Elements

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

I can’t even believe it while I write this sentence but I’ve been running for almost exactly 38 years. Back on July 4, 1982 I participated in a five-mile road race in my hometown of Chester, CT. I have no idea what my time was but I finished; I’m not sure I even owned a pair of running shoes at the time.

Like many endeavors that we stick with for years on end, in hindsight, it wasn’t so much a question of me finding running as running finding me. I’ve always had horrible eye-hand coordination and I’m lousy at almost any sport involving a ball. Growing up in a different time and culture, I experienced being picked last and losing games more times than I care to remember. But these experiences didn’t embitter me and in fact, probably helped me. They enabled me to self-select running; specifically distance running, as an endeavor that suited my build and personality.

Beyond the obvious physical benefits, running has greatly impacted my emotional well-being. Loneliness, sadness, anger, euphoria. I’ve processed all by running. I recall going out for a run right after my wife Wendy and I found out we were pregnant with our first child. Running after I signed the paperwork to start a new job. And the countless runs where I’ve played conversations in my head that I planned on having, meant to have and had already but wished that I could have all over again.

I didn’t know it at the time but back in 1982 when I started running, the United States was going through something of a running boom and I feel like a smaller boom might be happening now. Like many of you, I have spent the last several months working from home and anecdotally notice more people when I’m out on my runs which, given the heat, I’ve moved from afternoon to morning.

Our son used to join me for many of these runs and still does on Sundays. Yet now, during the week, he spends time with his friends. I miss Ethan’s company but truthfully wonder how much he actually enjoys running. He, even more than me, has the build and personality of a distance runner. But it became abundantly clear when we ran together that Ethan has trouble with the elements associated with outdoor running.

When Ethan and I started running back in mid-March, he’d stubbornly refuse to wear a hat and gloves, then complain that was too cold. Throughout April and May; too windy. And now that we’re days away from July. Yup, you guessed it. Too hot.

To be fair, Ethan’s favorite sport is swimming and he misses it greatly. He misses the structure, the discipline, the camaraderie, the temperature-controlled environment. I hope that he is able to get back to swimming before too long. So I empathize with Ethan’s difficulty embracing running’s elements. Yet it’s also made me appreciate my commitment to running that much more.

I realized that all the years I’ve spent braving the literal elements when running – heat, rain, snow, wind, have helped me brave the figurative ones as well. Disappointment. Bitterness. Jealousy. Frustration. Hopelessness. I’ve had to work my way through all of those at one point or another and know each will resurface in the future. And just like when I’m running, I’ve had to put my head down, ensure my breath is even and keep going until I’ve come through to the other side.

Just yesterday, I had set aside a block of time to go running. I had thought the rain would have let up by then but it was still pouring. So I borrowed Ethan’s plastic case he uses to store his phone while he’s at the creek with his friends, stuck my iPhone in it so I could still listen to music, and headed out the door. Within the first five minutes of my run, I became soaked head to toe. My feet squished through puddles and my clothes stuck to me. I was quite uncomfortable, in fact. But I just kept moving forward until I finished. Confident that I overcame the elements.

Image credit: Getty

 

 

 

Why I’m Voting for Antone

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

Exactly two years ago our neighbors put up a lawn sign for current Transportation Commissioner and former State House speaker Margaret Anderson Kelliher, in support of her primary big to represent Minnesota’s Fifth Congressional district, where I live. Our Congressman at the time, Keith Ellison, had vacated the seat to run for Attorney General. The fifth district is deep blue so the primary campaign is something of  coronation for Democrats.

Former Rep. Anderson Kelliher’s key opponent in the 2018 primary was then state representative Ilhan Omar, who was even at that point something of political celebrity after defeating long-time incumbent Phyllis Kahn in 2016. I mean, Ilhan Omar was in a Maroon 5 video, for crying out loud. Rep. Anderson Kelliher was smart and undoubtedly accomplished. But Ilhan Omar had star power, received national media coverage. I figured entering Congress with this type of visibility as a lowly Freshman would be good for my district so I voted for Ilhan Omar in the primary.

Boy did I miscalculate. I voted based on cynicism and won’t make that mistake again. Which is why I’m voting for Antone Melton-Meaux in his bid to defeat Congresswoman Omar. The primary will be held on Tuesday, August 11.

