Manufactured okayness

Like everyone else, I've spent the last year in a COVID hole - not going many places, not seeing many people, waiting and wondering when this would all be over. I've been on the same rollercoaster as much of the world and, certainly, most of the United States. Over this year period, we've seen so much in the news and in conversation about mental health and that we need to normalize talking about it. That conversation has been going on much longer than COVID, as it related to other topics as well. I've always agreed. And yet, I've kept quiet on my own. The tumult I've felt over the last year is nothing to be ashamed of or sweep under the rug. Likely, many can identify and empathize with, and sympathize, at a minimum.

As I start to see more people and reconnect, one of the first things they mention to me in the "what's COVID life been like for you?" conversation is how it feels without traveling like I used to. For 5 years with Olapic I did no less than 6 trips in a year and as many as 18, and the average was about 12. My last flight was February of 2020, for a multitude of reasons. At the end of March, 2020 I was notified I was on a list of 14 people, 2 of whom from the executive leadership team, that was to be let go. This was just 2 months after my most recent promotion. But COVID was here, quarantine had begun, and it was time to batten down the hatches on spending. The first blow of 2020 had arrived. I had given my all to that company, but the business of business is business. The double edged sword of success is the price tag to keep you when times are tight.

Being a binary, logic fueled, obsessive compulsive, computer brain, I immediately found a routine in my final month at quarantine-based Olapic and my new life thereafter. I woke up at the same time, ate the same thing for breakfast, and followed the same order of operations. While many woke up to confusion and hoping COVID was a 2-week blip on the timeline of history, I was ready for war in a sustainable way.

On April 15th, I said goodbye to my OlaFam, closed my laptop, and started a cleansing cycle of bourbon in and saline out while trying to figure what I could have done differently, to no avail.

I tell people I took the summer off to unwind after a 5 year sprint before going to back to work. The truth is that I had 56 conversations with a total of 29 different organizations between April and September before landing at H1, where I am now. The hits just kept on coming. And this wasn't 2013 again, where I had just left the military with a ton of experience, almost none of which was relevant to recurring revenue SaaS companies. This time I had the experience, chops, and title to write my own ticket. But COVID. In my research and conversations, I found the candidate pool was just too enormous for companies and recruiting agencies to navigate fully. I discovered 4 categories of applicant:

1. Out of work jobseeker (aka Me).

2. Unhappy, employed person who is always somewhat actively, somewhat passively looking.

3. Mostly happy employed person capitalizing on work from home to interview in secret.

4. Any of the above not collocated to the company/role, but learning that doesn't matter in COVID's America

So the pool had grown by over 2x. But don't forget the economic downturn which shrunk the hiring needs. We widened the funnel at the top and narrowed it at the bottom and I was stuck at the neck of it.

At the end of August, my offer letter came through from H1 and I was elated. I had a job. I had a job at a great company. I had a job at a great company doing what I do best. The starter pistol had rung out. With 2 weeks between signing the letter and sitting at my desk gainfully employed rather than wistfully searching, for the first time in months, I had work to do.

Linda and I rode the wave of excitement and income to Raymour and Flanigan for a basement refurbishment, the Apple store for new computers and laptops, Home Depot to finish painting the house, and Amazon for all the accoutrement belonging to the above. All the holes in my life had, seemingly, been patched up with one stroke of the digital pen at the bottom of my offer letter.

And then I started at H1. H1 is an amazing company, doing amazing things. It's also a rocket ship taking the medical data world by storm. I didn't know it yet, but I was less than 100% starting at an agile and, rightly, chaotic startup that needed me closer to 150%. It was a rocky start. Some of it was on me, some of it was a function of time in the company's journey. Together it was hard to get my bearings. And I had no commute to zone out to podcasts. I had no travel. I didn't even know anyone in person to be able to create real rapport and relationships with. We couldn't even unwind on weekend away or a simple dinner.

It all felt like extraneous situations on which I had a firm grasp. It wasn't me. It was the state of the world, right? I felt trapped by the world, not myself. I needed an escape. I needed to run free and see something other than my newly painted gray walls. So I bought a car. Well I ordered one. Retail therapy of the highest level that came with a bill of goods promising freedom and respite from the dumpster fire of 2020. I ordered my bright orange Go Mango, 2021 Dodge Challenger Scat Pack with every bell and whistle so I felt like I had a classic muscle car with today's conveniences. Surely, that was the solution. But as I waited and waited for the factory to painstakingly add every 1 of the 485 horses, my excitement turned to stress.

And then it was December. Job felt at risk, no car, and Christmas just weeks away and I felt like it was still September. Months had disappeared in front of me with nothing to show for it. It wasn't the world, was it? Well, maybe it was, but I wasn't adapting to it. My routine wasn't enough anymore or maybe I simply started too early. While everyone was holding their breath for open beaches by Memorial Day, I was already hunkered down. When everyone finally decided to settle in for a long winter's nap, post Labor Day, I was already burned out on my Groundhog Day routine.

So, I swallowed the pride I had no business having in the first place and called my doctor. I explained the rut I was in and that I needed help getting to a reasonable level to move through this, hopefully transient, shitshow of a situation in the world. He prescribed Effexor in mid-level dose. Enough to feel it, but room to play with the level as needed. He chose this drug because it's designed to turn down the volume on anxiety and stress while putting some pep in your step. I felt no change for 4-5 days. Then I felt all the side effects. Then... I felt nothing. No stress, no anxiety. It didn't make me happy, bouncy, unnaturally chipper. It just made me feel like the old me again.

I've been taking it ever since and feel better than I have for a long time. Will this just be a bridge loan of okayness until pandemic isn't a word we say 274 times per day or permanent? Time will tell. But I've finally admitted the usefulness of supplemental medication and that there's no reason to hide from it. We've all been through the wringer in the last 12-13 months (as of this writing). Realizing a worldwide pandemic is bigger than your current toolset isn't weakness or an issue. The issues stem from not realizing it.

I'm not advocating for medicine, necessarily. I'm advocating for an internal inventory so everyone can build the right toolset to navigate our difficult and complex word.

A new way to give thanks

I’ve been reducing my social media usage lately. I find Facebook to be increasingly negative and full of polarizing rhetoric minus the original, genuine, and thought provoking content. I’ve completely disabled my Twitter account. I will maintain Facebook as it’s the sole connection to point to many people. Instagram is fun and simple, but mostly consists of posting pictures of Nicky, food, or Nicky eating food. I spend most of my time on LinkedIn. People think it’s for job hunting only but that’s a small percentage. I learn about my industry and others. I learn from leaders. I network with people who will advance my career, but, more importantly, my knowledge and understanding of so many topics. And it’s devoid of politics, bickering, begging for likes, and Tasty videos. I got my job on LinkedIn and have hired for my team using it.

On another note, my work travel is no secret. This year I’ll fly about 75,000 miles across 14 or so trips. I’ll be in 3 countries and 5 time zones. Hotel staff in certain places know me by face and name. It’s exhausting, but the means to a very rewarding end. And as a wonderful bonus, I accrue piles upon piles of points. Every credit card purchase accrues points. Dining and travel do so at 3x the rate. I use it for all my hotels and dining when I travel. And I get airline points for my flights. Of course I get reimbursed for my expenses, but I keep the points. Here’s the rub. After all my work travel, I don’t want to be in an airport or hotel for fun, so I don’t use them.

All those years in the military I was far from home. I had to fly home on Uncle Sam’s meager salary for holidays. I rarely had the cash to do it. My parents picked up the tab at Christmas in the early days and I scraped together cash for the rest. But that was for Christmas only. Never for Thanksgiving. Most years, I had friends to eat with. Later on, we invited young Airmen over to feed who were the earlier versions of me. But nothing was as good as it would have been to be home. But I couldn’t, so I didn’t. It was a hard sacrifice and one I no longer have to make by finance or distance.

Here’s the intersection of all this. A few days ago I saw a post on LinkedIn that really caught my attention. Here it is.

If you’re a college student and you want to go home for Thanksgiving, but can’t afford the plane ticket home, I’m pitching in. I will book your ticket. You must be in college, have financial need, and be able to prove that you are excelling in academics, sports, or extracurricular activities. Basically, you have to be excellent at whatever your passion is. If you’re in college, can demonstrate excellence and need help getting home, just send me a message. I’m a small time nobody and can’t possibly afford to help everyone out there. But I’ll do my part. I’ll help as many people as I can. Because I don’t want anybody staying on campus alone because they can’t afford to get home. Trust me. I know what it’s like to be in college, flat broke and too poor to go home. Well it’s not happening to you. Not on my watch. I could go buy a new truck or I could send a bunch of young folks home for Thanksgiving. Seems like a no brainer to me. I never forgot what it’s like and I never will.

