In the first year of his presidency, Ronald Reagan spent countless hours trying to persuade congressmen to approve a crucial sale of military planes to Saudi Arabia.  By all accounts, it was a grueling effort that a took a personal toll, so when Congress voted (by a narrow margin) to approve the deal, Reagan turned to an aide and said “I feel like I’ve just crapped a pineapple.”

That’s pretty much describes my feelings all year with this blog.  And just like anything you might expel from your bowels (pineapples or otherwise) I’m not sure if I’m proud of the results so much as glad that the year is over.

To recap: 365 days ago I vowed to become a Better Man by today.  In my first post, I wrote about waking up Christmas morning to find the tires on my car slashed.  It was the final insult in a year’s worth of indignities, and the parallels weren’t lost on me: my easy ride on the wheels of good fortune had been suddenly deflated by the ugly vicissitudes of life.

And so this blog was born, a chronicle of my efforts not only to reverse my fortunes, but to change for the better – to find the wisdom and fortitude to overcome my crises. I’d resolved to do this by taking on several laudable, hare-brained and occasionally dangerous projects, all designed to improve the quality of my character.    In the process,  I learned a few lessons:

LESSON #1: It’s Okay To Make Wildly Unrealistic Plans That You Fail to Achieve.

When Joseph Stalin ruled the Soviet Union, he laid out several Five Year Plans that came with virtually impossible economic targets the workers had to achieve.  We’re talking crazy goals, like wheat production that required more farmland than physically existed in the entire country.  When the workers failed to achieve their targets, Stalin made sure heads rolled…literally. That’s too bad, because in spite of the “failure” the Soviet Union still achieved phenomenal economic growth, outpacing even some capitalist countries.  Cranky, homicidal Joe was so focussed on what didn’t happen that he couldn’t see the progress his country had made.

In my Better Man-ifesto, I came up with nine very ambitious projects, ones with high numbers for both artistic merit and technical difficulty.  I did not stick the landing on most of them.  Project “Do Me a Solid” was all about volunteering, yet the most  I ever volunteered for was seconds at dinner. The God Project was another disaster – although I must admit my heart wasn’t in it. Having grown up going to church, suddenly going back felt a little like going to the fridge for the milk, finding it had gone stale, then putting it back thinking if I return later it might be good again.  In all, I failed to complete ANY of the projects in their entirety,  including the seemingly easy goal of being a Better Asshole (Project Ari Gold).

Now, it’d be easy to pull a Stalin and dwell my failures, but that would mean overlooking the unanticipated successes of this year.  Take Project Renaissance Man (self-reliance and technical aptitude) – I didn’t pick up ANY of the skills I’d set out to learning.  However,  I’ve since compensated for it by discovering my inner Boy Scout – for example, I may not know how to fix my motorcycle, but now wherever I ride I carry a space blanket, canteen, and a survival knife in my saddle bags.  That way if I break down on the highway, at least I won’t die of exposure, dehydration, or bear attacks.  In fact, my house is now littered with how-to guides, and wherever I go I carry tools for most crises, even if I don’t know how to use them.

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In my last post, I wrote about the Ben Franklin Moral Virtue Matrix – a series of charts that Benjamin Franklin designed to turn himself into a virtuous individual. In light of all the man accomplished (after all, he IS the subject of countless rap songs) I figured this was one lofty self-improvement project worth blatantly stealing. So, in the middle of this year, I started putting myself through the Matrix. I vowed to become a Better Man through pure, virtuous living.

