Living Life on My Terms ... or Ben's.

My friends, as we begin a new year, and you engage in some self-reflection and ask yourself some hard questions about your health, your happiness, and whether you are going to keep Disney+, I wanted to share something with you. Something I found on the Interwebs recently.

It’s an article by Benjamin P. Hardy, found on the website Medium. The article is titled “50 Ways to Live on Your Own Terms.”

You are, no doubt, as intrigued as I was to know how exactly Benji Hardy knew what my terms were. Well, turns out … he don’t. What he does know is other stuff that he apparently thinks should be my terms…

In reality, some of these items he mentions are actually very important to me and do happen to be things that are priorities and practices in my life. But that doesn’t lend B.P.H. any credibility in my book. As they say, even a broken clock is right twice a day. Fling enough vinyl platitudes against the wall, and some of them are bound to stick.

Anyway, here is the list of Ben’s terms, in his order - and my thoughts about them.

1. Stop consuming caffeine. 77% of the people I know just tapped the table in front of them twice, and out loud said, “I’m out.”

2. Pray or meditate morning, mid-day, and night. I’m all about it.

3. Read 1 book per week. Does my Calvin & Hobbes Anthology count?

4. Write in your journal 5 minutes per day. Agreed.

5. Marry the person you love. Way ahead of you.

6. Make a bucket list and actively knock items off. Bucket List Item #1: Don’t let other people define the terms I live by. Bucket List Item #2: Sleep until noon. This is so easy, you guys.

7. Stop consuming refined sugar. HAHAHAHA! Oh, were you SERIOUS?!

8. Fast from all food and caloric beverages 24 hours once per week. Since this is on my terms, we’ll go with once a month.

9. Fast from the internet 24 hours once per week. Pssshh. This is a snap. I’m not trying to brag, but I do it at least 8 hours every night. That’s, like, 56 hours a week.

10. Stop consuming the news or reading the newspaper. And spend more time reading Medium! Right, Ben?

11. Do something every day that terrifies you. Does getting on Facebook count?

12. Do something kind for someone else daily. Does it count if I refrain from doing unkind things to certain people?

13. Go to bed early and rise early. This guy clearly doesn’t have children.

14. Get 7+ hours of sleep each night. See? No children.

15. Replace warm showers with cold ones. My ancestors gave their lives so I could take hot showers; and I’m not about to disrespect them by taking cold showers.

16. Say “No” to people, obligations, requests, and opportunities you’re not interested in from now on. My six-year-old lives by this philosophy. It’s not working out super well for her.

17. Say “Thank you” every time you’re served by someone. If you’re not already doing this … you might be a child.

18. Say “I love you” 3+ times a day to the most important people in your life. I do. But the cashier at Rockwell’s Ice Cream is getting super uncomfortable.

19. Consume 30 grams of protein within the first 30 minutes of waking up. No problem. There’s 30 grams of protein in Twinkies, right?

20. Listen to audiobooks and podcasts on 1.5 or 2x speed, your brain will change faster. Sure will. It’ll get annoyed quicker.

21. Decide where you’ll be in five years and get there in two. I’ll be 53 in five years. Why would I want to get there in two years?

22. Remove all non-essentials from your life (start with your closet). My kids already do this. They haven’t used a closet in years. They prefer the floor.

23. Consume a tablespoon of coconut oil once per day. How much coconut oil in an Almond Joy?

24. Buy a juicer and juice a few times per week. Or just buy juice. My favorite juice is a milkshake. 

25. Choose to have faith in something bigger than yourself, skepticism is easy. Preach, Ben.

26. Stop obsessing about the outcome. And start obsessing about the process.

27. Give at least one guilt-free hour to relaxation per day. I’m going to stretch myself and go for eight guilt-free hours of relaxation per day!

28. Genuinely apologize to people you’ve mistreated. 100%.

29. Make friends with five people who inspire you. But Bill Murray won’t return my phone calls!

30. Save 10 percent or more of your income. I was. But movie theater prices keep going up!

31. Tithe or give 10 percent of your income away. Welcome to the party, Ben.

32. Drink 64–100 ounces of water per day. And be sure to move your desk directly into the bathroom.

33. Buy a small place rather than rent. When Ben isn’t writing for Medium, I suspect he’s a realtor.

34. Check your email and social media at least 60–90 minutes after you wake up. Ok, Boomer. [Did I use that correctly? That was my first time using that.]

35. Make a few radical changes to your life each year. I’m kind of too tired. Even using the word “radical” makes me kind of want a nap.

36. Define what wealth and happiness mean to you. I define them as “Things people should give me.”

37. Change the way you feel, think, and act about money. Sounds like somebody has asked Ben for a loan one too many times. He should just call them out. “Change the way you think about money, Peter!”

38. Invest only in industries you are informed about. Informed about? So…invest in Netflix and pizza. Got it

39. Create an automated income source that takes care of the fundamentals. Swell idea. Ben, what’s your credit card number?

40. Have multiple income streams (the more the better). Why do I feel like Ben is trying to get me into his downline?

41. Track at least one habit/behavior you’re trying to improve. Does it count as “tracking” if what happens is you are praying and praying for strength to become a better person, and you realize you’ve been praying for the same thing for several years … and kind of you’re still the same person?

42. Have no more than 3 items on your to-do list each day. Ben, what color is the sky on your planet?

43. Make your bed first thing in the morning. Now you tell me! I got rid of my bed after item #22.

44. Make one audacious request per week (what do you have to lose?) I guess nothing except my friends, since I’ll be developing a reputation of being that guy who walks around making audacious requests of everyone around him.

45. Be spontaneously generous with a stranger at least once per month. I like this.

46. Write and place a short, thoughtful note for someone once per day. Doing it right now. “Dear Ben, I think you have a gift for identifying the obvious and/or ridiculous.”

47. Become good friends with your parents. Check.

48. Floss your teeth. Once a year, whether I need it or not!

49. Eat at least one meal with your family per day. Of course. Wait. What are we having?

50. Spend time reflecting on your blessings at least once per day. Today I’ll reflect on the blessing of living life on my terms.

Underdressed for the Occasion

Do you have moments in your family history that probably shouldn't be recorded, much less publicly shared? Perhaps an incident that was neither acknowledged in the moment it happened, nor has it ever been discussed since?

Me neither.

Well, alright. I have one.