The last sentence stopped me in my tracks. I never forgot what it’s like either, although I also don’t often actively remember it. When I do, it feels bad. So I replied, asking anyone who is in that boat and missed Jonathan’s cutoff to message me directly. One girl did. Her name is Daria. She’s remarkable. She goes to school in Chicago but is from Brooklyn. She’s taking 4 classes, has 4 extra-curriculars, and 4 part-time jobs. She pays the difference where her student loans fall short, pays her rent and bills, and sends money home to help. She had no intention of going home for Thanksgiving and that was fine. Her grandfather fell ill. For 10 years in the military, I worried my grandmother would do the same while I was away. She didn’t. I was home for 5 years before she got sick and passed away. I was lucky. This girl may not be. I won’t share her entire email except the end.

[…] And sometimes that gets very overwhelming and finding posts and opportunities like yours makes me very grateful and excited for the rest of the world. So even if it isn’t possible for me to get the funding, I still appreciate you reading my story.

I looked at Linda and she looked at me. We both knew the answer. We’re sending Daria home for Thanksgiving. I messaged her back with the news and two addendums. In addition to sending her home for Thanksgiving, I want to stay connected to her and follow her progress and I also want to invite her to my office when she’s home to see the business and learn about what we do so she can see some real-world application of what she’s learning in abstract in college textbooks.

Naturally, she’s overwhelmed and overjoyed. We are working out the details, but she’s calling her family to let them know she’ll be home in time for Thanksgiving. I’ve been looking up the definition of altruism and I get conflicting definitions.

Oxford says:

the belief in or practice of disinterested and selfless concern for the well-being of others

Another source has:

Altruism is a term used to describe a behavior characterized by acts with no apparent benefits for the individual who performs them but that are beneficial to other individuals.

Finally, Mirriam-Webster says:

Altruism definition is - unselfish regard for or devotion to the welfare of others.

I believe the first and last definitions. Doing something unselfishly for others without regard for oneself. when you do something good for others, you do get something out of it, even if it’s just a positive emotional response. The middle one says there’s no benefit for the giver, but there always is - satisfaction, contentment, feeling good.

When I first thew my hat in the ring, I intended on paying cash for the tickets, but I’m going to use points instead. The reason isn’t to save money (although it’s a welcome collateral effect). I sacrificed all those years in the military to pave my way to success. I achieved it and will continue to achieve it. My success, as mentioned above, is the ends brought about by the means of travel and hard work. The points come along with that. Maybe it’s more meaningful or just feels more poetic this way. I sacrificed to gain success. Daria is sacrificing to gain success. I want to help her in the same way I needed help by using the fruits of my success.

So, while you may expect it is Daria who should give thanks (and she has, to me, multiple times), it’s also I who gives thanks. We often think of giving thanks for things we have - our health, our home, our family, etc. In this case I give thanks for the ability to do this. The fact that I get to send this young woman home to her family for Thanksgiving means I have created an environment and life that is full of positivity. Not only financially positive that we have spare resources to use for this, but positive in how we treat people and think about the world outside our home and the effect that will have on building empathy as a core value in my son. It’s also positive in where I sit in the hierarchy of my company and industry such that someone trusts me to ask for this help and ongoing mentorship.

In the end, I did this for Daria to get to her family and to validate that my hard work and efforts yield more than “stuff.” Most of all, to look at Nicky and know through all the doom and gloom in the media, he’ll be taught to see and be the good in the world as often as possible.

And just like that, life goes back to normal, light a few Chase Ultimate Rewards points but heavy a whole bunch of positivity and contentment with just about everything in my little corner of the world.

UPDATE: I took a break from writing this because Daria called me. We chatted for a few minutes and then worked out the details. She’s booked and ticketed and ready for 4 days and some change home with her family this Thanksgiving. As I type this update, I’m getting text updates as her family finds out and she struggles to contain her excitement in the university library.

Close but no Yoo-Hoo

My last post in May told the story of attending work with my dad in downtown Manhattan in the early to mid 1980s. I recounted the tale of traveling in and hanging out in the office. Most importantly was the lunch tradition. I took Nicky to work with the intention of doing the same. Mother nature had other plans and we stayed inside. I kept telling myself I have to try again, I have all summer. Then it was August. And I found out we were moving offices away from downtown. I narrowed down the weeks and then the days and checked the weather. There was 1 day in the 1 week that was supposed to be sunny. It was a Friday when the office is usually empty, but that was the day.

I didn’t tell Nicky. I woke him up super early and looked into his groggy eyes. “Nicky do you want to go somewhere fun today?” He looked back confused and asked “where?” before agreeing to anything. He’s not super trusting at 6am. I said “you’re coming to work with Daddy today!” and the switch flipped. He was awake and smiling and excited. He started naming his favorites of my co-workers that are now his friends.

We drove to the train and chatted about all the things he was going to do and with whom he’d do them. He was even telling me how he’d tell the story of today to his friends, tomorrow when he went back to school. Then he was giving me details about where my office is and told me about all the things in it. And then the train ride in. And yes, we were dressed to match.

We had to stop for a rainbow bagel and we were the first ones in the office. It gave him time to get settled, have his breakfast, do some work, and chat with his lemur friend.

Throughout the day he colored with Sam and Elizabeth, ran around and terrorized everyone, and basically strutted like he owned the place. He made mommy and daddy proud when I asked him “Where are your shoes?” and I was told he said “No shoes on the couch.” I wan’t thrilled he was climbing on the couch, but he remembered to take his shoes off at least.

And then I finished my last meeting of the morning, cleared my calendar, and told him it was time to go for a walk. When he asked where I told him it was someplace special. Somewhere Daddy used to go with Papa when I was a little boy. We made the long walk (long for a 3 year old’s little legs) from World Financial Center down to Battery Park. We had 3 stops on the tour.

1. Climbing in the windows at Castle Clinton

2. The Immigrants status/sculpture

3. Hot Dogs and Yoo-Hoo

We walked to Castle Clinton. I told him this is the place they used to keep bad guys out. He insisted if it was a castle, then a princess lives there. Nonetheless, he wanted to climb in the window without prompting. And the moment he got in, he proclaimed, through the bars, “I’m in jail!”

Next up was The Immigrants. If memory serves, this has been moved but it’s the same sculpture that consists of about 4 people who have just recently arrived in New York through nearby Ellis Island. Again, with no prompt, Nicky wanted to climb all over it, but not before walking up to the first guy and giving him a “boop” on the nose.

We took a break to get lunch. We each got a hot dog, but to my dismay there was no Yoo-Hoo to be found. Even so, we sat and hung out and ate our hot dogs in our own little world. We talked about the park and people and the status and the boats and, even, our hot dogs. It was a few moments of time where the world disappeared, leaving only me and my Nick.

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

And with 90 minutes and a hot dog, I recreated a moment from my youth that I remember so fondly and frequently. But it was with my son. I was the doting dad looking at this boy I love so much. I was watching the carefree play instead of doing it. I sought refuge from overbooked calendars and hectic work. I was watched adoringly by my boy instead of looking up to my own dad.

And the day wore on and he had fun. I mixed work and Nicky time. I’d check on him in between. And finally it was time to go home. I had to tear him away from his friends and the open expanse that is our office. As we walked to the train we talked about all the fun things he did that day and he assured me he would not sleep in the car.

When a boy says he’s not tired

Thanks to my co-workers for helping give him an awesome day. He talks about you all constantly.

Thanks to my Nicky for being such an awesome boy who finds fun in everything

Thanks to my dad who created such lasting memories that I’ve been waiting for this day.

I hope Nicky knows how special this whole experience was to me and remembers it as fondly as I will.

Tradition moves down the line

My father worked for the same company for about 35 years in Manhattan. For the first half, he was downtown. First at 30 Broad Street, then at 45 Broadway. I worked in the 45 Broadway office with the same company early in my career. Now I’m only a few blocks away in what was commonly known as World Financial Center and is now sterilely, corporately called Brookfield Place. But long before my professional life resided downtown and long before I went to the city for personal fun, I’d travel there on occasion with my dad. Take your kid to work day was preceded by take your son to work day which was preceded by my dad just taking me there for no apparent reason.

I’d spend the day in the office hanging out. No iPads or computers. Presumably I had coloring books, but mostly I remember “socializing” with his co-workers, many of whom became my own co-workers years later. I knew them all. One such colleague started working for my father when I was a baby and he fondly recalls me hiding under the dining room table in our Queens home. That same guy was in attendance at my wedding 30+ years later. There were key components to my visits. The most notable of which was lunch. We’d walk to Battery Park at the southern most tip of the island. We’d get a hot dog from a cart vendor and a Yoo-Hoo. We’d walk around Castle Clinton and I’d climb on “The Immigrants” sculpture.