Of course, I had misgivings – perhaps I took all my Sunday School classes to heart, but I always thought of myself as highly prone to sin, in spite of my hyper-developed capacity for Christian guilt. I could also recall the indignity of the last time I used a chart to monitor my progress – in Ms. Minter’s grade four class. Ms. Minter had a disdainful, Nurse-Ratchet-like countenance. She looked upon my classmates and me less as young minds for the molding than as a bunch of future violent offenders whose unhealthy impulses required behavioural modification. Ms. Minter was a firm believer in shame-based learning, a daring initiative whose central focus and principal educational weapon was the ‘star chart.’ Whenever my classmates or me answered a question correctly in class, we’d be rewarded with a star, placed on a chart on the classroom wall. It’s a common practice in many classrooms, but in Frau Minter’s re-education camp, with its special emphasis on targeted yelling and surreptitious corporal punishment, the chart took on ominous overtones. For me, it was a kind of ironic humiliation – whenever she asked me a question in class, I would freeze – I was so overwhelmed by panic over having my starless failures chronicled so publicly that I simply couldn’t summon the action needed to acquire even one. I’d like to think Ms. Minter would be proud to see that I’ve come so far as to now endure such humiliation voluntarily.

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In my quest to become a Better Man, I’ve made no secret of my efforts to plunder self-improvement ideas from the greatest men in history.  I figured that if these men were great for reasons other than the inscrutable twisting of their nucleotides, then I had find out what those reasons were.    So far, there’s been lots of examples on how to avoid becoming a Terrible Man – thanks to Jesus, I no longer stone adulterers (terrible habit when I was  younger). Because of Abraham Lincoln, I refuse to keep slaves. I’m sure they didn’t mean for me to take it this way, but thanks to Howard Hughes I’ve chosen to forego napkin loincloths and kleenex box shoes as a style choice, and because of Hitler’s example,  I don’t bake Jews in ovens.

Of course, knowing what not to do isn’t so hard, and usually there’s people around to remind us should we forget that, say, armed robbery is a crime.  Taking conscious steps towards self-betterment, on the other hand…that’s a tougher path, and taking a page from historical figures doesn’t always help.  I’ve combed through several biographies (at great personal risk, I might add…thanks to my bio-reading, I now firmly believe that those who can write, do, and those who can’t, write biographies) and discovered many attempts at self-improvement that can be described as, well, unique: In later life, Gandhi liked to sleep with naked underage girls in order to “test his chastity”.  Mark Twain smoked as many as 500 cigars a month (“helped the writing process”). Einstein used to pilot his sailboat on windless days (“for the challenge”),  and King Leonidas of Sparta would hunt slaves to keep from getting rusty between battles – good practice maybe, but perhaps not all that practical these days.

In short, if an aspiring Better Man is looking to crib “good” habits from historical figures, there’s a strong chance he could get himself arrested or killed.  Thankfully, though I did find an exception – my boy Benjamin Franklin.

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The best stories are all about the details, the nuances, those additional layers that elevate it from marginally funny anecdote to the stuff of legend.  So it is with Steve Slater, former Jetblue flight attendant.  It wasn’t enough that he told a rude passenger to fuck themselves, he did it on the PA.   It wasn’t enough that he told a rude passenger to fuck themselves on the PA, he realized almost right away that he’d put such a kink in his commercial aviation career (one he obviously didn’t care for) that he may as well turn that kink into a permanent wave: he facetiously thanked no one in particular for his terrible time in the air, grabbed a couple beers from the fridge, pulled the emergency lever, inflated the slide, slid down and walked away from the plane.   Right now, Johnny Paycheck is looking down from heaven and smiling.

But wait! It gets better! As you would expect, sliding down an emergency slide unnecessarily and walking across the tarmac to your car is kind of a big deal in airport security circles.   Mr. Slater had to answer for his crime, but when the police went to his house on Long Island to arrest him a couple hours later, they found him...having sex! Because dropping a load of malt on a partner’s back is how alpha dogs celebrate ill-advised decisions. Hoowah!  I have no doubt that Mr. Slater is about to inspire copycats;  employers all across North America should prepare themselves for a widespread workplace revolt as disgruntled workers everywhere make similarly grand, symbolic, career-ending gestures.

Now, as inspirational as Steve Slater may be, should a Better Man do this?  As tempting as it is to say “fuck YEAH!” I’m going step off that ledge, pussy out and go with a tepid “uh…no.”   Early in my career, I had one job where the circumstances were so bad I felt I had no recourse but to leave immediately.   Now, it would’ve felt great to pee on my boss’ desk, but before I relieved myself I thought it would be good to confer with my dad, a wise man who put up with a lot of shit in his life (I know this because he lived with my mom). I told him what was happening, and what I felt I needed to do. He replied with fateful words: “What would Tarzan do?”