It was the summer of 2005. Katie’s side of the family was having a Family Reunion at a ranch in southern Utah. A few days prior to the official reunion many out-of-staters were flying into Las Vegas to stay with us for a day or so, and then driving from there up to the ranch. We thought this was great, as it allowed us some extra time with a handful of siblings and cousins.

It was a Sunday morning and you could hear the mayhem of a full house outside our bedroom doors. We had crammed several families into our home, many with small children, and we were all trying to get ready for church at the same time.

Katie was in front of the mirror in the master bathroom, blow-drying her hair, as I stepped out of the shower. Now, if you must know, we are pretty casual with our nakedness; and additionally, if you must know (you are so nosy!), sometimes I … well, I air-dry. There. I said it.

I suddenly realized that all my bathroom stuff (deodorant, hair gel, toothpaste, smell-good) was still in my racquetball bag from the day before. And my racquetball bag was not in the bathroom. Nope. It was on the bedroom floor, in front of the door. I strutted across the room and had my head buried in my bag as I pulled my stuff out of it… When abruptly, somebody knocked hard and deliberately on the door. THUD, THUD, THUD. (At least, that’s how it sounded to my naked ears.)

I tipped my head up and locked eyes with the doorknob. My heart stopped, my world went silent, and time froze. A single water drop from my hair ran down my face.

At this point, my brain told me I had two options. Option 1: Frantically yell, “DON’T COME IN!” Or Option 2: Remain silent and wait for them to go away. I went with Option 2 because I was confident that yelling “DON’T COME IN!” would immediately conjure up the image in this poor soul’s head of one Ken Craig standing less than three feet away, stark raving naked. And that image isn't doing anybody any favors.

I chose wrong.

Promptly, the doorknob gave and the door swung open!

As I saw it, at this point, I still had some options. 1. Push the door closed on their face. 2. Pull my bag off the floor and strategically place it like “so” (I’m showing you with my hands right now), or even 3. Jump behind the door!

But no. I chose Option 4: Jump into the open from where you’re standing, and spread your body as wide as possible as you sail across the room. Yes, jump like you are taking a bullet for the President of the United States, and that bullet simply must not pass by you; naked or not.

It probably looked more like the shot above; though in my mind, it was more like the photo below.

I closed my eyes as I leapt through clear and present danger, because I knew for sure that if this person and I made eye contact, our lives would forever be changed.

And before I landed, I heard a woman’s voice yell, “EEEEEEEEEK!” and the door slam.

I ran into the bathroom where Katie was still blow-drying her hair. “Your sister just saw me naked!” I reported, as if I was tattling on her.

“What?” answered Katie, with her head still under a blow-dryer.

“Your sister! She just saw me naked!”

“When?” she responded so calmly.

“Just NOW! A few seconds ago.”

“Oh… I’m sure she didn't mind.”

????????????????????????????? (This is where my brain just fell right out of the back of my head.)

“I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS! SHE “ DIDN'T MIND?!” WHAT ARE YOU SAYING TO ME?!

“Just…I don’t know…you play racquetball…you’re fit…. I’m sure she didn't mind.”

“I...(pointing wildly at my chest)…I MIND!”

“Were you walking around like that?”

“Yes, in our room!”

“She just walked in?”

“Well, she knocked first, but then walked in.”

“She just barged in without waiting for a response?”

“No; I didn't respond, because if I’d yelled not to come in then she would have imagined me naked!”

“Well, she doesn't have to imagine it anymore.”

“Who walks into a bedroom when the door is closed?! This is not my fault!”

“Isn't it?! She knocked! You don’t have to yell in a panicked voice! You can calmly respond, ‘Just a minute’ or ‘One second.’”

“Oh. Huh. Those both sound pretty great, actually. WHERE WERE YOU 20 SECONDS AGO!?”

I got dressed and finally, after reassuring myself that this would go away and there wasn't really any reason to discuss it further, I headed downstairs. On the way down I thought to myself, “Maybe it wasn't Katie’s sister that saw me after all. Maybe it was her cousin…”

For some completely irrational reason, I just knew I would feel better if it had been her cousin. I have absolutely no idea why. We were all similar ages, from similar backgrounds, and followed similar social norms of not being naked in public. But I sensed that if it had been her cousin, the two of us would be able to just laugh it off quicker. So I did what any normal individual in my situation would do.

I located Katie’s cousin in the living room, walked right up to her, and in a normal voice, just normally said, “Meredith, please tell me that you just saw me naked in my bedroom.”

She stared right back into my eyes with a widening smile, not even flinching, and said, “Nope.”

“Shoot,” I said back.

Well, I had successfully deduced who it was, and now, Meredith probably had, too. We agreed to never discuss it again. And I never brought it up with Katie’s sister either. And if she is reading this, please note, there is still no need to discuss anything. I’m fine. You’re fine. And I don’t keep my bathroom things in my racquetball bag anymore. Now let's all just get back to work. As you were. 

Without Fail

I was recently visiting with a dear friend of mine at work when I noticed a heavy, metallic plaque situated on the front of her desk.

It read, “What would you attempt to do if you knew you could not fail?”

If I KNEW I could not fail? Let’s rock that list, shall we? And I’m just spit-ballin’ here.

• First, of course, I would hie to Kolob. (In the twinkling of an eye.) (But make no mistake, I would also come back to earth. I’m not done yet.)
• I would go on ABC’s summer sensation, Wipeout! and win! (And by “win” I obviously mean “take over John Henson’s job.” I think that just looks like a bunch of fun.)  
• I would maintain a diet so horrific that it would offend the delicate sensitivities of both health enthusiasts and PETA members alike…but I would magically keep a gorgeously svelte physique.
• Drive my car around without ever having to fill it up with gas, ever again.
• I would bring MC Hammer back in style.
• I would bring his pants back in style as well.
• I would wear MC Hammer pants to church.
• BASE jump off the Eiffel Tower without a parachute…and live.
• Go back in time and attend Neil Diamond’s 1972 “Hot August Night” concert at the Greek Theater in Los Angeles, California.
• Sail around the world in my very own yacht; without having to take lessons or have any idea how to sail or know what I’m doing OR come across any sharks or whales or any animal that makes me nervous. Dolphins are okay, if they maintain a distance of 25 yards, as specified in a contract drawn up by my lawyer.
• Develop my own island in the Caribbean and call it Awesomeland.
• Run for President of Awesomeland.
• Lose the election – because I don’t want to be president of anything.
• Become Superman, with the added ability of being able to turn invisible.
• Sentence Martin Lawrence to a lifetime in prison for not being funny.
• Own exclusive rights to doing impressions of Jack Nicholson, and not allow anyone to do them anymore. Not because I do a good impression of Jack Nicholson; but because I just think it’s enough already, people.  And that goes double for you, Robin Williams.   
• Receive an Academy Award for Best Abs in a Major Motion Picture.
• Receive $1,000,000 a month in returns on my investments. Any investments. I really don’t care what investments.
• Shave once a year.
• Fly my own jet. Again, no lessons – just instincts. I don’t have time for lessons. And Jason Bourne seems to get by on instincts.
• Be Jason Bourne. But without the killing. Just mad fighting skills.
• Replace Bono as lead singer for U2 and be even more adored by the public.
• Write the “Great American Novel.” Or just the “Great American Bumper Sticker.” Yeah, I’d settle for the bumper sticker thing. (It’s less effort, plus it would allow me some time to actually consider what it means to “not fail at something”….because in my mind, I may or may not truly comprehend the difference between achieving something and receiving super powers.)