Now it’s 2019, I have a son the age I was when I first went to work with my dad. I have relationships with co-workers not dissimilar to the ones my dad had. There are many similarities, including the Manhattan neighborhood. And today marked a true coming of age moment as I took Nicky to work with me. I asked him 2 days ago if he wanted to come with me today and he woke up each morning excitedly asking me “are we going to work?” Today I woke up to torrents of rain and tried to give Nicky a literal rain check, but he wouldn’t have it. It was work day. So be it. We followed the normal route - driving down 280 to Harrison. Jumping on the PATH train to the World Trade Center and walking to the office - first stopping for a bagel (a rare “carby” treat for me these days).

When we arrived, the office stopped in its tracks. The Olapic-Internet famous #NickyT had arrived. And he held up his end of the bargain waving and saying hi to everyone. Nicky turns on the charm when people are nice to him. We set him up at a vacant desk across from mine with his rainbow bagel, apple juice, and some of his toys from his backpack. People filtered in and I had an office of babysitters that allowed me to actually get some work done for the day. Throughout the hours he’d wander back to me to see what’s up or ask for something. Mostly he hung out in our big, pod, egg chairs or colored at lunch tables with my office manager, or played on his iPad. I got reports that he was plied with candy from some and he even solicited quarters from others to use on the vending machine. I even took him to meet my friend at the in-house Peloton store in our lobby, who follows him on Instagram and still has his Christmas card hanging up.

Unfortunately, the weather didn’t cooperate for a Battery Park trip of our own, but we’ll try again. At some point in the day I tried to view Nicky as my toddler/child self through my father’s eyes and I realized how similar the scene must have been. Did my dad watch me from a distance as I roamed his home away from home with his second family? Knowing my dad’s nature, I suspect he did.

I packed up his things and we headed home. He spent most of the trip asleep, replenishing the energy he depleted from all the work he accomplished at the office. To cap off the day, we made one stop on the way home to eat. For the first time in his short life, I took him to McDonald’s for a Happy Meal figuring on a special day unlike most others, we could eat something out of the ordinary. And it gave us more alone time to complete the Daddy/Nicky day from breakfast to lunch to dinner.

As I commuted with a zonked out Nick Nick I thought about the day and the full circle nature of it. In that moment I was so proud of so many things. Of my dad for being the world class model for how a dad should be and giving me these memories, but also for doing it repeatedly enough that it instilled such a sense of community around the workplace. I saw so much of that today when everyone leapt at the chance to get Nicky a snack or even take him to the restroom. I trusted them and so did Nicky, even meeting some for the first time.

I was proud of myself. My dad was the end all, be all of what I wanted to be. Not necessarily finance but the whole image. We certainly dress differently. He in a suit with a briefcase (or valise) and me in t-shirt and jeans with a Timbuk2 messenger bag. But he went off to New York City which was awe inspiring as a kid and worked hard and did well and gave me a life I can only describe as Rockwellian and iconic. I’ve worked so hard to pay that forward and sitting with my son, in my office, in the same neighborhood, at a similar tier on the corporate ladder I felt quite content if not complete.

I was especially proud of my Nick. I don’t feel the meaning was lost on him. He looked wide-eyed at the building and exclaimed “We are in New York City, daddy!” and throughout the day said he just wanted to watch me work. He’s been verbally affectionate lately, more than ever before, and proclaimed that often today. I can only assume he felt especially connected to me in today’s circumstances. Perhaps I’m overzealous in assigning meaning to his actions at 3-years old, but they were distinctly unique.

What you can take to the bank is that by 8:15pm, my heart is full. We are home and relaxing before bed. Tomorrow will be just another day, back to normal in the office alone. They’ll all ask, tongue in cheek, where Nicky is and this will be a memory. For everyone, it’s a fun visit. For me it’s an important moment etched into the annals of fatherhood.

Oh… I almost forgot about the blanket and pillow fort he built at the office with the help of one of the guys on my team. #OlaFam

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

View fullsize

Sit, stand, kneel

Sit, stand, kneel is not a reference to Catholic Mass, surprisingly. It's football pre-season and I'm already seeing reports of kneeling players and the emotionally charged overreactions of spiteful boycotters. As far as I can remember, I stayed fairly quiet on the topic last year. This year, since this is still a thing, I'm going to get ahead of it and speak no further of the topic.

I see people (typically who sit on the right side of the aisle) claiming to boycott all NFL activities over the fact that players are kneeling during the national anthem.

First and foremost, you're only spiting yourself. The players don't care that you're boycotting because they're still getting paid and not enough of you are boycotting to make a dent in viewership or ticket sales. Their lives remain unchanged and you miss out on a whole season's worth of football over the first 1 minute and 40 seconds because some people do something you don't like. Spare me the pie in the sky rhetoric of how we'll all band together and shut down the NFL with this.

Second, whether you agree or not, it's not a crime. So all the people claiming these guys should be fired or arrested... that's just insane. The NFL is not government run. I can't fire you from your job if you do something I don't like, because I don't work there and it's a company with its own rules. So let's dispense with the inane calls for criminality over this.

If you are a boycotter, and you've read this far, I know your next argument. It's disrespectful to service members and you'll willingly interrupt your own entertainment for your cause. Commendable. As a former service member, it's nice to know the citizens have our backs. But here's an important question I bet many of you never asked the imaginary soldier (since most of you military zealots just assume every branch goes by soldier even though we don't, which is irony in and of itself). Have you asked any current or former military how they actually feel? Are any of us actually disrespected?

I'll speak for myself directly and my observations of military friends and colleagues, but this, in no way, is comprehensive of all military members. From my perspective, let them kneel. I'm not offended in the least. I don't love it. I'd like them to stand. I think the flag and anthem deserve that respect. That's just my opinion. The more objective part is what it all stands for. 

In my 9 years, 11 months, 15 days of active duty military service, I played a part in the holistic Global War On Terror, but specifically supporting Operation Iraqi Freedom, Operation Enduring Freedom and Joint Task Force for the Horn of Africa. I've put my boots on the ground in countries in that area of responsibility more than once. We went there because these countries had despotic tyrants as rulers who offered their people no freedoms, but often offered cruel and painful deaths to anyone who attempted to exercise freedom. In some form or fashion, these same people intended to threaten the freedoms and ways of life for other countries and their denizens. 17 Septembers ago they tried to interrupt our way of life and for some of us they certainly succeeded. 

Our country was built on the opportunity to speak your mind and live your life. We've had missteps along the way. We're in the middle of some now. There will be more. But we aren't imprisoned for speaking ill of the president (half of Facebook users would be behind bars if that were true). We aren't killed for trying to leave the country. We don't live in a police state. By all measures, we truly are a free people. 

I know that I donned the uniform almost every day for a decade. I did so in an effort to ensure that every American was free to make his or her choices. I want people to chase their dreams, marry who they love, express themselves, and overall be free to make any choice they so desire - as long as it's within the confines of the law and doesn't hurt someone else. By hurt someone else I don't mean gently poking your fragile egos, either. Your freedom extends to the point it impinges on my freedom. We need stasis among the 300 million people living here.

What I do not ever want as an American and the parent of one, is a country where we ever have to be afraid of feeling a certain way and showing it. I didn't fight for that. I never would. So while you're all boycotting the NFL to defend the offended soldiers, keep in mind that most of these same soldiers have offered to give their lives so the players live in a country where they can kneel. 

I don't think they should, but I'm damn glad they can. Boycotting them until they stop is censure when we should be celebrating a framework that allows it. The moment we remove their ability to kneel is the moment we assassinate important values. Value we built this country on and all service members have sworn to protect. Our oath of enlistment says "I do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic." In that constitution, it is written that we have the right to free speech and the freedom of expression. Anyone who volunteers his or her own life to defend the constitution, would never act in favor of desecrating the same document. And we wouldn't want anyone we know to do it either. And certainly not over something as minuscule as standing or kneeling during the anthem. 

Overall, if you're boycotting because you don't like it, that's your right. If you're doing it to support veterans; you're doing something we never asked for and don't want and is contrary to our values and oath.

Bringing balance to work and life

This year I'll fly about 75,000 miles for Olapic. It'll take over a dozen trips. I'll be in 3 countries and at least 4 time zones. I'm en route on one of them as I type this at 35,000 feet in the air somewhere over the midwest. It's 2pm eastern time and I'm already 8 hours into my day on a Sunday. I made sure everything was squared away early, leaving plenty of time for Linda and I to sit and talk either about the week ahead or nothing at all. And I had to leave space for as many Nicky/Daddy giggles as time would allow.

