Good Life Project - The Hug | Part 1

Episode Date: October 29, 2020

Today, we’re doing something we’ve never done before. We’re about to head into a week like never before in the US and, well, around the world. And we kinda wanted to wrap it, and you, with one big, beautiful, audio hug that reminds us all, people are good, they can be kind, even to total strangers, in ways we never imagined.So, we’ve created a two-part series for you we’re calling The Hug, where we’re sharing a bunch of heartwarming stories, told by friends of the pod and some past guests who, now that I think about it, are friends now, too. Each story shares a moment or experience where a little bit of kindness, a little bit of sweetness and, just maybe, a little bit of lightness and laughter, touched their lives, and reminded them how good people can be. I feel like we all need a little of that right now. So, today is part one of The Hug, the first 6 stories for you. We’ll air part 2 next week, right after the election with the intention of wrapping us all in the arms of stories that remind us of our shared humanity at a time we need it most. So, sit back and enjoy these stories in part one of The Hug. You can find our storytellers at:Gabra Zackman: Instagram (https://www.instagram.com/audiobookgoddess/)Rick Charlie: Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/rick.charlie)Rebekah Taussig: Instagram (https://www.instagram.com/sitting_pretty/)Neil Pasricha: Instagram (https://www.instagram.com/neilpasricha/)Jeff Harry: Instagram (https://www.instagram.com/jeffharryplays/)Susan Piver: Instagram (https://www.instagram.com/susan.piver/)-------------Have you discovered your Sparketype yet? Take the Sparketype Assessment™ now. IT’S FREE (https://www.goodlifeproject.com/sparketypes/) and takes about 7-minutes to complete. At a minimum, it’ll open your eyes in a big way. It also just might change your life.If you enjoyed the show, please share it with a friend. Thank you to our super cool brand partners. If you like the show, please support them - they help make the podcast possible. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Hey, so today I'm doing something that we've never done before. We are about to head into a week like never before in the US and well, around the world. And we kind of wanted to wrap it and you with one big, beautiful audio hug that reminds us all that people are good. They can be kind even to total strangers in ways we never imagined. So we created a two-part series for you that we are calling The Hug. And we're sharing a bunch of heartwarming stories told by friends of the pod and some past guests who, now that I think about it, are friends now too. And each story shares a moment or experience where a little bit of kindness, a little bit

of sweetness, and just maybe a little bit of lightness and laughter touched into their lives and reminded them how good people can be. I feel like we all need a little bit of that right now. So today we're sharing part one of The Hug, the first six stories for you. We'll air part two next week, right after the election, with the intention of wrapping us all in the arms of story that remind us of our shared humanity at a time we really need it most. So sit back and enjoy these stories in part one of The Hug. I'm Jonathan Fields, and this is Good Life Project. Apple Watch Series X is here. It has the biggest display ever. It's also the thinnest Apple Watch ever,

making it even more comfortable on your wrist, whether you're running, swimming, or sleeping. And it's the fastest-charging Apple Watch, getting you eight hours of charge in just 15 minutes. The Apple Watch Series X. Available for the first time in glossy jet black aluminum. Compared to previous generations, iPhone Xs are later required. Charge time and actual results will vary.

Mayday, mayday. We've been compromised. The pilot's a hitman. I knew you were gonna be fun. On January 24th. Tell me how to fly this thing. Mark Wahlberg. You know what the difference

between me and you is? You're gonna die. Don't shoot him, we need him! Y'all need a pilot? Flight risk. Our first storyteller is an old friend of mine, New York-based audiobook narrator, producer, author, actor, just straight-up awesome human, Gabra Zachman,

bringing us into a moment with her brother that turned a tough time into a moment of grace. So here's a story in the form of a toast. I do have the exact right glass, and by exact right I mean the glass I would have been drinking right around that time. I don't have the right liquor. It should be bourbon, and it should be Maker's Mark. But I do have a drink in that glass, the exact same glass,

and this is a story in form of a toast, and it is a toast for my big brother. Ooh, that does warm up the insides. So when I think of my big brother when we were kids, when I think of us young, I have a wonderful memory I always think of. And this is the appetizer to the meal of the story. What I think of when I remember my brother is I was such a shy girl, which is hard to imagine because I talk for a living and I'm very gregarious now. But I was painfully, painfully wallflower shy. And I remember that my brother and I were sent to the same summer camp when we were really young. My brother's four years older than me. And I remember at the time that I was so shy.

I remember even all the girls would change out of their bathing suits and into their clothes, and I would go stand in a corner and, you know, take my bathing suit off while my clothes were on, and I was so modest and so shy. It's so funny that I became this brazen woman of the theater. But at that time, what I remember is that after camp ended and we were waiting for the bus, I remember that all the girls would go play together and all the boys would go play together and that I would sit by myself. I remember how shy I was and how scared and that I sat and waited to see my brother walking from a different part of the camp over to the bus. And I remember the feeling when I would sit there as a girl and so scared and so shy. And when I would see my big brother coming around the corner, that my whole soul would light up. I was so happy to see my big brother.