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My mother is not an alcoholic, but based on what I’ve learned from the children of actual alcoholics, my experience growing up is not dissimilar.   The combination of a controlling nature, a sense of thwarted personal ambition by virtue of having seven kids, plus ten years of unmedicated menopause made my mother’s moods wholly unpredictable.  She demanded perfect behavior from all her children, but there was no guarantee that behaving perfectly would save you.

In order to get by, you had to know how to do two things: be invisible, and apologize.  I tried to disengage myself from family life as inconspicuously as I could, but my true gift was saying sorry.  I apologized to mom for bad grades, for making second team in volleyball…I think I even apologized to her for the “dream” season of Dallas as well as hypercolor t-shirts.  It seems there was no situation too big or too small for which I wouldn’t happily take the blame. This went above and beyond the typical Canadian penchant for meaningless atonement  – it became almost an involuntary action, like blinking or bowel movements.

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It took a friend I play hockey with to point out the metaphysical piece of toilet paper trailing on my shoe:  in some circumstances, I have the capacity to be a petulant bully.  I honestly had no idea, and it got me thinking: perhaps I’m perpetrating a whole bunch of anti-social behaviours I don’t know about that demand correction.

So I reached out to some of  my closest friends, asking them to share one bad thing about me. Being my friends and knowing me well, I figured they would have informed opinions based on long experience as well as personal judgment. I assured them they could be honest and forthright knowing I wouldn’t get offended, but to make it easier for them to share (and for me to hear it) I also asked them to say one good thing.  Here’s how they responded:

Chris is a man who boasts many interests, and chief among them is himself. I have oft been regaled long into the night as he holds forth lustily and at length on the subject of said self, regardless of the level of interest exhibited by his captive audience. That said, his is a condition common to many men of a certain age who have yet to meet the sacrifices required by fatherhood. The good news is that he’s an exellent sport and I know he will take this on the chin.

That’s from Guy, a friend who backs up his loyalty with action.  He’s also blunt and preternaturally critical, so I knew I could count on him to give me something truly cutting.  Guy did not disappoint. I’ve always thought I’ve been somewhat circumspect when it comes to discussing the topic of me, but I can admit I’m wrong…either that, or Guy is just sick of hanging out with me.  Either way, it was excellent criticism, and exactly the kind for which I’m looking.

Good thing: Seemingly unfiltered. Like, you always show yourself to be exactly who you are, which makes you fun to be around because it comes from such an honest place that is so sincere & genuine, it feels special to be a part of it – we always know a visit with Chris will be one of our favorites of the year.

Bad thing: You don’t always listen, including to yourself.

That’s from my friends Katie and Colby, a married couple so cute you just want to throw them both off the roof of a skyscraper.  They need to give themselves more credit for making me feel safe enough to be myself.  As for their criticism…I think perhaps an inability to listen goes hand-in-hand with a penchant for talking about oneself at length, as Guy suggests I do.   The most charismatic people on earth are great listeners (it’s been said that Bill Clinton listened so well he could make you feel like the only person in the room), so this is sage advice.  I’m not sure if by suggesting that I don’t listen to myself that I’m talking bullshit (“Just listen to yourself!”) but Katie and Colby would be neither so mean nor so obtuse, so it’s probably something else…I hope.

Good thing: You are a totally non-judgmental person.

Bad Thing: You try too hard. You get a little pretentious, or you name drop or put on a show, and it comes across as phoney. Stop being afraid to just be yourself.

That last one was courtesy of my friend Catherine. It seems to contradict what Katie and Colby are saying, although its perhaps more a matter of me “putting on the dog” for someone with whom I want to either work or date.  It’s troublesome to think I’m giving the exact opposite impression of what I want them to have, but at least now I know why I’m still single at my age and can barely find work.