Less than an hour into the flight, I signed up for the $16, 1990s style Internet connection on the plane. I placed my laptop where its name suggests and on my lap is where it's been for the hours since. I'm on my way to California for work and I'm doing work as I get there. It's been nonstop emails, customer research, planning for the week, and organizing all the projects I have ongoing. This has become rote.

As Nicky grows and becomes more aware of everything around him, including time, this gets difficult. He has started saying "daddy don't go" and asking when I'll be back. For now I can still say "a week" and he only knows that's longer than today but not by how much. Every morning when I put on my watch, even on weekends, he asks "Daddy go to work?" and when I say "No sweetie, it's Saturday. Daddy doesn't work" he'll invariably ask "Daddy stay here?" So I tell him yes and he celebrates. Sometimes during the week he demands "Daddy not go Olapic. Nicky not go school. Stay here!" and I tell him that I can't. I have to go.

Have to go. My son wants to spend time with me and I'm going elsewhere because I have to. I'm compelled to do something that eats my time, causes stress (don't all jobs?), and often takes me farther away than the already far Manhattan. Why? Bills? Is that it? Do I put myself through this to pay a bill? Surely there are other ways. Without oversharing, this job does more than pay the bills. It affords us a lifestyle we want. It pays more than the sum total of the bills.

But what do we do with it? We save. We try to get to some arbitrary next level. We compete with ourselves. We probably waste a lot of it on impulsivity (and buffalo wings). I could make just enough to cover our life and be home all the time. I could go the extra mile to have some breathing room. Why go the extra 75,000 miles?

I asked myself this while waiting for the Olapic database to return results I needed for an email. I thought - We don't need more stuff. Frankly, we could probably do with less. In the rotation of Frozen, Moana, Boss Baby, Sing, and every Mickey Mouse show available is Paw Patrol. We watch the show, Nicky claims he's Ryder and sleeps with a stuffed Marshall and Chase, Linda sings the songs without realizing it, and I often step on a construction truck driven by a bulldog. If Rubble were truly on the double, he'd get out of my way and spare my soles.

So, I found Paw Patrol Live is coming to NJ just before Christmas. I hunted through the dates and seats. I leveraged the distance from the stage vs the price. I tried to find the sweet spot of saving a buck but not being so far that Nicky gets bored or simply can't see it. Then I texted Linda and told her I had an idea but the price was high. I described it to her and she excitedly agreed without hesitation. 

On December 8th, the 3 of us are going to see Paw Patrol Live. Nicky of course has no idea. But I took it a step further. I made Nicky a VIP, which in Paw Patrol world means Very Important Pup. We got premium seats just a couple rows back. He gets a special souvenir. And after the show he'll get to meet Ryder and 2 of the pups backstage! I cannot imagine the happy little meltdown he's going to have. For those few hours, he'll be in his own little Nicky happy place. He'll think his cartoon heroes are real. Then he'll get to hug them. 

They say money doesn't buy happiness but I just did - for me, for Linda, for Nicky. Now I can go to work guilt-free. It's not because I assuaged my guilt with money, but because the work-life balance just tipped in my favor knowing one little boy's heart will burst with happiness. For that, I'd go the extra 150,000 miles if I had to.

Daddy, jungle gym, horsey, orthopedist?

Every day is an adventure with a toddler. Every adventure is a near-catastrophe with a strong willed, smart, rough & tumble, overly vocal boy like Nicky. Some near catastrophes are actual catastrophes.

Linda and I work very hard to find and approach the line that separates "Ah, he's fine. Walk it off, Nick" and "OH MY GOD Call an ambulance!" We want to care for Nicky and ensure every minute of his life is pleasant and happy but we don't want to be "those parents" that hinder his playtime and experiences with being overly cautious.

Last Sunday, Mr. Nick was properly riding "daddy horsey" as I crawled around the house on all fours while he yelled "yee haw" and demanded "more cowboy" over out-of-shape Daddy's panting. I finally collapsed flat, prone, and relieved of duty. My reprieve lasted only moments when 26 pounds of cuckoo landed on the small of my back. I reached back over my own shoulders, grabbed his hands and rose to all fours for round 376 of horsey rides. But Nick wasn't having it. He wanted off. Unlike a toddler to change his mind on such short notice, right?

But something wasn't right. He was off. Whimpering. I must have been a little rough on the last ride. Linda and I discussed. She thought something was really wrong and tended to err on the side of Mommy caution. I figured he caught a bump along the way and he'd be fine in short order. So we waited it out. Upwards of 20 minutes and he was still crying, with minor breaks that aligned with him being still and loud wails that aligned with movement of his right arm. We called the doctor on a Sunday morning, hours before his birthday party, hoping this was really nothing.

When the doctor returned our call I explained exactly what happened, with a primetime TV induced extra layer of caution to be clear this was a playtime accident and nothing more. She asked me very clearly, "Is his arm hanging down by his side with his palm facing to the rear?" I looked puzzled at my phone as if she could see me. "Uhhh...yeah?" She told me his elbow was dislocated and I had to fix it. 

The instructions were clear. Sit behind him. With my right hand tightly hold the sides of his right elbow. With my left hand grab his wrist. Lift and turn until his palm is toward and in front of his face. The moment I moved his arm, he screamed. How could I continue this? Surely I was making it worse and causing more discomfort. I continued. Sure enough, his elbow popped twice as if I cracked the 2 tiniest of knuckles. As it happened, he hit peak volume. And then... it was over.

He sat on Mommy's lap for 2 minutes, mostly from the trauma and being scared more than anything else. And then he stood up, ran away, and resumed playing as if it didn't happen. Linda sat there stunned. I did all I could to not dissemble into a mess of guilt, fright, and relief. I'll never forget the moment I dislocated my boy's elbow and, subsequently, put it back into place. Luckily for him and me, he'll never remember the same moment.

I traveled through time today

It has been almost a year since I sat to write a blog post, but today certainly earned my time and attention.

This morning I went through my normal routine just like every other morning. Drove to Harrison, NJ and got on the PATH train that takes me into World Trade Center. I left Linda behind not feeling well and Nicky was particularly clingy and didn't want me to go. But such is the routine and I went on my way. Shortly before arriving at the first stop, Journal Square in Jersey City, the train stopped. Normal train traffic I figured. This happens. We slowly pulled into the station. The announcement comes over the speaker that the train is out of service and we all had to disembark. I was standing on the platform, annoyed. I didn't have time for some stupid issue making me late.

Then I got a notification from work. 
"WTC is evacuating people from the Oculus apparently due to FDNY activity."
Then an automated text
"This time there are reports of smoke condition on the C3 level track 4 and 5 of the NJ Path. PAPD is evacuating the Oculus"

In an instant, it was 16 Septembers ago. I was standing in the same spot of the same platform of the same station and hearing the same message. Without hesitation, the thought flashed "It's happening again. "

I'm happy to report that it was nothing. There was a small, accidental electrical fire that was handled swiftly and the station and area were reopened with minimal delay, but not before I altered my commute. I took an uptown PATH train and walked several blocks once in Manhattan to a NYC subway train that took me back downtown to my office. It was, unsurprisingly, the same route I took on 9/11. Everything about this morning's journey was eerily reminiscent. Thankfully, the outcomes couldn't have been more disparate. 

But in the interim, the outcome didn't matter much. I stood on the platform of Journal Square feeling like I was 22 again. The montage of 2001 ran through my head at rapid speed. And then I had a physical reaction. I was overwhelmed with fear. I got weak, woozy, and shaky. I became emotional. The only difference between that moment and the one so many years ago was that the first time was marked with more confusion than fear (as the attacks were just underway) and today I was able to look backward and know what to be scared of.

When Olapic told me they were moving from 25th street to the financial district, I openly warned them I hadn't been here since shortly after 9/11 and I didn't know if I was up for the challenge. Linda and I visited the area. The destruction was gone and replaced with new buildings and the old hustle and bustle had returned. I was ready. I had left the past in the past. 

Today I was sharply reminded as I fearfully shook, that the past is with me in the present. There is no question that my experience today was very much symptoms of the PTSD I was diagnosed with so many years ago. Each year, the anxiety caused by the media coverage of the 9/11 memorial affects me less. As I stood on that same train platform today I knew that this will never leave me. 

United I stand

I travel a decent bit for work. I'm no road warrior, but I'll travel at least 6 times this year, probably 8. And I have at least 1 personal trip on the books. 2 of those trips I'll be flying American because they get me to South America the easiest (One World is better because of LATAM airlines). The rest of those trips will be United. There are several reasons why I've always flown United, am still flying United, and will continue to fly United.