So that's the precursor to this next story. So flash forward about 30 years, because I think I was about 35 or so, when, after being in a nine-year-long relationship, it was time for my then-boyfriend and I to break up. And I remember the reason why I've chosen this particular drink, the perfect glass for the wrong drink, is because I can remember while my boyfriend and I were in the process of breaking up that he would go to sleep in the bedroom and that I would walk into the kitchen and I would sit on this cooler we had

and I would drink bourbon out of this exact glass. Not this exact glass, but a glass just like this. I bought myself a whole set sometime after we broke up. But I would sit with a glass that looked just like this with bourbon in it and I would talk to my brother. He was one of the people I talked to most often when I was going through this painful, wrenching, heartbreaking time when I was trying to understand what had happened and what had gone wrong and how I was going to move forward in the world. And my brother at the time was just married to my sister-in-law. They had not yet had their beautiful, remarkable, amazing now seven-year-old.

And my brother had the time, I believe, to sit on the phone with me for hours as I drank bourbon out of this same glass and wept. But it was a little bit after this when this main part of the story takes place. My boyfriend had, by this time, moved out, and I was left in a home that felt blown apart. There were holes where his stuff used to be, And there was some stuff that was left that I never liked in the first place. And I hadn't learned at that point how to put together a home, not the kind of home I have now, which is my sanctuary and a place of great creativity and joy and love and rest. Then I didn't know how to put together a home, so when he left it, it was like a bomb had gone off. There were empty spaces where books used to be and places on the wall where there was faded paint

or dust underneath where pictures had been taken off, and everything felt filled with holes, particularly in the kitchen, because I was not the chef that I am now. I didn't have the kind of kitchen that I have now, and so it was missing a lot of things. My kitchen was in particular, and it was around this time that my brother came to visit. He came by himself. His wife was back at home, and he came perhaps on a business trip or perhaps just to see friends, but he was staying with me for a few days, and it was a wonderful time for us to get to hang out in my newly bombed-out apartment together and have long conversations over bourbon into the small hours of the night. And at one point, my brother noticed that there was a list on the door of the

refrigerator. I don't remember what the title of the list was, or even if there was a list. I just remember that it was a list of items. And my brother said to me, what is this? What's this list on your fridge? And I said, oh, I said, well, that's a list of everything that I wish I had in this kitchen, if I could afford it. That's a list of everything I'd have if I were married, and if I had had a registry, and actually had nice things for my kitchen. And what I think I was really saying was, that's a list of everything that I would have if I wasn't such a complete and utter failure. And if I hadn't just bombed out my entire life, and if I hadn't actually lost any opportunity to have the kind of life that I would have hoped to at one point have, and if I wasn't too old, and if I wasn't too this,

and if I wasn't too that, and if I hadn't just X, Y, or Z, then maybe I would have this amount of things in my kitchen. But basically what I said was, I'm going to gradually buy every single one until I have the kind of kitchen that I want. And we spoke no more about it. We proceeded to have some bourbon and talk into the wee hours of the night. And a couple of days later, I remember I was sitting at home reading a book or prepping an audio book or reading a play. And my brother came in. He had been out all day doing what he usually does. So he probably had lunch with Pete at that wonderful tea house over on

the east side. Or he might have had brunch with Eden in Brooklyn, if she was living in Brooklyn at the time. And he might have had a walk with Kim Brown, if she was living in Sunnyside then, like she is now, actually, right near me. But at the time, I was up in Washington Heights, and my brother, after a very long day, burst in the apartment with his cheeks reddened from the outside cold. And in his hands, he carried two or three or four or five beautifully wrapped parcels, paper bags with colored paper in them, wonderful looking gifts. And I remember thinking, oh my goodness, how is he going to get that all in his luggage? And I'm not even sure if I said anything, but I remember that we locked eyes and he had a huge smile on his face and he lifted up the bags laden as he was

and said jubilantly, I got all your stuff. And even right now, even right now it makes me emotional to tell the story because it was so sweet he had purchased everything from my list i got all your list he said and i think at the time when i think back i do not think that I cried. I think I didn't say much because I was very overwhelmed, probably because I was too emotional to say anything. But when I think back on it, I think that it was one of the most loving acts from a brother to his sister when her heart was broken, and she felt like such a failure. And it felt like life had ended, and frankly, that she would never have a nice kitchen.

That he bought everything on my list. And I still have some of that today. So if you want to know the truth, I have a really nice cutting board and I have a really nice salad spinner. And there's also stuff I wouldn't have even known. You know, I think there's like a casserole dish you can put in the oven and then take to people's homes, which I have often, because I turned into a homemaker. I turned into someone who cooks all the time. I turned into someone who often uses that casserole dish to bring to people's houses. I turned into someone who built a house where I love my kitchen, where I love the whole home, and where every piece of it feels like me. So this is a toast. I'm raising this glass one more time more time this same glass but it's not the same glass in which oftentimes i will drink bourbon and i will think of my brother and the kindness of a time when i was so broken down, and he built me back up. So, I hope you enjoyed that.

Next up is former DJ, music aficionado, purveyor of chill. We know him in the community as the dude from the Midwest and an amazing dad, Rick Charlie, sharing a moment of surrender and amazement when his daughter was younger. Do you remember when you were a teenager and a new song came out that you could not stop listening to? The kind of song that just blew your mind that it even existed or you could not help but move to it.

You would play it over and over again, never tiring of the music or the words. You played it so much, your parents were seriously considering psychotherapy for you. Well, for me, that song was Roll With The Changes by REO Speedwagon. Do you remember it? It starts hard with a pounding piano chord

and crashing drums, soon followed by a screaming electric guitar. And the intro crescendos to a pause before Kevin Cronin belts out acapella. As soon as you are able. Man, still brings me chills every time. And yes, I did in fact listen to it about 20 times before sitting down to tell you this story. So for my daughter June, that song was Viva La Vida by Coldplay. It too has a powerful intro with booming cellos and a hard beating bass drum. I understood how this song filled her heart with the essence of life.

