Disrupting the Rabblement

Tuesday

I finish reading Rich Dad, Poor Dad. My mind is racing. Such a fascinating book.

I ask myself:

• How did reading that book benefit me?
• What action has it inspired?

There’s a lot in there about mentors. Regular people usually ask the rich for loans or jobs. Very few ask them, “Can you show me how to do what you do?”

I try to think of the most savvy business person I’ve met in Bangkok. Jayhawk immediately springs to mind. He owned the apartment I rented when I first moved here. I’d only met him twice, briefly. A mutual friend told me tales of his investments. I was impressed.

I have Jayhawk’s number in my phone. But I can’t just text him out of the blue. He probably won’t remember me. And even if he did, why would he agree to meet and chat with some random greenhorn?

I let the self-doubt swirl for a few minutes before realizing what this is: a death cookie. As soon as I have it labeled as such, I know what’s for lunch.

I send the text:

Hi Jayhawk. Niall here, one of the guys who rented the apartment from you back in January. Strange request, but if you’re in Bangkok over the next few weeks I’d love to take you out to lunch and pick your brain about business. Just read Rich Dad, Poor Dad and a big recommendation was to reach out and learn from savvy business people. From what Johnny tells me, you’re certainly such a person. Just one lunch if you have the time, no pressure. Thanks!

Five minutes later, my phone beeps.

Wednesday

We meet at a coffee shop. He’s really laid back, remarkably open, and even smarter than I suspected.

I tell him that I’m interested in developing a better business mindset, learning how to spot opportunities and handle risk.

Then I shut up and let him talk.

He tells me about his background, how he got started investing, how he assesses opportunities.

“Numbers and people are the big things,” he says. “Always start with the numbers, get the most accurate data you can and see if it all adds up. Determine the best case and the worst case. If even the worst looks good, the next step is to find the right people and put them in place, trustworthy people who can run things for you.”

I sit and soak it all up for more than an hour. Before leaving he offers to introduce me to his business partner and mentor, the guy who taught him much of what he knows. I answer absolutely.

I take a detour on the ride home, up Soi 39, looking for a weathered house on a curve. Jayhawk mentioned an old lady who sits out front with a table of baked goods. He’s driven past her countless times and never seen her sell anything. The traffic gets backed up right there but there’s nowhere to pull over. Motorists can’t go to the old lady, and the old lady can’t go to them.

“All she needs to do is hire a kid to go window to window with a tray of her treats while the traffic is stopped. She’d be sold out in half an hour.”

This was just one example he gave to illustrate the entrepreneurial mindset. Always looking at how things are done. Asking yourself how they could be done better. Seeing what’s missing.

I ride up there and find the old lady on the curve. A day earlier I would have driven by blindly. Now I’m seeing what Jayhawk had seen, looking at the world through an entrepreneurial lens, and there’s music in my ears.

Get on your dancing shoes, you sexy little swine…

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Comments are open.

From a 2011 article in The New Yorker¹, about Hollywood psychiatrists:

Stutz had no patients, and so he cold-called established therapists to ask for referrals. Every day, he’d force himself to approach the scariest person on his list, an undertaking that he described as eating “a death cookie.” Most rejected him, but he found the process generative. “The risk you take has a feedback effect on the unconscious,” he says. “The unconscious will give you ideas and it wants you to act on them. The more courage you have when you act, the more ideas it will give you.”

I’ve had to eat a few death cookies myself recently, calling up business owners and asking about their trade. It can be pretty scary.

What makes it less scary is giving the fear a name. I’m not sure why this works exactly, but it does. Identifying a fear and labeling it somehow minimizes its power over you.

Hence, eating death cookies.

Try this yourself. I’m sure you have a few scary items on your to-do list (whether on paper or in your head), tasks of the Quadrant 2 variety, tasks you keep putting off. Label them as death cookies, and get busy eating.

And if you don’t have anything like that on your list, it’s safe to say you’re not pushing hard enough.

