The campaign trail was tough. Rita paraded, did meet-and-greets, drove long hours on the Wyoming roads, made speeches, answered tough questions, and continued to fulfill her duties as the State Auditor of Wyoming. Among all her activity, she had taken an hour out of her Saturday to sit down with me over a cup of coffee and talk. I’m grateful that she did, and I came away with advice I’ll carry with me for a long time.
I guess I could say I found a new role model.
August Crabtree
Park bench near the fishing lake in Gillette, Wyoming
Tall brewed coffee from Starbucks
Don’t let assumptions stop you from great opportunities.
August Crabtree, an unemployed, recovered alcoholic with chronic depression and anxiety, is not exactly someone a mother would recommend her daughter meet for coffee. And yet, that is exactly what happened.
August is a well-known face at the Campbell County Public Library in Gillette, Wyoming, where he has been a loyal patron for many years. He has read an impressive number of books and had just recently started bringing in 4x6 inch prints of photos he’d taken around town to sell to the librarians for two dollars apiece. My mother is one of those librarians and had gotten to know August over the years. She told me he was a straightforward and friendly guy who isn’t shy about his difficult past.
August doesn’t have a phone, so my mom had to wait until he came into the library to see if he would be interested in speaking with me. He was game, and told her to have me head to the Starbucks downtown, ask for a latte for August and then meet me at the city’s fishing-lake park near his beat-up red Toyota pickup. “They’ll know what she means,” he told her (I later found out it meant an extra-hot, extra-foam latte. I also found out he didn’t want to meet at a coffee shop because they won’t let him smoke).
As I trekked to the park, I tried to keep my apprehension for the situation in check while circling the lake, looking for a truck that fit his description. My college roommate, Jennifer, who had joined me on my road trip out west, was with me. She was going to catch up on some reading while August and I talked.
As we got out of the car, he yelled in a scratchy and slightly high-pitched voice, “Well you’re late! I’ve been waiting!” Then he let out a friendly laugh to show he was joking. His appearance—cutoff button shirt tucked into ripped jeans; hair pulled back into a small ponytail, and a mouthful of worn-out teeth—caught me off guard, but the nonthreatening laugh put me at ease. I introduced him to Jennifer and handed him the coffee. He asked if I’d brought sugar; I hadn’t, and I apologized, but he said not to worry, he’d figured I would forget, so he had brought his own.
He pulled two packets of white sugar out of his pocket and poured them into the cup. Then he searched for something to stir his coffee. His best option was a half-burnt stick of incense from inside his truck; he used it to stir the coffee a few times and tossed it back into the truck. Satisfied with his concoction, he took a sip and let out a startling yelp. Worried he’d burnt himself, I asked if there was something wrong, but he enthusiastically replied, “Nope, it’s perfect!”
Before I could suggest finding a place to sit he announced, “I have a skinny ass, and I can’t sit down long.” I pointed to a bench near the water.
“In that hot sun? I got heat stroke in Arizona and now I can’t handle the sun. Let’s just sit down right here in the grass.” Then he reached into his old truck again, grabbed two seat cushions from the driver’s side, threw them in the grass, and took a seat. I had no choice but to follow suit.
I thought I would give him an introduction to myself, explain why I wanted to have coffee, what the purpose of the project was, etc., but I never got a chance. He was telling me stories before I even had time to get situated. My mom had told him that I liked photography, so he handed me his Pentax camera with its long lens, and showed me how to go through the pictures. While I was doing that, he put another packet of sugar into his coffee, this time using the pencil in his front pocket to stir. I asked him a few basic questions, and before I knew it, his story started to unfold.
August, who is 54, spent a lot of time at the library because he loves reading. The habit is the result of his chronic depression. It had started years ago during a time when he began to lose what he called his “zap.” It happened slowly, and his workdays started to dwindle until he only had the energy to work an hour a day. Besides sleep, his only activity at the time was reading—sometimes a book a day. He started in the nonfiction section before moving to science fiction, then later to books that explained the human condition—his condition. With the help of proper medication and time, his “zap” had returned for the most part, and the knowledge he had picked up from the countless books stayed with him.
He mentioned alcoholism, so I asked about that. He said he had originally started drinking because it took the edge off his depression: “It stopped me from going crazy and blowing my brains out!” But what had been saving him was also killing him. Just when he would start making decent money and turning his life around, he would drink too much and usually end up back in jail. Things finally reached a breaking point that left no other option than Alcoholics Anonymous. After numerous setbacks, he finally sobered up and has remained sober for 25 years.
At this point in our meeting, August got up without saying anything and walked to his truck for a big Folgers Coffee can. He sat back down, opened the can, and pulled out a cigarette butt. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a popsicle stick with a small slit in it and a lighter. I wondered how someone without a job could afford cigarettes; he was about to answer my question. He took a cigarette butt from the can and wedged it into the slit in the popsicle stick, so he could light it and steal the remaining few puffs from the end. During the course of our conversation, he stopped three times to go through this methodical process. Then he jumped back into his story as if he had never stopped.