Well, I did, at least for the first 50 times I heard it. She chose this song to sing in her middle school talent show. It's exceptionally appropriate considering where she exactly was a year earlier. You see, 365 days prior, June was laying in an ICU, hooked up to life support, desperately waiting for a new liver to arrive. Hers had died, a slow, of machines pumping her full of a fake life in hopes that a healthy liver would come available to her in time. And well, time, that was not on her side. Viva la Vida, translated, means live life. The story of this song is of a king who loses his kingdom. It is only then that he realizes he forgot to actually live life. One year later, after relearning how to walk, how to talk,

and how to sing, she would stand all alone on a stage in front of hundreds of kids and adults who, well, they knew who this kid was, but they really didn't know the person. You see, she wasn't popular. She didn't have a ton of friends at this school. I was sitting in the gym, also alone, surrounded by all these strangers with a giant pit in my stomach. I'm not sure who was more nervous, her or me. Her turn came up and the curtain opened and there this tiny 13-year-old girl, all five foot three of her, standing on a ginormous stage, just her in a simple black dress and a microphone. Well, the music began, and after the cello intro, she hit her first notes. Her voice was meek and not at all the powerful force that

had bellowed through my home day after day. She was terrified. She got through the first stanza and stood there waiting for the next mark as the music continued. And that is where it happened. She froze. She either lost where the words began again, or she simply forgot the words altogether. I don't know. But there she stood, staring blankly out into a sea of strange faces. Man, it seemed like forever that she stood there. And then the tears started rolling down her cheeks. She didn't know what to do. And she wasn't alone. The audience was just as frozen. Finally, someone on stage realized this number was crashing hard and they closed the curtain quickly. The emcees rushed on stage to clean up the mess and introduce the next act. As a parent, what do you do? I mean, right? Do I madly rush back there and

scoop her up and just hug all of the fear and embarrassment out of her? Or do I let her be and see how she handles it? I didn't know and I froze and stayed in my seat and waited. Maybe this is just one of those times that they have to go through it on their own, you know? I just didn't know. She didn't come out to see me or look for me, so I just sat through each of the remaining numbers, selfishly hoping for the end. I twisted and turned in my seat. I was uncomfortable, like those middle school old wooden folding chairs could ever

give you any comfort anyway. The last act was about to be introduced, and this purgatory could finally end. The MCs kept on saying the word June like the month was odd and probably wouldn't be noticed by anyone else except that's my daughter's name. It was kind of painful to hear after we had gone through. Why were they torturing me this way? That was what was going through my head. Well, then we all found out what was going on. In their own cheeky way, they were reintroducing June. She was going to come out and try again.

Oh, my freaking God, you've got to be kidding me. I was in a full-on panic attack at this point, and I can only imagine what was going on inside her. But there she was again, all alone on that huge stage, in her simple black dress, holding a microphone. The audience cheered loudly and the music began and everything was just as it was before. I was rooting under my breath. You can do this. I know you can do this. And then we hit the same place as the first time and it went exactly as before. She got lost and froze. I totally just buried my head in my hands, feeling the embarrassment she had to be feeling.

And that is when it happened. The four MCs rushed out on the stage, but this time they had the sheet music for the song in hand. They surrounded her and began singing with her. The audience started cheering. You can do it, June. You've got this. It was just like giving underdog his super energy pill. She woke up and started belting out the song again. Then the entire cast of all the kids who had performed in the talent show appeared on stage, all around her singing along to the song. I sat there ready to bawl my eyes out.

Here, an entire community embraced this minuscule teen and lifted her up on their shoulders and carried her to the finish line. What had been a very forgettable moment became an historic event. At her most vulnerable, this group of strangers decided to rise up on their own, out of their discomfort, and cheer her on. After the show, people who she didn't even know waited in a long line to congratulate her. Not necessarily for her performance, but because she had the guts to get up there a second time and stay there and finish. Of all the medical torture that this girl had gone through, that is the bravest thing she ever did. And all these other humans, mostly complete strangers to be sure, stood with her, holding her up when she needed it most. And the big thing is, they didn't have to.

The Apple Watch Series 10 is here. It has the biggest display ever. It's also the thinnest Apple Watch ever, making it even more comfortable on your wrist, whether you're running, swimming, or sleeping. And it's the fastest charging Apple Watch, getting you 8 hours of charge in just 15 minutes. The Apple Watch Series X, available for the first time in glossy jet black aluminum. Compared to previous generations, iPhone XS or later required, charge time and actual results will vary. Mayday, mayday. We've been compromised. The pilot's a hitman.

I knew you were gonna be fun. On January 24th. Tell me how to fly this thing. Mark Wahlberg. You know what the difference between me and you is? You're gonna die. Don't shoot if we need him!

Y'all need a pilot? Flight Risk. Thanks so much, Rick. So our next hug storyteller is writer and new mom, Rebecca Tosig, who's actually a recent guest on the show. Rebecca shares a story about when the truth bubbles up inside of you and it just needs to find an escape. The assignment was to go out into nature and draw. It didn't have to be elaborate. I mean, it could just be like the trees in your backyard or a trail at a park, but it was one of my first assignments in my first semester of college ever. So I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life, but I really liked art class in high school. So I was

in this art class. I put off this nature assignment and procrastinated like I always did until like 1030 the night before it was due, you know, the next morning at 8am. So it's literally pitch black outside and a tree looks the same as a building at that point. So I'm like strategizing, panic, what am I gonna do? So I'm like rifling through all these old nature books in my parents' basement. And I actually found some gorgeous scenes, which was really exciting to me because they were like already framed up perfectly.