• I live 20 minutes from Newark-Liberty, their east coast hub, and I don't want to go over an hour to JFK to stand on principle.
• They are the cheapest also because of the hub and I'm not in the business of costing myself money in some kind of solidarity. I have a home and a family and I'm philanthropic where I can be, but paying more for the same makes no sense to me.
• I've been flying United since I was a child (well, it was Continental) and I've never seen anything that remotely resembles the event early this week. Over 400,000 flights worldwide each day. United is one of the big players. Safe to assume there are a solid 20,000 flights by United each day. That's about 219,000,000 flights since I became aware of airlines and this is ONE such incident. Odds are in my favor
• United didn't do anything wrong other than ask this guy to leave. The dragging and all that - done by Chicago PD's airport security, NOT United. 
• I don't see a problem with United asking him to get off. It's an inconvenience and maybe there was another way, but this is how it played out. It sucks. You get off and deal with it later. Flailing your arms and screaming like a banshee doesn't solve anything.
• Even if United shouldn't have gotten themselves backed into a corner, they did. It was a mistake. They'd have left him there if they could. They have no vendetta against customers or doctors or Asians (as some news outlets have opined). Shit happens and life moves on.
• The best reason of all... all the angry morons out there will stop flying United and will bring their "at least we won't get our asses kicked on this Delta flight" snark to other airlines, leaving me in peace.

Or in 6 days, we'll all be fired up about some other inane thing, waxing intellectual like we're experts who were present for the event and setting the world on fire over it for 6 more days until... oh look, a squirrel.

A memory that lives on in others

I had a moment today that I wanted to share. It was a moment that is so contrary to who I am, yet fit so perfectly at the same time. As a bearded, software guy in NYC, 4 years removed from camouflage I start to forget more and more about the military. I forget details about the things I did, base names, years things happened, hierarchy and more. I forget the details of the tenets of being Staff Sergeant Viglione, a non-commissioned officer in the United States Air Force, something that shaped my entire being and was the core of how I made every decision for so many years. It's a memory like college or high school or any other bygone era of my life.

When I was still active duty, I lived and breathed Air Force life and culture. I was very "blue," as is said to someone who tries to embody the Air Force's core values. In my final assignment, I took the position of Technical Training Instructor. I went back to the Air Force training program I graduated from so many years prior to teach it to young enlistees looking to learn their AF trade upon successful completion of Basic Military Training.

For 4 years I instructed scores of students week in and week out. I instructed them on foundational and complex technical concepts like network security, network management, IP addressing, routing, switching, and multiplexing. That was my job. I never liked the title.

Beyond the instruction, I taught my students. I taught them how to be an Airman in the US Air Force. I taught them about the promotion system and assignment system. I taught them how to live the core values. I taught them how to get the most out of their Air Force experience. I was 30 years old when I took that assignment - an assignment I asked for by choice and was recommended to by my AF mentor, a Chief Master Sergeant from whom I learned almost all I knew about leading people and doing right by the Air Force. Most of these students were in their early 20s or younger.

They asked me about life and I taught them that as well. How to buy cars. Should I get a college degree? How do I deal with being far from family? I even got asked by a student if he should get married.

See... I knew I wasn't staying in the Air Force by that point. I knew I loved service but also needed to be home with my family. So I poured all of me into these students so I could replicate my knowledge and the best parts of me in the future of Air Force communicators (I never let them see the bad parts of me).

And so I came home as an entrepreneur and now in my role at Olapic. The Air Force is something I just used to do. SSgt Viglione is anecdotal, at best. Some students are Facebook friends. SSgt Viglione gave way to Vig. Vig gave way to Jason.

I tell you all that to tell you this story.

This morning I was at my desk fighting my email inbox as per usual. Someone handed me mail. Mail? For me? At work? Unusual. Shaped like a greeting card? This must be a prank. I'm going to open this and magically 6 pounds of glitter will erupt and ruin my day. Surely.  Return address of Minnesota... in this context doesn't ring a bell.

I opened it to find this

On the left hand side was a handwritten, personal message. An old student of mine was reflecting on things as her Air Force enlistment anniversary approaches. She wanted to reach out to me via Facebook. It was during a Facebook hiatus I had taken to avoid the angry political discourse. Rather than surrendering, she looked up my work address and mailed the card to my office. 

She thanked me for being her instructor and, after that, being her friend. While she's thanking me in her message, as I'm reading it I'm mentally thanking her. Thanking her for taking the time and being resourceful to send it. For validating all the time and energy I gave to my students. 

And for reminding me that SSgt Viglione isn't a person that is no longer. SSgt Viglione is a mindest, a persona, an approach to decision making - and he lives on long after I hung up my uniform the last time. 

Life is what happens

"Beautiful Boy" has long been a favorite John Lennon song. This morning I played it for my beautiful boy. Every line of the song rings true when I look at my perfect little peanut. I happened to play it for him because I called him beautiful boy and it made me think of it. Besides, he needs to be well acquainted with Mr. Lennon by now - he's almost 5 months.

"Before you cross the street
Take my hand
Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans"

Then that line happened and I found myself at the intersection of multiple emotions. On one hand, I'm watching my boy smile at me and play with his tiny feet. On the other hand, today I'm reminded of the last part of that in a specific and unique way. Life surely does happen while you're busy making other plans. The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry, as they say. I never planned so many of the events that led me to where I am today. And where I am today is a good place.

We have Mr. Nick on one hand, and the unending grief of today's date on the other. To make it more complex, the T in NickyT is for Thomas. The middle namesake I share with my son is for my uncle and godfather Thomas Sabella. To the world he's remembered as one of the brave 343 who laid down their lives 15 Septembers ago. To us, he'll always just be Uncle Tommy. A man with broad shoulders and a broader smile; a smile present in the great-nephew he never knew.

For 15 long years, I've run the gamut of emotions on the anniversaries. I've had varying reactions. I've tried various things to deal with it all. I've cried. I've drank. I've sat quietly in the dark. I've gone to memorial events. Right now, I'm writing this to all of you and watching Mickey Mouse with my boy.

I have lots of plans for the future, but as the former Beatle reminded me today, life happens the way it happens, often contrary to and in spite of those plans. What I do have is today. So I'll spend it watching cartoons and playing with my Nicky boy. I'll worry about tomorrow tomorrow.

Which lives matter?

There's been a movement in America for some time. It has its dogged supporters and its vehement detractors. It's a topic I've flip-flopped on since its inception. I've actively avoided talking about it. But it's been back in the news after a brief lull and I feel compelled to make a statement.

It's actually the #BlackLivesMatter. I have to admit that I initially felt strongly against it. All lives do, in fact matter. That is a valid point. We fight to end segregation and ease racial tensions and our big move is to start a trending movement around one race in particular. It seemed counter-productive and, frankly, dismissive of the plights of all but one group. Black people are not the only ones who have a difficult time. I've seen lots of stats about who has it worse, etc, and so forth. The world overall is in tough shape, so let's not pick one over the other.

And I desensitized myself to the concept and promptly ignored as a cause du jour. But it didn't go away. So I sat back quietly and thought on it for some time.

I think Black Lives Matter is important. Let me be specific. I think it's important to address individual issues individually. Maybe Black Lives Matter is a mistake. I don't really know. What I do know is that the need to crush things that are individually important to people and homogenize society is the true mistake.

We have all kinds of initiatives and fundraisers for so many individual causes. Should we stop funding AIDS research because there are other diseases? Should we start a "sickness fund" and put all our efforts into one place. We don't treat AIDS and cancer the same. They don't have the same doctors. They don't have the same research. Why blend the 2? We'd never consider it.

Don't raise awareness for homeless veterans anymore, please. Just homeless people. Pay no special attention to any one category. Don't build homes for soldiers who lost limbs in the war because some people are born without limbs. None of this paragraph makes a damn bit of sense.

Now... if blacks, whites, hispanics, asians, and whoever else all got the same treatment in every part of life, then all lives would matter as one big blended cause. But that's not the case. Just because we bleed the same, doesn't mean we get treated the same.

I'm not, by any stretch of the imagination, saying that all of those killed are automatically exonerated and all cops are out for blood. There are good and bad in every bunch, but that's a conversation for another day. For now, all I'm saying is that we can treat every situation equally when everyone in these situations is treated equally.

Until then, racism is an issue and replacing "black" with "all" is to pretend it doesn't exist. If there are other issues under the ___LivesMatter umbrella that exist, then address them. Give them their own time and effort if they matter to you. Don't cut off one issue because there is a 2nd. Just have 2 issues.

Believe me... I long for a day where BlackLivesMatter doesn't matter because we don't even notice the difference in people on the surface level. That day is not today unfortunately. If you're a specific BlackLivesMatter detractor, wake up. There's still a race problem here. If you're a BlackLivesMatter proponent, then keep it civil. Protest without violence if you want to be heard.

I worked hard at choosing my words so they could not be twisted. Please don't molest this message. All lives do matter, but addressing problems individually instead of a lump is an important decision.