Nothing Left Unsaid

I’m not normally a “nervous flyer.” And while I am not best friends with turbulence, we’re certainly not bitter enemies. If things get a little bumpy while in the air, I don’t panic, scream, or slap the person next to me. (If the in-flight movie is starring Ashton Kutcher, however, those are precisely my reactions, and I make no apology for it.) But on a recent flight, we experienced some severe commotion while in the air, and as I was thrashed back and forth, the thought actually went through my head, “Have I left anything unsaid?”

I am not what you would call emotionally reserved; so when it comes to my family, I am pretty open. I throw around the “I love yous” like I’m asking for somebody to pass the green beans! But I do it with generous sincerity. So the family, and even most close friends, are covered. But what of all the other people I know? And even those I DON’T know?

Faced with sudden, profound fear that life would be ripped from my very breath, I grasped for pen and paper and began to write down the things I had once erroneously determined were better left unsaid. Here is that list.

Dear Snider Family. Thank you for inventing In-N-Out Burgers. I love you.

Dear Lincoln. I somehow still have your MTV Party to Go Volume 2 CD that I borrowed in college. I hope you can forgive me. I certainly didn’t mean to keep it for 18 years. Additionally, over the years, I have grown increasingly embarrassed by the mere fact that it is even in my possession, due to one particularly notable track from 1992, performed by the impish hip-hop group known as “Naughty by Nature.” I believe the CD is still intact. It’s in my garage, wrapped in a brown paper bag, at the bottom of a concealed, unlabeled box. So even though I will indeed miss "setting adrift on memory bliss," as one of the other tracks suggests, it is time this treasure box of 90s dance music be returned to its rightful owner. Please be sure to remind me to give it back to you the next time you are passing through town.

Dear PetSmart. Remember when I tried to return that sharp-fanged, malevolent alien-mouse and you refused to take it back? And then you actually threatened me that if I did return it then it would most likely just be sold as snake food? I immediately marched from your store to my friend’s house and fed it to his snake. Thanks for the idea. Joke’s on you.

Dear Katy Perry. We are all super impressed. Now please cover up; your mother is thoroughly embarrassed.

Dear Heather. Many years ago you made me a mix tape. And even though I had previously made a very zealous and clear case regarding my disdain for Michael Bolton, you included a Michael Bolton song on the tape. At some point, in this life or the next, I believe you owe me an apology. Or at least an explanation.  

Dear Lady GaGa. I thought of a title for your autobiography. “Born This Way, The Devil Made Me Do It, and Other Lame Excuses for Why I’m Not Accountable for My Life Choices.” Do you like it? P.S. Nobody was born to wear a “meat dress,” m’Lady. Nobody.

Dear Lenny. When we were roommates, I always thought it was kind of strange that you dated a girl named Stevie, and then a girl named Sam. I always promised myself that if you dated a girl named Jake, I was going to say something. Anyway, I’m glad you married Harriet…though I do think it’s strange you call her Harry. Just sayin’.

Dear Jonelle. That time you accused me of buying out the store’s entire stock of Haagen-Dazs Chocolate Peanut Butter at one time and I rolled my eyes and declared you a state of preposterousness…yeah, you were dead right.

Dear Taylor Swift. I’m not your target demographic, and you made my face do this when you were on Saturday Night Live …

...but dang if I don’t find it absolutely adorable when my 7 year old belts out the lyrics to Love Story. So thank you for that.

Dear Delta Airlines. Thank you for the opportunity to reflect on those memories and emotions that had long been buried…but never died.

What things are YOU leaving unsaid?

Modern Mormon Men Blogging

Hey Kids!

I'm contributing to the newest in niche blogging: Mormon Men. Because I am the very model of a modern (major) Mormon man.

It officially launches tomorrow: April 15, 2011.

You should check it out! www.modernmormonmen.com

As of Friday morning, when it kicks off, my first contribution is below the initial announcement/welcome. But other contributions will be posted pretty quick. So maybe read down. It's called "Legacy in Progress."  It's about the legacy that I am leaving my posterity. (Spoiler: My legacy is a mixed-bag.)

Countdown to 40

On Thursday I will be 40 years old.

You may be wondering how I’m feeling about this, the last few hours of my 30s. Or maybe you’re not. Maybe you have ADD and started to wonder how I was feeling, but then you were distracted by an incoming Tweet from Charlie Sheen. That’s understandable. 

Truth is, I’m actually quite fine. And that’s a little disappointing to me, because I had really been looking forward to a Mid-Life Crisis of Biblical proportions, ladies and gentleman. Like a “checking out of this so-called town, buying a yacht, sailing to Italy, writing my novel, then adapting it into a screenplay, and eating a mountain of canolli for breakfast while my kids form a folk band and become street performers to support our family” kind of a Mid-Life Crisis. Go big or go home, I say.

That’s what I was looking forward to.  But here I am, not rocking the boat.

And it’s not that I’ve completed my Bucket List or climbed every mountain. It’s not that I am exceptionally accomplished or successful or wealthy. It’s not even that I “don’t feel 40.” Oh, I do. But I’m fine with that.

Aside from wishing I lived somewhere more tropical, I feel ridiculously blessed to have the life I do. It is better than I could have crafted in my mind at any age. It is certainly better than anything I deserve.