And all I really had to do was copy it onto the page and get the shading just right. And I thought it looked really good. So and I wanted it to look good because I really wanted to impress this new teacher that I had. Or I guess more accurately, I wanted to avoid being ridiculed by the teacher. His name was Zig, or at least we called him Zig. I don't know if that was really his official name or where that came from, but we called him Zig. And he was this larger than life,

cantankerous little man with tufts of white hair. And he would come into the art studio in the morning, wouldn't greet anyone. He wouldn't smile. He was just like glaring at everyone. He always seemed furious about something. And at the start of each class, you know, we'd been in class for a couple of weeks and we'd started each class by putting up our homework, our drawings up on this big board for everyone to see. And he'd pace back and forth in front of them for a few minutes, you know, glowering with his arms crossed. And then he would set to work critiquing them in front of everyone, like pinpointing every mistake, every opportunity someone missed to be creative, every blunder. And then at the end of all that, he would maybe sprinkle like a few compliments out there. So I was really hungry for those

compliments. I say that. I say that I was hungry for them, but like not actually hungry enough to do my assignment in a timely manner. I don't know. I guess maybe that combo hungry to achieve and not willing to work. Maybe that says something about me in my early 20s. Maybe a lot of us are in that place in our early 20s. But that's where I was. I was really hungry for his approval. So it's the morning after I copied that nature scene out of my parents' nature book. And we're all pinning our drawings up on the board for Zig's scrutiny. And I was feeling really good because mine looked awesome. I mean, it had this like foreground background thing going on and shading was stellar. And I thought it like really stood out from the rest of all of the boring nature scenes on the

wall. I was expecting maybe I would get like a little sprinkling of praise this morning. And, you know, we wait in silence as Zig walks back and forth in front of the pictures. And he finally breaks the silence and i hear my name which is exciting um and he asks rebecca did you actually go out into nature and my face is like immediately hot because why is he asking me that like why is he doubt that for some reason? And so I completely respond on instinct and I just say, yes, like very definitively. Yes, I went out in nature. And he presses in and he says, really? Like totally panicking. Like, why is he pressing me on this? But I feel like at that point, I don't have a choice. I have to dig my heels in and go forward with this lie. So I'm doubling down and I try to

be as cool as possible as my heart is pounding in my chest. And I say, yeah, I really did. And there's this pause and he, Zig, says something like, well, that's really amazing because corn doesn't usually grow at this time of year in Kansas. And I didn't even realize that I'd been drawing corn. I had just been like copying this book out of this Kansas nature scene photo album. And so my heart drops through the floor because he has totally caught me in this lie. And we are locking eyes and it feels like it goes on for three hours. But all I do, I have no words. So all I do is I'm just like nodding casually like, yeah, pretty amazing. But he knows I'm lying. And I know that he knows that I'm lying. And we're just frozen in this excruciating moment. It probably lasted two seconds, but it felt like it was forever.

And then he moves on, you know, to critique somebody else's sad wobbly tree. So this happens early in the semester. Zig and I have this moment and I don't know what a typical early college student would do about that. I don't know how easily they would move on. I have to keep going back to this class three times a week for the rest of the semester. And I'm so desperate to move on. I want to be chill and easy and forget that it happened. But I am not easy breezy. I am full of angst and anxiety. I feel like I've actually swallowed like a stone and I'm carrying it around in my belly every day and it's like only growing and it's cold and heavy and I'm just so sure anyone can see it. Everyone's looking at it.

Everyone's thinking about it. But I'm also kind of at war with myself because I'm feeling this torture, but I'm also like, okay, but does anyone really care? This is probably in your head. So I'm just like this child in turmoil and I want to move on, but I can't. And then it starts getting like kind of religious because I feel I start feeling like God is telling me that I'm not going to be OK until I am able to write my sins and confess to this almighty Zig. But somehow like confessing to Zig feels even more terrifying than confessing to God. And I cannot bring myself to do it. So it's like week

after week, this stone is growing in my belly and I am in turmoil. And it is finally the last day of class. I've made it through the whole semester in agony. And I actually have to go into Zig's office to turn in my final portfolio for the semester. So I'm in the office with him. It's just him and me and this giant stone in my belly that is now approximately the size of a car. And I know this is my last chance to absolve myself, but I feel like i'm jumping off of the side of a cliff like i have no idea where i'm going to land i think i must be expecting like he's gonna spit in my face or something i can't even imagine like how he's going to respond to this blatant lie but before i can like figure anything out, I like hear the words humbling out of my mouth. And I'm just like in a haze of confession.

Zig, I have to tell you, I lied early in the semester, but the picture of the corn and you said corn doesn't grow this time of year in Kansas, but I really didn't go into nature and I, I don't know why I lied and I'm so sorry. And I don't know why I did that.