Good thing: Amazing speaker/story teller. You always hold the attention of the people you’re talking to and deliver so well. One of the most thoughtful, entertaining people I know.

Bad thing: Overly intense on first impressions. You outshine too quickly with your character and delivery and it turns off some people. Perhaps slow it down and allow the meek to open up a bit before going full tilt. Ease them into a full Nelson.

Yikes! Intense on first impressions…suddenly I think I’m coming across as Ted Bundy after he’s drank a case of Red Bull.  However,  I love my friend Peter’s ability to soften his criticism, as though I’m so interesting it’s just…TOO!…MUCH!!  Nonetheless he’s right.  I’m prone to filling the gaps left in conversations by others, gaps that perhaps should be filled by someone else.

Good Thing: One of your most compelling characteristics is an unbridled ability to ooze WARMTH. There’s a genuine glow that you radiate when conversing with others; an interest in what someone has to say, excitement for another persons stories & experience. You laugh easily and envelope people with a feeling of utter ease & comfort. Back in the day, I introduced you to an older actor I knew, a terrific BORE of a man. I tried to communicate my embarrassment with pleading looks of apology everytime something radically stupid came out of his mouth. But no matter! You had filed away any inkling of judgement for this person, and embraced everything he said with an open mind & heart. My respect for you soared! You were so warm, so genuinely interested and so good natured about the whole experience that I vowed to try to be as graceful & kind as you are; to be as open & good natured when I found myself in similar circumstances.

Bad Thing: I believe that you may fall prey to putting too much emphasis on outward appearences, and if you stopped scanning rooms for the most outwardly beautiful woman in the room, you’d have a better shot at an enduring worthwhile relationship.

This is from my amiga Shannon, and her good comment directly contradicts what Guy, Katie and Colby just said.  I haven’t seen Shannon as recently as I’ve seen the others, so perhaps I used to listen to others well but over time I’ve gotten WORSE!  As for her bad comment…guilty as charged.  Mind you, EVERY guy does this, whether they cop to it or not.  In my defense I have little in common with the most beautiful women in the room, which is why I’ve cultivated relationships with the most interesting ones instead. Then again, none of those interesting relationships have worked out, so perhaps I need to date more vapid hotties.

Good thing: You are genuinely curious and eager to learn, and I have never once seen you treat people differently based on their connections or status. You make people feel welcome and like you are interested in their life, regardless of who they are.

Bad thing: You use self-deprecation as a means of hiding or avoiding. Sometimes it reads as someone not confident enough to put themselves out there and apply 100 per cent effort, and other times it reads as possibly false modesty, like you know you’re good at something but don’t want to seem like a douche for saying so. I’m not saying this is the truth, it’s just how it reads.

Once again, a note from a friend I haven’t seen in a while whose good comments make me think I’m worse today than I was  a few years ago.  Could it be that as my life becomes increasingly more lacklustre,  I’m getting more self-absorbed and thoughtless? The tragedy of my life could be the less interesting I become, the more I talk about myself.  As for the bad thing – well, I used to tell people that self-deprecation is something ego-maniacs use to hide their vanity. By the way, did I mention I hate myself?

This is from my friend Piers:

Good thing: very well-spoken.

Bad Thing: occasionally glib.

What I say: Points for brevity.

You act without first considering how others might feel about what you’re doing.

That’s from the woman I’m currently seeing.  She’s absolutely right.  What’s worse? I take actions that I know might affect others, but I don’t want them to prevent me from doing what I want.    I always believed in the adage  ”it’s easier to apologize than to ask permission”, but maybe it’s time to let my unilateralism go.

Soooo…..I’d had many responses to my request, and if there is a trend emerging from my friend’s comments, it’s this: I have a great capacity for warmth and charity of spirit, but I am more self-aborbsed and less considerate today than I have been in the past.   This is bittersweet news, as it means that friends have had to put up with my douchey behavour of the past few months  (years?), but also that they’ve seen enough good stuff in me that they’re prepared to tolerate it…for now, at least.  If there’s one message in all of this is, I think it’s this:  if I want to be a Better Man I have to re-learn how to add more to the lives of others than I take away.

