We did it again! 🎉 A big group of my college friends and I rented a house and enjoyed four soul-nourishing days together.

We’ve been pulling off these reunions for twelve or thirteen years now, depending on whether you count 2020 🦠, which we skipped. This year, eight of us convened in Boise, Idaho (a city I loved visiting solo back in 2019).

I can’t even tell you how entertaining and restorative these gatherings are. How packed they are with love, laughter, and support. My friends and I look forward to them for months, and afterward, we savor the memories.

In case you’ve ever yearned for a reunion with your friends, I’m going to share our well-honed approach. Steal anything that helps you spend quality time with the people you love.

Our getaways go from Thursday until Monday. Even though we’re sorry when the long weekend is over, four nights is a good amount of time to relax and reconnect.

Our scheduling stays the same, year after year. We used to spend a lot of energy hunting down days that would work for everyone. Now we know when our reunion is happening well ahead of time.

We alternate the east and west sides of the country. To goal is to be somewhat egalitarian about the onus of long travel distances, though our friend in Barcelona remains unfairly far from all our USA choices.

Our destinations tend to be mid-sized cities. We avoid huge metropolises like New York City or Chicago. We enjoy hiking together and hanging out at our rental house—maybe doing a little shopping. We’re not looking for a frenetic vibe with a long list of must-see destinations. Ideal locations have included Santa Fe, New Mexico; Asheville, North Carolina; Santa Barbara, California; and Stowe, Vermont. (I reported on New Orleans here back in 2018.)

Airports matter. Sometimes our destinations require a long drive from an airport (like Chatham, Massachusetts, last year). We’ve been tremendously lucky in such situations, but you’re introducing a huge risk when your rental house is far from the airport. If one person’s plane gets delayed, transporting them to the house can become a challenge.​

We conduct a poll to identify our destination. We collect suggestions for a while and then use Google Forms or Doodle to identify our winner.

Sometimes we use polling to pick a rental house. We seem to use Airbnb a lot, though I imagine there have been some VRBOs too. Strong advice: Make sure your rental house has plenty of bathrooms.

We use a shared Google Sheet for all our flight information. This makes it easy to figure out who among us should rent a car, who will get ferried in each car after arrival, and what time groups need to be at the airport on departure day.

The Google Sheet can include other information too, such as group activities to consider and the address of the rental house. It’s helpful to keep everything in one bookmarked spot.

The first destination on Thursday is the grocery store. The beauty of renting a house is that you can eat many of your meals there. We load up on grazable goodies: olives, cheeses, hummus, crackers, chips, wine, etc. and we tend to spend our first night feasting on our smorgasbord and catching up. We always invest in at least one sheet cake.

We often create a shared shopping list ahead of time. This can be done in the same Google Sheet as mentioned above or in the Apple Notes app. A shared list can help when a large group is shopping together—items can be ticked off as they go into a shopping cart so you don’t end up with duplicate items.

Make sure you plan for caffeine ingestion. Some of my friends are tea drinkers; others go for coffee. Don’t forget to pick up half and half or whatever your people enjoy in the a.m. And if someone in your group drinks decaf, make sure that the package is well marked and noted. (Peet’s did me dirty in Boise and I accidentally went a whole day without my life force, caffeine.)

We often go to restaurants for lunch, rather than dinner. Dinners at the house are relaxed and unhurried, and we don’t need to drive anywhere. And if you’re lucky enough to have friends like mine (looking at you, Nikki, Kristin, and Becky), someone in your group might be able to orchestrate/prepare an amazing meal for everyone. One year, Nikki surprised us by preparing delicious dishes in advance and feeding us like royalty all weekend long. It goes without saying that everyone should pitch in with cleanup.

Splitwise makes it easy to divvy up costs. I’m sure similar apps exist, but we’ve found Splitwise really easy to use. We do not use Splitwise to reimburse one another, though, because it can be a hassle in that regard. We use Venmo and then manually check off our payments in Splitwise.

We’ve never brought our spouses or kids. (One exception was a year that coincided with our college reunion.) It goes without saying that we love said spouses and kids, but we’re looking for completely undiluted catch-up time.

We create—and cherish—shared photo albums. The photo above was captured on Nikki's phone by a friendly passerby in Boise, but we can all access it, thanks to the wonders of technology.