And I'm just like totally lost in this moment of confession. And I don't even really know where I am anymore. It's like I don't even see the room. It's totally a blur. And it's just me and my sins. And I don't even know how long I go on before I'm pulled out of this haze because Zig is laughing. And honestly, I don't think I'd ever seen this man even smirk before, but he is like whole body laughing at me. And I like take a deep breath and I'm smiling and the relief is enormous. And I just keep talking. And so I say something like, I just really felt like God wanted me to tell you that I lied, like God needed me to tell you this.

And suddenly Zig is roaring, like whole body rocking in laughter at this tiny, guilty little freshman. And I felt like I was floating because, you know, the mythic man had found my most egregious sins to be hilarious. So I do have to say, I went on to take many art classes from Zig. And one of my favorite details that I learned about him eventually is that he loves dandelions and he would make a special effort to watch over his yard and make sure that it was full of dandelions every year, even though it made all of his neighbors furious. And he liked to go out on his porch, you know, and drink his morning coffee overlooking the dandelions. So I ended up eventually drawing a series of these dandelion

pictures in front of a front porch. And I never gave them to him or anything, but it was just like this way for me to remember this amazing, hilarious, weird, larger than life, but also very human, gorgeous, angry man. Thanks so much, Rebecca. So New York Times bestselling author of the book of awesome, the happiness equation and everything is awesome. Neil Pasricha, who's taking up the hug torch with our next story about an airport experience we can all relate to that ends in a very different way than we'd expect. Is it just me? Or does like pretty much everybody get a little bit more anxious when they go to the airport?

You know, there's like all these stores that you never heard of before. They don't exist anywhere other than inside the airport. And they sell things that you know. You're like, oh, that's like a bag of almonds. But it's made by a brand that only exists inside the airport.

You grab a juice from a company that like you thought went bankrupt in the 1980s, but apparently they're still alive selling just juices at the airport. I mean, the whole place is unnerving and unsettling, even just from that idea that it's an alternate reality. Nevermind the fact that you're in all kinds of lineups, you're being shuttled this way and that way. You tap in your pockets, making sure that you got your passport. Is everything in your bags? Do we have everything we need?

Right? And then, of course, on top of all that, plus the stress of timing, right? Is the flight going? Is it going at the right time? Is it delayed? Are we on time? Are we late? There is, of course, the most stressful part of the

entire airport experience, which is, of course, the border guard. Okay? I know some people call these people, like, I don't know like customs agents. But I always thought like they're a border guard in my mind. They're like guarding a border. They they are standing on the outside of the country's line. I mean, outside, they're usually in the wrong country, like like I live in Toronto, Canada.

So when I go to the Toronto airport, it's the United States border guard who is employed by the U.S. government. They got a picture of the president in a frame right behind them. You know, they are working on behalf of the United States, but they're not living in the United States. They're living in Toronto or they're in Canada or they're somewhere outside. They're protecting the border from afar. Right. And so I don't know if it is just my subconscious, but whenever I go up to the border guard, I'm always like, you know, I'm trying to argue why I'm invading their territory. That is kind of the way I think about it. And that entire conversation between me and the border guard is, of course, governed by a whole bunch of rules and norms and laws and behaviors that

makes both people in the interaction kind of act like robots. You know, like you put your passport down and you don't say anything like you don't even talk. There isn't like a hey, how's it going? Like, how's your day? How about those Mets? There's nothing. There's just like you walk up in silence. It's like it's like the soup Nazi inside. Right. Like you got you just you wait for them to talk to you. And you never know, they might just wave you along. They might say, where are you going? How long are you there?

Or they might give you a good old-fashioned grilling, you know, where it's just like, and you don't know what's coming. They're like, did you pack your bag yourself? Whoa, out of nowhere. And then you stop. You're like, did I pack my bags myself? Like, who would pack my bags? Well, I'm like, well, you know, maybe my wife put my

toothbrush. You're like, uh, and you get nervous about it because you don't know what questions are coming. Did you pack your bag yourself? Do you have anything to declare? That's another one. Do you have anything to declare? What am I supposed to declare? Like, I don't even know how that entire question is supposed to be answered. What am I supposed to do? So I always say, no, it's nothing. I have nothing to declare. But the point is that the interaction itself is, I find, super stressful. Now, I mentioned already, I'm Canadian. I live in Toronto. Where do I travel to all the time? The United States. Okay. Giant, huge country just below me where almost everything I do is and happens. So I'm there all the time. I'm flying to New York or San Diego or Chicago or

New Orleans or wherever. And I got to go through the airport and I got to have a conversation with the border guard. And my entire permission to be in the United States is, of course, governed by a whole bunch of paperwork that I hold very dear to myself and my body at all times. It's like this work visa and this travel document. I have this stamp on my passport. And of course, these stamps and travel documents and things have all kinds of rules. You know, you can't take out more than a certain amount of money. You can't bring anything back over a certain amount of money. You can't bring anything back over a certain amount of money.

You can't have visited a farm in the last 14 days. You can't have a pockets full of soil. You can't, here's my favorite, have any produce, right? That's one of the things it says. You can't take a whole bag of groceries with you when you cross the border. We don't know what kind of pesticides are in that. And so I go to the airport one day. I go to cross the border one day. I walk up to the border one day and out of nowhere, I completely forget because I'm just not paying attention to myself

that I'm eating an apple. I am eating an apple as I walk up to the border guard. And of course, as you might have guessed, he looks at me. He looks at the apple and he's like, you got to go to secondary. Now, if you never heard that phrase before, you may not appreciate how chilling it is. You got to go to secondary. We don't have enough tools here at first to properly assess you and sort out the trouble you're in. I'm like, well, where's secondary? It points in a direction that I never knew existed down a hallway that has a whole bunch of mirrored glass down it. Because of course, it looks like the kind of glass that you can see out, but you can't see in. So I'm like, oh,

I'm going to like, it feels like a police station, right? So you start walking that way. And of course, it's got the double paned glass doors that are totally frosted. And they're really serious doors. And you know this because when you walk towards them, they swing open towards you. When you go to the grocery store, it swings open into the store. But when you walk towards serious doors, they swing open towards you. You can't look in here. Only when you're walking here, we know you're coming from so far away that we have time to swing them open towards you. So I'm like, okay.

