Keepin' It Real with Cam Marston Cam Marston Podcasts

On this week's Keepin It Real, Cam Marston had a client breach a contract and he's trying to use lessons from Marcus Aurelius to keep himself from absolutely losing it.
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I’m reading Marcus Aurelius’ book called Meditations written in about the year 175. They’re notes to himself about the thoughts he’s having and how he’s working to keep his head on straight. He’s writing to work things out. No audience in mind, just for him.
Throughout his writings several themes arise. First, he’s aware of the presence of death. The topic of dying is never far. Second, he has to keep reminding himself that he can’t control the behaviors of those around him, only himself. He controls his outlook on things and his attitude. He writes this over and over again. And third, his desire to do good. Always wanting to do good. For himself, for Rome, for the gods, for his troops. He’s consumed by doing good. Struggling to temper his reactions whenever bad things come his way. He’s focused on controlling his behavior. It's been a good read.
Aurelius had a number of people conspire against him while he was away on campaign. His plan was to return to Rome and forgive them. He died in route. It’s a very kind action in an era I often associate with ruthless and barbaric behavior.
I’ve recently had a client break a contract. Their behavior appeared willful and intentional but in hindsight, I’m hoping it wasn’t. It is a very large multi-national company. Every person I’ve met there seemed honest and genuine and sincere until this one thing has happened. A few weeks ago, I wanted to go to my small business colleagues and yell at the top of my lungs “Be careful. They’re not who they say they are. Don’t let the charm fool you. Be very, very careful.”
Now, not so much. My anger has diminished. I need to remedy the contract. I need to correct what’s happened. But goodness knows mounting a legal dispute would drain my small business. I’d go broke trying. Them? Hardly a blip on their radar.
So, how to proceed? What would my man, Marcus Aurelius, do? I think he’d remind himself that he can’t control the behavior of other people and his desire to do good and be kind should outweigh any anger, hostility and disappointment he feels. He needs to find the remedy without letting anger take hold. He may forgive them but he’d, rightly, never forget that it happened. And for me, right now, for what appeared like pre-meditated theft, forgiveness is a tall order.
It's amazing how unchanged our thoughts and emotions are in 2000 years. How the disciplines and thoughts and writings that a Roman emperor used to keep himself from losing it applies to me right now. I’d like to think that we’re kinder and more civil and sophisticated today. However, it’s simply not true. The virtues that Aurelius championed are as hard to bring forth in me today as they were to him 2000 years ago.
I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to Keep it Real. 

On this week's Keepin' It Real, what was Cam doing today at 4:59am? Well, he wasn't getting out of bed. That we know for sure.
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Most mornings I’m staring at the clock about 4:30 am waiting to get up. I won’t allow myself to get out of bed before 5am. Getting your day started at 5am means you’re aggressive. You’re eager to get going. Getting out of bed before 5am means you have a problem. They’re slight gradations. Minutes matter and 4:59am is a good bit different from 5am. I stare at the clock until it turns 5 when I feel like it’s ok to jump up and get the coffee started.
Most of my friends are much the same. I sat at my kitchen table last Saturday night with two friends as we waited for the beef ribs to get to 203 degrees, which, according to one of my kitchen guests, is the magic temperature for beef ribs. Each of us talking about how early we get up and what we do in those early morning hours. It’s worth noting that none of us do anything much interesting at all at this time of day. We make busy. We putter around. Each thinking that our behavior at that hour must be fascinating to others and we can’t wait to tell them about it. It’s not. As different as we think we are, we’re all remarkably the same at that time of day.
Years back I saw that when I accomplished something at that time of day it set a precedent for getting stuff done throughout the day. If I could check something off my list first thing in the morning – even something small - then I was likely to accomplish more during the day. This is to avoid staring into my phone as my first action of the day which leads to a poor beginning to the day. So at night, I cue up my early morning project. It’s simple stuff – I fold laundry, empty the dishwasher, take trash to the street, change a lightbulb. Something small done with one eye on the coffee maker. Because when the coffee maker beeps that the coffee is ready, the projects stop, the coffee goes into my cup, and it’s go-time for the day. But, in that short amount of time the coffee is brewing, I’ve made progress on having a good day.
It’s unfair that the first fifteen minutes of each day has such great influence over the following sixteen hours. I’m more like a child protecting its pacifier than any sort of adult doing adult things. But I’ve learned, so goes my morning, so goes my day. A more mentally disciplined person would never allow that to happen – they can set a positive trajectory by shaping their thoughts anytime of the day. I, however, am vulnerable to those first fifteen minutes. It’s shocking and, frankly it disappoints me about myself.
Amazing how beholden we are to our routines, isn’t it? Amazing how we count on them like we do. I can choose to get out of my routine and enjoy it. But knock me out of my routine unwillingly and I struggle to keep my day from deteriorating. So I protect it. And any parent knows what I know about myself – you don’t mess with the pacifier.
I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to Keep It Real.