I asked him how he spent his free time, since he didn’t have a job. August said he was trying to find a job—he’d been in construction his whole life and could build anything—and that he spent a lot of time “musing over things.” He frequently thought about methods to improve his health, and how he got sick in the first place. He said he now understood the nature of chronic depression, but that wasn’t what he attributed his troubles to. He said what made him depressed and prone to drinking in the first place was “not following his bliss.” The fear of judgment from his friends and family had stopped him from pursuing his true interests. That lack of passion in his life then created a hollowness that he used alcohol to fill.
* * *
Through all the difficulties of his life—depression, alcoholism, jail, unemployment—and his reading and musing, he came to realize that the path to happiness is following your passion. Passion is what feeds the soul, what fills the hollowness; following bliss is the secret to preventing destructive habits. That is the reason he shows up at the library with photographs; sharing his arts brings him joy.
When August asked me what I was passionate about it caught me off guard. It’s a trickier question than it seems, and I couldn’t organize the dozens of thoughts floating around my head into a coherent sentence. “I’m not exactly sure,” I replied, “I’m still in the process of finding out!” He told me not to worry. “You’re young, which means you have the world by the balls. You’ll figure it out!” (Note: I left out August’s frequent use of the f-word; he clearly has an affinity for using it.)
His simple point resonated with me. In a year I will be diving into the real-world job market, so, between now and then, I better come up with a stronger answer to that question than, “I’m not exactly sure…”
August continually surprised me with his complex and canny statements. The more it happened, the more I realized how I had underestimated him. I would never have guessed he would be giving me detailed accounts of historical events, talking about the sustainability of civilization, or reflecting on the human condition. At one point, he exp
lained the science behind how the mind works, and even drew me a diagram depicting how the subconscious and the body work together and communicate through dreams. He is a man with wisdom to share. Yes, the wisdom might be unconventional; nevertheless, I came away from the experience with a broader perspective of life, hardship, and a reminder that we were all fighting some battle and could benefit from a little compassion.
To be honest, I wouldn’t have gone out of my way to talk with someone like August if my mom hadn’t suggested it. I’m glad she did. It helped me see that if I judge people based on an outward appearance, and if I only talk to people within my comfort zone, I will miss many valuable—and colorful—conversations.
Laurie Lonsdorf
Grand River Coffee and Chocolate in Lansing, Michigan
Medium brewed coffee
Decide what you love and find a way to make money doing it.
It started with a tweet. Laurie Lonsdorf, a former Michigander turned Washingtonian announced she was moving back to Lansing. Weeks before the move, Laurie decided to get a headstart on meeting people and began connecting with Lansing residents over Twitter. That was how we originally met. We started talking, and I learned that her profile picture, which depicts her wearing a tiara, and her Twitter screen name @Princesslons, corresponded with her business moniker, the Princess of Persuasion. In Seattle, Laurie had worked as a Self-Employed Marketing Copywriter and Communications Strategist and picked up the princess guise to become memorable and attract clientele.
Marketing was my major and entrepreneurship is what I love, so I was interested in hearing her story. She wanted to get to know another new face, which meant she was a perfect pick for Cup 4. I picked a coffee shop downtown, and when Laurie walked in, I immediately recognized her from her profile picture. We ordered our coffees—she had an iced brewed coffee, while I ordered a regular—and found a spot on the oversized leather couches near the big windows, overlooking the activity of downtown. It didn’t take me long to ask the question she’d been getting a lot: “Why did you move back to Michigan?”
Laurie had left for college in Colorado after graduating from high school in East Lansing, and eventually ended up in Seattle, where she’d been for the past 20 years. While she liked the city, she realized it was time for a change. A good friend of hers from high school had been considering moving back to Lansing and was trying to convince Laurie to join her. She still had friends in the area and found the entrepreneurial feel and hospitality of the community appealing, so she decided she would relocate her life back to Lansing.
I was fascinated with her role as the Princess of Persuasion, so I asked what steps she’d taken to get there: did she get a Master’s Degree? Where did she find her clients? How did she handle the highs and lows of self-employment?
Her answer, “No, I don’t have a Master’s Degree, but by now I should have a Ph.D. from the school of Hard Knocks.” Laurie had picked up some books and taught herself along the way—she created her business based on trial-and-error. She realized that she couldn’t wait around for permission to start a business; she had to take action and hustle. She knew that to stay in business she would have to go out and make a name for herself, so she attended networking events like crazy. That’s when she found the tiara and decided to take it to events as a way to break the ice with people. She was right; it got to a point where she’d just walk into a room, and people would call out, “Hi, Princess!”
I stopped her to ask: “How on earth did you find the courage to walk into a room full of business professionals while wearing a tiara?” She said it wasn’t easy. From the moment she put the tiara on in her car, to right before she walked into the room, she kept wondering what she was doing. Nevertheless, she pushed through the fear, and the courage to be unique and stand out paid off: her business in Seattle started to grow.