I’m already getting excited about next year. Maybe we’ll go to Charleston, South Carolina. Or Chattanooga, Tennessee. Or Savannah, Georgia. Even thinking about spending quality time with dear friends in a fun location is a treat. I hope you can get inspired by the notes above and make your reunion dreams a reality.

I read this aphorism all the time, and I hate it.

First of all, it’s patently untrue. Of course there is “try.” That’s why we have the word, Yoda. We even have an abundance of synonyms for it: attempt, endeavor, take a stab at, etc. Don’t tell me there is no try. I try all the time. Don’t invalidate my efforts, you 26-inch puppet, you.

Also, trying and doing/not doing are not mutually exclusive. I could try to make a chocolate soufflé and end up with a tall, fluffy masterpiece; I could try to make that same soufflé and end up with an odd mutant dessert omelet. Either way, I have tried.

The Yoda meme, beyond being false, encourages terrible black-and-white thinking. You know, like: You’re either with me or against me. It says that if you don’t succeed, you fail—and that those are your only two choices.

Ugh. What terrible nonsense.

Trying is where the best things happen. If your chocolate soufflé doesn’t rise, you might learn the benefit of adding cream of tartar or using a copper bowl to whip your egg whites. Or you might create a delicious new protein-packed breakfast treat. You might simply enjoy some leisure time in the kitchen.

When you try, you demonstrate to yourself that you’re capable of trying, of taking risks, of experimenting and adjusting your path forward. You discover what works and what doesn’t. You learn. You grow. You get better.

But people just love that stupid Yoda line because it sounds so absolute and hard-core. They claim that if you so much as contemplate the tiny word “try,” you are swinging open the door for failure to rush in and ruin everything. They believe that you must possess complete conviction or you will surely sabotage yourself.

Balderdash! You can acknowledge risks and still succeed. In fact, that’s often the wisest way to go. “What’s the worst thing that can happen?” I often ask myself when something feels intimidating. And if I answer myself honestly, I can see that “the worst” isn’t nearly so objectionable as inaction and the potential regret of what might have been. So I try, and quite a lot of the time, I “do.”

Think twice before believing Yoda’s terrible pronouncement. The full-blown, deaf-to-distraction, self-delusional certitude that he advocates gets people into an awful lot of trouble. I’m thinking of Elizabeth Holmes. I’m thinking of The Secret. I’m thinking of countless cults. Just because you really, really, really, really want something to happen does not—can not—not make it so.

Will this little rant on my little blog stop the legions of people who continue to share this horrible quote and use it to guide their lives? Nope. Can I make a few people think twice about doing so? Maybe.

I can surely try.

I have this idea. People may not like it.

Here's what I'm thinking: The world is not black and white. People are not all good or all bad. I know how much we love having villains and heroes, but that really isn't the way it works.

Think of your personal life. Those times when someone's behavior enrages you, you typically aren't really understanding their perspective or rationale. You make assumptions. You simplify. You get self-righteously pissed off.

But after the blow-up, the yelling, the tears, the silent treatment... if you're lucky, you talk. You listen. And you come to understand. More often than not, you realize that your fury wasn't really so appropriate.

What I want is a number. A number that represents how likely your perspective is to be accurate in any of those times you find yourself indignant. If your perspective were perfect during these moments, this number would be 100.

The number could never be 100.

It is my hypothesis that when we find ourselves angry—at a spouse, at a relative, and yes, even at a ideological adversary or politician—this number, on average, is 24.7—at most. Maybe it's 17.9. Or lower.

Let's call that average the Righteousness Quotient. Every time you find yourself upset about someone else's behavior or beliefs, you know that you're only this likely to be correct in all your assumptions.

My hope is that, if we all knew this number, we'd be a little more patient and circumspect. A little slower to react. A little more inclined to listen and understand. Less likely to go on the attack and dig in our heels.

I think we'd all be happier. Less angry, certainly. We'd probably spend less time excoriating one another. We'd spend less energy whipping up others to share in our fury. We'd think of this number—maybe some of us would even tattoo it on the backs of our hands—and we'd remember to slow down and ask questions and work to understand one another.

I think it might make for a better world.

I think it all started with the Holstee Manifesto. You know the one—the all-caps declaration that "THIS IS YOUR LIFE" followed by a series of bossy commandments: "DO WHAT YOU LOVE, AND DO IT OFTEN. IF YOU DON'T LIKE SOMETHING, CHANGE IT. IF YOU DON'T LIKE YOUR JOB, QUIT." Etc., etc., etc. All available as an 18"x24" letterpress poster for just $36 plus tax and shipping.

