messages.
1. I’m genuinely sorry about that. I’m an idiot.
2. F-U

This way, if you made a mistake… and you know you made that mistake… and you want that person you’ve wronged to know that you know you’ve made a mistake… you can just switch on the “I’m genuinely sorry about that” message.

Think of how many incidents of road rage could be eliminated! All the wronged driver wants is validation that the person who just wronged them is sorry and acknowledges their mental and physical ineptitude.

At the 2^nd sign?

Well… we all wish we could make sure the other person knows exactly how we feel when they’ve wronged us…

Move out of the fast lane!
*Switch on message #2

Here’s where I’m going with this…

The next time you feel someone has wronged you, whether that’s a boss, a coworker, a client, your kid’s little league coach, or someone on the road based on their behaviors, and before you go assuming or ascribing intent, take a second to process your emotional reaction.

You have a few options in front of you during this second of processing.

1. Understand that this person made a genuine mistake and knows he or she made a mistake, but is embarrassed to come out and admit it.
2. Understand that this person may be completely ignorant to how they wronged you.
   Their wrongful behavior wasn’t intended to hurt you. It was simply a result of their lack of mind-reading ability and them being unable to understand every past event that has shaped your character and mental outlook on life, analyzing that complex information, and then behaving in a way that was guaranteed not to offend you.
3. Or… Know for a fact that they are not only the most selfish person in the world for taking that last Costco taquito sample, but they are also complete morons and they most likely fully intended to ruin your entire life and the lives of your family, posterity, and the United States of America when they did that.

I know what you’re thinking… It’s ALWAYS #3, isn’t it?

This world is full of people.

Like, 7.5 billion of them.

Each one brings with him or her a different set of principles, values, beliefs, and histories. We’re all wandering through life trying to do the best we can.

We have all wronged someone else. It is easy for us to justify our crappy behavior with our intention to do something good. The problem is, people can’t know your intention, so they have to infer it based on your crappy behavior.

Sometimes, you will experience intentional ill-will from others toward you. This sucks. These situations are unpleasant and hopefully don’t happen to you often.

But, I think, more often than not, the majority of interactions we have that leave us a little perturbed, or upset, or offended aren’t intentional ill-will at all, but instead, a misunderstanding of observed behavior and impossible-to-know intent.

With all the potentially inflammatory issues out there, let’s remember that everyone else’s reality is just as equally intense, valid, and legitimate as our own.

It make look like they are completely ignorant to the signs you see that they don’t. But maybe, just maybe, they are slamming on their brakes because they see something you don’t. And maybe, their seemingly irrational behavior is actually saving the life of someone else.

Last thing, and it’s a quick tip:
If you want to know someone’s intent after they’ve said or done something… ask them. It might clear things up for both of you.

P.S. If I have wronged or offended any of my 7 readers, just remember, it was probably on purpose.