Issue 25: Learn Nothing

I have a friend, more like an acquaintance, named Dinky. His legal name isn’t really Dinky. It’s more of a nickname, well, technically a zachname, but I won’t use his real name so as to not give away his identity. Dinky is 6’4. I stand at a gentleman’s 5’10. We were standing (6’4 and 5’10) outside of a hotel in St. Louis, MO a couple of weeks ago. As we were standing outside of a hotel in St. Louis, MO a couple of weeks ago, a thought occurred to me. Have you ever had a thought occur to you? That thought turned into a ponderance which turned into a question which I then asked Dinky. “Have you ever met someone who is 6’10?” He responded in the affirmative mentioning he had played basketball against someone of that height. I asked him, “How did you feel standing beside him?” He responded in turn by telling me about the experience. I asked him if he ever reflects on that moment when hanging out with me as that is the height difference between us, just flipped. He told me something I won’t forget for the rest of our friendship, “I choose not to learn from my experiences.” Wow. Powerful stuff right there. 

In stark contrast to the Dinky philosophy, we recently attempted to learn. Two weeks ago we took a trip to Seth’s Serious Side© and discussed self worth. We walked memory lane Emperor’s New Groove style and learned a thing or two about ourselves. A few of you said that you still don’t see yourself as worth much. I think that is because you haven’t released your inhibitions and felt the rain on your skin. You see, no one else can feel it for you, only you can let it in. No one else, no one else, can speak the words on your lips.

The words Dinky spoke from his lips that day, “I learn nothing” really got me thinking. Do I learn? I like to think I do. I have claimed many a sponsor in this newsletter who were not actually sponsors. You all witnessed the very public feud between The Daily Dispatch and ZipRecruiter. So, I will learn and will not be claiming anyone is a sponsor this week that has not actually sponsored the newsletter. However, I am introducing a new concept: vicarious sponsorship. 

This week’s vicarious sponsor is Academy Sports and Outdoors. How is a vicarious sponsor different from a real sponsor? Great question. I am going to shout out a podcast I love which is sponsored by Academy. By broadcasting to a large audience a show that broadcasts to its own larger audience about Academy, it is like I am another link to a chain that begins with Academy. Vicarious sponsorship. Therefore, if you tell people about what I’m about to tell you about a show that tells people about Academy, you too are vicariously sponsored by Academy. You following?

I could tell you about how Academy has stores all over this country of ours containing not just sporting equipment, but grills, tents, clothing, and much more. I could tell you about how they will deliver all of that to your house if you go to Acadmey.com, but that would make it look like they sponsor me, which they don’t. They vicariously sponsor this newsletter. My legal team says that is ok. Academy does, in fact, sponsor Late Kick with Josh Pate. Late Kick with Josh Pate is, without a doubt, my favorite college football show. If you’re looking for an unbiased, interesting, fan driven college football show, look no further. You’ve found it. Again, tell your friends, family, and acquaintances about Late Kick so you too can be vicariously sponsored by the best sporting goods store; Academy. 

Hopefully this will keep us out of legal trouble moving forward. 

When I play “Two Truths and a Lie” it often turns into “One and a Half Truths and One and a Half Lies”. I tend to embellish my truths. I’m a salesman at heart. Sometimes one of my “truths” is “I sang background vocals on a Needtobreathe album.” I say this as a truth because I was present for a concert they recorded and turned into a live album. I sang from the crowd while at the concert. So, technically, I sang in the background of a Needtobreathe album. See? One and a half truths. Another half truth I’ll sometimes tell is I trained for the Olympics. 

The summer after my sophomore year of high school, I was a boy with a bad haircut, an open schedule, and a lot of life left to live. Yet I didn’t know death was looming over my shoulder. Its breath down my neck was masked by the hot and humid air of a Middle Tennessee July. I asked you at the beginning of this newsletter, “have you ever had a thought occur to you?” Well, a thought occurred to a 17 year old Seth one day sitting on the couch watching a commercial for the Olympics. The thought: If I were to compete in the Olympics, what sport could I really do? I knew swimming was out, you’ve got to start training from the time you’re a fetus for that. Basketball was out because of the aforementioned gentleman’s 5’10. Finally, I made my way down to the luge. I thought, “If I can just point my toes and hang on, I can do the luge.” 

So, I did what any 17 year old in 2012 would do, I posted on Facebook “Training for the luge starts tomorrow. Olympics 2014 here I come!” About 30 minutes later, my buddy Lucas texted me, “Yo! Were you serious about the luge thing?” It was my policy, at the time, to always respond “yes” if I thought a good story was on the other side. “Heck yeah!” I texted back. He texted back telling me about something his dad had just gotten called the BMW Street Carver. It was like a skateboard/longboard with a crazy turning radius. 

