DUST AND SCRATCHES

Technology and innovation present the world around us with razor sharp detail.
New filters and f-stops fill our screens with tens of millions of pixels that bring life to life like never before...
uncovering hidden features and overlooked facets; richer tones, crystal-clear textures and deeper, darker, ink-black shadows.

It’s our existence in 4K.
Or 8K.
Or HDR.
Or whatever.

But the funny thing is the human eye can’t even process images at that resolution.
Because life isn’t high res.

The memories and moments that matter the most, that stand the test of time,
aren’t clean and crisp and streamlined and modern and sleek –
they are well worn pictures, with dust and scratches from being replayed
over and over and over in our hearts.

Like our favorite records.

Which ones do you keep playing?
Make some no15e.

ALL ABOARD

The time has come and gone.

Days. Months. Years.
Joys. Tears.
Accomplishments. Astonishments.
Frustrations. Fears
all throttle past like the A express train.
Its windows like strobe lights flashing back
to memories and moments
that drew laugh lines around the eyes
and left an aching in the heart.

Round trip.
Full circle.
Last stop.
Stand clear of the closing doors.

All that’s left are the questions -
What’s left?
Who’s still there?
Was it worth it?

Where to next?

ONE LINERS

Sometimes a one-line thought says more than a million pages

YOU ARE HERE

If we’re lucky, we will experience a handful of moments in our lives that are breathtaking, transcendent… truly unforgettable.

Whether they are well-planned events, or a spontaneous alignment of karmic forces, these amazing experiences become part of our DNA - shaping who we are and reinforcing all that we believe.

In those moments, a single refrain repeats in our hearts:
”I can’t believe I’m here.”

You are.
You were.
You always will be.

Make some no15e.

15,000 Days

The average life expectancy of an American man is 76.2 years (or 27,831.5 days).

My family has been on both sides of that number:
Bumpa nearly broke the 39,000;
my dad lived 23,740.

Yesterday I hit 15,000 days.

I have lived the first half of my life.

In doing a little “back-of-the-napkin” math –
I have between 8,700 and 12,000 more days left.

The four-digit number on the low end scares the shit out of me.

It doesn’t take into account leap years, cheese burgers and falls down the stairs (which I have made a painful habit of recently).

It doesn’t reflect uninsured motorists next to me on the Parkway or some undetected plaque in my aorta.

It may not be enough time to walk Leah and Gracie down the aisle or hold Sean’s first child.

My life is more than half over…
So the question is, what am I gonna do about it?

It starts here.

By creating something more meaningful and personal than another sales pitch;
By sharing the songs, the words, the names and the reasons that have gotten me to this exact moment in my 15,000 day journey;
By making a record of the events, ideas and individuals who inspire me to make the most of today…
Day 1 of the rest of my life.

It would be awesome to have you along for the ride.
Lord knows I don’t want to take this trip on my own.

Come on – let’s make some no15e.

Nothing Stays the Same

Except the perfection of this video. 

The devastatingly awesome riff.
The flying split off the drum riser.
The mountains of amps.
The crowd on the stage.
The gong drum alight...

These 4 dudes in a jumpsuit, knickers and second skin tasseled tights became the epitome of rock and roll - and the dream of millions of people, like me.

While everything has changed since this premiered in '82;
the power and meaning and hope and energy and promise of this video is exactly the same.

STEVEN

““People used to make records, as in a record of an event…””
— Ani DiFranco, "Fuel"

This is a record dedicated to my friend Steven.

It’s funny and awesome and sad and amazing that we can literally go decades without sharing a single word with people that mean so much, yet still feel all the same love and loyalty and joy that started the friendship in the first place.

That’s why I wanted to write about Steven. I think about him at least three times a week.

He introduced me to a new world of music and people and places when we moved back to Waukesha in 1990. It was the last period of the first day of school – Algebra – and I hadn’t uttered a word all day. There he sat, back row, middle seat, cool, confident, self-assured… the type of guy you want to know.