So I'm wheeling my suitcase towards secondary and I get inside and you can just feel when you get there. It's a very official scene. It is a very managed scene. These people are doing a deep assessment on you to check at the border if you're going to get in or not. And they got to follow rules. They got to follow protocols. There's laws governing the whole thing.

They are in uniform. They got framed picture of the president behind them. They were representing the head of the country. Okay. So get there. I go up to the desk. A woman says, I need you to put your suitcase here. I need you to open it.

And I need you to take three steps back. I do that. Puts on her like rubber little gloves and she starts fishing through my suitcase. And, you know, of course, I've got this apple and it's hitting me all of a sudden that I'm like, I'm going to lose everything. I'm going to lose my paperwork. I'm going to lose my visa. I'm going to lose my passport because you can't cross the border with food, never mind

produce, which I've just been eating. And it's not her fault, I'm thinking, because she's just following the rules. When I got my visa, of course I was told you can't go through with food. If you do, you lose the thing. So as she's doing that, she looks at me. She comes across a book. And she asked me a question about it.

Oh, yeah, that's a book I'm reading. Oh, what's it about? I start answering questions. Well, there's a book i'm reading oh what's it about i start answering questions well let's take the story it takes place and i can see in her eyes and in her head that she's just a bit interested in it and she kind of has to follow the rules and just kind of keep digging through my suitcase but you know she's kind of also interested in this book and what it's about and so i start telling her about it and i sort of open up a little bit. You know, you can see my bookmark in there. I'm a little bit way along. I start talking to her about it.

And then suddenly it happens where we go from two total strangers who don't know each other, have never met before, and will never meet again in a situation completely governed by rules, laws, norms that neither one of us designed, okay? Neither one of us came up with. Neither one of us necessarily is sort of like in agreement with, or at least I'm not. And we click out of that little matrix and we click into the shared humanity. The shared idea that we're the same, really. We're in the same place. We are the same species. We've evolved the same amount of time. We are from the root origin of life on the planet together. Four billion years ago, we were both single-celled organisms at the bottom of the ocean vents near Australia. We made it. We made it, right?

The sack full of organs thing with four limbs pinned to it and a brain that the Stegosaurus was, we're it. We made it. We together have lasted four billion years on life from the early origins of life itself to trusting one another. At the bottom of that ocean, we trust in mitochondria, a previously living organelle, come up in inside ourselves, eat some of us, but give us power when we feed it protein. We evolved photosynthesis, the ability to eat plants, the energy from the sun,

give out carbon dioxide, feed those plants, feed us oxygen. The entire root history of life on the planet is one of trust, interconnectedness, and symbiosis. Every single thing in this world is tethered together by the idea that it is the current manifestation of all the life that came before it. There isn't another way to be here right now beyond that. Even if you limit it to our species, well, 110 billion of us have lived ever total in history. And we are amongst the lucky 8 billion alive today. Zooming in a level deeper, we're in the same place. You are listening to this podcast. I'm talking into a microphone, but aren't we kind of a little bit in the same place

in our hearts, in our brains, with the same worries and the same fears and the same anxieties and the same stresses? When her eyes shifted as she was going through my suitcase and my body language, I'm sure, softened and went from a posture of defense and anxiety and coldness and distance, we ended up connecting about the book. And I don't even remember what the book was. And we ended up coming back to that shared humanity, that shared energy, that shared place that all living things share, that all of us share on earth together. When we get rid of the structures

that are surrounding us and whether they are political structures, whether they're education structures, whether they are how we live or where we live or how we move around, and we just let ourselves sift back to the idea that we're alive and we're together and we're connected, then guess what? Everything softens. Our brains, our eyes, and our hearts all open up and an embrace can happen, whether that's visible or invisible between us. And the embrace says this, I want a little bit of you in my heart and I want to put a little bit of myself in yours. And I know it might sound trite or it might sound simple, but after that happened, as she was rifling through my suitcase, it was really easy for her to say,

I think you're good. And for me to say thanks and chuck my apple in the garbage and just keep moving. I feel like there's so many times and moments in life when our behavior and how we're doing and what we're doing is governed by a set of norms, a set of rules, a set of policies that were created far above us, way beyond us, way before us that we don't necessarily need to live by. And if we can recognize that, see that matrix, see that flicker in the structures that are surrounding us and just connect with a smile by holding a door, by giving someone the permission of our humanity and helping their humanity keep moving, then we should do that. We can do that.