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Tell me in the comments: What’s the biggest death cookie on your plate right now? And when are you going to eat it?

1.

One hundred and fifty-nine. That’s how many messages she’s sent me these past three weeks. Teary emoticons, pics of her on a beach, multitudes of miss-you’s. And I’ve responded to exactly none of them. I figured she’d just move on to some other dude if I stayed patient and silent. Perhaps I underestimated her. Eight more beeps from the girl since I began writing this.

2.

New apartment. I like to eat at home so I just dropped $34 on a convection cooker. It’s not the price that bugs me; it’s owning another thing, a thing I know I’ll have to get rid of in the not-too-distant future. I’ll end up donating rather than tossing it, but it still feels wasteful. Settled folk can tell themselves that whatever else happens, they’ve got that convection cooker problem handled. But not me, a man with a mind for motion and no fixed abode.

3.

Maybe we should never have got back in contact, left our relationship as a memory fond and incorruptible. I remember staying at a guesthouse in New Orleans six years ago and meeting an old riverboat captain. We used to sit on the porch and chat to a back-track of crickets and jazz. He was a good listener and told warm stories, like a wise uncle sitting fireside the day after Christmas. Then one day he was gone. No goodbye, no let’s keep in touch. It was perfect.

4.

Shakedown. They were licking their lips as soon as they saw us pull up to the traffic lights. Easy money. I get the breath test but there’s no drug check. I show photocopies of my passport and driver’s license. Big surprise, they’re not good enough, originals requested. When I can’t produce, the tubby one tells me I’ll have to go to the station. I decide to call his bluff and shoot back with a shrug: “Okay, police station. Let’s go.”

5.

I’m scared to tell her, so I know I have to tell her. ”Well, there is something else,” I begin. Her eyes search mine for a long second before prompting me on. “I’m a bit intimidated by you.” Her why is a whisper, long and apprehensive. “I guess it’s because I don’t often have a chance with a girl like you, and I’m worried I might fuck it up.” I try gauge her reaction in the heartbeats that follow, somehow knowing that everything will be okay.

6.

Three sessions in with the personal trainer, and my mobility seems to be improving steadily. It’s a bit ridiculous how tight my hips and shoulders are. Stand with your back against a wall and then bring your arms straight up until your knuckles hit brick. That’s a simple movement you’ll see me struggle with. I was getting a little ahead of myself trying to master a handstand. First things first.

7.

We only have a short time together. I had to sleep on her question, wasn’t sure if I should see her again. In the end I decided I owed the girl at least one more meet. So here we are, sharing lunch. Her flight leaves in four hours. I wonder what I could have done better. Did I mislead her, make unspoken promises? No, my conscience is clear. I’d do it all over again if I had the chance, and I’m pretty sure she would, too.

8.

Put on the spot, Marco Polo was the first game that came to mind. Dwight was all for it, and so within a minute I found myself blindfolded and stumbling around a small room with arms outstretched trying to grab one of a dozen giggling children. This and other games we played with wide smiles for a half hour or so. I took note of how good Dwight is with those kids. What he’s doing here in Bangkok is nothing short of remarkable.

9.

It’s 2 p.m. on a Thursday. I’m at a mall, reading a book, waiting for a friend. I sit on a bench across from a fancy ice cream place. A good-looking chap mixes frozen treats in a large steel dish. He’s about the same age as me. He’s working hard. I wonder how much money he makes. I wonder what kind of life he dreams about. It’s 2 p.m. on a Thursday. I’m at a mall, reading a book, waiting for a friend.

10.

I take the scooter out and back to the immigration office, inconveniently located an hour from the city center, as if some bigwig wanted to make it as tough as possible for foreigners to stay and support the economy. I weave in and out of traffic jams and ignore the no-motorcycle signs guarding tunnels and flyovers. My phone feeds me directions and long sleeves protect my arms. But not my hands, which have turned bright red by the time I’m home.

11.