In my humble opinion, it is my privilege to know some of the greatest people currently residing on this planet. They live within the walls of my own home, or I’m related to them, or they feel like family to me. I absolutely love the people I get to associate with. I completely get Will Rogers’ famously cited mantra “I never met a man I didn’t like.” I cannot overstate the gratitude I feel for the influence of my family and friends on my own life. I am me because of them.

I am blessed to have a wife that is superior to me in every way, and doesn’t throw it in my face. I know nobody more forgiving or compassionate, more funny or insightful, more wise and witty. Her profound faith and quiet sacrifices make sense of my world. I could not fathom happiness without her smack dab in the middle of it.

My children mold me and I strive to be better for them, so that I may leave a legacy that will inspire them. Or at least not embarrass them. (That’s really the target I am more confident I can hit). Their outpouring of love and enthusiasm confirms in my mind that despite my transparent flaws, I am doing something right. They see it in me.

My parents, siblings, and in-laws are fountains of unlimited love and encouragement. And I am blessed with friends who, despite mountains of evidence to prove them wrong, assume the best about me. I love all of them dearly.

I am blessed with clarity of who I am, where I came from, where I want to go, and how to get there. And I am given the opportunity over and over to be penitent, change, and improve my attempts to get it right.

Yes, I still feel an internal pining to leave some kind of original, noble footprint on the world. Maybe that’s selfish or hollow or shortsighted, I’m not sure. Yes, there are exotic places I would still like to live. Talents I would like to develop. But to spend time and energy focused on what isn’t means I am not recognizing the abundance that is, and the abundance still available to me. To turn 40 and not celebrate this gift would be, to me, a display of ingratitude to my Father.

But you should probably check back in with me a few hours before I’m 50. 

1971

1977

1987

1995

2010

Ken vs. Nature

I’m not going to lie to you; I’ve done some pretty manly things in my lifetime. I waxed my neck once. Leg wrestled a girl in college to see who was going to pay for our date to see Disney’s Aladdin. I’ve even been disco roller-skating not once, not twice, but thrice! So yeah, I’m kind of burly. But nothing – nothing – tested my masculinity as much as the 50-miler backpacking trip I took this August in the Uinta Mountains, located in eastern Utah.

Yes, you read that correctly. I did it in August, and I’m only now writing about it. Because it was only this afternoon that I finally caught my breath and could sit up and type.

(Whew, I’m back now. Sorry. I had to lie down on the floor for about 20 minutes there. I’m okay now. I’ll keep typing.)

Anyhoot, this test of brawn came about due to my working with a bunch of 14 to 18 year old Boy Scouts. Initially, they were as excited about this trip as I was. (Read: Not excited. Fact is, I would have rather waxed my neck again. And I don’t think I have to tell you how unpleasant that was. Well, if you’re a dude, then I might. B’cuz chances are you aren’t man enough to have done that.) But as the day drew closer, we were all getting legitimately excited about this excursion.

There were six Scouts and three adult leaders. Our goal was to ascend King’s Peak. At almost 14,000 feet in elevation, it is the highest point in the entire state of Utah. Our goal was also to learn and master essential survival skills, discover and develop noble character traits, create bonds of friendship, and test our tolerance for, uhm, “making in the bushes.”

And along the way to the peak, I received an unexpected education on some other matters of adventurous living as well. For example...

1. When somebody says, “It’s only three more miles, as the crow flies,” this means it could be 18 more miles, as you are not, by any stretch of the imagination, a crow. 
2. The more somebody says, "As the crow flies," the more you want to punch them in the throat.   
3. When somebody younger than thirty asks you, “What’s our elevation?” and you answer by singing, “We're on the top of the world, lookin’ down on creation,” they will have no idea what you are talking about. Karen Carpenter, your legacy is fading.
4. Slim Jims are manufactured, packaged, and shipped directly from hell; and they taste like feet. And I saw a 14-year-old young man eat 12 in one day and live! (So far.)
5. After seven days in the mountains, you will not be able to remember your previous life; like beds, indoor plumbing, and clean clothes.
6. If one of the Scouts approaches you, unnerved, with tales of spotting an animal near the lake, the likes of which he has never seen…and the description of the animal sounds like nothing you have ever seen either…and the two of you begin to tell tales to each other of a crypto-zoological nature, in the vein of Bigfoot and the like…and you get kind of creeped out and you feel a long way from home and the comforts of a dependable world…just take a deep breath and relax It’s only a badger.
7. When you are on Day #6 of your trip, with 4 days left to go, and there is a toilet paper crisis, people become very, very selfish. Also, everything from first-aid kit gauze to clothing begins to look like a whole-lot like toilet paper.
8. If you stand in front of a campfire for 10 days, the smell will never completely be washed out of your clothes. Even after several washings. (This was actually more of Katie’s education than mine.)
9. Fish can actually yell at you. It sounds hilarious.
10. When you are away from civilization and all of the world’s distractions, you will witness selfless acts of courage that will stir your faith in the youth of this world. 

And just when I was pretty confident I couldn’t get any manlier, I grew this here beard. I know! (My kids were pretty fascinated by it as well.) And you might be interested to know that I did not wax my beard off. Nope. I used an old-fashioned razor. After hiking the Uintas for 10 days, I really don’t have anything manly left to prove. 

It Was the Worst of Times, It was the Worst of Times...

Have you ever woken up from a dream and thought, “Man, I’m glad that was a dream. That would be a horribly painful, post-apocalyptic reality.” Then you realize you weren’t asleep, but in the middle of your junior high English class, and it was only first period?

My oldest, Abbie, started 7^th grade this year. And it has caused me to reflect on some of the magnificent anxieties that I think traditionally come with entering Junior High. In California, where I grew up got taller and older, junior high meant 7^th and 8^th grade. And you honestly couldn’t pay me enough money to do those two years over. (But you could sure try! Let’s start the bidding!)

I remember feeling like I was treading water in a sea of awkwardness. (Sea of Awkwardness, located just off the coast of Crazy Town.) Nobody seemed emotionally or mentally stable in junior high. It was as if all my classmates were distracted by something else. And it was my observation that it was one of two things: costly fads or raging hormones. Our family didn’t have the money to indulge in fads, and the LDS Church (of which I am a card carrying member) had spoken on the hormone situation, so I spent a great deal of time wondering where I could fit in, and feeling out of place in the interim.

