What Happened To…

Out of nowhere I caught a glimpse of a calendar showing a little more than a week left in 2010. It can’t be, the year is almost over? I didn’t put a book out in 2010, I was going to write that book about search engine optimization techniques. No time now, and to make matters worse the whole search industry is changing, since people more and more are spending time on Facebook, and finding their information at predetermined websites, instead of just Googling everything. No book in 2010. Well at least I still have that Tea shop that I opened for that girl I no longer date. No, that seems to be gone too. What really happened in 2010?

For starters I got pretty good at observing people. I met more than a few people in the past year that apparently were heavily involved in social networking, and marketing, and even SEO. Believe it or not, they’d come to my coworking space, or Tea shop, flip open their laptops, and get to work. These were the people I’d been waiting years to meet around this small southern town, so luck would have it when we did meet I never could muster up anything useful to say about my own business. It was as if 2010 was the year I retired from my own company, which is pretty tough to do when you’re the only employee. As hard as they try, my three dogs just can’t seem to type up those work emails with their paws.

Much of my businesses were closed down in painfully slow operational efforts that were like living a nightmare in real life. Even though I love you, and love working with you, you are fired because our company isn’t profitable like it used to be. Try saying that five times fast to your favorite employee.

Along with my businesses went some old friends, a girlfriend, and her dog, all of whom were apparently not on my side. With so much negativity in the air, it’s with unbelievable humility I write that so many wonderfully great things occurred in 2010.

As quick as I could email my landlord to let her know we weren’t renewing our lease on that 2,000 sq ft office space, my sanity returned. Within weeks my energy levels went way up, and all the sudden, no matter how bad things were for my many businesses, personally I felt great. It was like honesty’s sweet fulfillment coming to fruition right before my very eyes, sometimes when life is the hardest, the greatest feelings of joy can arise. A wise man once told me that God puts struggle in our lives so that we must depend on Him, and not a day goes by that I don’t thank the Lord for my own. The Wall Street Journal told me some years ago that according to psychological studies happiness is most derived from resilience. Science and God on the same page, I told you 2010 was some year.

In 2010 I cared more about people than I did profit. I wanted to talk more than I did sell. I was alive in 2010. I got to see my old girlfriend that hadn’t been around in years for a few weeks, I got to visit my old college campus for the first time in 7 years, I got to look in the mirror and not wonder if this was the day my company would get sued for a million dollars. I got to take in the air in 2010. I made a lot of friends in 2010, and had a lot of fun talking to those friends, spending time, even, as scary as it sounds, dancing with them.

What happened to my business was life, what happened to my soul was gratitude. What happens in 2011 nobody knows, but for sure I am ready to face the challenges with an extraordinary appreciation for people, for God, for the very ability I have to wake up, walk out my door, call my mom or dad, and tell them that I love them. It’s not all roses from here on out, it’s still going to be a long challenging road to recovery, to building the next Google or Groupon, or heck even the next Puppy-Finder.com. It’s going to be hard. But it’s going to be worth it if I can take the lessons from 2010, and use them to make 2011 better.

May you take some of this positive energy and put it into your soul. May you have the confidence to not give a you-know-what about what other people think, and make this year the year you do that thing you’ve always wanted to do. We are so lucky to be here, and I just wish so much pain wasn’t my reminder of this fact, so here’s to 2011 being the year that changes everything for the better.

The Man with No Email Address

This past weekend cold weather blanketed much of the country with pearl white snow, as it tends to do this time of year, helping to usher in a tradition many engage in to keep warm if nothing else, the Christmas party. I gather for as long as Christmas has been celebrated, somebody somewhere tossed together some friends with tacky sweaters, booze, and music to create a memorable evening.

While I’m not exactly a celebration-phobe, it would be fair to say my pension for the holiday inactivity of sitting around doing nothing but eating all day is low at best. Simply put I love to stay busy, like many of my entrepreneurial counterparts, if we could sit still all day we’d probably be in that daft brown corporate cubicle next to you, right? So it is with great irony that as I get older, and more apt to move around randomly, I actually look forward to Christmas parties. Dare I say I love Christmas parties? I do, I love Christmas parties.