I haven’t had the chance to meet Antone Melton-Meaux in person and I’m not sure I will. But I have had the chance to learn about him and really like what I’ve seen. His political views seem, not surprisingly, aligned with our district and his biography is “Wow, what hasn’t this guy done?” impressive. But something about Antone Melton-Meaux strikes me as sincere and well-intended; two traits I believe are sorely lacking in Representative Omar.

I respect Rep. Omar’s differing views on Israel and believe we should collectively have a healthy debate on an issue that has beguiled the best minds for decades. I don’t care whether she has a complicated personal life; we all do. Nor do I care about her brazen ambition and over-sized ego. Politicians of all ideologies tend to be calculating, ambitious and egotistical; it’s almost a price of entry.

What I find troubling about Rep. Omar is her complicated relationship with the truth and self-satisfaction she seems to take from the chaos she leaves in her wake. It comes across as nothing more than insincere shtick, like Rep. Omar somehow thinks it’s endearing to stir the proverbial pot. I don’t believe she wants a meaningful dialogue; only a platform for her views. And in these regards I don’t see her as much better than President Trump.

Rep. Omar’s predecessor, current Attorney General Keith Ellison, is ambitious and most likely, calculating. He too, by all accounts, has a complicated personal life. But he earned the trust of the people in our district, including our own family, by showing that he had our best interests at heart. And a few weeks back Minnesota Governor Tim Walz placed his and the collective trust of our state in Ellison when he selected him to lead the prosecution against the officers accused of killing George Floyd.

I believe the people of  Minnesota’s Fifth Congressional district deserve better than Ilhan Omar. And I’m willing to put my trust in Antone Melton-Meaux.

 

 

“Play and Discover”

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

I enjoy going down figurative rabbit holes. Often I’ll be reading a book, watching a show or movie or listening to a band and it will remind me of a related artist or performer, or one that perhaps influenced who I’m currently watching. Then, I’ll start enjoying the work of this other person, until they inevitably lead me to another. Which is how I came to spend the past few weeks listening to the German guitarist Michael Schenker.

During the years I’ve written this blog I have a sense of my readership and I’d imagine I could count the number of you reading who’ve heard of Michael Schenker on one hand. He’s the younger brother of Scorpions guitarist Rudolf Schenker and played on some early Scorpions records before joining UFO in the 1970’s and then pursuing a solo career which has continued in fits and starts through today. Musicians and music geeks lionize Michael Schenker but my sense is that he remains largely unknown.

I stumbled upon the band UFO several years ago and the period in which Michael Schenker was with the group tends to be held up as its best. Back in mid-February I had the opportunity to see UFO perform, without Schenker, at a Twin Cities-area entertainment center. Of course, a month later, everything changed and I have no idea when I’ll see another concert. The UFO concert will always hold a special place for me and I couple of months back found myself listening to quite a bit of UFO, almost as a source of comfort. Which led me to Michael Schenker and his band, the Michael Schenker Group (MSG).

Musically, Schenker has a riff-driven, melodic style, similar to an Eddie Van Halen without the flash or Alex Lifeson without the complexity. Even MSG’s work during the past few years seems to have this 80’s, almost Hair Metal-like quality to it – perfect summer music. But it’s Schenker’s eccentric, unique personality that I find so intriguing.

Curious about Schenker after digging into his music, I heard him interviewed on a podcast I listen to on a regular basis, where he covered his battles with substance abuse and ultimate recovery and tumultuous relationship with his brother Rudolf. During the interview he spoke about how he refuses to listen to music that’s not his own, so he’s not unduly influenced. Then he used an expression about his creative process that stuck with me, saying all he does is simply “play and discover.”

Now, I don’t technically “play” anything but I realize now that I’ve approached my writing in very much a play and discover way. I learn by doing and, honestly feel like every time I write something, I’m starting from scratch, despite all the previous experience. One area where I very much disagree with Schenker, however, is on the undue influence part. I read anything and everything and believe it very much influences my writing.