While Laurie had now moved back to Lansing, the “Princess of Persuasion” hadn’t quite made the move. She was still deciding whether to rebuild her business in Lansing or look for a J.O.B. (how she referred to any position where her boss was anyone other than herself). She also wasn’t sure how the community would respond to a tiara-wearing newbie, so she’d decided to get a feel for the community first.
Plus, there was one other thing stopping her. While she was good at her job of copywriting, it wasn’t what she was truly passionate about doing. Laurie loved to get out and talk to people, rather than sit around and write. Her challenge now was to uncover her true passion and then find a way to make money doing it. I was in the same boat. College seniors are often asked what they want to do after graduation; as much as I wished I had a straight answer to give, the truth was that I didn’t know. I was still trying to decide what I wanted to be “when I grew up.”
I think I was happily naïve in thinking that, once I figure out what I want to do post graduation, I will have my whole life figured out. After talking with Laurie, I realized that the question, What do I want to do with my life? never goes away. Circumstances change; opportunities arise. My life is at a crossroads, and there is a high probability that over the next 25 years, I will come to many more. However, what Laurie helped me realize is that while crossroads are stressful, they also create opportunities to shake things up, get a change of scenery, meet new people, and reevaluate what is (and is not) important.
Over the course of our coffee, Laurie’s story proved she was willing to take chances, to put herself out there, and to work hard until she succeeded. As long as she packed up those skills and moved them to Michigan with her, she will find a fantastic J.O.B.—or successfully rebuild her freelance business—doing what she loves.
I hope I can do the same.
David Murray
Caribou Coffee in Troy, Michigan
Small Pluot green tea
Live in the moment, have no regrets, and work hard for the greater good.
I knew David Murray from the periphery. I had been in the same room with him on a handful of occasions, and followed him on Twitter, but we had never talked. I’d first heard about him when I attended an event he co-chaired in Detroit that brought together a variety of innovative people to talk technology and re-energize Detroit. Inspired by his efforts to build a better community, I decided to make time to meet officially. I was going to be in Detroit for a day, so I emailed him and set up a meeting.
By one o’clock the afternoon of our meeting, I had already had more coffee than a girl needs in one day, and David doesn’t drink much coffee, so we both opted for iced tea. So technically, we did not have a cup of coffee, but we were in a coffee shop, and I’m making the rules here, so I decided it counts.
After Cup 4, I’d been mulling over the concept of passion. What am I passionate about? How can I create a career around that passion? These are the two toughest questions I’ve yet to answer since I’ve been in college—harder than any of the awful essay questions on final exams I’ve spent countless hours studying for over the previous three years. I know how to use tests to calculate the mean for statistical research, and I know how to say, “Where is the record store?” in Spanish, but I haven’t come across the answer for how to make major life decisions.
I decided to ask David because I knew he understood passion. He voluntarily devoted his time and energy to starting projects in Detroit. Not rebuild the engine on my old Chevy projects, but rather, let’s organize a two-day conference on innovation and technology in Michigan and bring in big name speakers while we’re at it projects. Undertakings of that magnitude required huge amounts of passion, which meant David likely had an insight or two about the topic.
I found out he had more than just an insight or two. Throughout our conversation, he offered one piece of advice after another and in a straightforward way. In the middle of a response or story he would stop, hit the table for emphasis and say, “Here’s something to take away.” Then he would explain a concept or habit that had greatly helped him, almost like a thoughtful professor pointing out the points in the lecture that would be
on the test. I took mental notes—the test of life is one I want to pass.
Here are a few of the key ones:
Point 1: When it comes to job searching, here’s the deal: your resume is not important. Okay, it’s important, but it’s not that important. What you learned in college does matter, but it’s not the deciding factor. You can’t let those things define you and the future success of your career. Decide what you want to do and go do it. Pick up a book and learn something, ignore the fear that’s stopping you, be willing to try something new—those skills will take you farther than a good GPA.
And along the way, pick up “badges” like Girl Scouts: speaking at a conference is a badge; organizing a 5k fundraiser is a badge; completing a research project at your internship is a badge. Failing—if you learn from the experience—can be a badge, too. Then use those badges to show people what you’re capable of doing.
Point 2: Build a foundation. David talked a lot about working to improve the greater good. He said he had always tried to make the place he was living better, which led to the second take-away: Decide on the principles you wish to live by. Then let those principles become the foundation for your life—just as concrete is the foundation for a house. A contractor doesn’t start building the first floor without a foundation firmly in place; I shouldn’t build a career without first knowing my core principles.
Once you’ve got the foundation, you build life experiences on top of it. My first job in the “real world” will be the first floor of my house, and as I advance through life, I can build upon the previous levels. At one point, I might decide I’m not happy with a level or addition I’ve built. That’s fine; I can renovate, or demolish and rebuild, but the foundation won’t change. It is always there, providing support and direction for my life.
52 Cups of Coffee: Inspiring and insightful stories for navigating life’s uncertainties Page 2