There was a seat in front of him and I took it.
“I’m new. I don’t know anyone and haven’t said a word all day and it sucks. I’m Dan.”

Spark lit.

We talked about music. He listened to my love for heavy metal and recommended music and bands that changed my life forever – Naked Raygun, Mighty Mighty BossTones and his favorite – Social Distortion. Every time Mike Ness’ voice comes through my headphones, I think of Steven, a huge grin on his face and more than a few beers in his system, smiling and saying “it’s time for a little, all-American punk rock…”

In every school there is one person that is universally recognized as the coolest person – that was Steven. Every group and clique knew he was awesome – the jocks, the popular kids, the nerds, the smart ones, the theater/drama kids. He respected everyone and got that back tenfold. Special people have a charisma that attracts others; something that makes you feel better when you are around them. Steven has that in spades.

He was one of my guides to the beauty and glory that is Canada and the Boundary Waters. We took three trips together: Steven, Chuds, Filardo, Kenny, Batt and I. The stories that make up those trips are some of my favorites to retell to this day.

There are moments in between that are just as amazing. From Madison to Milwaukee, Steven was the inspiration and instigator of some of our most infamous nights. Clouded memories that make me shake my head in awe and smile at what we did and how lucky we were to not kill ourselves or someone else.

The world is better, my life more fulfilled, thanks to Steven and the other 139 characters that have made such a difference to me.

Who is your Steven? Who do you still think about and wonder if they still think about you? Do they know how you feel? Steven – I hope you know now buddy…

Reach out to yours and make some no15e.

So Here We Are...

this doesn't have to be so hard

And everyday you remind me...

How I'm desperately in need
 

THAT WAS THE OLD ME...

I was such a looker in the old days.

MIRACLES

“Do you believe in miracles?”

What’s the first thing that popped in your head after reading that?
Al Michaels and the most famous call in all of sports would be my guess.
Did any of you have an answer; yes, no or otherwise?

For me, the answer is a resounding, absolute yes with 100% certainty;
because In the summer of 2006, I witnessed a miracle occur 116 days straight.

Some of you may have heard this one before; for the rest,
this is Sean’s Story and it starts with the phone call.

With the advent of caller ID, I no longer pick up the phone unless some immediate family member is calling in the middle of the night. Even that would be predicated on me hearing the ring (which is 50/50 at best). It's as true today as it was 8 years ago. With that said, we begin this tale with Rebecca in the hospital.

She was admitted on Monday after experiencing premature labor at 27 weeks. Fortunately, the doctors stopped the contractions after a few days and she was moved out of labor & delivery in preparation for her release.

I cut out of work early that Friday to rest up prior to bringing her home. My sense was Rebecca would be on bed rest until September – so this would be my last nap for a while. I closed my eyes and drifted off with Days of our Lives softly playing in the background.

The phone rang.

Totally not answering that.
Just a few more minutes…

Wait.

My wife is in the hospital,
I should probably see who called…

Instead of getting the message to pick her up, I heard “you better come now...”
It was my mom with a seriousness in her voice I had never heard before.

What? This baby is due months from now.
Do I bring anything? Is this normal? Life or death?
Where are the keys?

By the time I got to the hospital,
it was clear this baby was on his way.
Three months too soon.

It’s organized chaos in Rebecca’s room. Nurses rushing in and out.
Doctors sharing instructions. Screams. Tears. Blank stares. Shock.

“Put these on! That baby is coming out now.”

This is insane. Is this real? Do the scrubs go over my clothes?
My hands can’t stop shaking.

This is big. Life changing, grown up shit.

Ready.

I head outside the doors of L& D to give my mom my clothes and the update. Every time the automatic doors opened, Rebecca’s cries flooded out, drowning everyone in earshot with dread.