Every single moment we interact with another person is another opportunity to do that. We can do that. Every single moment we interact with another person is another opportunity to do that. Just like this. The Apple Watch Series 10 is here. It has the biggest display ever. It's also the thinnest Apple Watch ever, making it even more comfortable on your wrist, whether you're running, swimming, or sleeping. And it's the fastest-charging Apple Watch ever, making it even more comfortable on your wrist, whether you're running, swimming,

or sleeping. And it's the fastest charging Apple Watch, getting you eight hours of charge in just 15 minutes. The Apple Watch Series 10, available for the first time in glossy jet black aluminum. Compared to previous generations, iPhone XS or later required, charge time and actual results will vary. Thanks, Neil. And next up is a story from Jeff Harry, who is known for wearing and handing out Lego bow ties. I happen to own one and wear it when I really want to feel good, just to remind us all to smile and play a little bit. And he's sharing an experience really that happened to him in the shadow of 9-11 and how it forever changed him.

I'm sitting in a hotel room in Paramus, New Jersey, because I was working for Toys R Us Corporation at the time that was like located in Paramus, New Jersey. It just put us up in hotel rooms on September 11th. And it was just chaotic. You know, like we're all at the office, we're all freaking out. We don't really know what is happening. Like you couldn't even get on the internet. So like people were freaking out. And then they're like, we got you all hotel rooms because you can't go back. And I lived in Brooklyn at the time. So remember, they sent me to some hotel, who knows what it was. And then I remember when I got to my hotel room, I could see out the window

and I could see just all of the smoke coming from lower Manhattan. And like most people, I just turned on the TV and was just stunned and freaked out. And I felt so helpless and so lost that I couldn't sit in my hotel room enough. I had to get out because I was like, are my friends okay? So my friends work right downtown. My girlfriend is there. So I'm like, how do I get across the bridge? They're blocking the bridge. So I remember getting into my car and just driving around New Jersey, going to hospitals, trying to donate blood because like, that would be the only thing that I think I could do because I couldn't just sit there. I felt like I needed to do something. And I remember going to four different hospitals and every single one of them turned me away because they were like, our blood banks are full. People

have been visiting them the entire afternoon. And now it's almost like 7 to 8 p.m. at night and I feel like I haven't contributed anything and people are dying, like literally dying and I can see it. And I remember listening to the radio and it was NPR and they were like, firefighters don't have insoles. They need Dr. Scholl's insoles. They have plenty of water, but they need this. And if you want to deliver it and you live in New Jersey,

come down to Jersey City. So I went and I bought stuff and then I drove down to Jersey City. And I had been overcome by such fear and helplessness and despair for that entire time. And all of it like kind of like melted away when I saw like these huge strobe lights and just like so many people, there were just so many people. It was like thousands of people, it felt like. And they all had the same idea that I had. And there were cars that were lined up like 50 in a line that had like all this stuff that they wanted to donate because all of it was getting shipped from the Jersey City port down to lower Manhattan. There were people that were trying to get on those boats

because they wanted to get over to help. Even though they weren't firefighters, they were just like, let me just help. I didn't even know where I parked my car. That's how random and crazy it was. But I remember just simply getting out, being like, how can I help? Some people pointing me somewhere else and some people pointing me somewhere else. And then I eventually remember just getting in a group that was passing stuff over because I realized like the chain wasn't, you know, long enough, right?

So there was like a pass lane for water and there was a pass lane for Dr. Scholl's and there was a pass lane for food. And I remember seeing a family and it was like literally like a kid that was like seven years old passing it to his mom who was passing it to this guy that was in this suit like that was dirty. It was like this dirt, like it was dirty. It was like this dirt, like it was this fine suit that now was like covered in like sweat and, you know, and just grime. And then at one point I left that and I went to an area where we were just sorting stuff

because there, you know, all these people were donating, but it was like chaos of like what needed to get over there now and what needed to get over there later. And then I started like guiding people because I was an expert because now I had been there for an hour. So I'm like, okay, now it goes here. But everyone was kind of just adapting and rolling with it. Almost like it was like a campaign, except for like, it felt like lives were on the line. We all felt like first responders. The part that really impressed me the most was how many kids I saw with their families, where was the whole family was there, and how many people had left their job and come straight down there wearing whatever. So you could have someone that was wearing a construction outfit passing to a guy that was in a nice suit. So for that moment in time, class was not an issue. They were just two individuals just helping each other for something much bigger than themselves. And there was just like so many different races here. And you have to remember that I'm not from New York and New Jersey. So up until that point, I had always felt

everyone was super mean and super rude. It's just like, we're just kind of like standoffish. And like, instead, it almost felt like, I don't know, like a softball team when they get into like a scuffle and they all like get each other's back. There was something about the camaraderie that was just so humbling. It made me tear up because it was just like humanity at its best. And it gave me so much hope when there was so much tragedy that was in the air. And it inspired me to start being more active and embrace being an activist in many ways. I had seen a lot of division and racism things, you know, at my time while I

lived in New York and worked in New Jersey. But for that, for that day, you would have not questioned that those people knew each other. You really felt like they were like, they played for the same Brooklyn softball team, right? Like at the same time that they were like, really like, hey, we got to move. We got to move this stuff. They were also very kind and sweet, which is nothing like New Jersey or New York. Nothing, you know? Like, hey, thanks for that. Hey, can I please have that? Like just in these New Jersey accents that I was just like, what is going on, dude? And I didn't leave. I didn't get tired. I think I was there till midnight. So I was there from like 7 p.m. to midnight

and I didn't get tired. If anything, I at one point was like, can I go over there as well? Can I help? Even though I didn't know what I was gonna be doing if I got over on that barge to get over there. It was so close yet so far. Like you could see it, feel it, smell