All over the interwebs, I'm told that I'm supposed to dance like no one is watching and love like I've never been hurt. I'm supposed to live fearlessly, forgive indiscriminately, and eat dessert first. I need to keep my chin up. Follow my heart. Let go of the past and embrace opportunity. Behave like my dog. Laugh like a child. I'm just making this stuff up now. I could go on for days.

Here's the thing: 90% of what gives these commandments their appeal is their design. They're carefully typeset or charmingly hand-lettered. They're writ large on rustic farmhouse-style faux-distressed wood. They feature frolicking children and adorable kittens.

They're worded irresistibly, too. Authoritative. Simple. And concise. How nice: The secret to happiness can fit right on my phone screen.

But here's the thing. Life isn't simple. It's full of deadlines and disappointments and dry cleaning. Sure, dancing and laughter are lovely, and I try to work them in as appropriate. But I've got other things to get done. I need to vacuum. Get my tires rotated. And floss my teeth.

And don't tell me what I'm going to regret on my deathbed, because frankly, my stint on my deathbed (if I even have that luxury) will be but a minuscule fraction of my entire life. It doesn't really count for all that much, in my book.

So, thanks for all the advice, Holstee and everybody else. I'll give it some thought. And then I'll get on with the business of living my unique life—with all its mundane challenges, delights, and experiences, and its irreducible complexity.

Call me a heretic, but I'm no stickler for the Ten Commandments. I am comfortable cursing and coveting, and I like to use the Sabbath (both of them) for activities like racquetball, brunch, and naps.

I, like George Carlin, feel like the Ten Commandments have some shortcomings. If it were up to me (and it definitely isn't), I'd propose ten different commandments for folks to follow.

1. Thou shalt not leave a mess. Please put your chewing gum in the trash. Place your vodka bottle in the recycling bin. And keep your company's filthy chemicals out of our water and air.
   
   
2. Thou shalt give others the benefit of the doubt. You never know what other people are dealing with. Heartbreak. Heartburn. A bounced check. An eviction notice. A migraine, or mental Illness, or all of the above.
   
   
3. Thou shalt volunteer. It's good for the world, and it's good for you.
   
   
4. Thou shalt allow adults to do pretty much whatever they want, so long as no one is getting harmed. What grownups do in privacy for entertainment is truly no one else's concern.
   
   
5. Thou shalt never justify anything by saying that others have done it. Just because your mother frequently flogged you does not make child-flogging beneficial. Just because others cheat on their taxes, their exams, or their wives doesn't make it right.
   
   
6. Thou shalt verify before sharing. The more titillating and shocking a story, the more crucial it is to check its source, check Snopes, and check to see if other credible news outlets corroborate it.
   
   
7. Thou shalt vote. Never take any election for granted. Never take your democracy for granted. Never take anything for granted.
   
   
8. Thou shalt avoid using or succumbing to logical fallacies. As humans, we are all susceptible to these. Learn to spot them, and cry foul.
   
   
9. Thou shalt question authority. Just because someone is in a position of power—whether they are a teacher, a boss, a high priestess, or a senator—they are not above scrutiny. In fact, authority figures ought to get more scrutiny.
   
   
10. Thou shalt not follow lists like this one. Never blindly follow opinionated rules. Unless they make sense to you. Then, by all means.

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I had never heard of ASMR until about a year ago, but when I did, it was a eureka moment. "THAT's what I've had all my life!" I thought. "It has a name!"

The full name is "autonomous sensory meridian response." And in my case, it comes to pass when I listen to certain sounds in certain circumstances. When the conditions are just right, I experience a delightful sensation somewhere in the back of my neck, but also sort of deep in my brain. The magic formula can involve crinkling paper, or whispering, or the tapping of fingernails. It also has something to do with where the crinkler, whisperer, or tapper is focusing his or her attention.

I know: weird, right? But it's oh-so-real. See that colored-in illustration and misspelled explanation above? I made that when I was about 10 years old. My very thoughtful mother even bought me a ream of onion-skin paper when I was a kid because she knew I loved the noise it made.

It's a little embarrassing to share this information, but I'm certain that I'm not alone. I even know a couple of other people who experience ASMR. (Interestingly, they both have synesthesia.)

Anyone else?​