Day has become night. Night has become day. We awake at two in the afternoon. Flash forward to evening breakfast, a mahogany table and plush leather chairs. Cut to tiny cakes and lazy escalators. Jump to a midnight theater, the last of several, finally alone. Swipe to a cop looking hopeful as he empties my pockets. And finally, fade us back to the dawn, lying in bed, four eyes wide.

12.

I remember hearing a story about Tim Wheeler, frontman of the Northern Irish rock band Ash. They appeared destined for greatness after dropping their debut album back in 1996, and were playing gigs in New York City soon after when Tim disappeared for a week. Legend has it he met a dominatrix and spent several days stumbling around the Apple in a sex-fueled haze. Given the weekend I just had, methinks I can finally relate.

13.

I track a lot of things. I can tell you every dollar I’ve earned and spent for the last 2.5 years. More recently I’ve been tracking daily habits. I can tell you, for example, that I awoke last month at an average time of 8:50 a.m. after 7.4 hours of sleep. I exercised nine days out of thirty, stretched seven, and my daily productivity averaged out to 7.5 out of 10. I’m not sure if knowing all this is actually beneficial. Maybe I’m just a control freak.

14.

Thing I love about self-employment #721: Having a flexible schedule. I like to hit up a nice lunch place a couple of hours after the noon rush, or the barber’s a couple of hours before. It’s 11 p.m. as I write this and I’m about to head to the supermarket. Should be nice and quiet at this time. I don’t have to be up early in the morning. If I don’t feel like working I can chill for the day, go wander around a quiet museum or catch a matinee.

15.

I also track contentment every day. How happy or content did I feel today on a scale of one to ten? So far this month I’ve never scored below a seven. Three of my last five days have been a ten. This morning I had a solid workout with my trainer. This afternoon I cut the bullshit, knuckled down and got some good work done. This evening we cooked dinner and talked and laughed and went to bed. Life is pretty damn good right now.

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In the comments below, let me know which of the above vignettes resonates with you most.

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I’ve had six run-ins with the police here in Thailand. Here’s how they went down…

1.

Back in January I was pulled out of a taxi and searched on my way home from a night club. I suspect they targeted me because I was a foreigner and they were hoping to find drugs and elicit a bribe. Alas, all I had was a few old tissues in my pockets. The whole thing was quite pleasant though, all smiles and no roughness.

2.

Last month I rode the 700 kilometers back from Chiang Mai to Bangkok in a single day. It was dark and I was exhausted by the time I reached the big smoke of BKK, having battled through drizzle and traffic jams for the final 200 kilometers (holiday weekend, busy roads). I ended up a little lost and trying to take my motorbike through a toll booth, which I quickly discovered was not a good idea. The toll booth operator called over a nearby police officer to reprimand me. This cop was not so pleasant, and after checking my passport and driver’s license told me that I’d have to go to the station and pay a 500 baht fine.

– Can I just pay you instead?
– Yes, good idea.

I handed him the money and was led out of the toll area through a side-gate.

3.

The last couple of weeks I’ve been riding a scooter around Bangkok, affording me many more opportunities to catch the attention of the law. Weekend before last I was giving a buddy a lift home and stopped at some traffic lights alongside a police checkpoint. Sure enough, they took special notice of the two farang and pulled us over to the side. First I was given a breathalyzer test, which I managed to pass with flying colors despite never having studied. Then a chubby cop checked photocopies of my passport and license before explaining with a smile that I’d have to go to the police station and pay a fine.

– I don’t understand.
– You have to carry original, no photocopy.
– Okay, let’s go to the police station.

I was trying to call his bluff, figuring he didn’t really have anything on me. He began writing up a ticket for the station. While he was busy I had this vision of going to the station and being made wait there for several hours while they “processed” my ticket. Not liking the thought of that, I asked if I could just pay the fine there and then, at which point chubby cop invited me around to the other side of the checkpoint kiosk to sit alongside him. I tried to hand him 400 baht (the price of the ticket) under the table but he refused to take it, telling me instead to leave 200 baht on the chair and be on my way. So that I did.

