In February 2024 this website crashed for no apparent reason. Despite using professionals at GoDaddy.com it was impossible to restore anything after October 2021 (over 100 posts). I do have many of those post in draft form (no final edit or photos) and I have decided to repost them in that manner. I apologize for typos and other errors. How do I feel about losing all of my original work? Life goes on.
In the house on Francisco Avenue on the battered Crown gas range sat an old aluminum percolator. The pot took twelve cups of water that when raised to a boil, would force the liquid up a metal tube and saturate the basket full of coffee below. This infused suspension would drip back into the pot until the coffee was deemed done. My father insisted that the perfect percolation time was exactly seven and one half minutes. It wasn’t clear if he actually managed such precision.
Growing up there was always a pot of coffee on our stove in the morning, and frequently in the evening. Sometimes my mother bought Eight O’Clock coffee, at other times it was Maxwell House, but her most frequent purchase was Folgers in a big red tin can. I’m not sure if she thought that it tasted better, or perhaps she was influenced by Virginia Christine’s long-time depiction of Mrs. Olson, the pitch person for Folgers Coffee. Mrs. Olson reminded her audience that Folgers Coffee was “Mountain grown, the richest kind.” As far as I know all coffee is grown on mountains, so I guess all coffee is the richest kind. However, her pitch must have worked as Folgers kept her as their spokesperson for over 20 years.
Then, there was a rumor that Christine was the heiress to the Folgers fortune, and to keep her inheritance she had to work for the company. This seems wholly false as I could find no support for that claim when I researched it for this post. In reality, she was a veteran actor who performed in over 400 movies. However, most of us will remember her as the aproned Mrs. O, who was glad to be typecast as that gig allowed for a very nice retirement.
Coffee was such an integral part of our lives that it was always offered to guests who visited our house. Likewise, whenever we went visiting we were given a cup, usually accompanied by a sweet. I remember many visits to my maiden aunts, Mary and Lill. I was the youngest in my family so my parents took me along as they sat around the kitchen table talking, or sometimes playing a game. Often, my Aunt Mary had baked something, but at other times we would be offered packaged cookies from their apple-modeled red cookie jar. My Aunt Lill had a special fondness for packaged Windmill cookies, so they were always in plenty.
At a very young age, I was offered a cup of coffee that consisted of about 25% coffee mixed with 75% milk, and dosed with a heaping teaspoon of sugar. Having a cup of coffee when I was eight seemed perfectly normal to me.
We moved to a new home in the 1970s and the percolator was replaced with brewing’s latest technology, a Mr. Coffee coffee maker. Ours was molded in a sparkling white plastic and featured a yellow gingham faceplate. Making coffee was as simple as pouring in the water, adding the coffee, and pressing a button. Marvelous!
I was away at college, my siblings were married, and my parents’ coffee needs were on the decline. They still loved their coffee, but after the morning pot, they switched to instant, specifically a new type of instant coffee, freeze-dried Taster’s Choice. An instant so confident in itself that it claimed to taste as good as the traditionally brewed stuff.
Instant coffee has been around since the turn of the last century, and it gained popularity as it was included in soldier’s MRE meals during WWII. This original instant was made by spaying brewed coffee into hot air which evaporated the water and left a coffee residue powder. Taster’s Choice was made differently, it was freeze-dried where the water evaporated under a vacuum. This method claimed to be superior to the older method and created instant coffee granules instead of powder. I never tasted much difference between the two methods, and the resulting liquid didn’t taste much like coffee to me. However, the more you drank it the less objectionable it was, and after a while it tasted good enough.
After I left my parent’s home I stopped drinking instant coffee; it was easy to brew my own. The only times that I would drink instant was when I used a hotel’s in-room coffee service, or occasionally when I would go camping. Even then, I usually brewed coffee. My impression remained the same, instant wasn’t very good, but the more you drank the more acceptable it became.
Four of us are morning coffee drinkers in Kunaland, and I have been grinding my own beans for decades. I would never call myself a coffee expert, but I do know a good cup when I drink one. However, I also know that coffee is extremely subjective. If you watch videos of people doing taste tests it is not unusual to have one person like a brand that another thinks is disgusting.
It should be noted that more people are making coffee at home; it is convenient and much less expensive to do this than buying coffee at a local shop. With automatic drip pots, the French press, pour-over systems, cold brew, Nespresso pods, and K cups you would think that the days of instant coffee are over. However, you can still find many brands on the grocer’s shelves, and it isn’t uncommon for me to see a jar in someone’s basket when I check out.
It surprised me to find that many countries prefer using instant to regular coffee for homebrew. These countries include Great Britain, China, Russia, Mexico, Turkey, and many others. Asian countries prefer to buy sachets that they call Triples, which contain instant coffee, creamer, and sugar combined in a packet.
In the United States, brewed coffee is preferred, but instant coffee was still a 5.8 billion dollar industry in 2022, and it is expected to grow into an 8 billion dollar industry by 2030. Based on the above information I thought it was time for me to revisit instant coffee.
There are more than a dozen instant coffee brands available in the US. Some premium brands, like Starbucks Via can cost almost a dollar a cup. Starbucks’s claim to fame is that they also include some finely ground regular coffee which adds a bit more flavor and aroma. I have used Via on hiking adventures in the past, and in those situations, its expensive sachets may make sense. However, at around a dollar a cup you would be better served using any brew method at home. You can buy bulk K cups for as little as 40 cents each and brew ground coffee beans for less than that.
Many instant coffees are significantly less expensive. Costco sells a 16 oz jar of Folgers Instant for $9.69 which makes 240 cups (6 oz each) of coffee. That is four cents a cup. Double the cost to eight cents and you can have a big 12 oz mug.
I decided to do a little experiment and purchased three jars of instant coffee. I deliberately purchased store brands and avoided high-end expensive instants based on my logic listed above.
Brands Purchased:
Aldi Beaumont Coffee at 3 cents for a 6 oz cup
Folger Classic Roast at 4 cents a 6 oz cup
Cafe Bustelo at around 6 cents for a 6 oz cup
The smell test
None of these coffees have a coffee aroma once the jar has been opened for even a short amount of time. Coffee aroma adds to its taste, but it has been impossible for manufacturers to incorporate coffee oils that wouldn’t turn the coffee rancid.
Free-dried or spray-dried?
In past coffee use, I could not tell much of a difference.
First experiment
I tried Folgers made per instruction with boiling water. Result: The same taste that I remember from drinking Taster’s Choice in the day, Blech!. Bland, processed, flat. Not good.
The problem
The lack of coffee aroma is a definite negative for instant coffee. Additionally, instant coffee seems to be less acidic, which makes it taste flat.
Masking
Adding something to mask the coffee flavor can make drinking a cup of instant coffee much more palatable. I always add some whole milk to my coffee and this moved the cup of Folgers from blech to drinkable. I think any type of milk would do, as would sugar, a flavoring (like a dash of cinnamon), or a combination of cream and sugar.
A better rehydrating method
I read about several methods used to improve the taste of instant coffee. Two didn’t seem to make much of a difference, but the third surprisingly elevated the coffee several notches, and it is simple to do. Add a couple tablespoons of tap water into your cup and mix in your coffee granules. Heat water just below boiling (stop when small bubbles break the surface). Add this hot water to your cup and stir. Add your masking agent (in my case a splash of milk) and enjoy. This coffee wasn’t as good as the real thing, but it was surprisingly acceptable. If this was the only coffee that I had I could drink it without problem.
Which coffee tasted the best?
This is a subjective opinion. The Folgers was a bit better than the Beaumont and the Cafe Bustelo was a bit better than the Folgers. All of the coffees were brewed using the “better rehydrating method” and whole milk was added. The difference between the various instant coffees was slight and none (as expected) were as good as the regular coffee that I brew at home. However, all were acceptable.
Why drink instant coffee?
Instant coffee delivers caffeine (you can buy decaf too) for your morning jolt. You make exactly the quantity that you want, so there is no waste. It is very easy to make a cup or two. There is no coffee grounds mess. Instant is less likely to go stale in the jar, as the volatile oils are already gone. It is incredibly inexpensive to make a cup if you stick with standard brands. Lastly, if you drink it on a regular basis you will adjust to the taste, which will appear normal.
Alternatives
Of course, you can buy a cup of coffee, but even McDonald’s coffee has gotten expensive. Here are some homebrew solutions. All will give you a more realistic cup of coffee at a higher price than instant, and likely with less convenience.
Percolator coffee
You can still buy percolators. Some are electric and automatic. I think these pots produce the best coffee aromas. However, the brew can sometimes taste a bit cooked or even slightly burnt. With that said, there is nothing as good smelling as percolator coffee on a cold morning while camping.
Home drip coffee
From automatic pots to pour-over systems. The quality of coffee can be quite good. It can be more time-consuming to make. Cleanup may be slightly more work.
French Press
Fast and easy. Can produce an excellent cup of coffee. Cleanup can be messy.
K cups
Very convenient, no waste. Coffee can be a bit insipid. Additionally, you can have a lot of unnecessary plastic waste.
Nespresso
Another pod system, but I have not tried them so I can’t rate them.
Coffee Tea Bags
Made by several companies. Folgers is the most reasonably priced, and the most available. At around 60 cents a “tea” bag this coffee only requires a cup and some hot water. It is super fine ground coffee so you get some aroma and you can adjust the strength of the coffee by controlling your steep time. Cleanup is easy and the bags are very portable.
Other methods
There are many ways to make coffee. Each method has its own time commitment for making, monitoring, and cleaning up. Making coffee will always be less expensive than going to a shop.
I’m not against buying coffee at a shop, I do it myself. However, I prefer this as a treat as it can be unnecessarily expensive to buy a cup or two every day. It is inexpensive to make homebrew, and it is downright cheap to use instant. Instant will still give you the caffeine that you crave in a nice warm beverage. If you use the brewing method that I outlined above and add a masking agent, like milk or sugar, a cup of instant coffee can be quite acceptable.
In February 2024 this website crashed for no apparent reason. Despite using professionals at GoDaddy.com it was impossible to restore anything after October 2021 (over 100 posts). I do have many of those post in draft form (no final edit or photos) and I have decided to repost them in that manner. I apologize for typos and other errors. How do I feel about losing all of my original work? Life goes on.
Over the last decades, I have noticed an interesting and upsetting phenomenon—adult men who live their lives as boys. They never become self-sufficient men.
Everyone has the right to choose their own path. Not everyone has to be ambitious and driven. However, traditionally, men have felt a responsibility to be self-sufficient and productive. To be clear, I’m not lambasting alternative lifestyles. For instance, the househusband or the man who gives up a traditional job to care for an elderly parent. These folks are productive members of society. I’m talking about boys who never grow up. Individuals who choose to live a dependent and responsibility-free life where they contribute little to others or society. These people have always existed, but their numbers are growing. Nicholas Eberstadt, the chair of Political Economy at the American Enterprise Institute, notes the following:
Over 7 million men, ages 25-54 (prime working years), are unemployed and are not looking for work. To put that number into perspective, that is more people than the combined populations of Chicago, Houston, Indianapolis, San Franciso, and Orlando.
Individuals with only a high school diploma are overrepresented in this group, and those without a high school certificate represent an even higher number.
Forty percent of this group has some college, and one-sixth has a college degree.
If you are foreign-born, you are less likely to be in this group.
This lack of employment is not strictly due to outsourcing jobs, lack of low-requirement jobs, economic downturns, or the automation of jobs.
This lack of employment is not due to lack of education as there are 11 million job openings, and many have minimal requirements, such as showing up sober and being on time.
African Americans are overrepresented, while Latinos and Asians are under-represented. Therefore, if you compare whites to non-whites, the numbers are pretty much a wash.
You are less likely to be in this group if you are married or in a situation where you are responsible for children. A married African-American male would be underrepresented in this group.
This non-working, non-job-seeking group is four times larger than those unemployed and looking for work. However, this group is not measured in governmental statistics on unemployment.
The 7 million number does not include institutionalized individuals, such as prisoners.
You may ask what these individuals do with their time. The answer is not much. They don’t seem involved in their communities and are not helping around the house. Most list their main activity as screen time, but this statistic is not defined further. The average time spent in front of a screen is around 2000 hours/year, equivalent to a full-time job.
These folks survive on the charity of others: family members, wives, and girlfriends. About half are on some sort of government assistance. However, this is difficult to quantify further as there are many different types of assistance and disability programs in the US, and no comprehensive clearinghouse collates these numbers.
Although their financial resources could be considered penurious, their basic needs are being met. In fact, they would be considered well-to-do if you compared their economic status to unemployed individuals in the 1800s. They have enough to get by.
In summary, there are over seven million men who, during their prime working years, choose not to work. This number continues to grow at an alarming rate and is independent of factors such as the loss of jobs due to automation or outsourcing. Some individuals may have valid reasons for their lack of employment, but it is a choice for many others. These individuals don’t contribute money or labor to their homes or communities and drain resources that could be used for others.
This work refusal trend started around 1965 and has increased monthly by about 0.1%/month. If you plot the numbers, it is a linear increasing line independent of economic changes. In other words, since 1965, there has been a steady linear increase in the number of men who are no longer in the workforce and are not looking for a job.
During my years as a psychotherapist, I sometimes treated these individuals. Additionally, I treated teens who seemed destined to adopt this non-productive lifestyle. Here are four examples. Identifiers have been changed to protect these individuals.
Billy was a 15-year-old high school sophomore. He did the absolute minimum in school and barely passed despite receiving many resources. He didn’t like to socialize and had no friends. He spent most of his time on his computer. Billy denied being depressed or having anxiety issues. When asked what he liked to do, he responded, “Nothing.” When I tried to engage him on any topic, for instance, what kind of music he liked, he denied any preferences. He appeared quietly angry and very passive. He was an empty individual. His parents said he didn’t cause any problems at home; he refused to participate in any family activity and preferred to isolate himself. There was no suspicion of drug or alcohol use.
John was a 19-year-old college freshman. He was in advanced math in high school and declared he was a math major in college. I saw him after his disastrous freshman year, as he had failed his classes, including math. He said that all his teachers were “terrible and incompetent.” He didn’t feel motivated to return to school but didn’t want to get a job either. He admitted that he had gone from occasionally smoking marijuana in high school to using it multiple times a day in college, now that he was away from home. He was convinced that the marijuana enhanced his thinking ability and helped him be more creative. When I told him that it was likely that the marijuana was doing the opposite, he became angry and left treatment.