As I turned to leave, my mom hands me a vial of holy water from Lourdes that she kept in her purse. Her voice caught as she said “take this in case anything happens.”

Thiscan’tbehappening.Thiscan’tbehappening.Thiscan’tbehappening.Thiscan’tbehappening.

Ready.

We rolled into the OR together and Sean was born a few minutes later.
He weighed 2.2 pounds and was 14 inches long.

His hand was so small it could not reach around the width of my pinky finger.

Before he was whisked away, I made the sign of the cross on his forehead.  
Then he was gone. Everyone was gone. We were sitting there in shock. What the hell just happened? This is not in the “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” book. Should we be happy? When do I pass out the cigars?  We stayed like that to a few hours until the doctor comes back and told us the news.

Sean needed to be transported to another hospital immediately for surgery. His esophagus wasn’t connected to this stomach – so he couldn’t swallow and a feeding tube needed to be put in; a colostomy needed to be performed and his trachea and esophagus were connected and needed to be closed.

Wait… what? Is someone writing all this down?
Is he going to die? I cannot believe our worst nightmare is coming true.

Fast forward a few hours and we’re waiting. As many are prone to do in times like these, I went to the chapel and I prayed for him to live. As I prayed, one thing kept repeating over and over in my head…

Thy will be done.

I wasn’t angry. I didn’t feel forsaken. I just wanted the strength to do whatever needed to be done for my son, for me, for our family.

Two hours later, the surgeon came out and shared the news, Sean had made it. He was strong enough to endure all 3 of the procedures and I could go and see him.

There were tubes and wires and alarms and lines and monitors everywhere – in both arms, both feet, he was intebated and so small! I was scared to death to even touch him for fear something would break – or it would hurt… The gravity of what was happening hadn’t hit me yet, but I asked if it was okay to bless him with more of the Holy Water. The nurse I was speaking to smiled and said they encourage it – the more faith and hope the better.

So that night and every night after, my wife and I would put the sign of the cross on him prior to leaving. Blessing Sean gave me an incredible sense of peace that God would be watching over him while we were away. For me, it defined a “leap of faith.” It gave me the confidence that Sean would be okay while he alone. It helped replace that empty feeling that comes from leaving your child at the hospital. It gave me the strength to comfort and care for Rebecca.

After a few months, it Sean got bigger and stronger. His esophagus was connected and he was starting to eat. We began to prepare for his eventual homecoming. Rebecca and I talked about how we could ever possible convey the enormity of our gratitude and thanks we had to the doctors, nurses, friends, family and total strangers that sustained us over the last 4 months.

 If any of you have gone through something similar, you know that there are no words that are right enough; no thank you gift big enough or can mean enough to ever come close to the intention.

As we drove up the hill on October 9 to bring Sean home, the answer hit me in the chest. My voice cracked and these words came out

maybe all we have to do is love him.

It is so simple really. So easy to believe in miracles when everything turns out the way you want them to. When your baby lives. When your life goes on. When eight years later, a third child is born on Sean’s original due date.

That belief comes with a responsibility –
a duty to share the gifts of hope and the grace with others that need it.

It’s here where I fail.
It’s here where I will get back up and try again.

What about you?
Do you believe in miracles?
Do you need someone to help you believe?

Make some no15e.

You never get a second chance...

to make a first impression.

The mark this song (and band) has made is as strong today as it was almost 25 years ago when I felt it for the first time. 

We'll sing the body electric

Oh, in time, the trees die and light will fade.
But I hope for a new breath,
a new life to take me away.

WHY?

My friends and colleagues will recognize the title of this post.
It’s the question we ask ourselves before every pitch, negotiation, meeting or conference call. Start with why?
 
Why should they care?
Why do they need to listen?
Why should they follow us versus someone else?

If you want to know the answer to that specific question, read the book;
if you want to know the “why” I started this “thing”, keep reading below.