On this week's Keepin' It Real, Cam has seen much more of the healthcare world these days than he would like. His advice: Stay well.
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I’ve been given an up a close look at our health care system over the past several months. It’s been, well, disappointing. And this comes after hearing a remarkable speaker discuss the importance of customer service on company culture.
I made a reference several months ago to the pain I’ve had. It’s finally been diagnosed as polymyalgia rhumatica, or PMR. It showed up around February first and has been a part of every day since. It’s a sickness that can’t be confirmed through tests. Once they rule out everything else, it’s one of the ones that’s left.
I’ve dealt with some pain in my life. Cluster headaches. A blood clot in my lung. However, nothing day in and day out has been like this PMR pain. On a scale from one to ten it’s regularly an 8 in the morning dipping to a four or five in the afternoon and back to an 8 the next morning. I need help getting my shirt on and off. I can barely brush my teeth. Right now, I’m on a steroid that masks the pain and I pray that the pain ends before the prescription runs out.
Now, the heath care system. I’ve seen five different doctors to try to diagnose this. I’m guessing I’ve spent less than an hour total with all of them. Averaging, maybe, ten minutes each. They burst through the door, they ask a handful of questions, they order tests. It’s quick. I’ve spent lots of time with nurses and assistants and in waiting rooms. But the doctors are hard to come by.
One hospital wouldn’t let me speak to a doctor who I heard might can help. “Unless you’re a patient,” they said, “you can’t speak to him.” “Well, I might become a patient if he thinks he can help. I’ve seen others of his specialty, but I hear he knows more. “Sorry,” they said. So, I wrote him a letter to get him to call me. I got a voice mail from the office supervisor – “you can’t talk to him. Please call me back,” she said. And I tried, got an exhaustive phone tree, zero’d out and asked, “Can I leave a message for the supervisor?” “Sorry,” they said. “Her phone isn’t hooked up to the system.” Over and over. Round and round. There were some phone trees that never allowed me to speak with anyone. If I weren’t in pain already my experience with today’s health care system was getting me there.
Another – “before I can treat you further, I have to do some tests,” the doctor said. “Make an appointment on the way out.” “We don’t make appointments,” the front desk said. Annoyed. Staring at her phone. “Someone will call you.” A day later, “Our next available appointment is in July.” “So, I have to live in level 8 pain from early April to July?” “Sorry. That’s all I got. You want the appointment or not?”
The culture of healthcare today is painful. Don’t get sick, folks. Don’t get sick. If your sickness doesn’t kill you, finding the treatment just might.
I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to keep it real.   

Each spring Cam sits in his morning reading chair and see's a friend just outside the window. But Cam won't give him a name. He absolutely won't.
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My lizard friend is back again. He shows up on the air conditioner every spring just outside the window. He stays there quite a while each morning, arriving about half an hour after sunrise. I sit each morning in my reading chair and keep an eye out for him. And suddenly, he’s there.
I grew up calling these things chameleons. Wikipedia, however, just told me he is a green anole and he is often mistakenly called a chameleon, likely started by pet shop owners who were selling them as something much more exotic than they are. Wikipedia also says his species is “secure”, meaning they are abundant.
My lizard friend is a male. He keeps pushing out his dewlap, his little red throat thingy that they show during mating season, hoping, I suppose to attract some babe lizard due to his remarkably colorful and large dewlap. He sits alone on the air conditioner flexing his dewlap in the hopes that some chick lizard will spot him and be taken with his masculinity and crawl on over for a big moment of lizard passion. At least that’s what I assume he’s doing. In this regard, my lizard friend isn’t too much different than many of the guys I see at the gym.
As a child we’d catch them and scare the girls. My braver friends would catch two and when the lizard tried to bite them, they’d let the lizard bite their earlobe and let it hang. The kids would walk inside with lizards hanging from each ear, find their mothers and say, “Mom. Look at me.” The mothers would see two lizards hanging from their son’s ears and freak out.  “Get those lizards off your ears and get them out of my house!” We loved it. Scaring mothers with bugs and lizards was a big fun part of my childhood.
There’s a part of me that wants to name him, and the name Roscoe keeps coming to mind. However, once you give a name an animal it becomes much closer to being a pet. A friend owns a beef cattle farm and he’s talked to me about how he avoids naming any of his cattle. One may have a big mark on him that makes my friend want to call that cow Spot or Freckles or something, but he resists the urge. My friend knows that one day that cow will be in the cooler for sale, and having to say goodbye Spot or Freckles is, well… He knows not to name them.
Same is true for the lizard outside who might be Roscoe. He has lots of predators looking for him. Birds. Snakes. Larger lizards. I won’t name him because I may be watching him display one morning at the same time a blue jay or mockingbird sees him and suddenly Roscoe’s gone. So I won’t name him, the anonymous lizard who might otherwise be Roscoe. He’s trying so hard out there. Every morning, he and I say hello through the window and he gets to work while I read. He’s a good lizard, Roscoe is, but I won’t name him. I won’t.
I’m Cam Marston. Just trying to Keep It Real.