Joe was a pleasant 29-year-old man living with his parents. Joe went away to college but flunked out. His parents then sent him to their local community college. He said he was attending class, but it was later discovered that he would leave the house and roam the streets instead of going to school. Joe’s parents then found him various jobs through their contacts, but he would get fired due to lack of work or attendance. He did some socializing with his high school friends but spent most of his time online. His parents wanted to sell their house and move to another state. They did not want to take Joe with them. Joe said he wanted to be responsible and find a job but never attempted. He talked about making big money by starting his own YouTube channel but never did. He wanted to live independently but never made any effort to make that happen. Joe said all the right things but never acted on any of them. His parents eventually moved, and Joe went with them.
Jimmy was a 59-year-old single male who was superficially friendly and chatty. He had an encyclopedic knowledge of rock bands from the 70s and 80s and tended to use up much of his sessions talking about them in an avoidant strategy. He reminded me of a 12-15 year old boy. Jimmy had substance use problems but had no access to street drugs or alcohol as he lived in his 85-year-old mother’s basement. She took care of him. Despite my stern warnings about their dangers, he was committed to getting high and frequently snorted organic solvents. Although he presented as a friendly guy, he had a dark side. His mother was hospitalized for a week, and Jimmy quickly moved from the basement to the first floor, destroying much of the house over the seven days she was away. In addition, he ran up his mom’s credit cards to their limits. When his siblings found out, they kicked him out of his mom’s house. How did Jimmy react? He thought that he was treated unfairly and that his siblings were mean. At the same time, he asked his siblings to fund an apartment for him. They declined his request.
In these examples, none exhibited a psychiatric disorder, such as major depression, bipolar illness, psychosis, or significant anxiety, that warranted medication treatment. Two had substance abuse issues that added to their symptoms. Although most were happy to engage in sessions, their efforts represented more appeasement than actual work. Generally, they were not confrontational and (at least initially) presented themselves as passive victims. Although some said they wanted more out of life, they were unwilling to do anything to make that happen. I often felt that they told me what they thought I wanted to hear to shut me up. They said the right things, but their actions suggested otherwise. None were treatment successes.
Psychotherapy requires work on the part of the patient, and sometimes that work can be difficult. These folks wanted more but did not want to work to change. What was interesting was that, in some cases, it would have been just as easy to do the right thing, but they chose a path that led them in the opposite direction. For instance, it probably took more work for Joe to hide out instead of attending class, and Jimmy couldn’t explain why he destroyed his 85-year-old mother’s house—the woman who was providing him with food and shelter.
Why does this lifestyle exist, and why are the numbers increasing? I can only speculate, but it is likely due to multiple reasons exacerbating common issues.
It is reasonable to believe that qualities like ambition and drive exist along a spectrum. There are highly ambitious folks and those that are less so. The same can be said of intelligence, whether we are talking about academic intelligence or social intelligence. Likewise, we can say the same about dependency needs, social skills, self-confidence, a sense of entitlement, and other factors.
It also must be accepted that many expectations placed on men are neither fulfilling nor rewarding. Many men work in jobs that can be mind-numbing or even degrading. They must deal with repetitive or dangerous tasks as they navigate ridiculous work policies and cruel supervisors.
If you take several conditions from the preceding two paragraphs, you could imagine a scenario where it becomes easier to retreat from societal expectations.
Those situations have existed since the dawn of society, so why are we seeing a steady increase in these man-boys? This could be due to changes in society in general.
The recent blockbuster movie “Barbie” continually hammered home the idea of the patriarchy, the foundation of our society. The movie emphasized that this system promotes the domination and oppression of women. I firmly believe that women should have the same rights as men, but I also believe that such a simplistic explanation is insufficient to define a society. Women have always held positions of power, and men often defer to women. However, the 1960s brought a more rapid equalization that continues today. Two factors contributed to this change: equal rights and the birth control pill. More women had a chance to earn a living outside the home and were less bound by the social constraints of the past. This allowed some men to become more dependent. This was a good thing in some situations as some men could assume productive roles they were formally banned from. However, it also allowed others to check out and allow their significant other to support them.
Recent times have brought an ever greater need for workers to be skilled and intelligent. The media promotes glamorous jobs and fabulous lifestyles. High-paying, lower-skill jobs, such as unionized factory work, are disappearing. The above can result in a “why bother” attitude. This is especially the case since many of these individuals have found alternative ways to support their basic needs.
There are some easy ways to experience an alternative reality that seem a better option than real life. Drugs, video games, porn, and other outlets are widely available and can counterbalance the pressures of dealing with the real world.
Male-focused clubs and fraternal organizations are on the decline. In the past, almost everyone belonged to a church or temple. These groups had expectations for their members to be responsible citizens. Men were taught to be the breadwinners and protectors. The power and influence of these large organizations is diminishing.
The institution of marriage is on the decline. It was not that long ago that it was considered odd not to be married. Fewer people are getting married for a variety of reasons. Marriage provided social pressure for men to be productive. Men who are married are less likely to drop out of society.
Statistics demonstrate that men responsible for children are more likely to be productive. We know that more individuals are choosing not to have children or are delaying having children. This presents a different problem for society but also contributes to dropouts.
More men are choosing an isolative lifestyle that doesn’t include women. Since 2008, the number of men under the age of 30 who are living celibate lives has tripled to almost 30 percent. These individuals do not have relational pressures to be responsible.
Higher education costs have become astronomically high, creating an impossible barrier for some to overcome. Although ⅙th of men who drop out have a college degree, 5/6ths do not.
The bottom line is that it has become easier to live a passive, unproductive life, and it has become harder to live a self-sufficient, contributing life. Depending on your personality, it is reasonable to drop out of society as many can figure out ways to fulfill their basic needs. At the same time, they can find alternative reality options that numb any remnant desires to grow up. Drugs and alcohol have been long-term solutions. However, many time-wasting activities are now available in the ever-expanding digital age.
Once a person drops out of society, re-entering becomes more difficult or impossible. It is well established that men who stop looking for work are much less likely ever to re-enter the workforce than unemployed men who are actively searching for a job.
Our continued social and technological changes have allowed some men to remove themself from productive lives, and that number is escalating at a linear rate over time. Traditional techniques, like psychotherapy, seem less effective as many individuals are not invested in making change. Additionally, no consistent governmental programs are designed to address this serious problem. This is likely since these men live under the radar. They are sitting on their couch connected to a video screen, not causing havoc in society. In some cases, tough love works; in others, it doesn’t. Supporting family members are often angry and frustrated with these dropouts. However, in many cases, they feel responsible for their well-being. A feeling promoted by these individuals who often present themselves as the victim or at least helpless.
Seven million men and growing. A disaster that is happening right now and right before our eyes. A disaster that no one seems to be paying attention to.
In February 2024 this website crashed for no apparent reason. Despite using professionals at GoDaddy.com it was impossible to restore anything after October 2021 (over 100 posts). I do have many of those post in draft form (no final edit or photos) and I have decided to repost them in that manner. I apologize for typos and other errors. How do I feel about losing all of my original work? Life goes on.
When Julie had her surgery three months ago, we knew that the operation would severely impact the nerves in her right leg. Although the neurosurgeon did a good job, those nerves were impacted, and it was unclear how well she would be able to walk. Weeks in a rehab hospital, plus ongoing outpatient physical therapy, have helped her. However, I believe her determination has played an equal part in her recovery. With that said, most of the time, she requires a stiff leg brace and a rollator/walker to get around.
Six weeks ago, my sister and her husband offered us their Labor Day weekend camping slot. At that time, we weren’t sure if Julie could get into Violet the campervan as Violet’s chassis and seats were high. Before we accepted their offer, we attempted to get Julie into the passenger seat. She got in using a step stool, plus her pulling power and my pushing power. We accepted the camping slot and hoped for continued improvement.
DuPage County has beautiful forest preserves, walking paths, and parks. Fifteen minutes from our front door is the county campground where we were going. There, you feel like you are deep in the country even though DuPage County has nearly a million inhabitants.
I love to camp in Violet the campervan. Julie has camped with me, but she was always mobile. This would be our first attempt camping with her wearing a brace and ambulating with a rollator. As you can imagine, even the simple task of going to the bathroom could present impossible problems.
In addition, I had removed everything from my camper’s kitchen as my friend Tom is building me a new one. That will likely be another post once it is completed. However, I also had to reload some kitchenware to make the trip workable.
I often camp alone and can do all the necessary tasks on a camping trip. When I travel with someone, I customize plans and buy special foods to make their trip enjoyable. For instance, when I camp with my son Will, I make elaborate dinners as I know he enjoys them. Likewise, when I camped with Julie, I ensured I had what she liked to eat. Planning, shopping, and preparing takes quite a bit of time.
I didn’t have it in me to do all of that this time, as I didn’t know the trip’s outcome. It could be possible that we would get to the campsite only to have to turn around. I had no idea how she would walk on grass and gravel roads.
Instead of going out and buying food, I went with Julie at the start of the trip to buy simple microwave meals. Violet has a little freezer compartment and a small microwave. If we had to turn back, I was sure the kids would happily eat our purchases.
We arrived at the campground and drove to site 40, a beautiful spot in the woods. Our first mission was to get Julie out of the Violet and into a camp chair. Her rollator is designed for hard, smooth surfaces, and it was an effort for her to get from Violet to there. However, she succeeded. I brought her a cool beverage, and she opened a novel. However, I was still concerned about the rest of the weekend.
As I noted earlier, I’m comfortable doing most things when Julie camps with me, but that was not a good idea this time. My goal was to help when I knew that help was needed and be on alert at other times. Julie needed to see what she could do for herself.
Our first challenge was a trip to the bathroom, which was about a block and a half down a gravel road. Normally, it is a simple task. However, the rollator’s small wheels were not designed for this type of terrain, and it was a slow process. Despite our lack of proper equipment, we made it there and back without a fall. A triumphant success.
Julie has camped with me enough times that she knows how to do many tasks, from turning the passenger seat into Violet’s cabin to powering up the AC inverter for the microwave. I let her do whatever she could, and she found ways to accomplish her goals. She was an asset on the trip and not another responsibility.
Our first night was quiet, with food, books, and nature-watching. We discussed attempting a walk the next morning. I thought we would try walking a few blocks on the even-surfaced paved forest preserve road, but Julie had other ideas. She wanted to hit a hiking trail. There are many hiking trails in the forest preserve where we were at. Most are nicely maintained, but they do have some ups and downs. I was familiar with one trail, the McKee Marsh trail, that is flat. It is roughly 3 miles from the parking lot, around the marsh, and back to the car. I knew that would be too far for Julie, so I started the mileage tracker on my Apple Watch. Could we walk a mile? We planned to walk half a mile in and then back, yielding a mile trip. We knew the rollator wouldn’t work, so I pulled out my trekking poles, adjusted them to Julie’s shorter stature, and gave her a quick lesson in their use. We started off.
It was a beautiful morning, and we were in a beautiful location. People would pass us with a hello. I think people were especially friendly as Julie’s brace was visible. Some offered words of encouragement. I kept warning Julie that we had gone past a half of a mile, then one mile, then a mile and a half. She wanted to continue. By then, the only option was to complete the loop. We soldered on, and the trekking poles were a great success. I couldn’t believe that we hiked 3 miles. Julie could barely walk a few months ago. We rewarded ourselves with ice-cold Coke Zeros from Violet’s fridge. A fantastic success.
If you have ever camped, you know that keeping your campsite neat and tidy is imperative. Keeping things organized isn’t difficult, but it is a constant quest. Naturally, I did my thing, but I let Julie do hers, and she continued to help.
Our evening ended with a surprise visit from a friend, followed by a campfire. I admit I’m not very good at starting campfires with damp wood. I know I should split the wood to get at the dry insides, but I’m clumsy with an axe. I got a fire going, but it was not the blaze I had hoped for. Does anyone want to teach me my axe skills?… Warning: Keep your feet far away from me when I’m swinging.
Our Monday started leisurely with me making some coffee. I asked Julie if she wanted to try another hike, and she said she did. This time, we chose a path with more ups and downs- a big challenge when you have walking issues. We broke camp, drove to the parking lot outside the archery path, and started our journey. It was clearly more difficult and pretty exhausting for Julie. We planned to walk a mile out and a mile back. On the way back, Julie’s leg tired, and she had a few near falls. However, the trekking poles saved the day, and she was able to turn potential crashes into simple missteps. In the end, our total distance was 2.25 miles. Julie had walked over 5 miles during our camping trip, which was amazing.
This trip taught us several things. First, Julie could do many camp maintenance activities by modifying them. She also improved at climbing into and out of Violet’s campervan. At times needing no assistance. However, the most impressive win was that we could hike on paths. I don’t think it will be possible for her to hike on a traditional hiking trail; however, beautiful walking trails are everywhere, including National Parks. This trip showed us that she could go on a more extensive camping trip and even do a little hiking. Nothing would stop me from hiking more difficult trails independently, as I have been doing that for years.
The only significant problem I faced had more to do with my 6’3” bulky frame. Violet’s bed is a tight fit for two. I always take the edge of the bed, allowing me to hang my legs outside the bed when necessary. This time, I felt I should give Julie that spot due to her mobility issue. That meant I was stuck between her and the van’s back door. I could not stretch out completely; I could not hang my leg outside of the bed. This led to leg cramps and, even worse, a feeling of akathisia, or restless legs. I didn’t sleep well, and I’m not sure what to do in the future. I’m hoping that Julie will improve enough so that the next time, she will be able to take that inside position. At 5’6”, she is more suited for it. Otherwise, I’ll need to come up with a Plan B.
Our trip was a resounding success, well beyond my wildest expectations. Kudos to Julie for all her hard work and amazing trail-blazing abilities.
In February 2024 this website crashed for no apparent reason. Despite using professionals at GoDaddy.com it was impossible to restore anything after October 2021 (over 100 posts). I do have many of those post in draft form (no final edit or photos) and I have decided to repost them in that manner. I apologize for typos and other errors. How do I feel about losing all of my original work? Life goes on.