Don't have resolutions; be resolute

Before I even get into it, let's look at what each of those words mean exactly.

Resolution - a firm decision to do or not to do something

Sounds like it's about the "something."

Resolute - admirably purposeful, determined, and unwavering

Sounds like it's about the person.

Every year people make New Year's Resolutions. Any they are often empty promises to oneself that fade into obscurity before Valentine's Day (if we're being generous). This is so often the case, that many people joke about other people announcing these platitudes to the world. People even forget and shout the first thing that sounds good before the first Swarovsky crystal touches down atop Times Square. 10... 9... 8... "Uhhhh...ummm..." 7... 6... "My resolution is to..." 5... 4... 3... "Shit, this year I'll...." 2... "LOSE 10 POUNDS!" 1... HAPPY NEW YEAR!

That sounds well thought out and determined, right? We aren't programmed to stop a certain behavior suddenly while humming along and make a sharp change any more than your car wants you to yank the E-brake at 80 mph on the highway. Newton's first law - an object in motion stays in motion. And if that motion is lifting a cheeseburger to your mouth, you're not likely to stop doing it all at once. And certainly not because your drunken reflection in the champagne flute told you to choose that just moments before the imaginary expiration date.

That's what these NYE resolutions are: a last minute decision to to a thing. But being better at life isn't about individual things. It's about all things in aggregate. You are greater than the sum of your parts. However, if you were to skip the resolution to do a thing at an arbitrary time and be resolute about the greater concept (live healthy vs lose weight in 2016) then you are determined and unwavering, and more likely to succeed.

It's less about these dictionary definitions and more about the when of the decision. I get it, we like arbitrary numbers. It feels nicer to start with clean slate and approach a challenge, but these dates are, in fact, arbitrary. More importantly, we shouldn't want to wash away 2015. We've all seen this image:

But do we want 2015 to be erased? Can it be erased? The answer is no to both questions, of course. Our lives are cumulative not approximately 90 individual and isolated years. We learned from 2014 into 2015 and 2015 into 2016 and so and and so forth. The phrase "how do you know where you're going if you don't look back" comes to mind. Our history is responsible for our present. So why get rid of it? And this image isn't discriminate. If we're wiping away 2015, then all of it has to go - even the good stuff. For me, for example, with the weight I gained in 2015, I'd have to shed my new job, the memories of my wedding, all I earned and learned. 2015 was somewhat of a banner year for me and that sounds terrible.

I guess the point is to not focus on some individual thing and make a resolution to do that activity until the novelty wears off and old habits set in. Decide something that's important to you, that matters, that's worth achieving and be resolute. Don't waver. It was my NYE resolution (many years ago) to quit smoking and I failed year after year. In the summer of 2013 I decided to quit (after 22 years). I was sure. I was ready, I was resolute. As of this writing, it's been 896 days since my last cigarette. 

I could be off the mark. Maybe your resolutions will stick. I wish everyone well. Hoping for failure to prove my point isn't my style. I just know that when reading those definitions, despite the root of one being the other, they feel very different. 

An old place turned new

This morning I got on a PATH (Port Authority Trans-Hudson, for non-locals) Train bound for the World Trade Center for the first time since 8:30am September 11th, 2001.

Every day I go to the same station as I did this morning. Normally I go left to an uptown train to end up at 23rd street since my office is on 25th street. Today, I tested the other train line. Why would I do this? Two big reasons. First of all, my darling bride got a new kickass job downtown at 40 Wall Street. So she'll be on the WTC PATH train every day and we wanted to map her route before she starts. Second, my office is moving downtown at some point in the not too distant future.

I had heard some stories about the new station. I heard it was exactly the same and entirely different as the old station. I heard the stairs, escalators, halls and even the Hudson News were all in the exact same places, but the walls and floor and lighting were all new. I was told to prepare myself to see a place I recognized, but had never been to before. If it was that eerily reminiscent, I thought it prudent to give it a go once before I was reporting to the new office.

As we pulled in, they were right. Bright white marble everywhere. It looked like the sterile environments of every futuristic movie. Nothing that was clearly new or different. Up the escalator and the route was entirely different. I was initially relieved. No haunted steps to walk. And then I saw the 6-wide, long escalator to the top - just like it used to be. This would be the test. At the top, would I go right, quick left, quick right? Would I pass the perfume/cologne shop? Would I walk down the long corridor of shops? Would there be the last Au Bon Pain on my right before the double-staircase and doors to the outside world? Would I be making the same walk I made every day for years, just with a white marble facelift? No. At the top of the escalators was a quick left and I was outside. It wasn't even the same street corner. You now exit from the dinosaur carcass shaped building at Church and Vesey Streets, not Church and Liberty. It's the northeast corner, not the southeast corner.

What a relief, right? I'd never again have to re-trace the steps that ended that fateful Tuesday so many years ago. I'd never again pretend it was the same when it wasn't. No reminders. Clean slate; as clean as the beautiful marble that adorns every square inch. But wait... that wasn't at all the feeling I was left with. If it was the same as it used to be that would have been jarring today, sure. But that feeling subsides over time. I'd have been left with a little piece of "the old days." There would have been something to hold onto before it all came crashing down around me. Maybe if what I heard was true, it wouldn't have been so bad.

Now, the pre-9/11 look and feel and size and shape is lost forever. The thing I was so afraid was going to happen and cripple me was actually something I was secretly longing for. Just 50 yards of what used to be before the terror struck. Just a moment to pretend our world never changed the way it did. Let me close my eyes and make that walk, emerge on the same corner, cross the street and see my statue friend. Nope. It's all new. It really is sterile. I've never been to this place before.

I guess that's ok. The world is different. My world is different. So much has changed and a clean slate may not be the worst thing. After all, I'm going to a new place after the train doors open. It's been over a decade since the last time I watched them do that in the same location. The space has reinvented itself in the wake of the destruction. If you've been following my Facebook or Twitter streams or if you read The Adventures of Jason & Linda, you'd know about all the other new things in my world.

So after we made sense of the new way from train to street, we walked Linda's new commute to 40 Wall Street and back, running into a street food festival running down Broadway. And we finally made our way to see where my new office is (tentatively) moving. To further the rebirth motif of the day, it turns out that my new lobby will be the old Winter Garden Atrium. It was utterly destroyed on 9/11, as almost every pane of glass was shattered. It was also the first structure of the WTC site to be rebuilt and reopened. And now I'll walk through it every day.

Among the fancy shops of Ferragamo, Gucci, Burberry, Saks, Theory, Hermes, and others was Babesta. Their tagline is "for trendsetting tots." My bride's face lit up so we went to look at all the adorable stuff we likely couldn't afford. As we strolled the short aisles of this boutique, we both happened upon the same thing at the same time. She asked if we could buy it before I could even say "we have to get this."

What better way to mark the new environment for her new job and my new office than by buying a book for our new (not yet arrived) baby that is all about this city? It counts things like building, bridges, trains, pizza and hot dogs.

Facades around the city may change, but as a new generation finds its way into our world we realize that the soul of the city will never change. Maybe it was time to just let go of what used to be.

Circle the wagons

Over all of my military years, I always made clear the point of demarcation from military to civilian worlds of mine. Coming from a non-military family in a non-military area, the boundaries were plainly obvious. As I go farther down my timeline away from the military, things start to fade. Details, names, locations, policies - all get fuzzy around the edges. Even things I took for granted as being burned into my memory forever start to become victims of an internal game of telephone. Our memories are imperfect storage methods.

I've made no secret about how much I love being home, yet miss all we did in the military. It was the best 10 years that I'm glad are over, is how I phrase it. A hell of an adventure, that eventually just ran out of road and I moved home. But there's a brotherhood that is undeniable and can't be beat. Everyone knows it. Military friends from all over the country descended on Northern NJ for the wedding just one month and one day ago. They were all fast friends, despite that some of them had never met. Officer, enlisted, from the 609th Air Communications Squadron to the 338 Training Squadron, supervisors, and peers; they blended together. There is something about camouflage and squadrons called units in there, but a good metaphor escapes me.

None of that is the point, but a frame of reference to how we are family. A new friend at the new job has a brother in the Army Reserves. She casually asked if I had any pointers to help him with his resume. He's making a career switch and having a time with balancing the civilian and military portions. Do I have pointers? I have more than that. I'll send my resume, look at his and ask around about some such website that delineates all that you do and are in the military.

So tonight I asked on Facebook. The results spoke for themselves. Out of the woodwork came, once again, people from all corners of my military family with links and advice and how-tos. I sent a FB friend request to the girl from work so I could tag her and share the information. She, in turn, tagged her brother.

Then my great friend Matt offered his resume to her brother as reference and email addresses were exchanged.