It didn’t help that it was 1983. Do you know what was popular in 1983? (If you guessed “Ken Craig,” you can just guess again.) For the love of muscle t-shirts, it was horrid. Toto’s Rosanna was the Record of the Year, people. RECORD. OF. THE. YEAR. It’s just amazing that we all made it out alive, that’s all I’m saying. No wonder there was the threat of nuclear war in the air. We must have looked so inferior to the Soviets. Anything from the Toto or Little River Band library had to suggest we were weak and ripe for conquering.

In the vein of Mr. Robert Fulghum’s cutesy, banal, new age philosophy book All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten, (wherein Mr. Fulgham lists such astute musings as Share Everything, Play Fair, Don’t Eat Paste) I would now like to introduce you to my new book, If All I Really Need to Know Was Learned in Junior High, Then We’re All Doomed.

Here are a few of the gems I picked up on whilst treading through that emotional soup bowl that is junior high:

• Sadly, break dancing is not for everyone.
• When you change clothes in the locker room after P.E., make conversation. Don’t make conversation about how you are all in your underwear.
• If you let out a nervous toot during one of your classes, the entire student body will know about it by the next class period. (This did not happen to me directly, but I saw it occur more than once. And I pitied that young man. I pitied him even while I mocked him.)
• When your history teacher decides to show you Gone With the Wind during class, it will take almost two weeks to view it – longer than the actual Civil War.
• It is imperative that you watch Miami Vice or lie about doing so.
• By the time you actually wear down your parents to buy you something that everybody else has, it will no longer be in style. (Parachute Pants, I’m looking in your direction.)
• No matter how musically gifted you are, your band abilities will be straight up disrespected.
• The more Swatch Watches you wear at one time, the higher your cool-credibility.
• It’s never too early to start smoking!
• At a standard junior high dance, in the contest between the overpowering funk of body odor and the not-to-be-underestimated toxic, non-FDA approved scent of Brute cologne (by Faberge), there are no winners. And the gym should be quarantined.
• No matter how tranquil you look on the outside, if a pretty girl comes up and asks you to hold her books while she opens her locker, your body will recognize the signs, rev up, and your voice will crack and somehow waver through three different octaves as you simply say, “Sure.” And then somehow your whole body sweats at once, including the area behind your knees.
• Every single soul who looks overly confident…isn’t.

Somehow Abbie seems immune to these things. As if she is in the suburbs, subletting a nice little place just outside of Crazy Town. I like to think I've inspired in her the quiet confidence of who she is and why she is wonderful; that I've provided opportunities for her to lead, befriend, and communicate with her peers. Plus, I really think those break dancing lessons are going to come in handy.

Alone Again, Unnaturally

Do you ever bask in the adorableness of your children and thank your lucky stars that our world is so ethically shallow as to actually cater to good-looking people – because it means your children have a bright future? Me too.

Katie and the kiddos left earlier this week to visit some of our lovely extended family members, who are both lovely and extended. And I will be joining them at a later date. It has left me alone for a few days. I miss them. And with all that silence, I have felt reflective. Well, that’s not what I felt first, obviously. No, first I felt the freedom of treating my house like it was the studio for a Men’s Underwear photo shoot, featuring me (and only me). Then I felt the freedom of eating an unjustifiable amount of Haagen-Dazs ice cream. Then I felt the freedom of watching far too many reruns of Seinfeld (I hadn’t before realized there was such a thing.) And then I felt the freedom of a house so eerily quiet, I could hear the fruit ripening on our pear tree. Outside.

And then I realized how seldom in my life I have been home alone, and how lonely an empty house is. And I felt reflective….

I was lounging in the bathroom the moment I found out I was going to be a dad for the first time. We were at my parents’ house, and it was Thanksgiving. Everybody had finished dinner, and we excused ourselves as we snuck off to the bathroom so Katie could pee on a stick. Also so she could take a home pregnancy test. (Boing! Thank you, I’ll be here all week! Don’t forget to tip your waitress!)

I will forever remember Katie’s face when she held up that little stick with the two lines. We stared at each other in complete silence, but the moment was emotionally deafening. I was thrilled and overwhelmed. Confident and vulnerable. In love and uncertain. I cried. Katie cried. There was fluid from every orifice. Me, my wife, and a baby – feeling our lives change while hanging out in a bathroom. (I had no idea in that instant how prevalent the bathroom and babies would be in our future.)

Each time one of my six children have been born, I have felt this inherent tug inside me to say something so profound – so thought provoking and weighty – that every communication medium in the world would shove a microphone in my face and ask me to repeat my brilliant insight so it could serve as the perfect sound byte for what joy feels like. But the words have never come. And they never do, not even in the small non-life-altering moments.

Like that first time you come home from work and your baby recognizes that it’s YOU and that you are somehow very important to them and you have been gone, and they squeal and their little body shakes until you hold them. I love that. Like when you watch your child timidly attempt something far removed from their comfort zone, but they exercise the hope and trust, even faith, that they will succeed and it will be fun or rewarding or wonderful. And then it is. Like when your young, inhibited son, who hesitates to ever openly demonstrate confidence completely destroys the competition in a half-mile race. Or when your 11-year old writes a poem for you for Fathers’ Day that is so personal and sweet and loving that publishing it publicly would belittle it. Or when your daughter tells you that she wants to marry somebody just like you. Or when you leave the house for two minutes to get the mail and when you come back in the house your three year old cocks his head to the side, as if he’s just read a chapter out of How to Look so Adorable Your Parents Will Give you Anything, and says, “Dad. When you were gone. I missed you.” Or when your daughter refuses to ever let you leave the house without giving you a hug and a kiss. Or when your children don’t know you are watching them, and they are just being their unguarded selves, and it is like watching lyrics being written.

My hope – and I have to believe this is true – is that in the Next Life, at our leisure, we are able to instantaneously recall each mortal moment, and almost relive it. That we will be able to readily bring to memory all of these moments. Moments that affected you in a way that you just couldn’t attach words to.

I also have to believe that in the Next Life, Haagen-Dazs is served upon your arrival. That’s just good hospitality.

I'm a Birthday Boy

I don’t know if you saw the CNN coverage, but I’m 38 years old today.

On a scale of 1 to 10, my Freak-Out-O-Meter is registering about a 6.3. (Above average, but no pandemonium.) I’m certainly not old, but I can also no longer comfortably eat six doughnuts before I sit down to my birthday cake*.