A while back, Amazon contacted me and asked me to become an official reviewer. I like comparing things, so I agreed. Amazon selects items that may interest me. I can select or reject these items to review. Sometimes their selections are spot on; at other times, they are so far off that I wonder if their computer is melting down. For instance, I have been offered breast pumps and African American hair extensions.
Third-party sellers use this review program to get high-quality reviews of their products, as a single review can mean hundreds of sales. Based on this, most officially reviewed products should be expected to be good. Why would someone want a bad review? Despite this, I still will get an occasional clinker.
Getting involved with the review process has educated me about some potential review scams from third-party sellers. Below, I’ll list some of those impressions and my personal verdict on product categories that I have had the chance to examine.
It is estimated that at least 40% of reviews on Amazon are fake. There are many ways to get fake reviews. One common way to pay for a fake reviewer is to write a product review. Some folks write reviews on products as a side hustle. For a few dollars, a product can get a 5-star review on a product the reviewer has never used.
Some fake reviewers will purchase a product and write a positive review. They use their funds to buy the item, which the seller then refunds in exchange for cash and a free product. The seller can get a “Verified Purchase” badge on their review.
There are large overseas organizations where a seller can buy a block of reviews or even have bad reviews removed.
In the past, it was easy to spot a fake review based on a lack of details or poor grammar. This is getting harder as scammers now use AI-generated reviews, which can seem real.
There are other ways a seller can buy a “Verified Purchase” review, but those methods are beyond the scope of this post.
Another way to scam the customer is by updating the item’s product description. They may sell a good product at a reasonable price. When they have gained enough positive reviews, they will use the product update function on Amazon to change the product completely. You can tell if this is the case by reading the original reviews. Watch out if you bought a computer, but the original reviews were for a crockpot.
Sellers will pair items under the same listing. They may sell an inexpensive but high-quality charging cable and have an additional expensive but unrelated item in the same listing. Buyers may review the charging cable at 5-stars, and the overly expensive item will also seem highly rated.
Some sellers hire groups to trash another seller’s product to gain market share.
Naturally, Amazon is trying to eliminate these problems, but it is harder than you think. As a consumer, your best option is to read a random sampling of the reviews to see if they are legit.
Are there a bunch of reviews that use very similar language? Caution advised.
Are there many reviews that all highlight the exact same points? Caution advised.
Are there reviews that consistently use very bad grammar? Cautioned advised.
Are there reviews so generic that they could describe any item? Caution advised.
Does the product page list two unrelated products? Caution advised.
Are the reviews clumped, many written during a short time period? Cautioned advised.
Do the reviews talk about a completely different product? Caution advised.
I like to look at the poor reviews on a product I’m considering purchasing and compare those poor reviews with the 5-star reviews. Sometimes it is clear that the poor review was because the customer didn’t know what they were doing. Other times there are clear indications that the 5 -Star review is fake.
At this time, I have reviewed hundreds of Amazon products and have come up with a few conclusions.
Clothing items: This category has been the most variable of all product categories. At times I have discovered bargains. I have reviewed many products that were as advertised. However, I have found many sub-par articles of clothing. Common problems were that they were missized or poorly constructed. I have also reviewed clothing where the material was of very poor quality. A greater concern has been products that initially seemed to be of good value but failed after moderate use. I reviewed a winter coat that I liked. However, the zipper became increasingly difficult to latch within a month or two. If the manufacturer had used a quality zipper, it would have been a great coat and a good value. However, the crappy zipper significantly downgraded the product.
Linens, etc.: Here, you get what you pay for, and sometimes a little more. Cheap towels are cheap. More expensive ones are decent. Bedding is often constructed OK, but check out the dimensions. I have gotten quilts and blankets advertised for a king mattress that would be more suitable for a queen.
Electronics/Computers: I have been happy with many of these items. However, if you buy an inexpensive item, don’t expect it to be premium. You can get a mini-computer for a couple of hundred dollars which will work for simple computing. However, it won’t do high-demand tasks like video editing or gaming.
Kitchenware: I have been satisfied with many items I have reviewed. I have tested many small appliances and other items, from plates to cookware. If you read the description carefully, you will likely get what you have ordered. If you buy a set of pots and pans for $20, expect to get junk. However, I have reviewed many off-brand items that were less expensive than the brand name that were as good. Many kitchen items are made in the same factories as the more expensive branded items. Your mileage may vary.
Tools/Outdoor stuff: Many of these items are as described. Cheap tools won’t be as good as branded ones, but they will do the job for a DIYer like me. I would say the same for outdoor implements.
Camping/Fun items: Most of the things I have reviewed were good.
Items to consider avoiding: These are not items that I have reviewed in my official capacity. Instead, they are items that I purchased over the years. Personally, I won’t buy cologne/perfume as I have gotten counterfeit items in the past. I would say the same about other popular branded/designer items.
Final tips:
An identical product may be sold under several different names at vastly different price points.
Check the color choices of a product, as some colors will be significantly less expensive than others.
Make sure you calculate the cost per ounce when buying consumable products. You may find that the larger container is more expensive than the smaller container (which is counterintuitive).
Caution, when a seller uses unfamiliar measurements to describe a product. For instance, centimeters instead of inches. At times this is an honest mistake, but at other times it is used to confuse the customer.
Sometimes a discontinued product will be ridiculously expensive, even when the updated product is cheaper.
Sometimes a seller will sell an item at a cost many times its MSRP. I’m unsure why; I’m guessing they hope someone will mindlessly click and buy.
In February 2024 this website crashed for no apparent reason. Despite using professionals at GoDaddy.com it was impossible to restore anything after October 2021 (over 100 posts). I do have many of those post in draft form (no final edit or photos) and I have decided to repost them in that manner. I apologize for typos and other errors. How do I feel about losing all of my original work? Life goes on.
Dear reader, you may recall my last post where my best-laid plans were foiled. I had problem solved how I could successfully sleep in Violet the campervan in sub-freezing temperatures. This was so I could offer a little help to my out-of-town daughter, who was recovering from surgery. I would assist her during the day and then retreat to Violet in the evening. All of these plans were upturned when my granddaughter became sick the night after I arrived. I wrote my last post with that theme in mind. Sometimes stuff happens, and you have to accept the outcome. We don’t have control over the universe.
To update you, my granddaughter did have COVID, but thankfully, her case was mild. In addition, the fact that I didn’t sleep in my daughter’s apartment reduced my exposure to her, and I didn’t contract the virus. So my planning did have a positive impact, just not the results that I expected. This leads me to today’s story, which takes place several weeks after the above incident.
My daughter, Grace, needed a ride back to school after winter break. It is a 5 ½ hour drive from our home to her school. Add in refueling, bathroom and food stops, plus a grocery haul for Grace, and the entire adventure can easily last well over 12 hours. I have driven this route many times in the last four years, and it is exhausting. Julie will accompany me on some trips, and having a companion and co-driver for the return ride can ease this burden. However, it has gotten progressively more taxing for me to do the round trip solo as I have aged. Because of this, I decided to split the driving into two days and sleep overnight in Violet, the camper van. However, this would be challenging as the temperature was predicted to be 9F (-13C), the lowest temperature I had ever camped in.
My friend Ralph queried why I didn’t stay at a hotel. Indeed, I could book a hotel for about $120, but I didn’t want to. I like the idea of traveling with my things. If I want a cup of tea at midnight, I have it at the ready. If you know me, you understand that I love solving problems and enjoy coming up with solutions. I feel that any knowledge that I gain, no matter how trivial, is worthwhile and could be useful at some later date. Lastly, let’s not forget that I am secretly a 12-year-old boy hiding in an adult man’s body. The thought of urban stealth camping while battling the elements felt like an adventure in the making.
I had already worked out several cold-weather techniques during past winter trips, refining them to maximize their effectiveness. Utilizing various techniques allowed me to survive sleeping in Violet when the temperature was in the high 20s. Could I rework these ideas further to comfortably sleep in single digits?
I like to conserve energy, so I had planned on only running my Webasto heater for a few hours before I went to bed. However, my friend Tom convinced me to run it continuously, which turned out to be a good idea. Listening to someone else’s opinion can sometimes give you a better perspective.
In addition, I would close off the driver’s area from the rest of the cabin and put up an insulating panel on Violet’s sliding door window. I had my 12-volt electric blanket in place, and I added a quilt layer to my blanket set-up. Lastly, I would dress a bit warmer this time than my usual sleepwear.
It was already dark when I pulled into the Walmart parking lot. After a few hours of activities, I settled down for the evening, pulled my covers over me, and switched on my 12-volt electric blanket’s timer to give me 90 minutes of high heat. I slept through the night comfortably and was not a bit cold. The experiment was a complete success.
If you have read this post to this point you may be thinking about why I am writing this? I’m writing this because it illustrates the complete opposite point of my last post, which was that you couldn’t control things. This post suggests that you can control things. You may be feeling that I am contradicting myself; however, that is not the case. It is comfortable to think that we live in a black and white world. This is wrong; that is right. I’m on the good side; you are on the bad side. Today, I would like to challenge that.
Yes, there are times that we have no control over situations, but we do at other times. With that said, most of life falls somewhere in between. If you take an absolute position, either way, you will be an unhappy camper (pun intended).
You may not need to come up with solutions so you can sleep in a freezing camper, but you do have to come up with solutions for other issues daily. For example, if you are always short of cash by the end of the month, what things can you do to lessen that issue? If you are lonely, how can you gain meaningful relationships? What things will you have to modify, and what other changes will you need to adopt? Your efforts may yield a complete change or perhaps a partial benefit. Sometimes they will fail, but you can still learn from your failure as you launch your next solution.
I spent much of my professional career working with people who wanted to do the same behavior repeatedly, but they somehow expected that they would achieve a different outcome. So it was not a simple matter of me highlighting their missteps, as they would often agree with me while continuing business as usual.
Sometimes, a person would marry a dysfunctional person to correct their childhood traumas, for example, marrying a person similar to their mother with the hopes that they could correct that old relationship by fixing or controlling the new one. Sometimes a person would seek one inappropriate job after another similar job because each would promise them big commission money. However, they weren’t suited for that type of work which meant that they were unsuccessful and miserable. Sometimes, people would falsely think that they would feel better about themselves if they possessed a new thing or went on a fancy trip. Indeed, they may have had a moment of bragging joy, but that quickly faded as the reality of their life swopped back in. Unfortunately, their short buying high could be enough to continue their behavior, often leading them into credit card debt and more unhappiness.
The above examples are meant to be generic and general. However, such illogic impacts individuals on all levels. We are forever using old behaviors and defective logic that doesn’t suit our current needs.
Why not try a different approach?
Instead of being a victim, empower yourself. This can be more difficult than you think, as it involves taking responsibility for your life rather than blaming others for your unhappiness.
Learn from your past errors and correct them. If an action or choice resulted in a bad result, what makes you think that doing it again will result in a good one?
Imagine yourself where you want to be instead of where you are. The more you see yourself this way, the more likely you will behave in a way to get you there.
Think about the common elements in repeating situations that did not go well. For example, do you always find friends who tend to use you? Are your kids always taking advantage of you? Are your bosses always abusive? If you see a trend, then admit that you are likely part of the problem. How can you change yourself, or how can you interact with others to be treated in the way you want to be treated?
If you have dysfunction in your past, you will find that new dysfunctional relationships will feel comfortable. They will remind you of home. I would often tell patients who found themselves in bad relationships to run if they felt that they had known a new friend for years. The new person felt that way because they were likely a clone of former dysfunctional connections.
The above examples are relationship-based, but thinking solutions can also be applied to other problem areas in your life. Always short of cash? Write down every expense for a month and study the results. I had one patient who was constantly short of money. She said that she bought very few things and couldn’t understand why she couldn’t pay her bills. She was married with no children, and both her husband and she worked full-time jobs. Eventually, they wrote down their expenses for a month and discovered a huge cash outlay was because they ate every single meal out. Changing that one behavior not only relieved their money shortage but also allowed them to save money.
Examine life changes that partially worked and tweak them. My initial cold weather sleeping plans were somewhat successful. What eventually worked was based on multiple times sleeping in cold weather and the information I gathered from those events. In addition, I listened to the advice of a trusted friend. Using all of that data allowed me to develop a plan that let me comfortably sleep in a camper van at 9F. If my situation changes, I might have to rethink, readjust, and realign my solutions. Once you have something that works, you still need to be aware and observant. This is not only true when camping, but (of course) with life in general.
No, we don’t have control over the universe, and we sometimes have to accept what life gives us. However, we can point ourselves in the right direction, and in doing so, the likelihood of having a good life is greatly increased. Growth is not only avoiding external negatives; it is also about challenging internal narratives that may be pushing us away from what we want in life.
Please don’t mistake that happiness can be obtained by achieving a single objective. “I’ll be happy if I”m rich.” “I’ll be complete if I find the perfect partner.” “I’ll feel confident if I have an impressive job” People who choose such singular paths often feel depressed, cheated, and empty.
Your life’s meaning may differ from mine, but I can assure you that it is not one of the above. Instead, explore your desires on a more fundamental level. Your efforts should be directed to move you in that direction rather than some singular quick-fix approach.
In February 2024 this website crashed for no apparent reason. Despite using professionals at GoDaddy.com it was impossible to restore anything after October 2021 (over 100 posts). I do have many of those post in draft form (no final edit or photos) and I have decided to repost them in that manner. I apologize for typos and other errors. How do I feel about losing all of my original work? Life goes on.
A few years back, I was contacted by my best buddy from medical school, and over time, we have emailed each other. It has been great to hear from her and to learn more about her exciting professional life, where she worked internationally as a research physician. Additionally, she is more up-to-date about the happenings of my former classmates, many of whom did very well professionally. One became the US Surgeon General for some time.
In a recent email, she recalled her admission interviews at Northwestern. She had the standard three interviews. One was a senior medical student; the other two were the same physicians who interviewed me. However, her experience was quite different from mine. I’ll talk more about that later. In this post, I want to explore the concept of fate and how you sometimes have to put logic to the side when deciding. Please note that I’m not encouraging my readers to do foolish things. I’m saying that sometimes, “The best-laid plans of mice and men go awry.” But first, some background. You may already know some of this from my previous posts.