That's what we do. No matter if you've been in for 5 years or out for 20, we're veterans. We've done it all, some at the same time and some separated by decades, but that doesn't matter. We form a protective bubble around our own. We encapsulate one another and support. We circle the wagons. Strangers aren't strangers. Our camouflage threads are our common threads.

Justine was over the top appreciative with a million Thank You's. What many don't realize is that for the rest of us, this is a rare opportunity, that only gets rarer as the distance gets longer, for us to be a unit again. We revel in the idea of popping to virtual attention, focusing our gaze on a target and seeing a mission through to completion - together.

That five minutes of link sharing and commenting was the same portal back to SSgt Viglione like a familiar scent whisks you to a childhood memory.

Hoorah, Oorah, Hooah and Hooyah!

A Beautiful Marriage

Why isn't this on The Adventures of Jason & Linda? Surely 3 weeks and 2 days before our wedding day, a post by this title could only be about that, right? Nope. It's not.

If you've been a long time reader, you know all about my pen. My famous Mont Blanc Meisterstuck pen that was given to me by a former employer in 1999 for my first day of work at the New York Stock Exchange. You read a story about how I lost my pen, and another about how I found my pen. The importance placed on the object is its relation to a life once lived. I talked about I carried it all over Manhattan in suits and then all over the globe in camouflage. It was the only thing that linked me to my old life that I left behind. It mattered to me and I transitioned back to civilian life.

I moved home from the military life in 2013 and started JayVig Media in earnest and I ran the company for two straight years as my sole source of income. I signed every important document with that pen. It had made the transition to yet another part of my life.

10 days ago I started another adventure. I shut down the transactional and consultative side of JayVig Media, LLC and went back to work for a visual marketing company called Olapic, as their Client Support Manager. They tapped me to build a technical support team to include technical documentation, solutions workflows and training development.

And even though, I've held several jobs since the day I was handed my pen; for the first time in over 13 years, I get on the train, commute into Manhattan, and sit in an office with a career. The Air Force was temporary by design. JayVig Media was an entrepreneurial endeavor. I haven't had a team of people in tech, in Manhattan, since my corporate days. Truthfully, I hadn't even thought of it like that. Linda did.

The other night she came home and reiterated how proud of me she was for working hard, sticking it out, making the hard choice to close my company, and achieve this position with Olapic. She thought I should have something to commemorate it. I already had my pen, my symbol, my ticket of admission into a new adventure. In a bag was a box. In the box was this...

A leather Mont Blanc business card holder (hence the picture of the business cards above). And so, into my pocket goes my pen and this beautiful leather bifold, each bearing the 6 point star with rounded edges, representing the snow covered cap of Mont Blanc from above.

Together, they travel to and from the bedrock island of Manhattan, among the skyscrapers. An old life and a new life together, married. The poignancy that they came together right before I marry Linda and that one was given to me by her is not lost on me either. If there was any doubt that going to work for Olapic was the right choice, that it was full circle, that it was my skyscraper built on the bedrock of my NYSE days; it is gone.

I am sure this is far from my last adventure, but this is one of those that will really count. I didn't just move back to New Jersey or the northeast, but it took 794 day for me to really be home.

A sense of belonging

As most of my corner of the world knows by now, I started a new job this week. This came as a shock to many people, not the least of which was actually me. For the last two years, I have exclusively run JayVig Media, LLC, a baby I raised since its inception in 2011 (there was a stint where it wasn't my full-time gig). I love the social space. I love marketing. I think it is the single most important evolution in communication since the telephone.

At the same time, this summer marks my 20th anniversary in technology, professionally. What many of you don't know is that my first computer class was when I was four years old and was on a Commodore 64, which was all the rage back then. When I got battery operated toys, I was the kid that took apart the battery (or tried to) because I couldn't figure how this cylinder brought toys to life. I've accidentally erased more of my dad's computers than I care to remember (or admit to, on the grounds that I may incriminate myself - again). In June of 1995, I started my first job in the corporate world doing help desk work for a financial firm. Since then I've been in the same field for a retailer mega chain (Best Buy), a local mom & pop computer shop, the New York Stock Exchange and the United States Air Force.

The USAF is what got me started in social media. Pre-social networks, my weekends were largely comprised of calling my friends and family to keep in touch from a distance - sometimes as close as South Carolina and sometimes are far as the Middle East. Then came Myspace and quick, wide dissemination was available. Along the way I found value in brands speaking with consumers. Before I knew it, I was tapping into a valuable resource called social media marketing.

Since 2009 I have been learning about social, digital and content marketing as well as algorithms, ads and community engagement. I've learned from and studied with many of the founding fathers of social media along the way. It always had a tech feel because all these methods operate over the latest technologies, but my hands weren't getting dirty on actual equipment, configurations, code, or software.

I said, repeatedly, that I was done in tech. People would ask me questions and I'd say "I don't do that anymore. I'm a marketer now." Lo and behold, 2 years later I have abandoned social marketing to go back to my first professional love and strongest skill set; although I get to do it for a visual marketing company.

A small scrappy startup doesn't often have resources dedicated to their help desk / support system. It's not immediately investable. So everyone chips in where they can. Olapic was in that very situation. They have not outgrown that methodology for support.

That is where I come in. I have been tasked to manage the current team, build out a more robust team, create surrounding technical documentation (both for customer facing self-help and internal process management), create a training plan for support agents/account managers/clients, hire a technical writer and training development manager and stay on top of the overall health of all of the above.

I showed up Monday, May 11th for my first day without ever seeing the platform in action. Like a duck to water, I felt right at home. I speak the same language as this team. I live and breathe technology. I put processes into place within hours of arriving. Granted I'm still 0.1% of the way through what I want to accomplish, but there is no trepidation or uncertainty.

I love social media. I love what it's done for communication. I can't imagine a better way to market products or keep in contact with consumers. But now that I'm here, back in tech; for every minute of my professional day, I feel like I am right where I'm supposed to be, for the first time in a very, very long time.

All opinions matter

I was initially going to do a business piece on why the dress mattered, but everyone was so damn angry all day that it's now after 7pm and I'm just really fed up with the bullshit. So now it's a personal rant.

Note: all use of the word "you" is the general you as in the masses; not any one individual

First of all, let me tell you who the dress color matters to:

• Photographers who deal with lighting and exposure challenges all day, every day.
• Marketers who try to get people to like things and have a harder time when nobody knows what color it is.
• Marketers who want honest feedback from people and need to know what makes them tick so they can give them proper representation of products in the future.
• Retailers who want to sell the shit that customers will buy.
• Retailers who now have a clearer understanding of what lighting does to product placement.
• Manufacturers who want to make the shit the retailers will stock because people will buy it.
• Consumers who only want to know what they are actually spending money on in the first place. 
• Designers who now realize that creating a logo of certain color combinations may result in branding issues.

But this isn't about the dress. This is about the thought police who don't want people talking about the dress because it's beneath the appropriate levels of conversation for everyone on Facebook. For some reason, any time something trends, everyone gets their panties in a twist and wants everyone else to stop talking about it. Meanwhile, you'll all share viral videos of laughing babies and cats all day long. I see the same goofy shit shared over and over. You'll share posts of sick children and claim that a like equals a prayer that somehow makes cancer retreat or sends clean water into African villages.

But heaven forbid we mention the Super Bowl. It's only the single most watched television event in the year every year. Did you know that military members stationed overseas are often given the day off to watch the game and account for the time difference? No? But we should all shut up about it and all you clever bastards want to know, "is there a game on today?" I guess Madison Avenue execs and C-suite employees of every major brand in the world who, collectively, spent tens of millions of dollars all know less than you about what should be popular and trending, right?

So tell me, what should I like? What should I post about? I think you should tell me how to use my Facebook account so we can make sure you're happy every moment of the day. But should I get off track then you'll leave a post like this one.

So not only am I not supposed to bother you and your high brow style of living with such inconsequential peasantry, but I'm also supposed to feel guilty for somehow contributing to the death of this little girl. If I didn't post about the dress, would she have lived? I don't mean to be callous, but is there a causal relationship between the two? Since you imposed guilt, answer the question: is this a corollary or not? We all know the answer is not.

Someone, as I write this, shows up on Facebook saying they are not proud to be an American over this entire thing. Are we really drawing red, white and blue lines in the sand and choosing patriotic teams? 

At the end of the day there has to be more value in saying "why does this matter?" than in saying "this doesn't matter, you're all stupid and shut up about it." Remember the old adage of "if you've got nothing nice to say, don't say anything at all." What is amazing to me is that I'm fascinated by the viral nature of this and all the takeaways and I've made one post (now 2) about it, yet all of the perturbed masses are the ones rambling incessantly about how horrible the whole thing is. Those who hate it have spent more time talking about it than the supporters, by at least one order of magnitude.