There are people that need to be recognized for the difference they've made;
because it could help keep the focus on making the most of our days;
and because something is moving me to do this –
and it maybe it will move you too.

It’s my 21st century mixtape;
created and curated with the sights, sounds and emotions
to inspire the sirens; helping us make some no15e.

So we start with why and answer with a line from one of my idols, Cameron Crowe,
"why not?"
 

Take a plain black marker and write this on your chest

I'm trying to get better because I haven't been my best

EDDIE WENT

Some men are given the choice: live a long life or live forever.

My Favorite Picture

This is my favorite picture.

It’s not in focus.

It doesn’t have clean lines

It uses no fundamentals of visual composition
but it is still one of the most beautiful images I have ever seen,
because you are in it.

Your presence, joy and spirit are so vivid,
just like that day.

We walked, reminisced and laughed.
You carried him in the back, smiling and whispering in his ear as you pointed out flowers.
I wish I knew what incredible stories and secrets and gifts shared.
I wish we could have just one more day.

This picture will have to do.

A single image with the power to take me back to that day in Madison,
to remind me of what you mean and who you are and why.

Do you have a picture that does that?
A frozen moment that brilliantly (re)surfaces
all the colors and scents and sounds and emotions of the day?

Make some no15e.

AND THIS IS WHAT IT'S (AND I'M) ALL ABOUT

You followed him since the first day he signed with the team.

You know he's not perfect. 
But on certain days in his life, he has been.

The night he poured in 63 points.
The time he crushed three home runs in the World Series.
The day he found Dwight Clark in the end zone.

You wish at some point; at some moment in your life,
you could be that perfect too.

And that is why you cheer for him.
That's why you believe in heroes.

TICK. TICK. TICK.

It's got to be an incredible line if it makes me not hate Tom Cruise. Maybe in :60 it will all be different...

HANDWRITTEN

Everything changes with a pen in your hand and a message in your heart.
When every word is carefully chosen; each thought delicately (l)inked to a sentiment
that serves as a reminder or a validation, recognition, repudiation or profession.

Taking the time to capture a moment, share it with someone
and expect nothing in return is such an amazing, intimate gift.

Handwritten letters and notes, whether they are on napkins, scraps of paper or elegant linen sheets are tangible tokens we can carry with us throughout our lives; echoes of who we are, where we’ve been and what we believe in.

No emoji can do that.
Printing out an email or a text can’t convey those sentiments in the same way.
The trend today is to make our communications more disposable.
Snapchat, those “don’t-print-this-email-if-you-don’t-have-to” email signatures; KiK Messenger,
all designed to make our thoughts something easy to throwaway.

I say fuck that.

If you have ever physically written me in your life, chances are I still have it.
There are footlockers and original Air Jordan boxes filled with them that
I have moved from state to state, year after year.

Every yellow planka from CMH’s senior retreat;
Each one of the hundreds of pages Kiki Vandeweghe put in the mail in the summer of ’89;
A homemade Valentine written backwards.

‘Atta boys from the Journal Sentinel days;
Condemnations, congratulations;
Cards from Camp Illahee.

Goodbyes from colleagues I don’t remember
and  ones I’ll never forget.

Love notes from Rebecca
pictures from Sean, Leah,
thoughts from my Mom, Sarah, Tim
and the three letters I have from my dad…

All these and hundreds more are my evidence.
Proof of how blessed I have been by so many.

Some of you may have gotten a note from me in the past;
it’s something I believe in and try to pay forward to this day.
It’s what this whole weird blog thing is all about really –
you knowing, people knowing
what they mean to me, done for me
and just getting it out in the universe so my final record is more than three letters,
because I so wish his was too…

What about you?

When is the last time your heart started beating a little faster when you got the mail; when you
saw that envelope with your name on it and wondered just what the message was inside?

When is the last time you put your feelings on paper and shared them with someone?

Let’s take back the lost art of the handwritten note and make some no15e.
Are you in?