When I was in grade school, the nuns labeled me as gifted. In second grade, I couldn’t read because of dyslexia and other central processing problems. Due to the fear that I would be in trouble at home, I developed a method using the newspaper’s funny pages to translate words into symbols. By the 4th grade, I was a slow but very competent reader and scored higher in science than the rest of the students in my entire grade school (which consisted of 1st-8th grade) on a standardized test. I was scoring in the range of a junior in high school in the 4th grade.
I loved science, as it made sense out of the crazy world that I lived in. The nuns were so convinced I was different that they told my parents, “God has special plans for Michael.” Despite this, my dad made me go to a terrible public high school while my siblings had all been sent to private schools. He knew it wasn’t the best place, noting, “If you want to learn, you can learn anywhere.” I am not trying to badmouth my father. Perhaps he was just burnt out from years of paying tuition, or possibly he was reworking his feelings of having to drop out of school in 8th grade so his older brother could attend college. He always noted that he was “Glad to do it.” Was he? He spent the next ten years attending night school. Did I remind him of that situation or possibly his brother?I will never know.
I was a big kid but highly naive. I had truly terrible times at that high school. I did what I had to, but my goal was to get through the years. Despite my traumas, good things also happened. I was quietly angry and sullen, but teachers took note of me. Three in particular went way out of their way to befriend me. Trust me, I did not seek them out. Honestly, I think that someone (something) greater than myself was watching over me. That someone wanted me to learn more than my ABCs.
The blue-collar neighborhood that I was raised in was undergoing an exodus of whites who were leaving due to real estate agents practicing “blockbusting.” There was a very negative feeling about blacks, and I heard terrible things about them regularly. Before high school, everyone that I knew was white, and 99% of them were Catholic. However, the teachers who befriended me were not. Two were black, and one was a Jew. Thank God for them in so many ways. They went above and beyond to engage with me. They shared parts of their lives with me. They treated me like a person, not a burden. They told me that I was gifted and implied that I could do anything I wanted. Each connected with me for different reasons and did so during a different school year. One told me that I was a gifted listener, another said I was a gifted writer, and the third told me I was a gifted teacher. All three things that I did later in life. They helped me heal from my anger, and their actions gave me the confidence to take control of my life when I entered college. However, their greatest gift was introducing me to people different from me, by showing me that they were not different. I’m not saying that “We are all the same.” I am saying, “We are not that different.” This process eventually made me understand that I had no right to judge another person based on any superficial reason. As bad as my high school experience was, the overall impact of these and other teachers positively changed me. So, was I supposed to attend that terrible school?
These teachers gave me the confidence to do my best when I started college. Here, too, I was given limited options as I was only allowed to attend our community college. However, this also turned out well as I gained many friends and attended school with my lifelong friend, John. By finally taking control of my life, I could focus on myself rather than the expectations and criticism of others. I love learning, and I have a knack for test-taking. My community college was housed in temporary metal barracks-like buildings. It was nothing to look at, but the teaching was good. Here again, I had some very positive interactions with teachers. That may be a story for another day.
After community college, it was time to go to university. My memories are different from reality. I only applied to one school, and I always wondered why I didn’t apply to the U of I, our flagship state college. In my recollection, my friend John had convinced me. However, he has since corrected this misperception. John’s parents died at an early age, and he was going to stop his education after community college as he didn’t have the means to continue further. John reminded me that I convinced him to continue in school, something I do not recall doing. So I picked the school? I am still trying to understand why. However, I enjoyed going to that university. By the way, my friend John graduated college, then went on to graduate school and became a successful school psychologist. It was meant to be.
We all have strengths and weaknesses. In some ways, strengths are our superpower if we utilize them. My mantra has always been to make the most of my strengths and turn my weaknesses into strengths. I only have one strength going for me. I have an insatiable desire to learn, allowing me to do well on exams. That’s it.
I’m clumsy, and because I’m blind in one eye, I have no depth perception–no sports career for me. I’m quiet and introspective, and I have difficulty faking it if I don’t like someone–business careers are not in my future. I love learning about obtuse things that only some would find interesting. If I’m into something, I typically know more about it than most (I’m obsessive), so I can only discuss a few topics at a level I would like. Lastly, I process information in ways that are very different from many, so it is not uncommon for others to not “get” what I’m talking about. I’m telling you that I’m a one-trick pony. If you only have one trick, try using it to your best.
How could I negotiate my only trick into a career? To me, the answer was obvious. I would become a university professor. I had the grades and test scores to get into graduate school and even had an area that fascinated me: microbial biochemistry (I told you I was odd). I not only got into grad school, but the school paid my tuition and even gave me a monthly stipend to attend. My plan was moving ahead nicely. I finished my master’s and was about to transition into my PhD work. Everything was going as planned, or was it?
Getting a PhD wasn’t the right thing for me. I fought that feeling with everything in me because it would be the road to my success. This was my one trick; how could I throw it away?
To make matters worse, I started to get an overwhelming urge to leave graduate school after my master’s and apply to medical school. I absolutely could not shake that feeling, which was beyond absurd. No medical school should want me. I was an older student, but like most applicants, I was a white male, so there was nothing to set me apart except my age which was a negative. Most people who apply to medical school start that process in high school. They attend a great high school and then transition to a prestigious college. They work in clinical experiences, as they often come from professional families who have connections. One of my med school classmates told me that he had a subscription to the NEJM when he was a freshman in high school. I only knew what the NEJM was when I was in graduate school. I learned that some used professional writers to help them with their personal statements. One international student was the son of the president of his country; another was an Olympic medal winner. There were unconfirmed rumors that some parents had donated large sums of money.
What did I have? I went to a terrible high school, a community college, and a typical college. Nothing was stopping me from getting a PhD. I already had the basic research and techniques down. I had most of the coursework done. My master’s thesis was very comprehensive (it probably could have been a PhD dissertation with some additions). It would take me two, possibly three more years to complete a PhD.
What in the world was wrong with me? How could I throw that away? Where were these intrusive thoughts about applying to medical school coming from? How could I get rid of them? I was messing up my life. My decision to go to grad school was so logical, and once again, I was about to abandon logic because of a feeling! I was about to give up a sure thing for something with a 1% chance of success.
So what did I do? I left grad school after my master’s, took the MCAT, and applied to the seven medical schools in Illinois. I was married to my first wife then, and she was even against me applying to medical school. I got a research job at the University of Chicago to fill the gap year and waited. I felt that I had just thrown my life away. However, the external force was too powerful for me to resist. I honestly had no choice.
OK, I’m just going to say it now. That eternal force was something beyond me or the world. I call it God. You may call it your guardian angel or whatever you like. I was being pushed to do something ridiculous, yet it felt correct. It was crazy.
Let’s get to even crazier stuff. Remember my med school friend, Harriette? She had the same two doctors that I had for interviewers at Northwestern. She also had a senior medical student interviewer (standard practice). The docs grilled her. Her interviews were very stressful, which is the norm.
This is what happened to me. I was anxious (naturally) and had to go to the bathroom (sorry to be graphic). As I was standing there, I noticed that someone had scribbled on the wall, “How to get into medical school.” One of the bullet points said, “Ask insightful questions.” I considered about a dozen somewhat unusual questions and committed them to memory. I guess It takes me longer to void than most.
My first interview with Dr. Berry. He had a stack of my documents in front of him, and in a monotone voice, he would take a single sheet and ask a question like, “Is this your MCAT score?” I would say “Yes,” and he would say “Hmm” and then take the next sheet out. “Is this your personal statement?” I would say “Yes,” and he would say “Hmm,” and so forth. He never asked me a question, which was completely different from other med school interviews I had already had at other schools. This was also opposite from the grilling that he gave Harriette. At the end, he asked me if I had any questions. I asked him some of my “insightful questions.” For every one of them, he said, “That is an excellent question; I don’t have an answer for that.” At one point, he gave me a little sly smile like he was playing with me. The interview, which should have lasted at least 30 minutes, was over in less than 15, probably more like 10 minutes. Things were not going well.
Next, I had Dr. Green, a big-shot nephrologist. He had an enormous office consistent with his status. He had also grilled Harriette. I entered his office, and he invited me to sit down. I felt tiny in that gigantic office. He did not ask me a single question. He asked me if I had any questions, and I started with my “insightful” ones. For EVERY question, he said, “No one has ever asked me that question. I’ll have to think about it,” and didn’t give me an answer. We sat silently for a few minutes, and on my own, I stood up, shook his hand, and said, “Well, I guess the interview is over then.” I left. There was NO THIRD INTERVIEW ON MY SCHEDULE. I usually interview well. These were the worst interviews of my life.
I had to go somewhere to process my feelings and drove out to Palos to be comforted by my sister, Nancy. I was physically shaking by the time I reached her house. She could see that I was agitated and asked me what was wrong. I told her about my experience, which made no sense. Why were they interviewing me if they knew they would never accept me? Couldn’t they give me a chance? I was an excellent student who scored high on the MCAT. I was willing to dedicate myself to being the best doctor I could be. It wasn’t my fault that I did not know how the system worked. I had no choice but to go to a community college. I didn’t even think about medical school until I had just about finished my master’s degree. I didn’t know that I was supposed to have clinical experience before applying. There was no way that I could do that anyway. I didn’t have any connections. My parents weren’t physicians. Why was I so compelled to apply to medical school? Was this a cruel joke from above?
A week later, I received an acceptance letter from Northwestern. It was my first acceptance.
I applied to seven medical schools, and six of them interviewed me. All the schools that interviewed me either accepted or put me on a waitlist. What? How is that possible?
We don’t have control over many things in our lives. I have had many experiences where I have carefully planned out a situation, only to abandon those plans and go with a feeling. Strangely, it was the right thing to do.
In the case of medical school, I felt that applying was a foolish waste of time and money. However, I now believe that someone or something felt differently, so I was compelled to do it. Why did 6 out of 7 schools have an interest in me? It makes no sense.
Northwestern was the last school to interview me and the first to accept me. Their interviews were odd and utterly different from the more expected experience that my friend, Harriette, had with the same doctors. In retrospect, it felt like I was accepted before entering the building. How is that possible?
I still don’t get it. Was my higher power telling me to trust in Him? Perhaps He gave me those last impossible interviews to show me that even the impossible can be possible. I don’t know. However, going to med school was clearly what I was supposed to do. It was one of the best decisions of my life. I didn’t know it, but I was meant to be a physician. I can’t even say that it was my best decision because I didn’t make it. Life is full of mysteries.
Oh, you want to know why I became a psychiatrist despite never taking a psychology class in college? That is another story.
Roughly a month ago this website went down for no apparently reason. I contacted Go Daddy (my web host) and paid for additional services in the hope of repairing the site. They were able to restore my site up to October 2021, but everything newer than that seems to be lost. I do have drafts of those more recent posts (around 100 of them), and will start to re-post them soon. Sadly, the posts will be copied from drafts, so please excuse any typos and other problems with them. I can’t see editing 800-1000 pages of text. Additionally, all images from those post posts are also lost. My apologies. Mike
Have you noticed a trend where you feel that you are no longer a valued customer? I have, as have many of my friends and family. But, before I get into some negative examples, I thought I would mention some positive experiences.
-In 1973, I was a sophomore in college taking high-level math and science classes. My classes required the use of complicated equations, but they also needed many basic math calculations. For example, I would have to interpolate a logarithm using regular multiplication and division. This basic math could double my homework time and could be prone to errors. That is the bad news. The good news is that handheld calculators were just being introduced in the 1970s, and they were capable of doing all of that basic math.
Texas Instruments had just launched the SR-10 “scientific calculator.” In functionality, this calculator was similar to those that you can now buy at a dollar store, but it was revolutionary in 1973. I needed one; however, there was one big drawback…the price. The calculator retailed for $150.00, and there were no discounts. That is about $900.00 in 2021 prices. I was a blue-collar kid with very few resources. However, I knew that using that calculator would make the difference between a two-hour homework night vs. a 4 hour one. So I combined my savings from my summer janitorial job with other monies and went down to Marshall Fields (a high-end department store) and bought one. The SR-10 was absolutely worth its astronomical price.
Eleven months after I bought the calculator, it started to malfunction. I was horrified. I needed the calculator, and I certainly couldn’t afford to buy another one. I was sure that my warranty was up, but I took it back to Marshall Fields in a desperate move. The clerk examined it for any blatant abuse (there was none) and reached under the counter and gave me a brand new SR-10. I was floored. At that moment, I became a life-long and very loyal Marshall Field customer.
-My daughter was starting college at the University of Arizona in 2015, and I had the task of driving both her and her belongings to Tucson. Since this was a 3400-mile round trip, I had my Honda Fit serviced beforehand at Valley Honda in Aurora. They did the usual things, including changing the oil. During that trip, in the middle of Iowa, I saw smoke and realized that my Fit was on fire! Thankfully, I was able to pull off the expressway. It turned out that the technician at Honda hadn’t properly seated the oil plug, which eventually dislodged spraying oil on a red-hot engine. This could have been an absolute disaster, but instead, it was only a significant inconvenience.
We had to stay in an Iowa hotel for several days while the Fit was repaired locally. I was pretty upset and wrote a letter expressing my concerns to the GM of Valley Honda. What did he do? He wrote me a letter of apology, paid for my Iowa repairs, guaranteed to repair the Fit’s engine for free if any problems developed, and sent the oil changing mechanic to my house to apologize to my family and me.
I was again floored. I would recommend Valley Honda to anyone. They are the model of what a car dealership should be. Yes, they made a mistake, but they were willing to own it, correct it, and say that they were sorry.
I don’t mean to upset your warm and fuzzy feelings, but here are some recent examples of negative interactions.
-I recently took my Promaster van to Naperville CJDR for an oil change. I warned the service writer that an aftermarket radio was connected to the van’s OBD, but he disconnected it with the engine running anyway. This resulted in the radio malfunctioning due to a voltage surge. He said it wasn’t his problem because the radio was “aftermarket” even though he broke it. I asked to see the service director, who was so condescending that I had to tell him to look at me when I was talking to him (like what you would do with a 12-year old bratty kid). This was only the beginning of my interaction with the SD, as he tried to blame me for his service writer’s mistake.
Naperville CJDR has an automated texting system that asked me to write a review on Google. I did, and it was a negative review. Later that day, another automated text was sent from CJDR saying they wanted to ensure that I had an “Oustanding Experience.” I texted them back to say that I did not have a good experience, which was the last I heard from them. This was peeving. I then sent a copy of my Google review to the dealership president, and… no response as of this writing. I would never recommend this dealership and will drive the extra 15 minutes to a different Chrysler dealership for future service appointments. They have lost a customer for life.