Jock assholes are like acne – they affect all of us at some point (usually in high school) and some of us get them worse than others.  Just like acne, jock assholes can leave visible scars but for the most part  we all recover from them and go on to lead full lives.  About the only people immune to the irritation caused by jock assholes are other jock assholes.

As for me, I’ve listened to Morrissey and Bob Mould, read Milan Kundera (and I think I understood most of it) and grew up with a personal style that is best described as Rick Astley meets Layne Staley.  I’ve never snapped a teammate’s bare ass with a towel,  never mated with a prom queen or pissed on the door handles of a geek’s car.  It never occurred to me that anyone might confuse me with an actual jock asshole, chest-bumping and date-raping my way through my natural habitat.  Yet that is precisely how Lena thinks of me. Apparently, she has felt this way for months.

Lena is a woman I occasionally play co-ed street hockey with on Sundays.  She can be loud and is often prone to saying wildly inappropriate things in mixed company.  She has the courage of her convictions, even when her convictions fly in the face of facts or common sense.   If being crass and opinionated was an Olympic sport,  Lena’s face would be on a box of Wheaties. However, she’s also warm-hearted and genuine (qualities she seeks out in others) and is blessed by occasional moments of uncommon clarity.  That’s probably why I couldn’t dismiss what she said out-of-hand; she sent me a note after reading the open letter to my dad. I quote: “This was so good it surprised me.  I always thought you were some jock asshole.”

Now, saying “I thought you were gay” would be an understandable misperception – my apartment is tidy and I kind of like that Bronski Beat song.  To me,  ”I always thought you were a jock asshole”  was like saying “I always thought you were a Zulu warrior” or “I always thought you were the guy who invented Insulin”. I know that in her own inimitable way Lena was offering a compliment. If her assessment was wrong, it was only because….well, Lena’s wrong about a lot of things.

Except Lena is not wrong.   As I thought about it more, I realized that in the context in which she knows me, she’s absolutely right: when I play hockey, I play like a jock asshole.   I’m one of the biggest guys who plays, and I’ve learned to compensate for my lack of skill by using my size and strength to either muscle or intimidate other players, including the females.   I’m not above barking at a female opponent to scare her off the puck.  Lena even watched as my ex (who also plays) and I got into a shouting match simply because I was mad at her for scoring on me.

I’m not sure how I could have been blind to it so long, and that got me thinking:  if I can be a jock asshole and not know it, can I also be blind to the possibility that I may be…oh, I don’t know… a wet, flapping douchebag perhaps? In other words, are there are things essential to my nature to which I’m completely oblivious?  Am I Bruce Willis in The Sixth Sense?

I  knew that if I was to be a Better Man this year,  I may need to enlist the help of friends. However, I was never sure how they might help…until now.   Who is better equipped to point out those glaring personal flaws to which I am unaware than the people who know and love me best?

That’s why I have sent the following note to several of my friends:

FROM: Chris Nelson

RE: One Good Thing, One Bad Thing

Somerset Maugham once said that “people ask for criticism when secretly they want praise.” Is it too much to ask for both?

Some of you may be aware that I’ve turned this year into a personal improvement lab, with yours truly as the primary test rat. I’ve been chronicling my exploits on my blog, at the-better-man.com

So far, all I’ve required of you is your willingness to read whatever drivel I publish, but now I’m reaching out for assistance with an upcoming post – I want you to tell me one good thing about me, and one bad thing.

I would like each of you to take a moment and think about one thing you admire about me, and then one thing that stands out as a glaring character deficit, something that could stand improvement. If you’re feeling uneasy, remember that I asked for it. Think of it as helping me achieve a goal.

Now, I’m not looking for anyone to shine me on – I don’t require empty platitudes any more than I need harsh generalities. I thought of asking because I love all of you and I trust that anything you say will be constructive, so you need not worry about saying something that will either hurt my feelings or go to my head. Should you agree to help, please remember to a) be thoughtful, b) be funny, and c) be prepared for me to quote you directly when I post the responses on my blog.