(Quick aside: While we were stopped at that checkpoint a local guy and girl rode by on another scooter. The cops motioned for them to slow down but they just accelerated on through. One officer made a grab for them and swiped clean the lady’s handbag. The couple kept going and the cops just shrugged, no inclination to give chase.)

4.

Heading home from the gym last week I was pulled over in broad daylight for riding in the wrong lane. Apparently bikes are supposed to stick to the inside lanes, a law that I find quite silly, since the outer lane is usually free and bikes can zip along there more safely than weaving through stalled traffic in the inside lanes.

This time I wasn’t even given the opportunity to offer a bribe. I recall smiling relentlessly at the cop who pulled me over as he wrote out a quick ticket and instructed me to go pay at the kiosk across the street. The officer at the kiosk then told me that I could only pay at the station.

So I got back on my bike and rode home. I still have the ticket.

5.

This past weekend I was riding with my Thai friend on the lookout for a ferris wheel when we got pulled over. I’m thinking I would have had to pay a bribe again if not for my friend. She spoke to the officers in Thai as I aced another breath test (I rock at those) and showed my photocopies. They let us go no problem.

6.

The very next night I was pulled out of a taxi with the same Thai friend. The cops searched all my pockets and her handbag, which was a bit annoying. Finding nothing of interest, they soon sent us on our way.

To bribe or not to bribe

I don’t like paying bribes, because it is essentially rewarding corruption. I have heard however that police officers here in Thailand make very little money for the work they do, and that they depend on bribes for much of their income. I’ve also heard that each officer is required to pass on some of their bribe money to the station to pay for equipment and upkeep.

Not sure if any of that is true though. I wouldn’t be surprised if the cops I bribed passed their bonus along to the liquor store as soon as their shifts ended.

The penalty for possession of illegal drugs is severe in Thailand. They can lock you up in a shitty prison for a long time if you’re caught carrying even a small dose. I’ve heard stories of foreigners being caught with drugs and paying thousands of dollars in bribes to get unstuck. One story I heard had two cops accompanying an English chap to an ATM and withdrawing as much as they could before letting him off the hook.

Of course, it is illegal for Thai police officers to accept bribes (one was caught on video and fired just last week), but then prostitution is also illegal in this country, though you wouldn’t know it from walking down Sukhumvit after dark.

Staying out of trouble in foreign countries

I’m often asked if I’ve ever felt like I was in danger since I started traveling.

Well, no. Except for that one dude in Nepal who didn’t like me flirting with his sister, I’ve never even been threatened. This is despite traveling overland through 17 countries the last year and a half, including such “dangerous” places as Iran and India.

I’ve probably had a little luck on my side to avoid trouble for as long as I have, but I’m also pretty sure that I’ve stayed safe by following a few simple rules…

1. Avoid getting very drunk.
2. Avoid shady night spots with lots of drunk people.
3. Don’t try to buy drugs.
4. Avoid shady people, and be clear and firm with anyone who tries to harass or control you. Don’t be afraid to be rude if someone won’t take the hint. Get help from security or police if they persist.
5. Check accommodation reviews online in advance to ensure you’ll be sleeping in a safe place.
6. Don’t walk alone at night in badly lit areas (especially if you’re female).

It’s mostly common sense. In short, my philosophy on staying safe while you travel is this: You’re unlikely to find trouble unless you go looking for it.

One final tip is to read The Gift of Fear by Gavin de Becker. I’ve recommended this book before and for good reason: It may well save your life someday. Go get yourself a copy.

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Got any police stories of your own to share? Or additional tips for staying safe on the road? Comments are open.

There’s an important concept in Parkour called “breaking the jump.” It works like this:

1. You find a jump that scares you. Say a five-foot leap from a bench onto a concrete bollard.
2. You assess the jump and recognize that you’re physically capable of making it…
3. …but you also recognize the fear welling up inside you. You know you can do it, but will you allow yourself to?
4. You decide to go for it. Usually this involves several attempts where you fall short, not committing fully to the jump and pulling out mid-flight.
5. Eventually you let yourself go and commit fully, both feet forward. And then you nail it. Jump broken.