-My sister, Nancy, sent several hundred dollars to one of her grandkids via PayPal. Her grandson had an account, but it was no longer active. This meant that the money was not accessible and was in “limbo.” Nancy wanted to cancel the transaction, but there was no way to do this via the PayPal website. She finally found a support number to call and spent many hours and several days trying to get her money returned. Unfortunately, what should be a straightforward process turned into an impossible one, and as of my writing, the money is lost in cyberspace.
-My friend Tom had an office in a building that was eventually bought by the city of Naperville, who then evicted all of the tenants. Tom had a business internet account via Comcast, and this business account came with a contract for two years. He had the service for well over two years, but every time he altered the account (for instance, when he increased his internet speed), it automatically reset for two more years.
Tom tried to cancel the account as Naperville had taken possession of the building. He called Comcast customer service and explained this to a rep who refused to do anything and said that Tom would still be responsible for monthly payments for the remainder of the contract, even though Comcast would not be providing any services. I was with Tom at the time of this call, and it was clear that the rep was rude and unyielding. I was so upset that I wrote the CEO of Comcast with a detailed complaint with Tom’s permission. Unfortunately, I never received any reply, and Tom had to pay Comcast until his contract was over for a service that they were no longer providing.
-My sister, Carol, is an avid reader. She was glad that she had a Kindle during the pandemic as she could download books. She decided to upgrade her Kindle to a newer and more expensive model, but she had a simple question about choosing the correct one. She wanted to buy from Best Buy. She tried calling Best Buy several times, but she found herself in IVR hell, where their automated system couldn’t understand her requests and then would hang up on her. Eventually, she just gave up.
-Amazon
There are too many stories here, so my comments will be more generic. There was a time when you would go to Amazon and assume that you would have the best selection, best customer service, and the best price. Those days are gone.
Bulk items can be more expensive per unit than single items; item descriptions can be misleading, prices can be significantly more than at your local store, counterfeit items are sold as the real thing, and reviews can be fake. However, it is when you have to deal with customer service that things become distressing. It is almost impossible to talk to a real person. You have to search for Amazon’s 800 customer service number using Google, as you can’t find it on their website.
Amazon will reject a return request without giving you a reason. My friend Tom tried to return some epoxy resin because its supplied pump was defective. He filled out the return request and was told that it was “Not eligible for return.” He had just received the resin two days before, so this made little sense. I got on his computer, and we eventually found a text-bot to interact with. It turns out that the item couldn’t be returned as it was a hazardous compound, but Amazon would be willing to offer a refund. Great! However, Tom would never have gotten the refund if we didn’t go the extra step of connecting with the text-bot. People give up after they are told that the item isn’t eligible for a return.
-There are many other examples of the decline of customer service ranging from terrible computer support to constantly getting the wrong order at McDonald’s.
I have always believed that good customer relationships were the key to a successful business. When I was a practicing physician, over 90% of my referrals came from existing patients or a core group of referring health care providers. What was my secret? I not only offered my patients quality care, but I also treated them with respect. When they would call me with a concern, I would call them back. I ran my appointments on time, so no one was stuck waiting for hours to see me, and I took time to answer their questions. As far as my referring health care providers, I responded to their phone calls and always sent them a detailed report of my diagnostic impression. All of these actions would seem commonplace, but they were not. Treating people like… well people kept me busy for the 30 years that I was in practice.
Studies have shown that a 5% customer retention rate can yield a 25% increase in profits. Nothing is a more powerful sales tool than a trusted friend telling you about an excellent experience with a particular business or service. Customers are often willing to spend more if they think that the service received is better.
Earlier this year I upgraded the stock radio in my van. I went to a local company (F&G Car Audio-Naperville) for the installation because I had such a good experience with them when they installed an autostart on a car years earlier. Like before, they did a great job, but more importantly, they always returned my calls when I had a question or concern even AFTER the purchase had been completed. So the next time I need this kind of work done, I will surely return to them. Doesn’t that make sense?
I’m not reporting anything you haven’t heard before, so why is customer service so bad? Simply because it can be.
When companies become virtual monopolies, they know that they can remain profitable despite their terrible customer service. Comcast is an example of this. They don’t care if you hate them because you will still use them.
Other companies follow a cost reduction trend. For example, computer companies used to have superior customer support, but it cost them money. Their solution was to use off-shore technical support, even though it was universally hated. As soon as one company successfully made the transition, another followed. Once the playing field was equally terrible, it made no economic sense for a company to change things for the better.
The Harvard Business Review explored the case of United Airlines, which is reported to have terrible customer service. You may recall the story where a physician was physically dragged off an airplane because it was overbooked. As horrible as this was, it did not impact the airline’s overall profitability. That fact sends an unmistakable message to executives.
HBR also stated that making things difficult for a customer can increase a company’s profits. Every additional hoop that has to be jumped through will cause many customers to give up. Endless hold times, obnoxious overmodulated music, transferring a call only have it disconnect, etc. We have all been there. Once you hang up, you are no longer the company’s problem.
Businesses know that customers do care about good customer reviews, and they sometimes do whatever they can to “rig the system.” For example, some companies that sell on Amazon have employed paid reviewers to write a good review of their products. Remember, if you have enough good reviews, you can become an “Amazon Choice” product, which means even more sales.
Local businesses also rig the system. Have you ever had a salesperson ask you to give them a 5-star review? I have.
So what can you do?
-The most important thing that you can do is to be vocal. For example, if you are unhappy with a product or service, let the merchant know this, but do so logically.
-Expect a reasonable resolution. Can the product be fixed? Can you return it and then upgrade to a better product without a restocking fee? Can you get a refund if warranted? Know what you want beforehand, but be open to a reasonable compromise.
-Treat the merchant with respect. In most instances, this is possible. However, sometimes it is impossible when dealing with a condescending, entitled, or dishonest seller.
-Move up the chain of command. Often, low-level employees have limited recourse. If you are unhappy with an outcome, ask to take your concerns to the person’s supervisor. Note: I know of some companies who will now refuse such requests!
-Write a review. Go on sites like Yelp and Google and take the time to write an accurate review. Businesses look at those reviews, and you may not only help fellow customers, but you may also alert a business owner to a potential problem. This is especially the case for smaller companies where the owner may not have a monitoring system in place.
-Consider spreading the word via social media. The idea is not to slander the company but to honestly tell others of your experience.
-Move even higher up. In the incident I had with Naperville CJDR, I looked on their website for the GM’s (titled, “President” at that company) email address to send him a copy of my Google review. Guess what? His email is not listed (Other dealerships have a complete list of email addresses). This, unfortunately, was a bit of a red flag for me. However, I did send him my views via their regular email portal with a note to forward to him. As of this writing, I have not received any reply suggesting a potential global issue with customer care.
On the rare occasion, I have gone so far as to directly voice my concerns to a corporation’s CEO. This process has yielded mixed results, but it always tells me a lot about the company’s culture.
I have had excellent resolutions when writing the CEOs of State Farm Insurance and Sony. When I contacted McDonald’s CEO, I got back a computer-generated and very generic form letter that said nothing. I wasn’t “Loving It.” When I contacted Comcast (for my friend), I didn’t even get that. With that said, it may be worth your while to write the big cheese when normal channels fail.
-When available, you can also reach out to consumer advocacy groups or other agencies that help consumers resolve problems.
-Sometimes, the best action that you can take is with your feet. Do this depending on the level of need you have for that product or service.
As far as CJDR is concerned, I’m done with them. They will no longer have my business. But what about giants like Amazon? I had a Prime Business membership with Amazon until this year. Now Amazon wants me to pay for that membership, plus a regular Amazon Prime membership to gain (basically) the same level of service that I had previously. This, plus Amazon’s continued focus on profits, made me think twice about renewing Prime, and as of yet, I have not done so.
What is the outcome of this action? First, I’m doing a lot less impulse buying. Second, I’m shopping locally for items that I previously bought on Amazon. Third, I’m generally buying less overall (yay!). Earlier, I was a significant Amazon purchaser; now, I’m a minor Amazon buyer. An additional benefit is less stress. For example, it is stressful to decide on what egg timer you want when you have over seven pages to sort through. However, if I go to my local hardware store, there are only two, much easier!
Since corporations need to serve their shareholders, they are interested in showing a quarterly profit. However, this is a poor long-term strategy. The only way to change this devolution is to let your feelings be known by your words, reviews, and feet. Sometimes you can’t change a company’s culture, but by the above actions, you are more likely to find an organization that believes that you and your business are essential.
Retirement brings both familiarity and surprises. Routines and novel experiences. It is no more static than working life, it is just different. And so I decided to go to a van dweller meet up, and here I sit outside of Bozeman, Montana in a barn, typing this post.
I decided to come here because I wanted to have the experience of meeting other van dwellers. I wanted to talk to them, and I wanted to see their van creations. I also wanted to challenge myself.
All of us at the meet-up had a basic buildout from Wayfarer Vans in Colorado Springs. My Violet was born there in 2018, while most of the other vans at the get-together had a newer lineage and thereby fancier additions. However, Violet was more than PVC walls and hand sewed colored cushions. Every year my friend Tom and I would tweak her, add to her abilities, and increase her functionality. Violet may not be the newest Wayfarer van, but I absolutely believe that she was the most beautiful of them all.
Today’s post goes beyond paint colors and cushion choices. Going to the meetup at the Star M ranch in Bozeman, Montana presented to me new challenges and surprising introspections that started well before I packed my travel snacks and filled my gas tank.
Despite my strong desire to attend I also had a sense of dread. I had asked Julie to accompany me but, understandably, she wasn’t interested in a 1400 mile trip to a dusty field. To go alone would mean that I would have to face any and all challenges of the journey by myself. To go alone would mean that I would have to put on my functional extrovert face, a performance that I am skilled in donning, but still an energy-draining experience.
As a professional interviewer, I have no problem engaging others when I am invited to do so. However, I have never quite gotten over my childhood expectation of being seen and not heard. It is immensely difficult for me to walk up to a stranger and start a conversation. My upbringing taught me that my thoughts and opinions were of interest to no one.
Intellectually, I have long known that this is not the case. Most people are happy, even eager to engage in casual conversation. However, old tapes run deep. Many years ago I decided to challenge those beliefs, and I did so in my usual manner of study, brute force, and repetition. My teacher was my friend, Tom.
Tom and I are very similar in our interests and temperament. However, we come to the table with different skill sets, and so we tend to utilize each other to compensate for those areas where we need shoring up. Our friendship has a practical side in that we constantly help each other to be “better.”
Tom has superior social skills and has an effortless ability to engage with strangers. I have witnessed him on dozens of occasions extracting personal information from a person that he has just met. “So how much money does a cement truck driver make?” Would be typical of a question that he would have no difficulty asking, and one apparently that most people have no problem answering.
I have the knowledge of how to engage with people, but watching Tom taught me that it was OK to engage with them. This may sound like a trivial distinction, but it is not. I have successfully adopted his techniques many times over the years, but I have never done so in an environment where I would be interacting with dozens of strangers, alone and without the benefit of an event that I was in charge of. The thought of doing so added to my anxiety, but it was insufficient to stop me. I have not gotten as far as I have in life by yielding to my anxieties. Fear is a barrier that I will climb over or burst through if necessary. I lived an early life being told that I was worthless. I was not about to live an adult life when I subconsciously told myself the same thing. I have value. I can contribute. I will only be limited by my true limitations and not by remnant ghosts from the distant past.
I usually deal with my anxiety by planning and problem solving, which is what I did for this trip. I wrote out a grocery list and made sure that my 12 volt Dometic fridge was sanitized and clean. I charged my USB flashlight and Bluetooth speaker. I checked the local weather and explored several plotted courses on Google Maps. I still had some residual anxiety, but that was to be expected.
What I didn’t expect was what happened to me several days before I started my trip. On Saturday I cleaned out and washed Violet, and I reorganized her storage. I also gathered nonperishables from our pantry. On Sunday I was supposed to go to a cousin reunion, but I had tickets for a Paramount production of “Kinky Boots.” I had purchased the tickets before the pandemic, but the play was on hold once shelter-in-place was instituted. This would be the first time that I would attend a public performance in almost 18 months. Sadly, this would mean that I would miss the reunion.
The play was a bit of fluff with a dash of “message.” The premise was ridiculous, a business is saved from bankruptcy by a drag queen who helps a straight-laced shoe factory owner make kinky boots designed to support drag queen feet. However, another message was folded into the fluff. Two men, very different, each dealing with the demons from their past help each other. I left the play feeling that my time was well spent, but I also acknowledged that the overall experience would be quickly forgotten.
On Monday I was to help my friend Tom. He was remodeling a bathroom for a Naperville client. He wanted me to take some before photos of the space as it would soon be demolished. These photos would serve as a counterpoint to photos that I would take of the finished job. The latter laboriously photographed and carefully edited to make the bathroom appear beautiful enough for a spread in “House Beautiful.”
I take these jobs very seriously and I approach them as such. On Sunday night I pulled out my professional gear, a Canon 5D Mark IV, and charged its battery. I selected and mounted a wide-angle lens on the camera body, and I made sure that my flash was in working order. As I said above, Tom helps me, and I help Tom.
On Monday I felt off. I drove to Tom’s place and got into his Flex. We arrived at the remodel site and were greeted by the client. Tom looked over his shoulder at me and told her, “This is Mike he is an amateur photographer and he will be taking some photos for me of the bathroom. That simple statement caused me to snap out loud, “I’m a professional photographer.” It also caused something to snap inside of me. It is clear that the client and her husband picked up on my comment as they continued the line of conversation in a joking way, but with a slight air of classism. With a chuckle, the husband asked me where my gallery was, and if I was planning on submitting my photos to “Home and Garden.” It was not the right thing to say to me at that moment. I bit my lip, weakly smiled, and offered a comment designed to end his line of questioning. He quieted and left the room. There was no way that I was going to jeopardize my friend Tom’s job. However, I was now boiling inside.