So, roast away kids….and thanks!

This is the classic “kiss and a slap” or “iron fist in a velvet glove” approach – I figured they’d be more forthcoming with their criticism if they could first soften it with a little praise.    Then,  I might go about addressing those criticisms,  taking a hard look at myself and finding ways to correct them.   Naturally, dear reader, you’re welcome to weigh in as well (Curt, have you given up on me yet?).   Replies in my next blog….

480 dollars is all it took.  480 dollars made me realize I need to be a better friend, starting today.

It’s 3am and I’ve been lying in bed for hours with what feels like a tumor growing in  my stomach, as well as the strong impression that my world is collapsing. What’s worse,  no one knows about it.   Normally it’s a constant, low-level feeling that I manage with a lot of humor and the sense of purpose that writing (like this) is providing.  Right now though, that feeling is kicking my ass.  And all because of 480 dollars.

When my ex-girlfriend and I split it was easy and rather amicable, as we had little shared property — except for our car.  We both paid an equal amount for it, although I have paid for almost all of the maintenance.  This was a sensible deal, since at the time we bought it I made twice as much as she did.  When she moved out, she was unemployed and we agreed that it made sense for us to continue to co-own it, since she needed a car to get around but couldn’t afford to keep one on her own.

Now, she is working.  I am not.  My resources are dwindling.  So when I woke up Christmas morning and saw that all four of  tires had been slashed, I knew it was going to be a financial blow that I really did not need (not that ANYONE needs a financial blow).  We have to reconsider our arrangement with the car, I thought, and this might as well be the place to start.   So I asked her to pay for half the cost of replacing the tires.  480 Dollars.  And she balked.

The source of her hesitation is the source of all our troubles; she finds me withholding and untrustworthy, and her instinct is protect herself.    She’s not wrong to feel that way, and that’s something we will have to unpack for a while.  But in this situation, my trustworthiness is beside the point.  Tires were slashed.  Cars needs tires to work.   I’ve rarely asked for help unless I absolutely need it.  I’m asking for it now.  These are incontrovertible facts.

Her reluctance underscored a growing sense that I am largely abandoned.   I’m in the biggest city in the country,  most of my friends here live within a fifteen minute drive …and I don’t know if I can reach out to any of them.   Most of the friends who could help me seem to have no inclination.   One or two have given me help, but not necessarily the kind I need.   And there are many friends who I believe would help me if they could, but are powerless to do so.

In fact, the most meaningful help I’ve received in this past year from hell was from strangers; I got two job contracts from men I’d never met before and when I had my motorcycle accident, I was helped by two Hell’s Angels — of all people.

Sure, this is all refracted through the subjective prism of my own mind and I am not in a good place, but still.  I feel like I’m fading from view, as if  I’m drowning, and the most any of my loved ones can do is watch me go under.

I look at this situation and think what did I do to get here?  Was I a bad friend at one point? I know I’ve hurt people, let some of them down, but  I just want to  work and add something to the world.   Have I been so terrible to others that I’m no longer worthy of assistance?  Has one of my friends been in the same position in the past and I’ve missed it?  I always thought of myself as generous in spirit,  but at some point did I refuse someone in need and this is karmic retribution?

But like I said…refracted through the prism.

This feeling, this sense of crushing aloneness,  is the tip of the knife.  Once it slides into you,  a whole bunch of other, far more cancerous things come with it…resentment, cynicism, and eventually hate.    I’m using everything I got right now to fight it off.   The very act of writing this is a start.  But it has to go further.  So it’s a cliché, but I’m thinking that if I want a better friend,  then I have to be a better friend. Clichés have a funny way of being true.

Jonathan Fields is very  a successful blogger, and he starts every day on Twitter with “Good morning, how can I help today?” I don’t know how many people reply, or with what requests,  but it seems like a good idea. So I will be a servant of humanity and  every morning, I will ask all of you the same question and you should feel okay to reply with anything you want.  I promise to do what I can.    It may seem like I’m trying to help you, but really it’s the other way around.