Two Good Men: This week, two good men died too young. Dr. Rob Biter delivered my son Zach and became a dear friend. He died overseas from dengue fever at 54. He knew heartache and betrayal, but never let either dominate his life. His last text to me said, “There’s a lot of goodness happening.” He had a good heart. He taught me a lot and I’ll miss him. Billy Ray Smith died at 64 after a long battle with dementia caused by CTE. I wasn’t as close to Billy Ray, but I knew him and always enjoyed seeing him. We bonded as Arkansas guys in San Diego. He was a Razorback legend, a Charger and beloved in both places. Our thoughts are with wife, Kimberly, his family and friends, and everyone touched by his gregarious personality and love of life. Both left us too soon. Good reminder to call a friend. Tell them what they mean to you. You won’t regret it.
Happiest Place on Earth: A few moments without stimulation and we think we might implode. Even at Disneyland. Standing in line can be boring, but it doesn’t have to be miserable. Once, in a long Star Wars line, my wife and kids started the wave. Soon hundreds of people throughout the line were doing it. We laughed and had a great time. But Disney has figured out how to monetize our inability to deal with boredom. After paying for the tickets, ice cream and dumb little ears, you pay more for Lightning Lane. Then someone spends the day as a full-time travel agent, stumbling through the crowds with their head buried in a phone, refreshing and “stacking” reservations. The Wall Street Journal calls them the theme-park version of a designated driver. Maybe we should just enjoy where we are. Especially somewhere built to make us happy. Although happiness at Disneyland can show up in strange ways. A local cop followed a buddy into the parking lot and pulled him over for a traffic violation. “I thought this was the happiest place on Earth,” my buddy said. “Well, I’m happy,” the cop replied as he handed him the ticket!
Muscle Shoals: I love music despite having absolutely no musical talent. I tried guitar lessons but couldn’t tune the thing. In an elementary school musical, I started in the front row. Then they turned on the microphones and quickly moved me as far back as possible. I have no talent, but I love the stories, the songs, the lyrics. I was blown away by the documentary Muscle Shoals. It tells how a northern Alabama town of about 8,000 people helped shape soul, R&B and rock. Aretha Franklin, Wilson Pickett, Etta James, Percy Sledge, the Rolling Stones, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Bob Dylan and Paul Simon all recorded there. Outside, George Wallace was promising “segregation forever.” Inside, black artists and white Alabama session musicians were making some of the greatest records ever cut. The artists still struggle to explain it: the river, the isolation, the people or maybe some kind of magic. Whatever it was, the place had its own feel and its own sound. It changed American music. I highly recommend it.
National Day of the Cowboy: At one of the lowest points in my life, I left rehab with no job, a career in shambles and no idea how to make a living. I only knew I wanted to be outside and around horses. An angel in human form descended from heaven and offered me work cowboying on a commercial ranch spanning tens of thousands of acres. Old-school Mexican vaqueros showed me the ropes. I rode, roped, built fence, tended cattle and stacked hay. I left my phone in the truck. I loved every minute of it. While accompanying my wife to a work function, someone asked what I did. “I cowboy.” They looked confused. “No, for work.” “That is my work.” “That’s a real job?” I asked them: “Do you eat?” Every bite of food you eat comes from somewhere and a farmer or rancher had a hand in getting it to you. It is a real job and can be romantic. It can also be more than work. A lifestyle, but a hard and painful one. It leave scars, calluses and a fair amount of bruises. But I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Now I get to do it with my kids while building our family cattle ranch. This week we celebrated National Day of the Cowboy. I honor the men who welcomed me, taught me and showed me the ropes. And all those who work hard to ensure we can eat.
Slow Ride, Joyride: Heavy equipment is cool. I love my John Deere tractor and, admittedly, tend to leave the keys in it. You probably want to take your keys with you if you are in an urban or residential area. In San Diego, someone stole a backhoe, took it for a joyride through a neighborhood, dragging the bucket, throwing sparks everywhere and eventually causing $25,000 in damage. I understand the temptation. But if you want to experience the joys of heavy equipment, renting one is still cheaper than bail.
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Have a great weekend.
Nathan
Nate, your encouragement to call someone important to me was huge today. I called a friend of 28 years. We see each other every couple of months. When he asked if something was wrong, I told him I just wanted to hear his voice and to tell him I love him. I could tell he was touched, but I think it did more for me than it did for him. Thank you for encouraging the heart, brother.