Dear readers, I am almost always a very calm and deliberate person. It is extremely unusual for me to raise my voice, and even more unusual for me to do so without a thoughtful and logical delivery. However, as soon as his clients were out of earshot I let loose on poor Tom. My rage was palpable as I told him in no uncertain terms that telling a client that I was an amateur inhibited me from doing my job to the best of my ability. I reminded him that I was doing professional work for him, despite the fact that I was doing it for free. I highlighted to him the time spent before and after a shoot, and the effort involved during those periods. Tom’s tendency is to interrupt and explain, but I was having none of this. With my finger pointed at him, I told him in no uncertain terms that I didn’t give a shit about his excuses. It was as if I was possessed by an outside entity. My rage dumped on him, but there was no sense of relief, rather I was consumed by a sense of confusion. What just happened, and why did it happen? I had no answer.
I helped Tom with a few menial tasks, but I did so quietly. I made small conversation, but it was stilted and awkward. Finally, he drove me back home, but he didn’t take me there, and instead he took me to his Devonshire property. “Aren’t you going to take me home,” I asked? “Mike, you drove your car here,” he replied. I was so upset that I completely had forgotten that I had done so. I got into Violet and drove the 5 minutes back to my house and promptly went upstairs and laid down on my bed as I tried to process what had just happened. One of the reasons was apparent. Like many men, I value respect above other values. In my mind, Tom was disrespectful of me by calling me an amateur when I have done many professional-level jobs for him. His actions were further amplified by the clients’ comments that seemed to imply that my attestation that I was a professional photographer was subject to ridicule. Still, my out-of-control retort to Tom seemed well beyond a simple case of a bruised ego.
After a bit, I forced myself out of my bed and went downstairs. I was still feeling surly and felt obligated to warn both Julie and Kathryn that I was very crabby, but not angry at them. However, I emphasized that my anger was generalized and that they should stay clear of me. As the day progressed I continued to feel a general dissatisfaction towards everyone, especially myself. I was completely baffled why I was being so reactive. Yes, I had some anxiety about driving to Bozeman, but that hardly could be the nidus for my volcanic rage. I just don’t feel that level of anger.
As the day went on I started to feel progressively more guilty about the morning’s events. I shot Tom a few friendly text messages. In turn, he did the same and mentioned that he wanted to formally secure Violet’s Wabasto heater. Tom had helped me install the heater a few months earlier and mentioned doing this final step at that time. However, this was not necessary for the trip. My sour mood continued.
I’m usually good at identifying behavioral triggers, but I was coming up dry. As the evening progressed I called my sister, Nancy, and voiced my concerns. Nancy is a professional therapist and offered me both support and insight. Unfortunately, I had already examined and discounted the behavioral causes and effects that she suggested. Yet, I was ever grateful for her support and kind ear.
Julie was in the room folding laundry as I pondered my anger with Nancy. Julie asked, “Would you like to hear my thoughts?” “Of course,” I replied. Her first thought was that she had recently gained some accolades and she wondered if I was feeling upstaged by her. I replied, “No, I’m happy when you succeed. I like basking in the glow of your successes.” She paused for a moment, almost to second guess what she was about to say. “Maybe it was the play?” I responded, “The play, why would that silly play have such an impact on me?” “Well, it involved men who were a disappointment to their fathers who didn’t believe in them. Fathers who wanted their sons to conform to their wishes while ignoring their dreams and aspirations. Sort of like your childhood.” Click…
Who would have thought that a simple play would have such a profound impact on me.
I instantly felt a release as the anger that I was feeling washed away from me. I hadn’t been able to figure out my reaction because it was too primitive, too dangerous, too risky to bring into my conscious self. Julie could see my internal conflict and her Ph.D. training gave her the ability to articulate it in a clear and therapeutic way for me. I was very grateful. Later that day I talked to my sister, Carol. Just like my sister Nancy, she was completely supportive of me and completely accepting. Like Nancy, she had no reservation to tell me that I was special, good, and loved.
I now realized that on the morning of the incident Tom represented my father and thereby served as a lightning rod for the anger that I was feeling on a subconscious level. In my primitive mind, he was rejecting me and my talents. I felt like he was saying that I was not good enough. This feeling was exacerbated by Tom’s client’s comments that humorously mocked the idea that I could consider myself a professional.
When I turned 18 I decided to take control of my life and I used the rage that I felt as a tool to propel me forward. I was going to allow myself to be who I was, do what I thought was in my best interest, and not allow anyone to be disrespectful of me or my abilities. No one had to agree with me, but no one was allowed to make fun of me. Doing so would result in the full force of my abilities to put them back in their place. Thankfully, I almost never had to do the above as most people were both respectful and considerate towards me, and this only increased as I amassed ever more degrees and titles. However, the play opened up a wound that I thought was long healed, and anger that I felt I had conquered decades earlier.
The next day I met with Tom, who was quiet and a bit standoffish. He had driven to a different suburb to buy a specialty tool to affix the Wabasto heater for me and refused when I offered to pay for the part. After he secured the unit I asked him if he had a minute because I needed to talk to him. To the best of my ability, I made sincere amends to him for my actions from the previous morning. My tough-guy sailor mouth friend was genuinely hurt by my prior eruption, and he let me know that. I felt relieved to say that I was sorry but genuinely upset that I hurt his feelings. I hoped that my bad actions had not irreparably damaged our friendship. However, that was all that I could do.
Despite the relief of understanding my outburst, I still had the stress of the upcoming trip. Tom signaled that we were good by offering to meet up for coffee on the morning of my departure. Julie did an extra load of laundry for me so I would have enough shorts and shirts for my adventure. Kathryn checked in with me several times to ask if I was feeling better, and both of my sisters continued to offer their unending support and love.
There is something powerful about real love, and each of these individuals showed me this before my journey. I am ever grateful. They were there for me despite my crankiness. I knew that I could get people to connect with me if I was brilliant, funny, interesting, or thoughtful. Here were 5 people who loved me at a time when I was none of the above. I was good enough just being me. How many people don’t have a single person who truly loves them? Here, I had five. I felt blessed beyond belief.
I still had to deal with my internal anxiety, but at least I was in a position to do so without the burden of past demons. At 9:30 AM I boarded Violet to start my journey. She was packed with clothes and groceries. Next to me was my snack bag, hydro flask, coffee thermos, and Motrin. I was as ready as I could be and feeling significantly calmer about the task ahead.
I had a fridge full of perishables and a “pantry” full of can goods. My sister suggested that I try packing my clothes in a laundry basket, which turned out to be a great idea.Next to me was a bag of snacks, a hydro flask with ice water, a thermos full of coffee, and a bottle of Motrin.
I pulled out of my driveway while listening to mechanical directions from Google Maps. Off I went.
The initial part of my journey was familiar and comforting as I drove past Rockford and into Wisconsin. I had taken that path many times driving to Julie’s Minnesota family. Beyond Minneapolis I would be heading to Fargo, North Dakota, then Bozeman, Montana.
Despite road construction driving conditions were good. I entertained myself by scanning local radio stations, listening to Sirius radio feeds, and talking on the phone. The trip was long, but I was feeling calm. I decided to drive until I felt tired as opposed to driving a certain distance. That feeling happened in Northern Minnesota. I found myself forcing my eyes open and I knew that it was time to call it a day. I searched for a campground but found none. I found respite in a Minnesota rest area. I pulled into a far corner of the parking lot, covered my windows with my homemade Reflectix shades, and crawled into bed.
My first overnight was at a rest stop in northern Minnesota.
The next morning I made a quick breakfast using my induction cooktop. Pour-over coffee with cream, and oatmeal with dried cranberries. After a quick cleanup, I was once again on the road. This time I wanted to drive until I was about 3 hours away from my destination, the Star M Ranch which was outside of Bozeman. I drove west and watched the foliage change from a lush green, to a duller green, then to a scrubby brown-green. I scanned a couple of apps to find a campground but could locate none. It appeared that I was traveling in a vast zone of nothingness. Each exit proclaiming “No Services,” every one punctuated by expanses of rocks, dirt, scrub, and nothing more. Finally, I saw, “Rest Area Next Exit.” I had found my next sleeping spot.
A simple breakfast of pour-over coffee (made directly into my thermos) and oatmeal with dried cranberries.
The site was empty and isolated. Housing only a small brown building with facilities and a parking lot. It was perched over a valley with the meandering Yellowstone River cursing below. Like the night before I quietly moved in and selected a distant, but not a too distant parking spot. That night I ate a roast beef sandwich that I dunked into some microwaved Progresso Tomato Basil soup. I worried if the spot was safe, and I further pondered if parking overnight was legal. However, I took my chances, changed into my bedclothes, climbed into bed, and fell asleep.
On my way I took a little side trip to the Theodore Roosevelt National Park. The rest stop that I stayed in Montanna overlooked the Yellowstone river.The next morning I looked at the window and saw what appeared to be a pair of men’s underpants outside my window. I don’t think it was there the night before.When I woke up the entire valley below was enveloped in a thick fog.The sign says it all.This was right next to the Montanna rest stop. Beautiful!
I slept soundly, in fact too soundly. I woke blurry, dull, and two hours later than my usual wake time. I made some coffee, but I didn’t feel hungry. I decided to wait until I could find a drive-through where I could grab a quick breakfast sandwich. After washing my face and brushing my teeth I pulled myself into Violet’s driver seat and headed west down I-90 towards Bozeman. My GPS signaled that I was three and a half hours away.
This was the only time that I ate in an actual restaurant on my trip.
Meetup-Day One
I drove down Stimson Lane and caught sight of a row of Ram Promasters in a field on my left. A colorful “W” followed by the words, “Wayfarer Vans” highlighted the entrance to the venue. I pulled in and was greeted by a cheerful staff member who handed me an envelope full of stickers and an itinerary. Another staff person acted like an airport marshaller and slotted Violet between two other vans. Once given the signal I placed her in park, turned off the key, and exited her confines.
Ten of the forty or so vans had already arrived. Most people were sporting large 136 or 159 wheelbase Promasters, but some were driving the much smaller Promaster City. Wayfarer Vans had custom packages to convert all flavors of Promaster. There was a size for every taste.
Some of the Promasters. Violet is the one with the red umbrella. Another Promaster view. In all, there were three rows, and some random vans here and there.
To the left of me was a Promaster 159. It was occupied by two ladies from Nevada, Joyce and Ellen. They were both long-divorced who raised their respective children as single parents. They were also long-time friends who eventually decided to live together. One of them was in her 80s and they gained my respect with the knowledge that they had mutually bought the Promaster just last year so they could continue to explore the country. They were instantly warm and welcoming.
On the other side of me was a man in a Promaster City. Alan had a slight but wiry build that announced that he was a life-long athlete. He was gregarious in an effortless way, and he instantly engaged me in conversation. After some time he moved to another group and acted similarly. I could hear him laugh and joke with total strangers as if he had known them for years. I was envious of his ability and felt a bit ashamed that I was lacking in that area.
Across me was a man who identified himself as a confirmed bachelor. Doug had moved from big LA to small St. George, Utah. He said moved because he didn’t like what was happening in California. I felt that it was best to not press for more information, but I made a mental note to keep my liberal leanings to myself. Doug was a professional voice-over actor who could ply his trade anywhere that he had an internet connection. He was a friendly guy who was enjoyable to talk with.
Down the lane was another single man who had two immaculately groomed Schnauzers, a male, and a female wearing respective blue and pink harnesses. Vern was a retired IT professional who lived in LA and had a love of gadgets and a problem-solving mind that reminded me of myself. We got to talking and he revealed that he grew up in Chicago in the same neighborhood as I did. However, he lived on the east side of Western Avenue, while I lived on the west side. Another man entered our conversation and when he found out that we grew up in the same neighborhood he commented that we were probably playmates “in the day.” Vern and I shot each other a glance as we both chucked and said, “probably not.” Vern was black and I was white. Chicago was a racist town in the 1970s. How grateful I was that this was 2021 and not 1971. I think Vern and I could have been good friends in the day if not hampered by the limitation of our upbringing.
I was making a strong and good effort to socialize, but I was doing so by putting on my functional extrovert persona. It was fun, but also exhausting. I retreated to Violet for a supper of another roast beef sandwich, made expressly to use up my open package of cold cuts. The remaining event for the day was a bonfire, and despite my exhaustion, I was committed to going. The bonfire was actually a lava rock filled circle outfitted with a number of Bunsen burner like jets. It was an odd device likely designed to safely burn in arid and fire-prone Montana. I spotted a familiar face next to an open seat and approached the person asking if the adjacent spot was taken. “I think so,” was the reply. I quickly moved to another spot and sat quietly as my level of awkwardness built. I fumbled with my phone and tried to look occupied, but within short order, I knew that I wanted to leave. I had pushed my envelope about as far as I could and there was nothing left in me that would allow me to once again start a conversation with a new stranger. I was spent. I planed an exit strategy that I thought would be subtle. I would go to the Port-a-Potty and then sneak off to Violet. This was exactly what I did. Once inside I pushed in my Relfectix shade, popped in my Apple AirPods, and clicked on the audiobook that I was listening to, Becoming by Michelle Obama. I sat in the quiet with Violet’s cabin illuminated by 4 battery-operated faux candles that changed colors in a rhythmic and calming pattern. The instant relief that I felt verified that I had made the right choice. I’m an introvert and I can only do so much socializing. Yet, despite all of my good efforts, I feared that I had failed. I was judging myself based on a passing grade of being 100% perfect.
I wondered if I had made the right choice by coming to the meet-up. I was playing my comparison game. Everyone seemed to have an easier time socially connecting. I had done well enough, but I was play-acting. I felt inadequate and slightly ashamed. Yet, Violet’s safe and secure surroundings gave me the courage to go for day two.
1919 Barn turned into a party barn. This is where all of our meals were served.Another photo that I took of the Star-M property.Some of the Wayfarer employees camped out in tents.Another property landscape. The clouds are rolling in, but so was the smoke from a forest fire.This grain silo is now a water tank for the barn’s modern fire sprinkler system.
Meetup-Day Two
I woke up and ripped open a pudgy package of Epic XL shower wipes. These one-by-two foot wipes have a slight eucalyptus fragrance and can serve as an emergency shower. Since showers were not available at the ranch the Epic wipe would have to be an acceptable substitute. As a dry camper, I am experienced using the wipes knowing that you start by cleaning your cleanest parts as you progressively scrub ever more needed regions. Once hygienic I brushed my teeth, sprayed on a little cologne, and dressed.