(*True story, 1995.)

By all outward signs, I should be 38. I’ve been married 13.5 years, I’ve got six kids, a mortgage, a standing racquetball game three times a week, a mini-van, a lawn mower, a nostalgic streak, black and grey peppered hair, a tendency to fall asleep on the couch, and friends that have known me through decades now and can vouch for my age.

But sometimes, I have to be honest, I’m not sure how I got here so quickly.

And while it doesn’t feel like I should already have arrived at 38, I will freely admit that my life is better than anything I could have scripted in my youth. Better than I deserve, certainly.

Still. As formulaic and banal as it may be, on my birthday I tend to reflect. I take inventory of my life’s experiences. And while talking with a co-worker today who was trying to convince me that getting older was no big deal, she had the audacity to ask me, “But really, if you were to do it over again, you wouldn’t change anything in your life, would you? You don’t have any regrets.”

Oh, no? Look, sister, don’t tell ME I don’t have any regrets! Here are my top 10.

1. In 1988, when I jumped backwards out of a tree and forever obliterated my back. Yeah, I think if I were to do it over, I would skip that part.
2. I saw Superman III in the theater. Twice. I think once would have sufficed. If that.
3. I lived on Molokai my senior year of high school. If I could go back, I would go to the beach every…single…day.
4. I’d take piano lessons. I’d start at age 5.
5. I’d skip junior high entirely.
6. I ate a piece of pumpkin pie when I was home from college for Christmas in 1992, got food poisoning, and spend several days of my Christmas break vomiting. Joy to the world. If I could go back, I would take a slice of the apple pie instead.
7. I had an internship at NBC in Burbank, California just before I graduated college. They offered me a position. I didn’t take it. I think I would.
8. Katie and I met in a comedy troupe during college, where we performed improvisations. We were in an improv together one night, before we were dating, and a moment came when I really should have kissed her. The scene was perfect for it, the audience cheered it on, but I backed out of it. (A girl I was dating was sitting in the audience and would have come unglued.) If I were to go back, I would kiss her so good it would curl her toes.
9. I was once driving too fast on a wet, slick curve and rolled our family’s van. If I could go back, I’d slow down.
10. Once on a waterskiing trip a bunch of us were riding on one of those banana rafts, being pulled behind the boat. I threw my leg over the raft to pull myself up, and when I did, I kicked my mom in the eye and shattered her contact while it was still in her eye. I felt awful for a long, long time after that. I remember sitting in the boat watching my dad pull the broken pieces of contact out of my mom’s eye. I also remember thinking, “I bet puberty would have been great,” because I was pretty sure my dad was going to kill me right then. We had some friends from church with us on that trip. If I could go back, I’d kick one of them in the eye instead. Or I suppose I could kick nobody in the eye. Either one, but certainly not my mom!

Catching Up with Ken Craig

Thanks to a healthy dose of peer pressure from my sister, Holli (who threatened to not respect me anymore and also tell our parents about my pre-teen babysitting techniques that included my younger siblings cleaning the house while I watched ABC’s sassy Friday night comedy, Benson), I signed up on Facebook.

Have you taken a gander at this newfangled contraption called Facebook? Sweet saints and soldiers, this thing has magical powers! It can make you sit in a chair for days – forsaking all eating and bathing practices – while you frenetically attempt to locate and become Facebook Buddies with that punk kid who had the indigestional issues (read: stinky farts) that sat by you in Mrs. Colunga’s third grade class. And then, even though you have only been registered on Facebook for the sum total of 18 minutes, you are disgusted with this kid for not being on it. “Oh, well,” you say, “I guess I’ll never know what happened to … gosh, I wish I could remember the name of that odiferous kid.”

Drunk on the ability to reach into my past and find people I love deeply but haven’t spoken to since we ate Play-Dough together circa 1975, I have now made contact with many good folks who don’t really even know the Ken Craig of 2009. Or even the Ken Craig of 1999. Or even the Ken Craig of 1989. (If you know the Ken Craig of 1979, perhaps you can help me remember the name of that kid with the overpowering funk?)

I thought maybe I’d bring you up to speed.

This is me, now.

 Okay, not really. This is me now. (I’m the one on the left. The cute one is Katie.)

 

And here are some things you have probably wondered about. (Some of these points have links to lengthier descriptions or commentaries.)

