A Boyd's Eye View: Social media includes "face-to-face" contact.

Not long after my last Boyd's Eye View I had a great discussion with a friend who also has a long history in the fishing and outdoor industries. He liked what I had written with regard to "professional anglers" needing to pay attention to details in their posting on social media, but he also made a point to remind me that it's important not to lose sight of the one aspect of marketing one's self that seems to have really gotten lost the past few years; Face-to-face engagement.

Instantly I realized he was right. It's almost like we spend so much time on the computer with "social media", we have lost the ability to be "social" in person. I have seen this in action first hand from one of the best. For years, I had the pleasure of working with Hall of Fame walleye angler Gary Parsons. I have no doubt that if you took aside 100 individuals that had met Gary in person at least 80% (and probably more) would say he was personable and great to talk to. Truth be known, there were many times we would be at a boat ramp or on the road headed to a TV shoot or an event and stop in to fill gas or make a pit stop and Gary would get approached by and spend 30 minutes or even more talking fishing before getting back to the task at hand. Was that something he "needed" to do? Absolutely not, but he saw an opportunity to share his passion for the sport he loved with other like-minded individuals and took it. Seriously, I don't even think it is something he can help; his passion for fishing and the outdoors is just so strong he can't help but share it at most every chance he gets.

Face-to-face may very well be the most influential form of social media.

Many professional anglers (or other professional influencers for that matter) don't work on their "people skills" nearly as hard as they do their social media skills because companies that sponsor them have no way to track the effectiveness of their face-to-face contact. That's a shame, and while it's true that its not a real measurable commodity, it very well may be an infuencer's most powerful tool in the long run.

It's amazing how many times I have seen guys completely blow the perfect opportunity to build on their face-to-face influence. Working sport shows is an ideal situation. Whether you are there to support a sponsor or to give seminars, you have a captive audience that are there to hear what you have to say. If you are standing around in a booth with your nose in your phone, you are not doing your job. After you give a seminar, there are inevitably going to be individuals walking up to talk and ask questions. Engage them with a smile, shake their hand and be "in" the conversation. If you need to take the conversation to another room to make way for the next presenter, do so. This is your job. Do it with courtesy and enthusiasm. If you can't do that, go find a 9-to-5 gig because this line of work is not for you.

It's an art that few have and anyone working to be an "influencer" in any industry should master. Being able to connect face-to-face builds brand loyalty, and it can do it in a manner that's much more effective and long-term than any type of media can produce. Be careful however, as it can backfire on you just as quickly and irrevocably turn folks off to your brand and influence in the marketplace. Be professional at all times, be polite and smile. This all may sound elementary but its amazing how often the most simple steps to being social are completely ignored.

If you are working to be an influencer in your chosen industry, someone that drives around in a fully wrapped vehicle promoting your sponsors or your brand, it doesn't matter if you're a professional angler, professional hunter or even the world's foremost expert on K-cup coffees (a position I am honing in on with every passing cup), you need to be approachable and personable. You can influence a large group of people by one friendly and passion-sharing conversation with one person. It works because then that one person goes out and tells their friends about it, and then they tell their friends, etc, etc. It's the pebble dropped in the water deal ... and none of it involved a computer. 

That's my Boyd's Eye View at least ... Carry On.

Collecting Stuff - For the Fun of It!

I'm sure "Collecting" is a hobby as old as mankind. No doubt somewhere way back in history, a Neanderthal Man had an impressive collection of something .... maybe bones, maybe rocks. What ever it was, the collecting of those items was important to him, more so than most of the other Neanderthals around him. His collection made him unique, and his collection gave him a sense of pleasure he did not get from anything else.

I would venture a guess that most of us collect something during our lives. We all know the popularity of collecting stamps, coins and rare comic books. Some collectors gravitate toward collecting items they closely associate with like items pertaining to a favorite sport or TV show. Some collections are vast, like the woman I saw a TV report about recently that had amassed over 10,000 sets of salt and pepper shakers. Some collectors are much more obsessed than others ... I'd say she's just nuts, but then who am I to judge. 