“Play and discover” also is very much influencing our kids’ summer vacation, even though they of course have no idea. Our daughter Sasha, 13, was supposed to be at camp. Our son, Ethan, was supposed to be caddying. Notice I said “supposed to be.” Like all of us, they have had to adjust. So each day, both of our kids wake up, not necessarily having plans but knowing they have to make them. Text friends, get on their bike, go to the creek; play a game of socially distant pickup basketball. Hang out and talk.

Play and discover.

Image credit: Getty

 

Have Soundtrack; Will Run

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

Although I’ve spent much of the past several years watching television over movies, I’m something of a film buff. I was raised going to the movies and my father and brother in particular carry this passion forward. My favorite movie? Thought you’d never ask. It’s Martin Scorsese’s 1990 film Goodfellas.

Like much that is brilliant, I find Goodfellas deceptively simple. It features a traditional rise/zenith/fall storytelling arc. Morally compromised yet endearing characters and stellar acting all around. Plus, an absolutely superb soundtrack.

Now, many films include memorable scores and soundtracks but I believe Scorsese brings a new level of sonic artistry to almost all of his films, especially Goodfellas. For starters, the songs match the vibe of the decade-spanning story, from the buoyant, optimistic 1950’s, all the way through the frenetic, cocaine-addled 1980’s. Scorsese also employs an innovative mix of songs, offering a different take on the familiar, such as the “Layla” piano interlude, along with songs by Harry Nilsson and George Harrison, among others.

But one song from the soundtrack always stumped me, always stuck in my head. It plays in the background during one of the more gruesome scenes, after Robert DeNiro and Joe Pesci; well, let’s just say they discipline another gangster who disparaged Pesci’s character’s younger entrepreneurial spirit. Amidst the excessive violence you hear this mellow, blissful chorus: “Way down below the ocean where I want to be.”

Then, our family was recently driving home together from an outing and listening to 89.3, The Current, a local station affiliated with Minnesota Public Radio. And there it was: “Way down below the ocean where I want to be.” I turned it up and heard it through the end. It turns out the song in question is Donovan’s “Atlantis,” off the 1969 album Barabajagal. 

I found “Atlantis” on Spotify and used it to build  playlist titled “Goodfellas and Others,” featuring songs I remembered from Goodfellas and other Scorcese films and songs that frankly I thought should be in Scorcese films if they weren’t already. Earlier this morning I listened to the playlist as I ran and couldn’t help but picture myself in a scene from an imaginary Scorsese film, an amalgamation of all the ones I’d watched. It would be one of those brilliantly executed montages that depicts multiple characters. I played the earnest District Attorney jogging in my modest suburban Boston or Long Island neighborhood; not a plum Leo, Mark or Matt role but perhaps one that could merit a Mark Ruffalo or Kyle Chandler. Of course, after showing me jogging the montage would cut to my mobster nemesis – the DeNiro or Nicholson character, engaged in some nefarious yet oddly alluring activity.

I finished my run and stood in our driveway catching my breath before going inside. Back in my real-world Minneapolis neighborhood. Where, to paraphrase Ray Liotta as Henry Hill in the closing scene of Goodfellas, I’m an average nobody. And I couldn’t be happier.

Ray Liotta as Henry Hill in “Goodfellas.” Image credit: Warner Bros.

 

For the Win

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

I don’t know about you but I often find it’s easier to give advice than actually take it. A few years back I was having lunch with a friend and they told me they were in something of a rut and asked me if I had any advice. I told my friend to go for a win. Never really liking it when people say something with the hope that you ask them what you mean, I went on to describe what I meant.

I told my friend that we all get to these points, personally, professionally; sometimes both, where we just feel as though nothing is really working the way we want it to. That’s when, I explained, you look for something where, in ideally a brief amount of time, you can have success. You get your confidence back up and, depending on how big the win is, you might have the opportunity to change the proverbial narrative.

I must have sounded convincing to my friend because we had lunch several months later and he told me the approach worked. While I was pleased, I also felt somewhat guilty. Because I couldn’t exactly remember when I tried the approach myself that I so strongly recommended to my friend. I mean, I must have tried it at some point, right?

I recalled this conversation with my friend over the weekend when I worked with our son Ethan to adjust the spool of string in our recently-purchased weed whacker. As background, I’m not naturally mechanically inclined and have had bad luck over the years with weed whackers, to the point where I stopped purchasing them. But Ethan, 15, has taken over lawn mowing duties during the past couple of years and requested we try one again. So we bought a decent model a few weeks back and, when Ethan came inside to ask for my help, I inwardly cursed myself for going down this path again.