1. I stopped going by “Kenny” in 7^th grade. My family struggled to let this go, and I was “Kenny” at home until about 4:00 p.m. this afternoon. No, actually until about 11^th grade.
2. I thought for sure Darth Vader was bold-faced lying when he said he was Luke’s father.
3. The first album I owned was Pink Floyd’s The Wall. The first cassette tape I owned was Journey’s Escape. The first CD I owned was U2’s Unforgettable Fire. My first iTunes download was The Flaming Lips’ The Yeah Yeah Yeah Song.
4. Aside from a short stint in college, I stopped chasing girls around the school grounds after about fourth grade.
5. Still terrified of sharks. Probably related to many viewing of Jaws in my youth.
6. When I started wearing deodorant I first tried the Right Guard spray, but the chill of the spray always made me scream like a girl/Homer Simpson, so I went to stick. Speed Stick, if enquiring minds want to know.
7. I played in the band in junior high. I asked Mr. Leff if I could play the drums and was told there were too many drummers. I asked to play the saxophone and was told there were too many sax players. I surrendered to the clarinet (surprise! not too many clarinetists!), and have resented Mr. Leff ever since. I plan to smuggle a clarinet into the next life and beat Mr. Leff with it.
8. Although endorsed by Ricky Schroeder (of TV’s Silver Spoons), I always felt a little funny wearing parachute pants. (Oh, but I wore them, sister!) 
9. I was not as embarrassed about stone-washed jeans, but now I am.
10. My first kiss was during Youth Conference. On a bus. In front of many people.
11. Despite his two Academy Awards, I am of the opinion that Tom Hanks’ best work comes from the movie Dragnet. Not his performance in the actual movie, but his appearance in the City of Crime video, wherein he and a thickening Dan Ackroyd dance and sing. Hilarium!
12. I played soccer until I was 14. I did not care for the knee-high socks.
13. I played water polo in high school. I suddenly missed the knee-high socks. 
14. My first car was a red 1976 Honda Civic. (It was 1987.)
15. I owned several red Vuarnet shirts, but never actually any Vuarnet sunglasses.
16. I am still a little confused as to why MC Hammer fell out of favor with the American public so quickly. And a little bit, I feel bad for him.
17. I didn’t really have to start shaving regularly until I was 18.
18. I moved to Hawaii my senior year of high school. Molokai, Hawaii.
19. By the time I was 22 I had gone skydiving, parasailing, and bungee jumping.   
20. I went on an LDS mission to Portugal, and spent six months in the Azore Islands.
21. I spent my college years at BYU, where I majored in Advertising, interned at NBC in Burbank, and lived in the (now defunct) Deseret Towers, Park Plaza, Foxwood, and basement apartment of my wife’s grandfather.
22. I was a founding member of BYU’s first comedy improv troupe, The Garrens. I met some of my favorite people from this experience, including my most favorite – Katie. It was part sketch comedy, part improv. Sometimes I still very much miss it.
23. I met Katie Fillmore in September 1993. I found her adorable in that same moment. I fell in love with her September 1994. We got married August 1995. Here is our engagement story/video. (Please take note of our fabulous 1995 “Reality Bites” wardrobe and hairstyles.)
24. We have six children. Abbie, Garren, Connor, Roxanna, Tanner, and Becca. They are so delectable, you will want to dip them in chocolate fondue and eat them. But don’t! You will be in so much trouble with Katie.
25. I thoroughly enjoy (the first ten seasons of) The Simpsons, Seinfeld, and The Office.
26. I own a Mac.
27. I have worked in advertising, public relations, sales, and commercial insurance. Do you have any other suggestions? 
28. I am currently serving as the bishop in my LDS ward.
29. I love hearing from old friends.
30. If I were being executed (for a crime I didn’t commit), my final meal would be a Tommy’s chili burger, a rib eye steak (medium well), baked potato with sour cream and butter, Mom’s homemade bread, finger-Jell-O (because there’s always room for Jell-O), Trader Joe’s gnocchi, chocolate chip pancakes, and Hagan Daaz’s Vanilla Swiss Almond and Chocolate Peanut Butter. Also, it would be “execution by over-eating.”

 There. Now it’s like no time has passed. 

Molokai Style

One night after dinner, circa 1986, my dad sat us all down and, unassisted by alcohol or peyote, told us that we were going to sell our house, buy a boat, and sail around the world. He had seven children, a flourishing CPA business, and apparently, a low tolerance for living out his days in Middle America. I was 15 and not impressed with this plan. If I could go back in time, I would smack my 15-year old self, because of course it would be incredible to live a life of globetrotting; but at the time, I was not thrilled with the dangers of the high seas. Sharks, pirates, and a lack of church dances left a bad taste in my mouth.

Fortunately, I had a plan. I suggested that before we do anything irrational we should probably rent the Harrison Ford movie, Mosquito Coast, wherein an eccentric and dogmatic inventor sells his house and takes his family to Central America – by boat – to build an ice factory in the middle of the jungle. He goes completely crazy. At least…I think he does. The movie was kind of slow, so most of us kids left my parents watching it while we went into the other room and watched a rerun episode of Who’s the Boss?, starring a pre-skanky Alyssa Milano and small screen sensation Tony Danza. Riveting.

The plan must have worked, and Dad must have recognized the dangers of going crazy at sea (as well as the dangers of assuming that all Harrison Ford movies are sensational—K-19, I’m looking in your direction), because he never brought up the plan again and simultaneously stopped insisting we answered him with an “Ai, ai, Captain” whenever he asked us to do something. Who’s the boss now?

But he was still restless.

Fast-forward to 1988. 

We had another Family Meeting. This time, Dad explained that we would be selling our home and leaving all things glorious in Southern California for the opportunity to move to a tiny Hawaiian island by the name of Molokai. While there were decidedly fewer opportunities to be attacked by sharks or pirates while on land (equal opportunities for church dances), I wasn't convinced this was a great alternative. However there were zero movies starring Harrison Ford about a man going crazy in Hawaii. Unless you count the original screenplay for Temple of Doom, which was supposed to take place in Hawaii instead of India. Which also, I just made that up.

I had no way to thwart my father’s plan.

Dad had some friends who were trying to set up a golf resort of sorts on Molokai, but none of them lived there. They collectively decided somebody involved should be there to have a “presence” on Molokai while the project was in production. Dad was involved in an accounting sort of a way (but really more of an emotional “take this midlife crisis and cram it” kind of a way), and he quickly volunteered to buy a hammock and check out of the Rat Race. So in August of 1988, we moved from Westlake, California to Kualapu’u, (pronounced, no joke, koala-poo-oo), Molokai, Hawaii. An island only six miles wide and thirty miles long.

When you tell people you lived on Molokai, you get one of two responses. “Never heard of it” or “ Isn't that where the lepers are?” You are correct on both accounts. For the most part, even people who live on another Hawaiian island raise their eyebrows and are most surprised to hear that there are people alive and well on Molokai. In short, you will not find Molokai in your Fabulous Hawaiian Vacation brochure. Unless you were hoping to see the lepers; but even then, there isn't much left of them. (Rim shot.)

August 1988 was the month before I started my senior year in high school. Do you know how hard it is to move out of the state just before your senior year in high school? Not nearly as difficult as it is to find people who will join your Pity Party, since you are moving to Hawaii and they are not.

I spent my last summer in California soaking in all that was available. The usual stuff (you can find my tribute to my California upbringing by clicking here), plus a concerted effort to date more, as my mom warned me that one really didn’t “date” on Molokai. No movie theaters, no restaurant chains, not a single luxury. Like Robinson Crusoe. As primitive as can be.

To get us acclimated to Island Life, Dad planned for us to spend the first couple of weeks island-hopping. First, a tour of Oahu, then over to Molokai for a brief introduction to our new home, then over to Maui for a few days, then back to Molokai to officially begin our slower-paced lifestyle.

To pass the time on our flight from L.A. to Honolulu, I did a great deal of blubbering. I blubbered over the girl I was leaving in California; I blubbered over missing the suburb where I grew up; I blubbered over being an entire ocean away from In-N-Out; I blubbered over the in-flight movie (Three Men & a Baby, an emotional rollercoaster of love, laughter, and life lessons); and I blubbered over the hits-of-the-day tunes on my Walkman, including Cheap Trick’s The Flame, Guns n’ Roses Sweet Child of Mine, and Bobby McFerrin’s Don’t Worry, Be Happy. (I've never wanted to crotch-kick somebody more. Honestly, Bobby. You should worry; because if we ever meet, I am going to slap the “happy” right out of you.)