So in the future I suggest we all look at a situation and try to find value. If you can't, move along. At a minimum, don't vilify those that do and certainly don't draw awful comparisons about what matters because that is everyone's own personal intention.

Oh and do the math... if something goes viral, clearly more people find it valuable than not so who's really the majority here?

Being level headed is hard some times

Over the years I've heard so many opinions on how to fix the situation in the middle east and the issues with terrorism and many of these answers have been entertainingly (a word?) bad. They've ranged from one extreme to the other. I've heard stuff like "we should bomb the entire region," "all today's Muslim kids are tomorrow's terrorists," "we provoked them," "they are misunderstood" "many have killed in the name of God and it's their religion and right to believe" and the list goes on.

Of all the things I'm extreme, staunch, polar and adamant about; this is one topic I've always tried to maintain moderation. I've suffered at the hand of Muslim extremism and my family is fragmented as a result. I've also heard broken English with Arabic accents shout "Yay! America. Thank you" in downtown middle eastern streets.

I know religious wars have happened for a long, long time. I understand that faith and religious conviction is the strongest possible feeling for many people. When people invoke the Crusades to prove that Christians have also killed in the name of God I have to think of the relevance since the First Crusade was started by Pope Urban II in 1095. I don't like to compare events that happened 919 years apart because we've grown and evolved as a people since then.

To all the people who say that all Muslims are dangerous, we know that the word "all" is often the most dangerous part of that sentence. Nothing is all anything, so be careful of blanket statements.

I've said all that to say this. It's getting harder and harder to look on the bright side and defend the religion and the culture. The extremists are still outnumbered by the reasonable, but the extremists are getting more and more extreme. From the WTC attack in the '90s to 9/11 to Boston to thwarted attacks to Paris right now; those with extremists beliefs are attacking innocent people. They are brutally beheading folks.

I want to believe in the good of people. I want to believe that we can all peacefully coexist. I fundamentally disagree with arguing among religions, since they are such intensely personal choices. It's even worse when it's among Christians, Jews and Muslims since they all share the same patriarch - Abraham.

I hate racial profiling. I don't want to be worried when I see Muslim men. I don't want others to treat good people poorly. But the only things Christians beat you with is scripture and verse. When's the last time someone Jewish kidnapped anyone for eating pork. We don't use churches or temples as arms repositories. God, Jesus, Yahweh, etc are not in our heads telling us to murder. Seminary and Yeshiva don't recruit people based on anger and hate.

I'm trying so hard to keep the terrorists and extremists in their own little boxes and realize there's more to Allah than ISIS claims. I'm really, truly trying. But the fact remains that in 2015 if I get killed in the name of religion, I can safely assume which religion will do it.

I don't know the answer. I don't know the solution. I just know I'm terrified of the future and all scary things seem to be coming from the same place.

It's not greed, it's not racist, get over yourself and save a buck

I may not be the single most objective person to speak on this topic, since I'm likely the biggest capitalist to anyone that would even read this, but I'm going to do it anyway. I'm really up to my eyeballs in Black Friday hatred and my disdain for those people rivals theirs for the day itself. I was about to keep quiet until an acquaintance went over a line I wasn't sure I had. I heard it called National Greed and Consumption Day. I thought it was a clever, tongue-in-cheek way to reference our gluttonous American nature... until I realized she wasn't being tongue-in-cheek at all. Then I heard that Whoopi Goldberg, in her infinite wisdom, decided to challenge the use of the word "black" in Black Friday. So here we are.

Let's talk about some fundamentals of the day. First and foremost, the word black (in Black Friday) has never been, isn't now, and never will be associated with African Americans. Not everything black is about people with darker skin colors. If people want equality, stop drawing lines in the sand that have nothing to do with race. I think nighttime is racist because the night sky looks black too. Get over it. It has to do with the financial crisis of 1869. That's the origin of the term. Let's move on...

Retail workers. This one gets deep. People complain that they have to work. No they don't. You always have a choice, your choices have repercussions. I had to work on Black Friday in 2006. I was deployed to the Middle East. That was absolutely not a choice. Do you think that serving in the military is more noble than a retail worker? Then you're slighting the very people you're trying to defend in the first place. I've seen more attacks in the aisles of Best Buy than in my time in uniform, for starters, but all joking aside, retail and commerce make this world go 'round. Don't take away from that. Next, many retail workers volunteer. In 2002, I worked Black Friday at Best Buy and made over $400 in one single day - ONE. SINGLE. DAY. And I was in my early 20s, when that was a big bump. It was a long, grueling day, but we don't go to work for the rainbows and unicorn farts, do we? We go for the money. Because of Black Friday, and all holiday shopping, stores hire seasonal help - that puts people to work. But let's leverage the power of greed to counter lowering the unemployment rate, even if temporarily.

As for them even being open Thanksgiving night, let me just ask you one question. Have you ever run out of an ingredient Thanksgiving morning and run to the grocery store to grab it before company arrived? Did you complain on behalf of the plight of shelf stockers everywhere? If you did go to a store and not complain, then you don't get to complain about Black Friday sale shopping. It can't be ok for them to be open on the morning of Thanksgiving because it works for you and you bitch later in the night because you just don't happen to need a TV this year,

It's time for the meat. Black Friday by the numbers. I find that many of the people complaining are those who are anti-capitalist and little more left leaning on the political spectrum (I'm not leveling a blanket charge, just saying that by and large that is my observation). These are the same people that tend to complain about how anyone even a hair's width below the 1% are getting screwed by the system on any given day. So, my lefty friends, let's talk about why Black Friday is fiscally important, since the only thing in the world that's not an opinion is how 1 plus 1 equals 2.

In 2013, Black Friday shoppers numbered 141 million individuals. The total receipt was $57.4 billion, plus an additional $1.2 billion online. I'd round, but for the sake of being accurate, we'll call it $58.6 billion. That's equivalent to the GDP of Afghanistan. Before you think I'm fueling your fire, consider what that means. We spend more on that day than the average of any other Friday in the holiday season and way more than the average of all other Fridays throughout the calendar year. And that number of sales goes up as does the amount of shoppers.

More people are doing more shopping, but getting more things for their money. That is higher revenue for stores, more inventory throughput which requires higher manufacturing. Any inflation in prices beyond reasonable profit margins gets diminished so people's dollars are even closer to buying the actual value, not the inflated perceived value based on MSRP gouging. Simply put, more things are made, transported and displayed which ramps up operations for manufacturers, delivery systems and shelf stockers. Point of sale manufacturers often provide additional terminals for stores temporarily (at a fee so they make more), and everyone from the cashier to the store manager pulls more hours and they make more. This is fueled by consumer habits that you call greed.

Greed, according to the Oxford Dictionary is "intense and selfish desire for something, especially wealth, power, or food." Considering that many people spend for Christmas/Holiday gifts, it's less greed than you may imagine. Sure, I've been known to buy for myself on Black Friday so I won't pretend it's all selfless, of course. But let's call a spade a spade here, people are buying when it's cheaper. Is this to get more? Maybe in the 1990s when we were all riding high. In 2014, many people use Black Friday, not to get more things, but to finally get the things they weren't able to get otherwise. Stores have even marketed based on that principle.

So since everyone feels this day is based on greed, you'd rather ignore all points of economic stimulus, shut down the spending so we can be gluttonous on food instead and make your fellow American pay full price later or not get it at all. You'd rather see retail workers at home, earning nothing instead of out in the world making money. You'd rather see people work harder on other days and use credit to get the things they want instead of getting it at 40% off at 4am on Black Friday.

You have the option, you can just stay home. You don't have to rail against every idea that's unpopular for your personal situation. Just sleep in. Problem solved. You talk about it being the day after Thanksgiving. Maybe people are giving thanks that they can get their kid the laptop for his school work because it's so cheap. Maybe people are thankful for the extra hours or time-and-a-half pay. Maybe people are thankful for the seasonal job. These are examples and theoretical, but they aren't covered under your "one size fits all" statement that Black Friday is the devil.

There are place where capitalism is ruled out and a sharing economic of socialism or communism is employed and the only place that works, is on paper. In the real world, people want choices. You have the choice to shop or not shop. American wants to shop, as evidenced by $60b in a 24 hours period.

So next year, I'm going to shop. I'm going to capitalize on the deals because I'm a capitalist. And I'm going to make sure I exercise my right to freely participate in a free market and use my freedom of speech to tell you about it. The only time I didn't have the right do it, I was defending everyone else's right to bitch about it. So, I'm going to put those rights to good use.

You're welcome to join me, ignore me, or unfriend me. You're not permitted to call me names or attack me. Your freedoms extend to the point they impinge on mine. What will you do?