But the truth is, I had other things on my mind. Nothing serious; just the typical flotsam and jetsam that accumulates. Stress. Hassles. And for some reason, as silly as it now sounds, I viewed the weed whacker request as a large imposition.

I followed Ethan into the garage and then we both took turns crouching over the weed whacker, trying to get the unruly trimmer string wrapped back around the spool, then the spool back inside the mechanism. We were working on it for less than five minutes but it felt like an eternity. Why was I wasting my time on this. Ethan was surely capable; I should just let him run with it.

But then I thought of the advice I had given my friend about going for a win. Wouldn’t it feel good, I thought, to accomplish something, even if, on the surface, it was no big deal.

So Ethan and I stuck with it. We adjusted the spool, lining up the right holes with the right slots. We read and re-read the annoyingly simplistic instruction manual. I sweated a little and swore quite a bit. Until the mechanism popped back into place. Just like that. Off Ethan went, to finish the lawn.

And I went back inside, feeling a little more positive, encouraged, and satisfied. Because I had my win.

Image credit: backyardwoodshop.com

 

 

 

 

 

F Day

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

One food combination I find almost impossible to turn down is a really good cheeseburger and fries. As I get older I try to limit my intake and when I indulge, make it really count. These cheeseburgers and fries, I should note, are different from the hamburgers I make on our grill multiple times between Memorial Day and Labor Day.

Our kids, Ethan and Sasha are 15 and 13, respectively, and have palates commensurate with their ages. If they had it their way we’d eat hamburgers or pizza every night of the week. But as my wife Wendy and I have a large say, they’ll often grumble at what we serve and fortify the meal with cereal. Hamburgers on the grill, especially if paired with a healthy salad, are a concession that everyone can accept. But I have to admit I get sick of eating them.

On a recent evening I had just begun grilling such hamburgers when it started raining. The day, as I recall, had been dry, up to that point, but then it really poured. Our kids sat on the couch inside, eyes glued to devices. While I darted back and forth to the grill so I could flip the burgers, maneuvering an umbrella. “Why the F am I doing this?” I thought to myself, except I didn’t think “F.”

Then, about halfway through, we ran out of propane. Fortunately, we had a backup tank but I still had to deal with changing it and restarting the grill. I got soaked. Our kids remained inside and dry.

By the time we sat down at the table, I wanted to tell our kids that these better be the fffing most delicious hamburgers they ever had in their lives. But, of course, I didn’t. I scarfed down my burger, which tasted no different from the countless others I’d made, and forgot all about the hassles I’d faced getting them on the table.

I’m thinking of those burgers as today is Father’s Day. Actually, it’s F-Day, as it’s become known in our house. Several years back our daughter Sasha, unprompted, created a sign that read “Happy F-Day.” I posted it on Facebook and had quite a laugh. But as time passes I actually realize the unintentional insight behind Sasha’s sign. The “F,” literally and figuratively, is a big part of fatherhood. “F” this, “F” them, or “FML” as the kids used to say. Fatherhood, at times, can be a limiting, frustrating, thankless experience. It can take so much out of you.

Actually, the “F” is not just a big part of fatherhood, it’s a bit part of life, which, let’s admit it, can often be a limiting, frustrating and thankless experience. But fatherhood, and life in general, is the greatest gift we’ll give; the greatest gift we’ll receive. We must never forget that. And always make the best of it. No matter what.

 

 

Matter by Doing

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

“Actions, not words.” We’ve all heard the expression countless times, starting when we were very young. And I imagine that if you’re reading this post, the expression has lost its meaning. Sure, we know what it means. It’s just that it’s been used and overused to the point where it just becomes part of the background.

But the thing is, there’s a reason why the expression “actions, not words” has endured for so long. Because, in the end, I believe that most of us are remembered by what we do, not what we say.

One year ago today a former colleague of mine passed away after a very brief, but aggressive battle with cancer. I won’t use their name; you might know who I’m talking about; you might not. It doesn’t really matter. What matters is what they did.