I exited Violet and immediately went over to the two ladies’ van as they were holding court with several other van dwellers. They welcomed me and I felt at ease entering their circle. The members of the group were no longer strangers, they were now, at least, acquaintances. We all meandered to the barn for breakfast but we were greeted by a sign saying that it was delayed due to a catering mess up. Our conversation continued in the barn and I revealed to them for the first time that I was a physician. Perhaps oddly, I don’t like to tell people that I’m a doctor as it can sometimes set up an artificial barrier.
Eventually, food arrived, an enormous selection that was quickly gathered from local stores by the Wayfarer staff. We listened to a few talks after breakfast, and then the group broke up to go to various scheduled activities-mountain biking, a short hike, or free time. I thought about going on the scheduled hike, around two miles, and regarded as moderate. I knew that this level of exercise was within my capabilities, but I held back. I didn’t want to slow up more athletic hikers. This was another old tape from the past. I never played team sports because I didn’t want to pull others down with my insufficiencies. Always being told how uncoordinated I was I believed that I would be a harm rather than a help to any team that I would join. I didn’t feel that I needed to challenge myself with this. I elected to take my iPad back into the barn, now empty and quiet, and to start this post. It was the right decision to make.
Something happened to the caterer, so the Wayfarer staff went out and bought an enormous amount of breakfast treats. The smokey sky from forest fires led to some spectacular sunsets.There were a number of talks. This one was on the history of the Star-M Barn and how it went from hay barn to party barn.
Eventually, I tired of writing and wandered back towards the campers and engaged in a number of conversations. The staff videographer asked me if I wanted to do a video tour of Violet. I agreed and the interview began. After the interview, we talked about cameras, editing software, and wireless microphone choices. Other van dwellers then came up to me with questions about Violet’s solar panels, microwave oven, organizational boxes, and Wabasto heater.
I found that the empty barn was the perfect place to write this blog.
Jinny was a newbie who had questions about my induction cooktop. She was a bit unusual as she was an older Asian woman traveling solo. I made an honest effort to encapsulate useful information about induction cooking and how I monitored my electrical system to make sure that had enough power for my other devices, such as my Dometic fridge.
Later Jinny showed me her van, a completely tricked-out Promaster 159. I got to know her a little better and it was clear that she had given a lot of thought to adopting this new lifestyle. She had the book knowledge and it seemed like she was now hoping to gain the practical knowledge to successfully travel in a van.
Many van dwellers had cool toys, like this folding e-bike.
As in my conversations with other van dwellers, I didn’t want to assault her with my professional interviewing style. The style where I can learn everything from a person’s favorite color to details about their sex lives in 45 minutes or less. What I would learn about Jinny would be what she would choose to tell me.
She told me that she had a huge house in Seattle that she recently sold. She purchased several acres of land outside of Seattle that already contained a 3 car garage and an RV garage. She bought the land because of the RV garage and bought an RV without ever driving one. This was a mistake as the lumbering behemoth was stressful to drive. She sold the RV and was much happier with her Wayfarer van.
She had a shed built on the land and had it converted into a tiny house. The residence didn’t have a kitchen but was reasonably close to the company that she owned. When her employees went home in the evening she use her workplace kitchen to make Hello Fresh types meals, a portion which she brought back to her tiny house. This seemed to work for her. Jinny was in the process of building a fourplex on the property, which she would rent out. Once completed she would retire and use the rentals for her income.
Jinny showed me a photo of her beautiful daughter and her adorable grandchild. They were living in Minnesota and I believe she was establishing her nomad lifestyle so she could spend more time with them. I thought to myself, “What a fascinating person.”
Then it was time for another catered dinner. This one consisted of a make-your-own taco bar but added the twist of pull pork and chicken mole fillings. Here I found Bill. I had talked to Bill a few times before. He was sitting alone and I asked him if I could join him. Bill was a tallish man with a wild horseshoe style mustache. Bill retired from the airlines after working for them for over 40 years. He then converted his passion for woodcarving into a successful mail-order business but shuttered its doors when the company became so successful that it sucked the joy out of his hobby. Bill said that he was always fascinated with trucks, so he then got his commercial license and became an 18 wheel truck driver for 10 years before he finally retired.
Bill lost his wife 3 years prior to our meeting and it was clear that he still missed her terribly. A former Chicagoan, he had moved to Mesa, Arizona decades earlier where he raised his two sons. Bill was immensely proud of his two boys, one who lived in Colorado and the other in Arizona. They came up in every conversation that I had with Bill. I liked this about him. Bill became my dining partner for the rest of the event. I could imagine him as a next-door neighbor and friend who would stop by for coffee and chat. That would be fun.
There were so many others that I talked to. The couple originally from Glen Ellen, Illinois now living in Steamboat, Colorado after raising their kids. They seemed the executive type, pleasant with ease with strangers that comes from years of neighborhood gatherings and business meetings. They commented on how neat and organized Violet was. I had to chuckle because they were right. Three years of my obsessiveness combined with friend Tom’s carpentry skills had turned Violet into a well-oiled machine where there was a place for everything and everything had its place.
There was Dana, a single woman in a 159 Promaster who was also fairly new to van travel. She had purchased some folding solar panels, but she was afraid to use them. I helped her set them up as I tried to emphasize how easy the process was. Dana was very social on day one but then seemed to disappear. She left early noting that she wanted to beat the bad weather on her journey back to Colorado. I felt that she had had enough of this adventure and wanted to return to the security of her basecamp.
There was a couple from Indianapolis. I met the first one during breakfast on day two and then her wife on day three. They owned a coffee shop in Indie but were hoping to sell it so they could explore America in their camper van.
There was the couple where the woman slept in her tiny converted Promaster City and the man slept in an adjoining orange tent. I’m not sure what their status was. Couple? Friends? Whatever their status it was clear that they genuinely liked each other.
There was the guy with the giant German Shepard and the lady with the Golden Doodle and so many more. When I saw someone I didn’t know I went up to them, introduced myself, and started a conversation.
The day ended back in Violet’s welcoming chamber, AirPods in, audiobook on.
Meetup-Day Three
I woke up to frigid temperatures and instantly turned on the Wabasto. Like the day before I procedurally went through my hygiene and dressing ritual and then went outside to socialize. Soon it was time for breakfast, sort of a Continental affair. I grabbed a fruit cup, muffin, and a small parfait and balanced a cup of coffee on top of my plate as I made my way from the food line up the stairs to the dining tables. I sat with a group of familiar faces as I sipped my coffee and nibbled on my muffin. I smiled and occasionally offered comments as they talked about everything from the cold weather to Elon Musk.
The frigid weather forced a number of van dwellers to pack up and leave as another number of them went off on various explorations. I hunkered down in Violet, as the only jacket that I packed was a light hoody. On occasion, I would wander out to re-engage with other dwellers to have pleasant conversations as I continued to reinforce my socialization skills. However, after doing this for the two previous days I was also happy to have my alone time. I wrote, read, and talked on the phone. Prior to my journey, I had planned on taking a side trip back to Yellowstone, as it was only 90 minutes away from Bozeman. However, my weather app said that the high in Yellowstone was going to be 42F on Monday, with a low of only 16F. Some snow was also predicted. I mentioned my change of plans while on the phone to my friend Tom, who was insistent that I should go anyway. That was Tom, who was always interested in exploring and learning something new. However, my short pants and thin hoodie suggested otherwise. I told Tom, “We’ll see,” code to let him know that I wasn’t going to do it and that I didn’t want to debate my decision. He understood, and we changed the subject.
The weather report told me that a side-trip to Yellowstone was a no-go as all I had was a light hoodie to keep me warm.
I had now found my pace at the meetup. Mixing socialization times with alone times gave me the balance that my introverted self required. More conversations followed with Vern, Jinny, the camera guy, and others mixed with writing, reading, and thinking. I was no longer exhausted, no longer mad at myself for not being the best “socializer” in the group. I no longer criticize myself for not challenging myself further. I was content.
One day it was so windy that this poor van dweller’s awning was torn to shreds.
Meetup-Last morning and the road.
Half of the 40 vans had already left the event. I heard some people outside chatting, but many chose to avoid the bitter cold by staying inside their vehicles. Eventually, it was time for breakfast. This last meal was dubbed a “Grab and Go” meal. However, most of us grabbed and sat down. I found Bill and we both went down to the buffet line. Balancing a biodegradable style plate I examined and placed items into it. Some sort of egg dish, a small muffin, a little fruit. At the end of the line was the coffee. The cups were small, and so I filled two of them. Now I had to figure out how to balance two cups and a floppy plate up the stairs to the dining hall. I didn’t do this gracefully, but I manage to get to the table without dropping everything.
We sat and chatted and Bill invited me back to his van as I had expressed interest in how he liked a partition that he had purchased that isolated his van’s cabin from the front cab. At the end of the demonstration, he offered me a few pre-soaped sheets that he said were great at removing van bug reside. In my mind it was a gesture gift, suggesting a new friendship.
I said a few more goodbyes, to Doug, the coffee ladies, even some random folks who I had never talked to. I went back to Violet and made sure that her cabin was secure, lest everything wouldn’t go flying when I hit the road.
I wasn’t going to go to Yellowstone, but I wasn’t finished with exploring. I set my GPS for downtown Bozeman and drove out of the ranch. Bozeman is a town of around forty thousand and its downtown looks very similar to my hometown of Naperville. Two and three-story buildings, many appeared that they were constructed during the first half of the last century. They were well maintained and the shops that they contained suggested that the town was doing well. Sporting goods, coffee, bikes, spices and teas, the list went on. I took a few photos, but I was chilled and didn’t linger.
Downtown Bozeman is filled with cute shops and wide sidewalks.A lot of the architecture had a 1900-1920s look.I thought that this bike shop had an interesting sign.
I like visiting colleges and so my next stop was Montana State University, which was about six minutes away from downtown. Here too, I got out and wandered. The campus was spotless and pretty. However, it was sized more like the small North Central College in my hometown rather than the behemoth state universities that I’m accustomed to in Illinois. Yet, it is the largest university in the state of Montana, with an enrollment of around fourteen thousand students. I milled around with the students as they marched to their next classes and I was struck by how similar they looked to students that I had witnessed at other colleges that I had visited. Some were wearing heavy down vests, others in t-shirts and shorts. Some with expensive clothes, others wearing Goodwill bargains. Each bright face a potential future Elon Musk or Warren Buffett. I looked at the grey hairs on my arms and then back to their eager faces and I became acutely aware of the different phases of our lives. They were speeding towards expectation, I was lumbering towards acceptance. We were both still moving, still growing. However, I no longer felt the anxiety of urgency. Rather, I was taking what I had and tweaking it to better fit who I wanted to be.
Like many colleges, Montanna State had a beautiful “Old Main” building.However, there were also quite a few modern buildings.
I returned to the comfort of Violet and searched for a gas station, which I found on the edge of Bozeman’s downtown. A tiny station with a small convenience type store. I put the pump on automatic and went inside to grab a cup of coffee. After filling a 16 oz styrofoam cup I wandered the store looking for a perfect snack. There were rows of candy bars and protein bars. Aisles of popcorn and beef jerky, end caps of snack cakes. I took it all in, but nothing really appealed to me. I approached the front counter and was greeted by a woman in her 40s. She said, “Is that all?” I could tell that she was sizing me up, and I must have looked a sight. In front of her was an old man, somewhat disheveled, and with a full week’s growth of beard. I saw her glance at me and then at Violet. I could only assume that she thought I was homeless and I was concerned that she was passing judgment on me. She repeated, “Is that it?” “Yep,” I said and reached for my wallet. She said, “It’s only 99 cents and guess what?” I replied, “What?” She looked at me and gave me a big smile, “It’s on me.” My eyes misted up and I returned the smile, “Really? Thank you!” This lady was likely making minimum wage yet she was reaching out with kindness to a stranger who she had never met and who she assumed needed a little TLC. I felt lifted up by her random act of kindness.
The next days would be grueling as I wanted to return back home in two days, rather than the three that I allotted. Once again, I entertained myself with old radio shows, NPR, audiobooks, phone calls, local radio stations, and thinking. As I drove the miles I would cycle through these options. As soon as one would become tiresome I would move to another.
I came across a National Monument, Pompey’s Pillar, a rock formation in central Montana. The site is famous for many petroglyphs as well as the carved signature of William Clark of Lewis and Clark fame. Apparently, his signature is the only remaining physical evidence of his journey with Meriwether Lewis. It felt good to gain free entry using my lifelong National Parks Senior Pass. The ranger at the gate gave me a full history of the site and urged me to watch the park’s movie and to talk to the other rangers who were stationed on the rock itself. Another nice person!
Pompey’s Piller National Monument is basically one big giant rock.Climbing to the top of the rock provided some very pretty views.
There is only so much time that you can spend climbing a 200-foot rock, and it wasn’t long before I was once again sitting in Violet’s driver’s seat, heading east. Driving in the western states of Montana and North Dakota is a lesson in isolation. A thin ribbon of asphalt propels you forward, but much of the landscape remains the same. Brownish green brush, endless rocks, the occasional buff or range of mountains. It is all extremely beautiful, but disconcerting for an urban lad, such as myself. I’m used to a certain degree of noise and congestion and I gain a level of comfort knowing that there are 5 gas stations, 3 grocery stores, and two hardware stores writhing a 5-minute drive from my house. On I-90 I could drive 50 or even 100 miles without seeing a human-made structure. I passed countless exits with signs that stated “No Services.” With no connected town, these exits seemed to drop off the end of the earth into a zone of nothingness.
The landscape was barren but breathtaking.
As I drove I sipped coffee, then Diet Pepsi, then water. I rutted through my snack bag and munched on various trashy treats-Chex Mix, pretzels, Belvita bars. The amount of non-nutritious foods that I was eating made me feel sick, and I longed for a salad. However, that longing didn’t stop me from once again reaching into the bag to grab another crumb.
It was now around 6 PM and both Violet and I needed to fill up. Google told me that there was a gas station 26 miles ahead, the only one-and so that would be my stop. At the station, there was a man with snow-white hair and a bushy mustache who was fueling his Tahoe. He was pulling a fishing boat and heading west to Washington state. He too was a solo traveler and clearly feeling lonely. In short order, he started to tell me his story, but I had to cut him short as I wanted to grab dinner from the Cenex store. I entered the establishment and was greeted by the intoxicating aroma of gas station pizza. However, when I wandered back to the food zone I was disappointed to only find three items on the warming shelf. Two boxes of chicken strips and a breakfast burrito. It appeared that they had been heated hours before and I couldn’t bear the thought of eating them. I grabbed a bag of popcorn and a bottle of diet Mountain Dew-that would be my dinner for the evening.