The terminology comes from the idea that the fear you experience is like a wall, and you have to break through it to complete the jump.

Breaking jumps is my favorite thing about Parkour. It’s the practice of handling fear. Most of the time the fear isn’t real; it’s all in your head. I gave the bench-to-bollard example, which is an actual jump I broke a few weeks back. To assess that jump, I practiced leaping the same distance along the ground, from alongside the bench to alongside the bollard. No problem. Then I stepped up on the bench. The distance remained the same, but now fear reared its ugly head. It took me several practice leaps and seeing other guys land the same jump before I fully committed to it and landed it myself.

Breaking a jump is a great feeling. It’s winning that internal battle, beating that inner resistance, hushing your lizard brain. It’s letting go, embracing flow, and fulfilling your potential.

I’m sure you can see how this concept goes far beyond Parkour. You’ve probably experienced similar resistance when you had occasion to give a public speech, or stand up to a mean boss, or strike up a conversation with the cutie at the coffee shop. You know you’re physically capable of doing such things, but something gives you doubt and pause.

Rational vs. irrational fears

Of course, sometimes that something should be respected. Not all jumps can be broken. Sometimes you need to recognize that a jump is beyond your capabilities and let it be, at least for now.

There’s a great article on breaking jumps over at the Parkour Generations Asia site (same guys I train with), and I love the analogy presented there of treating fear as a cowardly friend: “sometimes his advice might be good and worth listening to, but you wouldn’t want him running your life!”

How do you know when his advice is worth listening to, as opposed to those times when he’s just being a coward and trying to drag you down with him? As per the aforementioned article:

The only real answer to this is experience. With time, training and improved self-knowledge you will be able to discern between the two and thus know whether it is a fear you should push through or one you should listen to.

I believe training to be the most important aspect there. Proper training pushes you up against your edge frequently, and you learn fast which jumps you’re capable of and which are still beyond you.

Both feet forward

The last thing I want to mention here is the importance of commitment in Parkour. It’s scary as hell to launch yourself off both feet and thrust them out in front of you, but that’s actually the most effective way to jump. Jumping one foot first, with the other trailing behind, doesn’t allow you to cover as much distance. It seems less risky, but it’s actually more so.

I’ve noticed the same principle applies when giving a speech. If you don’t fully commit to it and let yourself go, you’re going to come across nervous and your words will fall flat. Same deal with that cutie at the coffee shop. Try being all cool and nonchalant (i.e. noncommittal) and you’re unlikely to hit it off. You’re much better off thrusting both feet forward. Seems more risky, but it’s actually less so.

I wrote a bit about this a few years back after winning a humorous speech contest:

I’ve found that you often have to give yourself permission to be awesome. There’s this strange resistance we encounter when we set out to do something remarkable. I encountered it in the first three rounds of the contest. My speech was good enough to get me through those rounds, but I was holding back each time. I was fine practicing the speech alone in my bedroom, but when it came to delivering it in front of an audience, everything was dialed down a few notches.

It made no sense. I knew that my speech would be better received if I went all out, exaggerated my gestures, raised my voice, kept my energy high. Yet there I was, reluctant to let loose. It was as if I was afraid to succeed.

In the hours leading up to the final performance, I kept telling myself that I had permission to go all out. I even stood in front of the mirror in the restroom for a few minutes, giving myself permission to be awesome.

And hey, it worked!

Even if I had lost the competition, I would have come away satisfied because I really gave it my all up there, held nothing back. It felt great.

Next time you’re trying to achieve something, make sure you give yourself permission to really get after it. It’s okay to suck for a while, but don’t hold yourself back.

In the comments…

Tell me, what jump are you trying to break?

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Linkage:

• Parkour Generations (classes held all around the world)
• Parkour Generations Asia on Facebook
• More info on my year-long functional fitness project