For starters, this person’s job revolved around getting things done. Efficient to a fault, here goes another over-used term, no job was too large or too small. No matter the deadline, no matter the circumstances, this person always delivered. And they didn’t just deliver what the person wanted but they did it with a level of service and attention to detail that was second to none.

Like many I’ve found who are really good at what they do, this person didn’t possess a proverbial “off” switch. They treated people the same whether the interaction was personal or professional. And by the “same,” I mean with the upmost respect and decency.

I recall one time, the year before this colleague passed away, them coming to my desk with two small bags. Each contained Hanukkah presents for both of our kids. I honestly couldn’t believe it. I mean, I barely knew it was Hanukkah. Yet they remembered. Because that’s the kind of person they were.

Several months later I was scheduled to give a presentation in front of a large group. I was prepared but nervous and this colleague was one of the people who were willing to serve as a practice audience for me. They gave me plenty of helpful input but what made a difference is two simple gestures they did on the day of the presentation.

When it was my turn to present, I walked up to the podium and looked up before I started. The first person I saw was this colleague, sitting there smiling back at me. And when I sat back down again after presenting, my phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a text from my colleague congratulating me on a job well done.

I made sure to thank this colleague, for the help, and support. So they knew all that they meant to me. So they knew that what they did truly mattered.

Image note: A colleague reminded me that sunflowers were this person’s favorite. 

Image credit: Pixabay

 

 

June Bug

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

Our daughter Sasha, who is 13, got a new bike over Memorial Day weekend and has been using it daily, often multiple times. She uses it primarily as a mode of transport when she heads out with her friends. But occasionally she just wants to ride. The last two Sunday nights Sasha has asked me to accompany her on a post-dinner ride around southwest Minneapolis, where we live. Sasha is at an age where I’ll take any time she actually wants to spend with me, so of course I say yes.

This past Sunday evening we were experiencing particularly nice weather – a rarity in Minnesota. We began our ride at around 7:00 p.m. and everything – the temperature, scenery, light – was perfect. All those cloudy thoughts that we tend to get on Sunday evening – the meetings, projects and deadlines for the week ahead, dissipated, and I truly was able to enjoy the moment.

Sasha and I pedaled to Lake Harriet and eventually worked our way around Bde Maka Ska, passing by countless couples, groups and people on their own reading, barbecuing, playing volleyball, listening to music and overall, just seeming to enjoy themselves. I caught up to Sasha and commented on how if a tourist could visit Minneapolis at this very second and see what we were seeing, they’d surely want to live here. Sasha agreed.

As we continued riding I became more and more content, almost in this Zen-like state. And then, from out of nowhere, the darkness started seeping in. I started thinking of  a family friend who committed suicide almost exactly one year ago, right after Father’s Day. Sasha is still best friends with this man’s daughter and the two of us speak about him often. And I find his memory entering my head space at random times. Like when I was riding bikes with Sasha.

I considered my own mental state. Sure, these last few months have been hard for me and my family. I’m concerned about the future and admittedly scared. But daily, sometimes more if I’m having a hard go of it, I find reasons to be hopeful that sometimes make me feel nothing short of defiant. That I won’t be broken. That I will never give up. That I will always find lightness and goodness.

But I also know that it’s easy for me to say. That you can’t just go ahead and project what you’re feeling, experiencing onto someone else. I’ve always prided myself on possessing a “live and let live” philosophy. But I recognize that is has it’s limitations when you’re concerned about yourself, friends or loved ones.

June is one of my favorite months and it’s one I associate with positivity and hope. My wedding anniversary falls early in the month. School ends and summer begins. Everything, even if it’s momentary, feels fresh.

I hope if you’re reading this post, that you’re experiencing something similar this June, regardless of where you live. And that you embrace it. But also think of your peers, your loved ones, anyone who you know that may be suffering. Embrace the feeling, too, and ask yourself  (or them) how you might be able to help. Remind them that they’re not alone. I bet you both will be glad you did.

Image credit: Reuters

 

On Purpose

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

I’m glad it’s the weekend. It’s 6:33 a.m. CST as I write this post, and we’re supposed to have nice weather today. I have my list of weekend To Do’s and I’m feeling positive, purposeful.