the ashes and everything burning just across the water. Almost I felt like you could touch it. Yet it also felt so far away because you could almost feel the pain and suffering that was going on there. Then being on the Jersey side, where there was like this, all this beauty and humanity of like what was happening here. And I know it was also happening over there, but it was just like such a stark contrast. And I think that's why so many people were yearning to get over there, even though they didn't know what they would do when they got over there is because they just wanted to help. Almost as if they could stop it from happening,

even though they couldn't. And I remember after seeing that that night, the next day I went to the Torres-Ores Corporation where I was working and in my department, I was like, hey, I'm going to buy like, you know, hundreds of dollars of stuff. Who wants to help me? And all these people donated. And I remember when they opened the bridge

of George Washington, I drove straight down to 14th Street where there was a cop there and it was just like, park here. And they were just handing it out to the firefighters and the police. And I remember it was ironic. I got a ticket there, but the other cop was like, ah, don't worry about that ticket. We'll, we'll, we'll take care of that. And I just felt like everyone had each other's back and I'll never forget that. Thanks, Jeff. So our final storyteller in today's episode of The Hug is Buddhist meditation teacher, New York Times bestselling author and founder of the world's largest online meditation community, The Open Heart Project,

Susan Piver. And she is sharing a story about how a whole town took care of her in a time of dire need. A long time ago, I ended up living in Austin, Texas, kind of by coincidence. My car broke down there and I didn't have enough money to get it fixed. So I ended up living in Austin, Texas, kind of by coincidence. My car broke down there, and I didn't have enough money to get it fixed. So I ended up living there. I got a job, the best job at the best bar in the world called Antone's, Austin's home of the blues. And back then, this was the late 80s to the mid 90s. It was the most amazing music scene imaginable for me. I heard the best music one can hear. The house band was incredible. And every blues great of the day would come to play at Antone's. So the very first weekend I worked, John Lee Hooker played all weekend. And I heard Albert

King and Albert Collins and Buddy Guy and James Cotton and Junior Wells and Eddie Taylor and Jimmy Rogers and all the greats, all the greats. It was quite incredible. And I didn't know anyone. And I was from the East Coast, meaning I was kept to myself. But I liked the people I worked with, and I loved where I was. And after I was there for about six months, I was driving home from work one night, and I was in a terrible wreck. I was hit by a drunk driver. And I ended up in the hospital for several months.

No one expected me to live, the whole nine yards. And there I was in this fairly new city, pretty much by myself. I didn't really know hardly anyone, although I had a boyfriend who I loved a lot. And after I came out of intensive care, I started hearing about all the things that the people I worked with had done for me. And beyond the people I worked with, the people who were connected to Antones and the blues scene in general in Austin. So many people gave blood for me. People made cards for me. People took photographs of themselves doing fun things and sent them to me.

People came to visit me. The local blues radio show talked about me and how I had been in this accident and I needed blood. And if anyone could spare any to go donate for Susan Piver. And suddenly I realized I was in this family. I was in this community. And withdrawn and East Coasty as I was, they opened their arms to me. I honestly feel that I lived in part because of that love. And I was in the hospital for a few months and I of course missed hearing music very very much and one day I was lying in my bed tossing and turning I don't know what I was doing as one does in the hospital half asleep half awake and I thought I could hear a harmonica I'm like oh wow that sounds just like James Cotton. Oh, this is doing my soul good.

And it got louder and louder. And I was lying there thinking, wow, this is an amazing dream. This is, I hope I can stay in this dream for a long time. And just then the door to my room swung open a little bit. And in walked James Cotton, who had come down the hallway playing harmonica for me and sat by me with my boyfriend and played for 20 minutes, half an hour. Just played. We didn't exchange a word. He just played. We smiled at each other and he left. And I don't think I've ever felt so cared for in my life.

Okay. So I don't know about you, but I'm feeling a little more connected to my heart right about now. Reminded really how much goodness is all around us when we stop long enough to see it and to share it. If these stories have warmed you up even just a bit, maybe you know somebody else who might need to hear them too. If there were ever episodes we would love you to share with friends and family, it's these hug episodes. We all need stories that remind us of the good side of human beings more than ever. And remember, we'll be back in a week next Monday with part two of The Hug, sharing a bunch of new stories

that'll bring you back really home to your heart. So be sure to subscribe if you haven't yet so you don't miss it. running era, Pilates era, or yoga era, dive into Peloton workouts that work with you. From meditating at your kid's game to mastering a strength program, they've got everything you need to keep knocking down your goals. No pressure to be who you're not, just workouts and classes to strengthen who you are. So no matter your era, make it your best with Peloton. Find your push, find your power. Peloton. Visit Peloton at onepeloton.ca

The Apple Watch Series 10 is here. It has the biggest display ever. It's also the thinnest Apple Watch ever, making it even more comfortable on your wrist, whether you're running, swimming, or sleeping. And it's the fastest charging Apple Watch, getting you 8 hours of charge in just

15 minutes. The Apple Watch, getting you eight hours of charge in just 15 minutes. The Apple Watch Series 10, available for the first time in glossy jet black aluminum. Compared to previous generations, iPhone XS or later required, charge time and actual results will vary. Mayday, mayday, we've been compromised. The pilot's a hitman. I knew you were going to be fun. On January 24th. Tell me how to fly this thing.

Mark Wahlberg. You know what the difference between me and you is? You're gonna die. Don't shoot him, we need him! Y'all need a pilot? Flight Risk.