On this week's Keepin' It Real, Cam Marston takes a moment to observe the fingerprint of time. And wishes he hadn't.
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Talking to a naked man is awkward. It’s just…awkward.
There are men that have come my gym at the same time every day for decades. And their work in the gym may have kept them alive but it has not kept them from aging. There is nothing firm on them. There’s nothing taut. Age plus gravity has left a sagging fingerprint. And talking to a naked man, especially one with some age on him, is, well, awkward. They’re standing there, towel over their shoulder, not around their waist. Is eye contact the right thing? Is no eye contact the right thing? I struggle with what to do.  
My gym has a hot tub. It feels good to get in there and, as I say, boil my bones for about ten minutes. I wear shorts. It’s a moment of truth whenever a naked man approaches the hot tub and asks, “Mind if I join you?” I never say what I want to. There’s plenty of room in there for the both of us, but sharing a hot tub with a naked man is, well, awkward. How far do I stay away? My instinct is to push myself up against the furthest edge of the tub. However, too much aversion may be rude. So somewhere between the next county over and right next to him seems to be about right. Always looking up. Always looking out. Always looking away. No behavior or no eye contact to suggest that you’re happy he’s joined you.
I watched out of the corner of my eye as an old man walked across the crowded locker room, towel over his shoulder, toward the water cooler. The room parted like the Red Sea. Everyone scooting out of the way. Him talking the whole way about golf or politics or traffic, whatever. No one was listening after he starting moving. Everyone clearing out. Making a path. Don’t get too close. And, good lord, don’t touch him. Fully dressed I’d happily shake his hand or even hug him. In the locker room with only a towel over his shoulder, no contact at all.
Another tried talking to a younger man who was getting dressed. The older man, towel over his shoulder, couldn’t get the younger man’s full attention. It was clear that the younger man did not want a conversation with a naked old man, so older man began walking towards him. The younger man moved to avoid him and kept moving, like a slow moving chase. Once the older man got within a certain distance, the younger man moved again. Like the repulsion of two magnets. And it was funny as long as he didn’t want to talk to me.
The male body, especially after a certain age, is nothing people should want to look at. It’s nothing people should have to see. It becomes oddly misshapen and strangely bulbous. There are exceptions, of course, and they’re on the covers of magazines. But most of us – yes, me too – avoid full length mirrors until we’re dressed. We already can feel the fingerprint of time. There’s absolutely no reason to have to look at it.
I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to Keep It Real.

On this week's KIR, Cam Marston wonders if he could do the same thing for fifteen years and know, just know in his bones, that it would pay off.
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I’ve just watched the documentary on Steve Martin called "Steve! A Documentary in Two Pieces." I’ve always liked Steve Martin.
What caught my attention the most is that he did his standup act for fifteen years. The vast majority of that time, his audiences were very small. In one video clip, he’s counting the number of people in the room during his act – there were fifteen people there. He got what he thought were big breaks that bombed, in one case opening for Anne Margaret in Las Vegas and after he finished his act all his belongings had been put in a box outside his dressing room.
However, the last stand-up comedy act he did was at the Nassau Coliseum outside New York City where he sold it out three nights in a row – 45,000 people each night. After the third night, he walked off the stage, never to do that act ever again. He was at the top of his game. It took him fifteen years to get there. And then he was done.
Question: Who of us have the will, the fortitude, to persevere for fifteen years – fifteen years - with the hope – actually, the confidence – that what we’re doing will ultimately pan out. When giving up or changing course is a very real option but we chose not to do it because our vision of what could be is so strong. I’m not sure I do. How many of us can see the need for a change, or see a change coming, and get out in front of it, remain confident amongst the failure and rejection, and never waver.
A number of times during the documentary Martin says that he did his act because he had few other options. The little money it brought in was all he had. Those interviewed, though, said he was waiting for society to catch up to his humor. Steve Martin changed standup and comedy and humor. He could see the change coming, but the vast majority of society wasn’t aware that a change was happening. Martin saw it coming, ever so slowly, so he kept going.
It's one thing to ID forthcoming changes in technology and how to get ahead of those changes to profit from new products – think Steve Jobs and the iPod – but what Steve Martin did was predict a change in the ethos of the United States following Vietnam. He had a hunch people would be different. And he kept at it. And, in time he was proven right.
What’s the moral of this story? Someone like that is out there amongst us right here and right now. Doing something we think is foolish, or that doesn’t seem funny, or saying something that doesn’t sound smart or goes against the grain of society. We ridicule them or cast them aside or, more likely, just ignore them. But they keep coming back. Perhaps, we should take a look.
I’m Cam Marston and I’m just trying to Keep It Real.