But I wasn’t feeling purposeful earlier in the week. Now, I should note right here that I have absolutely nothing to complain about. I have my health, a beautiful family, a nice home. Yet I felt stressed, spread thin, fearful, defensive. And it was there from the time I woke up until I went to bed at night, right in the background, and even some points in between.

You know, I’ve used the term “First World problems” constantly since our kids were old enough to appreciate it and I don’t believe week goes by where I don’t reference it. To me, it’s important to always put what you’re facing in perspective. Even in the preceding paragraph I felt it necessary to document all I’m appreciate of. But sometimes I wonder if my overuse of the term gives what I’m experiencing short shrift. Because when you’re in the thick of some stress or any mental health-related challenge, we both know it can feel pretty darned real.

So, as far as this week, is concerned I did what I always do to keep stress or really, any form of emotional darkness, at bay. I exercised regularly, took our dog Astro for a walk with my wife Wendy, our kids, or by myself. I listened to music and podcasts and read. I ate and slept the best I could.

And then, not even necessarily in this order, I embraced and acted on and with purpose. I know, much has been said and written about a purpose-driven life but I’m telling you, it works. I’m not even talking about anything major. What worked for me is to just find an activity or series of activities; either personal or professional, where you can dig in, focus, and really feel like you’re making a difference.

I started doing that, almost without realizing it, on Wednesday morning and it continued with me the rest of the day, then the week. My apologies for the vagueness as I really don’t want to get into what I did or didn’t do because what seems so significant to me might be completely meaningless to you. But my takeaway for you is that it could be literally any action, large or small.

Also this week, someone who I’m very close to was experiencing something similar. They too, on the surface, had all the trappings. But, as we say, this person just wasn’t feeling it. They felt isolated, disconnected, purposeless. Until one day, they didn’t, by being more purposeful.

I write these blog posts primarily for myself and my goal is always to be truthful, to showcase what’s important to me at any given time. And the truth is that documenting what I experienced this week makes me feel good. But I have a hunch there’s a decent chance one of  you reading this post has experienced something similar and can relate. Or perhaps you’re in the thick of  it now and it helps to know there’s someone who can empathize.  Or maybe all of this has made you  pause and think about things differently, if even for a second.

I’d accept any, all or none. I just appreciate you reading.

Stay safe and well, friends.

Image credit: Ted.com

Don’t Try

Editorial note: Opinions expressed here are solely those of the blogger

I was having a discussion with our kids last week about tolerance. Not tolerance in the weighty, larger sense of the word but everyday tolerance – what you will or won’t tolerate. And the more we spoke, it dawned on me. I’m much more tolerant with actions than I am with words.

Let me explain.

A couple of weeks back someone emailed to check in on me and they began by writing “I tried calling you on Friday afternoon.” This is a person, I should note, who I speak and text with on a fairly regular basis. But there was no indication that they “tried” to call me. No missed call. No voice mail.

The email really stuck in my craw and the more I thought about it, the angrier I became. Now, the person who sent me this email is  fine individual and absolutely didn’t mean me any harm. But once I saw the first sentence I didn’t want to read any further. I was disappointed the second I saw the word “try.” My expectations weren’t just lowered; they were pretty much erased.

In the days following the email, I became hyper-aware of all the times I either heard or saw the word “try.” None were good. Our son telling me he would “try” to mow the lawn. Emails, texts, phone calls; one after the other. All people telling me they would “try” to do this or “try” to do that. I couldn’t really tell if their aim was to convince me or themselves.

Oh, and another thing. I thought back to the countless times, without even realizing, I’d been equally guilty of using the “word” try. It was time I take ownership and practice what I preach. So I sought alternate ways of communicating:

• “I’d like to speak with you before the day is up. Can I call you at 3?”
• “I have a busy day tomorrow but I plan on sending it to you by end of day.”
• “I expect to be there by 8 but if something changes I will let you know.”
• “Unless it rains, I plan on mowing the lawn” (OK, that one is for our son)

We all know that sometimes, it’s hard to commit to an endeavor with complete certainty. There are so many variables at play and we don’t want to disappoint people, whether they’re our family, friends or colleagues. And we want to manage expectations. But I truly believe there are ways to go about doing this without using the word “try.”

At least for me, it’s worth attempting.

See what I did there?

Image credit: Sasha Jacobson