We spent a few days on Oahu doing all the touristy stuff we could manage to cram into our mini-stop – including the Polynesian Cultural Center, cliff jumping at Waimea Bay, walking Waikiki, flying in a glider plane, and touring the Dole Pineapple Plantation. It sounds like we were sitting in the lap of luxury, yes? But you forget. My dad had just taken a leave of absence from employment, he had seven children, and all these fun activities cost a ridiculous amount of money. How do you fund such an outing? Well, you do away with hotels and three square meals a day. That’s how.

We spent those first four days on Oahu in a minivan, my friend. We subsisted on bread and fresh fruit, purchased each morning. We spent the bulk of each day swimming at the beach, then driving around in wet swim suits, with wet towels (because nothing ever completely dries in humid places such as the Islands). By day four, I can’t describe the odious funk that permeated that minivan. Mildew-saturated towels and clothing, combined with old fruit rinds, combined with teenage body odor.  (Man, I missed church dances.) 

The nights were the worst, really. Dad would drive around until it got late enough that the police stopped patrolling the beaches.  Then he’d pull over and some of us would throw our towels out onto the sand and sleep, and some of the more fortunate souls called dibs on the seats in the van. It was a catch-22. Van seats weren't comfortable, but you ran the risk of being eaten alive by mosquitoes outside. I was so impressed when Dad handed that minivan back into Alamo Rental with a straight face.

Eventually we flew over to Molokai. One of my dad’s friends, Jim, owned a home on the west end of the island. Thank goodness he did, because when we landed, we found out that the home my parents had arranged to rent was up and rented or sold to some locals who most likely knew the owner and tipped the scales in their favor with some fermented poi. So we did not have a home to move in to. We stayed at Jim’s for those few days, since he was almost never on the island, and nobody was renting his home from him at the moment.

After a couple of days of frequenting Molokai beaches and driving around the island, we left for Maui to kill some time, and because other people were renting Jim’s place for the week. On Maui we parasailed, whale watched, swam…and wondered where we were going to live once we went back to Molokai.

We got back to Molokai with about a week and half until school started. My parents were on the prowl for a home to rent while we set up a refugee camp at the home of the Relief Society President. We  quickly became too familiar with her, her quiet and balding, egg-shaped husband (who happened to be a cop), and their nine-year-old daughter. It smacked of Reality TV, but it hadn’t been invented yet.  My parents slept in the spare bedroom, and the rest of us slept on the floor, spread out around the house. We were grateful to have a roof over our heads, but I wasn’t so grateful to hear the horror stories from our host, the cop, about how my brother and I were going to get the living snot beat out of us by the locals because we were A) Haole (caucasion), and B) Not from Molokai.

Here I have listed a few of my first impressions about Molokai:

• It smells fantastic.
• The dirt is red.
• There are no stoplights.
• There are barely any stop signs.
• Nobody pays attention to the stop signs.
• Everyone leaves their keys in the car ignition, because everybody knows which car belongs to whom. (Population: 6,000 folks.) Cars are never stolen…where would you take them?
• Everyone picks up hitchhikers (same reason as above).
• The east end of the island is lush, with lagoons and an almost jungle-like feel; and the winding roads to get there make the trip longer than anywhere else you could go on the island. The west end is almost desert-like until you reach the coast, where the white-sand beaches are amazing. The north end holds the Guinness Book of World Records for the highest sea cliffs – and at the bottom is a peninsula, where the lepers live. The south end of the island has the wharf, groves of palm trees, and some restaurants and residential areas.

My first couple of weeks on the island were unusually eventful. Especially considering there was nothing to do. We were fortunate to be LDS, because we made friends at Church almost immediately, and this led to not being pulverized by anybody else for the rest of the time we lived there, since they were like my personal PR agents, assuring everybody else I meant no harm.

Of course I wasn't so sure about these guys at first. One of my first nights there, some of our new “friends” took my brother and I for a ride into town. They convinced us to participate in some kind of juvenile behavior in the local cemetery (a very superstitious place, Molokai), and then follow them down an abandoned alleyway. It was late, dark, and foreign to me. I thought this was it; I was about to lose the original bone structure of my face. One of the guys stepped up to a door and knocked. “This must be where they put dead Haole bodies,” I thought to myself. Then, some scrawny, high-pitched gentleman stepped out and…took our order for famous Molokai Hot Bread. Baked fresh nightly. It was delicious, and, like, a million times better than a punch to the face.

My parents finally found a “home” for us to rent during the 9 months it took to have a new 2-story house built. It was down on the wharf, no more than 1,000 square feet, with bare concrete floors, an occasional door (but not many), and, as an added bonus, on Friday and Saturday nights, we were bequeathed with the melodious tunes of a local, drunk Hawaiian band, playing at one of the restaurants just down the beach from us. To be fair, we did have our very own coconut tree in the backyard. We also had a menagerie of island creatures that were pleased to see we had a “No Shoes, No Shirt, No Worries, Bradda” policy in our home. Rats, centipedes…whatever felt like stopping by seemed to have unlimited access and felt quite comfortable in our living room and shower. It was one of the most surreal times in my young life.

Some things that made life easier:

• I got to visit another island almost once a month, for some school, church, or family-related activity.
• The local grocery store owner had Haagen-Dazs ice cream imported weekly just for our family.
• The first video store on the island opened the same week we moved there. Coincidence? Not hardly.
• I made friends that were more accepting than I had ever anticipated, and they kept me sane.
• The beach, the beach, the beach.

I knew I was becoming localized when:

• I no longer made fun of the high school mascot: The Farmers.
• I ate sticky rice, poi, Portuguese sausage, and raw squid at 6:00 a.m. at Seminary Breakfast Parties.
• I left my keys in my car ignition at all times.
• I didn't always wear shoes to school.
• Some of the local superstitions started giving me the heebie-jeebies.

I was only there the one year – my senior year of high school. After that I left for college and my parents later moved to Lake Tahoe while I was on my LDS mission. For the record, Dad never did go crazy. Also the golf resort was never built. But Molokai will always a hold a special place in my soul. And Harrison Ford will always have a string of blockbuster hits to distract us from Hollywood Homicide.