Fast forward a month or so and I find myself atop the Natchez Trace bridge overlooking Highway 96 in Franklin, TN. The entrance/exit of the bridge is a steep and winding road leading down to the highway. When Lucas suggested luging down it, I was all aboard. This may sound stupid to the readers. Some aspects of the plan were. As comedian Mike Birbiglia says, “I know, I’m in the future also.” However, we did take some precautions. Downtown Franklin was under some construction that summer, so we drove through and grabbed a large orange construction cone to block the top of the on/off ramp so nobody would drive down while we were luging. The next precaution was our gear. I wore the standard street luging athletic shorts and a tee shirt. In retrospect, I should have gone and gotten pads and a helmet from this week’s vicarious sponsor Academy. The third, most important, precaution we took was to drive behind the person luging so there was no way a car could drive up on us (but primarily to record each other’s speed).

Lucas went first. It was his board, it was only fair. Lucas will read this, so I know I will get a text about the next sentence, but it’s the truth (and not a two truths and a lie truth, a real one). Lucas dragged his feet the whole way down. I’m sorry Lucas, I love you, but that’s what happened. Seeing this, I let out an arrogant “huh” and said, “watch this.” I took the board to the very top, pointed my toes, and took off. Lucas, to this day, swears he clocked me going 25+ mph while driving behind me as I luged. It was a rush. Time slowed as I sped. As I hurtled down the hill, my mind was clear. Then one lone thought entered. I realized I was about to play a game of life or death Frogger on highway 96. I put my foot down. Literally, I put both feet down and the board shot out from under me. My life flashed before my eyes as I hit the ground, bounced up, hit the ground again, and then had to full on sprint to catch up with my own momentum. 

I ended up riding home face down in the back of a truck because I no longer had skin from my butt to the back of my knees nor down my side. I realized I had survived an incredibly foolish moment. Without a helmet, a 25 mph head hitting the pavement could have been much worse. There was a real chance of someone entering the ramp from the highway side and not seeing me. It was sobering. The rest of that summer was unlike any summer I’d had before or have had since. I wasn’t unhappy for a single day. I didn’t have this grand new outlook, just nothing bothered me too much. Even though I was in serious pain for a while, It was all bonus time from there on out. Imagine the feeling after you get off an intense roller coaster or walk out of a haunted house knowing you survived, but on a grander, more real level. If you can avoid the intense pain of having to clean rocks out of a leg length flesh wound, and not being able to sit down for a month, I would highly recommend the experience of nearly escaping death. 

A frustrating reality of human psychology is we only notice we’re alive when we’re reminded we’re going to die, the same way some people only appreciate a boyfriend or girlfriend only after they’ve become exes. Maybe people who have lived with the reality of their own mortality for months or years are more fully changed by it, but my luging accident was over almost as soon as it happened, and the change in perspective didn’t last. You can’t feel crazily grateful to be alive your whole life. Time makes us all betray ourselves and get back to the busywork of living. Before the school year had started back, the same everyday anxieties and frustrations began creeping back. 

I was disappointed to catch myself yelling in traffic, worrying about homework, and lying awake at night wondering what everyone thinks about me. I can’t recapture that feeling of euphoric gratitude any more than I can really remember the terror I felt when I was laying on my back flying towards traffic. But I know that it really happened, that that state of feeling is accessible to us, even if I only stumbled across it once and never find my way back. 

But now that I’m back in the slog of everyday life, I have to struggle to keep things in what I still insist is their true perspective. I know intellectually that all the urgently pressing items on our mental lists, our careers, car repairs, or the daily news headlines are just so much noise. What matters is spending time with the people you love. It’s just hard to bear in mind. I like to use the beginning of the song The Last Thing I Needed The First Thing This Morning by Willie Nelson as a litmus test. With the exception of the opening example of a past due notice, if anything on the list before the titular line (spilling coffee, bumping your knee, etc.) begins to really bother me, something is off. 

The luging accident has not been my only brush with death throughout my life. Each time we rub shoulders results in a feeling of gratitude, but I always seem to resettle to a certain level of emotional balance and imbalance as if that level is a resting heart rate I can only stray from in or after intensity. Dinky chooses to learn nothing from his experiences, maybe I’m just not capable of it. Maybe it takes someone truly special to permanently learn and grow. My current state suggests I’m no such person, I’m just a guy who sang background vocals on a Needtobreathe album, trained for the Olympics, and have a weekly newsletter with an audience all around the globe.