Popcorn and diet Mountain Dew for dinner.
Yes, dear reader, I had a fridge and pantry full of things that I could have made. Eggs, canned soup, lunch meat, and even some vegetables. However, I just wanted to keep going. I was missing my loved ones and wanted to get home.
I drove on until I could drive no further. However, there was nowhere to stop. No town, no hotel, no truck stop, nothing. Now deep into North Dakota, I spied the blue and white sign of a rest stop. At last! My plan was to camp out there until the morning, but my heart sank when I drove in and saw a large black and white sign that said, “No Overnight Camping.” I knew that it was best practice to move on, but I had nowhere to go. I pulled into a slot and search for information on North Dakota’s DMV site. They stated that it was illegal to park longer than three hours at their rest stops and that they considered that sleeping in a van was camping. It couldn’t be any clearer. Despite being exhausted I assessed my situation and came up with a plan. Sleeping 3 hours would allow me to drive further to some other place, perhaps another rest stop or a truck stop. There I could repeat the practice. I set an alarm for three hours and crawled into Violet’s bunk. This time I didn’t change into my sleeping shorts. I wanted to be ready to move if an officer banged on my door and forced me to drive on. Apparently, I turned off the alarm during the night because I woke at 6 AM-rested. No one bothered me. I meandered to the bathroom, which was completely empty. I took a photo in there-a perfectly OK thing to do considering that I was alone, but somehow it felt a bit wrong. Then I was on the road again.
Taking a forbidden photo inside of an empty men’s room.I was going to treat myself to a real breakfast on my last travel day, but the closest restaurant was almost 100 miles away!I started my last drive with the sun directly in my eyes.
My last travel day was similar to the one before it. However, as I went further east both the landscape and the population changed. I drove on listening, thinking, snacking. Julie was texting me and pressing me about my location and when I planned on returning to Naperville. I was being deliberately vague as I wanted to surprise her by showing up a day early. Dear reader, I’m not very good at deception, but I did my best. She called me when I was driving through Aurora, about 15 minutes from home. I tried to divert her direct questions and I could clearly hear the frustration in her voice. When I arrived she was happy to see me but also peeved at me. Later, Kathryn told me that Julie was worried about me because I was acting uncharacteristically confused. She thought I could get lost or fall asleep on the road and she was concerned. Apparently, her being miffed with me was based on this unnecessary worry. I apologized.
I finish this post from the comfort of my little study with its mullioned windows and overstuffed leather easy chair. Despite its small size, it is larger than Violet’s living space by a magnitude. My environment is now a controlled 72F and I have a bathroom only a few paces away. Last night I took an endless shower, rubbing a thick bar of creamy soap over my body. I shaved away a week’s worth of beard and felt the spacious wonderment of a king-size bed, silky sheets, and puffy pillows.
I’m glad to be home, but I never felt deprived living out of Violet. I planned her environment well and that planning has served me.
My out-or-proportion anger towards Tom surprised and shocked me. The stress of the trip combined with the play and a few poorly chosen comments took calm and collected me and transformed me into a person that I felt that I had long left behind. Yet, it was still there. Issues from the past still haunted me 50 years later. It was a humbling experience.
I have taken long trips solo in the past, but that doesn’t mean that they are not stressful. I can fill hours of time alone, but it is more enjoyable to ride with a co-pilot. Whether that is Julie or William sitting next to me, or Tom driving his own car.
My biggest challenge was interacting with 75 strangers in a confined setting. Lessons from the past taught me that I should be seen but not heard and it has always been enormously difficult for me to initiate a conversation with a stranger. Over the years I have observed how my friend Tom easily connects with others and I have modeled those observations to successfully break my inhibitions. However, this would only involve a single person and for a short period of time. I have never challenged myself to do so with 75 strangers in a venue that ran for days.
I was down on myself on day one. Yes, I had started up multiple conversations with numerous people. However, I was judging myself against another and clearly coming up short. His incredible ease of socializing made my efforts look paltry. By the time that I was rejected at the bonfire, I was already exhausted and spent. This amplified my feelings of inadequacy and I wondered why in the world did introverted me subject myself to this extroverted challenge. I return back to Violet feeling defeated and exposed. Inside I felt a rush of relief and comfort. During that moment I gained a better understanding of myself. I am an introvert, I could expand my abilities and develop my social skills, but I would always be an introvert. Extroverts, like Alan, are different creatures who gain energy from their interactions. I enjoy people, but I need to recharge away from them which is why isolating in Violet felt so good.
Indeed, I had made great progress. Years ago I would have never approached a stranger to start a conversation. Lately, I have had no problem doing this. Now, I was on a trip that would force me to drive 3000 miles alone for the purpose of interacting with 75 strangers over an extended weekend. I wasn’t Alan, but I was still doing pretty well.
As soon as I recognized what was going on I altered my approach. I would still socialize. I would still initiate. However, I would give myself times to recharge in between. Sometimes I would quietly think, or read, or write. Any of these behaviors were enough to top off my battery and allow me to move forward and experience more.
The people that I met were all different, but they had a common thread-they were all incredibly nice and very interesting. How fortunate I was to interact with them. The hosting crew was also beyond pleasant. I got to chat with Ian, the owner of Wayfarer Vans for a bit. I asked, “Why didn’t you bring accessories to sell?” He replied, “I wanted this to be a family event, not a commercial one,” He succeeded.
I learned a little more about van life and a lot more about many interesting people. Beyond the weekend warriors, there was the lady who bought me a 99 cent cup of coffee, the ranger who wanted to share the excitement of Pompeys Piller, and the man with the bushy mustache who just wanted to talk to someone. Each was kind, accepting, and generous in their own ways.
At 68 I still have much to learn. Without realizing it I still am battling with demons from my past. However, I continue to grow and advance. I am who I am and some things will always be out of my reach. With that said, I’m not a static creature locked into a persona created decades earlier. I’m evolving in all ways. My goal is to continue to grow but to also accept myself. As an adult, I feel that I had pretty good ego strength. However, it only took a few events to make me return to a past time. I wasn’t able to shake off a minor blow to my self-respect. I turned a molehill into a mountain. Thankfully, with the help of others I was able to understand that process and (hopefully) use it to be a better person in the future.
I am so grateful to be me. Living in my little town, touring in my little camper. I will never be the most popular kid on the block, or the most famous, or the richest, or the most accomplished. However, I feel that I am loved and I love others. What more could I ask for?
Julie: How would you feel about taking Violet to Minnesota to see my parents and then go to the Minnesota State Fair?
Me: Sure
Any journey is filled with ups and downs, and so it has been with the journey of Violet the campervan. I bought her as an empty cargo van in 2018 after several years of deliberation. Initially, my camper decisions were based on camping with a family of 5, then 4, and finally two. I had come to understand that my family had aged out of family camping trips, a hard realization for me.
My friend Tom had told me that he would help me convert a vehicle into a camper, and we had actually looked at an old shorty bus for that purpose. I am not a construction expert, but I do have a good sense of the complexity of many projects. So I knew that building out a vehicle sounds easy. Still, in reality, it would be a time-consuming and challenging project.
I serendipitously came upon an ad for Wayfarer Vans, a company in Colorado that could install a basic camper “insert” in a single day. This prefab setup would give me a floor, walls, ceiling, bed, and kitchen box. Even in this basic form, I would have a useable camper.
I purchased a new Ram Promaster cargo van at a reasonable price and set about doing some preliminary work, installing a hitch and some passenger windows. I then drove to Colorado Springs to have the van transformed. The following morning I went to Wayfarer Vans, and Wayfarer kindly lent me a car that allowed me to hike at the Garden of the Gods State Park. By 1 PM I got a phone call that Violet was ready to be picked up.
Over the last three years, my friend Tom and I have slowly modified Violet. We have added everything from a solar-powered electrical system to a Wabasto heater to cruise control. Violet has become her unique creation, built on the bones of a commercial product. She is not only roadworthy but also a very liveable and practical space.
Due to her cargo van lineage, Violet only has two seats, and due to her camper setup, she only has one large bed. I envisioned that this setup would be suitable for solo trips, trips with Julie, and trips with my son, William. Unfortunately, her bed configuration couldn’t accommodate a “sleep-over” with my daughters. However, Violet could still be used with them on day trips. With every camper, there are always compromises, and this was the compromise with Violet.
My initial years of owning Violet have been filled with many exciting adventures. Still, few of them included Julie or William. They were not interested, but that changed this year. I have gone on many camping/hiking trips with William and Julie in 2021, which has been a wonderful and unexpected change.
And so, I direct you back to the first few lines of this post and the significance of their content. Julie was not only willing, but she was requesting a camping adventure in Violet… is it of any surprise that I agreed?
When I’m going on a camping trip with someone, I try to make their experience as good as I possibly can. So I cleaned Violet inside and out and made a trip to the grocery store to purchase all of Julie’s favorite foods. I also committed to doing all of the driving and all of the cooking so Julie could read and relax. The best way to get a repeat customer is to offer good customer service!
We camped outside of St. Paul, mid-way between Julie’s parents and the state fairgrounds. On Sunday, we visited her parents, and on Monday, we went to the Minnesota State Fair.
Prior, I had only gone to a state fair once in my life. My Uncle Nick took me and a few of my cousins to the Illinois State Fair when I was in grade school. I have a pleasant general feeling about that adventure, but I only have two discrete memories. The first memory centers around the general excitement I had going on a trip to Springfield, Illinois (I didn’t go on a lot of trips as a kid). The second memory was that my uncle bought me a foot-long corn dog on a stick. I think that this was the first corn dog that I ever had, and in my mind, it was a gourmet triumph.
Julie had gone to the Minnesota State Fair several times growing up. Unsurprisingly, many of her memories also centered on fair food, in her case, cheese curds and Tiny Tim donuts. She had talked about returning to the fair for decades, and I was glad to finally make that happen.
On the day of the fair we got up early, and I made two cups of pour-over coffee. However, we skipped breakfast as we knew that we would be spending the day eating a lot of trash carnival-type food. We tidied up the camper, a necessary step to avoid everything crashing to the floor when driving. I typed the fair’s address into Google Maps and started a zig-zag expressway trip to the venue. Google gave me slightly incorrect directions, and we missed the parking lot. Fortunately, we stumbled on a private lot that was both closer and cheaper. Score!
We entered a gate near the livestock pavilions and were instantly greeted by moos, nays, and bleats. Surprisingly, the animal smells were low. Perhaps this was due to excellent animal husbandry, or maybe it was due to the cooler morning temperatures. Either way, I was grateful. At this point, I will tell you the rest of the story in photos as they say that a picture is worth a thousand words.
We camped halfway between Julie’s parents’ home and the fairgrounds. About a 30-minute trip either way.One of the many things Tom and I did when we built out Violet was to add swivels so the front seats could turn, which made the cabin more user-friendly for two. I made some pour-over coffee for Julie and me, but we skipped breakfast so we would have room to sample all of the fair foods that we wanted to try.Our first stop was the cattle building. State fairs often have permanent buildings that are used for decades.Cows are surprisingly intelligent animals. Like many teens, this calf had a mind of its own. These sheep were unbelievably cute I think this device was for shearing. The sheep would stand completely still as if they knew what was about to happen. We saw a lot of officers on horseback. It was a pretty impressive sight. Teams of horses pranced around the fairgrounds. Fair cheese curds are really delicious-in my opinion they are significantly better than ones from places like Culvers.This, dear reader, is a deep-fried Snickers bar on a stick. It is a standing joke at the fair that you can get anything “on a stick.” In fact, I even saw one stand that was selling a spaghetti and meatball dinner on a stick. As far as the Snickers bar is concerned I found it way too sweet and way too greasy. We each took a bite and then binned it. This was a “boozy” pie from another stand. No booze could be detected, but it tasted pretty good!I know what you are thinking….…but this SPAM burger was delicious! The dairy building is the place……for all things dairy.Julie has talked about the butterheads ever since I have known her. They are the carved likenesses of Princess Kay from the Milky Way and her court (you can see her on the far left). The heads are carved out of butter one at a time.A close-up of a completed butterhead.There was also some international entertainment. Here are Indonesian dancers. Julie recognized the balding guy playing in the background. It turns out that they grew up in the same small town in Minnesota. He is now a professor of music at a local university. At last! I found my corn dog!With great anticipation, I took my first bite… I was underwhelmed. My childhood memory was apparently somewhat inaccurate. Julie found the Tiny Tim Donut Stand… Magnificent mini-donuts!So many hand-made crafts. I know that these items are supposed to be cute, but they creeped me out a bit.Julie’s first-ever job was working at a Bridgeman’s ice cream parlor. We had to take this photo. Home-made cakes. Yum! …but they were for viewing only.Home-made cookies… also yum. The contest items were behind glass, but they looked delicious.One of Julie’s fair memories was riding down this slide. Naturally, we had to repeat the adventure.Another memory of hers was the “Old Mill” ride, which is basically a tunnel of love. The ride is 100 years old and it shows. She was afraid that the ride was going to stall as it was so jerky, and my shoulder kept on banging on the walls of the ride. I guess it would be more exciting if you were a young teenager riding with that special someone and managed to snag your first kiss. I love demonstrations as they take common objects and make you feel like you just have to have them. This one was sort of an egg beater thing. However, they made it sound like it was the most amazing invention of the century. No, we didn’t buy one.One of the many contests… this one judging apples.Another craft project. Pretty amazing when you realize that this was made by hand. There was also a lot of free music. Here is the Minnesota National Guard band. Crowd sizes were pretty manageable and lines for food and activities were relatively short. We left the Minnesota State Fair and drove back home through Wisconsin. We found a delightful county campground and we were able to camp directly on a lake. This is what I saw from Violet’s front window at 6 AM after camping the night.
There was a certain naivety about the state fair and a feeling of a past gone era. An innocence not elsewhere found. I felt safe and happy. I had a sense of pride and patriotism. Someday, I will go back. It was worth it.
