How I Wound Up Telling My Moth Story to the Uber Driver Instead

Put your name in the bag.  That's what you do at the Moth Storytelling events if you want to be selected to tell a story in front of an audience, have it recorded, and, if it's really, really good, maybe have it shared on The Moth Podcast.  

I put my name in last night at World Cafe Live in Philadelphia.  The theme was "BUSTED: Caught red-handed by THE LAW, your mama, your boss or the security camera! Tell us about being sent up the river, to the clink, the principal's office or..." you get the point.  I planned to tell a story of a time in college when I got caught climbing the Lincoln Memorial.  

I really wanted to tell it.  See, I'm a huge fan of the Moth and told a story six months ago.  The whole experience was a rush, nerve racking and--standing on stage, under bright lights and in front of a few hundred people with no notes--terrifying.  I did OK.  The story got a lot of laughs, a big round of applause at the end, and I learned a lot about my responses to stress.  I know that the more times I get up there the better I'll get.  And if I can learn to overcome fears in this arena, I know it will pay off elsewhere too. 

This night though, it wasn't meant to be.  I had a great time listening to everyone else's stories, but when the tenth and final name was called and it wasn't mine, I slunk down in my chair a bit.  "Next time!" my wife said.  

On our way home, our Uber driver, Rocco, asked what show we'd seen.  I told him about the Moth, that I'd put my name in, wasn't selected, and about the nerves and all that.  

"Why don't you tell it now?" he said. 

"Nah, you don't want to hear it." 

"No, I do," he said.  "I love stories.  Let me hear it." 

My wife and sister called out from the back seat, "Oooh!  No pressure!  No pressure!" 

I looked at Rocco, liking him immediately, and laughed at the situation.  Then, I let out a deep exhale and for the next 5 minutes of our ride, recounted to Rocco the Uber driver, my wife and sister, how I was busted for climbing into good old Honest Abe's lap.  

The experience was just as satisfying as if I'd told it at the Moth, almost more so because of its intimacy.  It's one thing to be on the stage but another to be one on one, on the spot with a stranger.  

And the best part?  Rocco gave me 5 Stars. 

Is There Anything Good in Yellowstone? Or: How I learned to Leave the Crowds and Love the Park

A stout man in khaki cargo shorts and a red t-shirt emerged from his group and approached me on the boardwalk at Mammoth Hot Springs in Yellowstone National Park.  His nametag said, “Jason.”

“Anything good up there?” he asked. 

I stopped, noticing the reflected mix of thermal pools and forest in his tinted Oakley sunglasses.

Anything good up there?  You mean like this?  Like everything around you?  Like the fact that you’re walking on top of a super volcano right now?  Do you mean in this eternally changing cauldron of travertine, with bubbling waters, broad, blue skies overhead and a breeze blowing from snow-capped peaks in the distance?  Anything good in these 2 million acres that Ulysses S. Grant designated as the first national park in the world?

“Anything good up there?” is something you ask a store clerk stocking the top shelf.  

Have you seen the bison roaming on the plains?  The black bears and grizzlies in the forests?  Have you felt the prick of pine needles from trees that Native Americans once used to build teepees?  Christ, there were elk in the parking lot.  Unless you drove here from Narnia, I’d say it doesn’t get better than this

I took a breath, put on a smile.

“Yeah.  Everything’s great up there.”  

And I got as far away from the place as I could. 

And that made all the difference...

My Back Yard

Capturing Philadelphia's 2016 Italian Market Festival

I get excited when I hear the phrase "Dating back to..."  Dating back to means tradition and I, well, I'm a traditional guy. This weekend I made my way to the Italian Market Festival to celebrate the nation's oldest outdoor market.  My favorite event is the procession of saints, which begins at St. Mary Magdalen Church, where my great grandparents and grandparents were married, and continues up 9th Street to St. Paul Church.  When combined with music from La Banda Verdi (Organized in 1920), other music acts and food stands galore, the festival makes for a tradition I like to take part in year after year.

Here are a few shots from this year's festival.

The Last Time (A Toast to Exploration)

Recently I was inspired to write a toast for a group traveling aboard the National Geographic Sea Bird in the San Juan Islands. We were together for only two days but in that time were able to hike, kayak and spend a sunny afternoon watching killer whales feed.  At one point during the hike I noticed a woman bending down to touch some flowers and I bent down to do the same.  I wondered, when is the last time I did this?  It got me thinking.  That night, I read this.  It received a great response, so I'm sharing it here with you: 

The Last Time (A Toast to Exploration)

When is the last time that you knelt down and felt the ground beneath your feet?  When you ran your hands over juniper roots or purple petaled wildflowers, and wondered about the world around you?  

When is the last time that you noticed a sweetness in the air, and breathed deeper to fill your lungs, purposefully, wakefully?

When is the last time you didn’t care about getting your shoes wet?  Or lying on the ground because, hey, that’s the only way to get the shot?

Or when you stopped—just stopped—and in the silence of the forest, listened to a bird’s singular song?  

When is the last time you said wow?  Or tasted something so delicious you put your fork down to really taste it.  Or when you were consumed with anticipation—for killer whales this afternoon, or, maybe, for dessert tonight?  

Did these times make you feel excited? Awake?  Alive?  For me, all of the above.  If you felt the same, we should cherish that.  But here’s the thing about last times.  We cannot let them be the last time—not for ourselves, not for others.  

This world is too interesting, too rich, too incomprehensibly magical to exist without us peeking around every corner, turning over every rock, asking every question.  In our time here, there should not be lasts, only firsts and nexts.  If we keep to that, what great discoveries we can make.  

So let’s raise a glass and toast--to exploration, to inspiring others to explore, and to the next time that we can all do it together.

~Thank you.

Seattle in Black and White

With offices in New York City and Seattle, I have no shortage of photographic subjects when I find a little down time from Lindblad Expeditions work. On two recent trips to Seattle I wanted to shoot for black and white.  I learned that focusing on black and white, and, by default, the contrast between the two, it can help you see light. I have a long way to go, but am happy with the results of the outings. Here are the results.