Last year at our now defunct office space we threw a grand Christmas party, so grand that I fell asleep face down on a blue microfiber beanbag in our graphic designer’s office somewhere south of 2 AM. The food, the drink, and the people were fantastic at our first and only company Christmas party. Especially the people, many of whom I honestly haven’t had a meaningful conversation with since. I still remember many of the things we spoke about that night, I still cite these long gone conversations in my I-know-the-answer-to-this-random-question quips at dinner with those I do see regularly. With no office to throw a party at, and a clever invitation hanging from my refrigerator door from a dear friend in Ohio, I boarded a plane to the great windy state, in preparation for a holiday party like no other. Besides me, and a few others, it was a cousin only affair, which remarkably resulted in more guests than most parties would have inviting family and friends alike.

In well appointed house on a street full of them crammed a group of young adults, a delectable spread of food that included frosting bearded Santa cookies, and of course the sounds of one of those all-carols-all-the-time radio stations blaring from a boom box you have to be in your thirties to own. Knowing virtually no one, except of course for the host, it was prime turf for new conversations, new discussions, new stories about life in America’s heartland. Being a southerner now for the better part of the past decade, I treasure the time to reflect on what had me a day away from living in Central Ohio for presumably the rest of my life. While this blog post could be about any dozen of the great discussions I had with this big Greek family, one in particular seemed head and shoulders above the rest, the man I met with no email address.

Standing a modest five six or so, dressed in khaki pants and a flannel shirt, with black-rimmed glasses, he looked as if he could be an internet junkie like the rest of us. He had two legs, two arms, eyes, and ears to boot. He smiled like a human, talked like one, and laughed like one too. Yet stunningly, he has no email address.

When winter arrives in Ohio one no longer needs to rely on refrigeration, that is what the porch is for, or so I learned from some of the guests at the party Friday night. Apparently nature can keep a 12 pack of beer just as cold as Whirlpool could. So it should come as no surprise that the front porch of this domicile became a place of constant activity. Think of it as a big outside icebox sans deli meats for holiday lights, and a wood swing. It was there I first got to know the man with no email address.

So what’s your passion? This is the question I asked, over and over again, until he finally told me, if for nothing else to get back to the warm inside with the rest of the people. He was into cooking foods, fine and modest alike, he spoke of olives like I would Google Apps, he talked about the communal benefits of cooking for friends, as I might pontificate on the benefits of instant messaging among coworkers. Fair to say this man’s a foodie.

Imagine my surprise when, in passing, after I propose sending him a link online, he nonchalantly explains that he does not have an email address. I don’t even have a computer, the man said as my jaw hit the floor. No computer? No email? Under 50, wait hold up, what’s the alcohol percentage in this Christmas ale I’m drinking?

Yes, I don’t do email, no need for it he explained with a smile. This is all it took to secure the unimaginable truth into my brain for good, I’ve met someone from my generation, the digital one, that wasn’t tethered to an internet connection like a writer to coffee.

The subtle explanation was given with ease, no anxiousness, it was as if not only did this man not have a computer or the internet, but he was totally cool with it.

In the world we live in today, in the world I live in today, the internet is a means to nearly all ends. I make money online, and take that money and pay bills online. I shop online, research my polling location online, and do nearly everything and anything else you can think of online. If you are reading this blog, you too are obviously online, chances are you’re also under 50, with a smart phone, and an income above average. So why, really, why is it that one person not having any type of association with the internet is that shocking to me, and probably you too?

I can’t imagine life without Gmail nonetheless the internet. I can’t imagine what I’d do with all my time if I had no computer, no Facebook to spy on old friends with, and no iTunes to spend way too much money on albums I may or may not like. I simply can’t imagine what I’d do with all that time. Which is why I probably should find out.

The truth is, as is obviously the case with this person, being different today isn’t getting the latest and greatest gadget, but instead disconnecting from them all together. The habits of a nation shouldn’t influence our day-to-day life in such dramatic fashion, we should be able to disconnect and still smile, like my friend with no email did all night long.

Postscript

Not too long ago I used to joke with a friend about the apocalyptic views of our parents. My mother is constantly presenting what if scenarios that deal with no energy, anarchy, and of course no internet. My friend's mother drew from the variety of disasters in the genre of food shortages, contamination, and world disease. Either way, our elders seem to have a greater adoration for the simple life. They not only think about it, they prepare for it. This is one of the many lessons we can take from our parents, and know that just in case, it probably wouldn’t hurt to see what life is like without a computer, the internet, and yes, even an email address.