As for me, I have had several collections over the years - none of them extreme, but small treasures none the less. Like many young boys growing up in the 60's and 70's, I had a baseball card collection (and chewed ton's of cheap bubble gum). I had some pretty good cards too, including the complete set of available players for the 1967 St. Louis Cardinal roster including the team photo card. That was the year they won the World Series against the Sox . What I wouldn't do to have those cards today! They were all stored and sorted neatly in a boot box in my closet when I went off to college, only to be tossed out with most of the rest of the clutter filling my childhood bedroom closet to make space for my mom's new "sewing room". (It's as if she couldn't wait to get me out of the house or something ...).

These days I have a small collection of knives, a very selective but precious (to me) collection of framed fishing art prints, but my most prized collection is my assortment of antique fishing tackle. It's by no means a large collection, and none of my collectibles are all that rare or in pristine condition. But they are part of my collection because of one thing; I think they are cool. 

I used to have the entire collection in a display case in my family room, but when my wife and I downsized to a small abode a few years back, the collection was packed up and stored away for safe keeping. I pull the boxes out from time to time, and I like to take photos of the items for no other reason than I just like the way they look. I look at the rusty hooks and chipped paint on an old lure and I think about the excitement of anticipation it gave every time it was cast to "fishy looking" spots. I don't collect the valuable lures that are still new and in their original box. I like the tackle that has seen use. The stuff that has fought fish and brought joy to the angler using it. It's those stories behind the rods and reels and lures that make collecting this stuff fun for me.

I hope you have a collection you enjoy. I believe we should all collect something. Collections say something about who we are on the inside. And don't get caught up in the thought that collectibles are an "investment" of any kind! For crying out loud, if something I collect now is going to be worth enough to call an "investment", it won't be until I'm long dead and buried. Collect for the fun of it. That's the best reason to collect anything. 

The Pocket Knife

It's inevitable ... as we get closer to Christmas, we often begin thinking of gifts we have received in the past that for one reason or another have stuck with us. For me, it was a stocking stuffer from my Mom when I was eight years old ... a pocket knife.

This particular knife was an "official" Boy Scouts of America model that I had been wanting for most of the preceding year. It not only had the obvious knife blade, but a bottle opener with screwdriver tip, a leather awl and a can opener. It was shiny, and was the first "real knife" I could call mine. It was in my pocket every day after that. I loved knowing I had it and it really made me feel (as the Boy Scouts  taught) "always prepared".

I don't remember when I lost that knife. I'm sure it was one of those traumatic childhood memories I have since forgotten, but it was by no means the last pocket knife in my life.

When I was about twelve or so, my Granddad Gray showed me some of the finer points of stick whittling while sitting on his back porch watching the squirrels scurry about his back yard gathering acorns for the upcoming winter. His tool of choice was a classic Schrade Old Timer - a 3 blade model.  When we were done with the whittling lesson, he carefully folded the blade into place and laid the knife in the palm of my hand with the instructions, "Keep it clean and sharp and it will last you a long, long time." It did, and still holds a nice edge.

These days I own several nice pocket knives. A couple still get carry-time and get used for everything from opening mail to cutting fresh flowers from the garden. But most are kept stored away for safe keeping, one day to be passed on to my son and grandson. And I still enjoy pulling them out occasionally to clean and sharpen them as needed, whether they need it or not.

So, if you have a young man on your Christmas list this year, and you wish to give a gift that will show them you consider them responsible and "grown up" enough to handle such a gift, consider a quality pocket knife. Granted, they won't be able to take it to school to play Mumbletypeg in the playground with their buddies like we did back in the day, but it will give you a great opportunity to sit down with them and show them how to properly use it, care for it, and understand that its a tool and not a toy. It will be quality time well spent, and a quality gift that just may stick with them the rest of their life (pun intended).

Weird things you do when you’re alone ...

I recently decided to take on one of those "writing challenges" that pop up from time to time in an attempt to keep my writing skills sharp and to work on some aspects of the craft. The first step to this 30 day challenge was to write about weird things you do when you are alone.

Having “alone time” is something I have become way too familiar with the past few months as I have been in the situation of hunting down my next job. Finding things to do to fill that time however has not been that difficult. I have become quite efficient at household chores from cleaning the bathrooms and keeping up with laundry (duties that are much appreciated by my wife).

But when it comes to “weird things I do when alone”, there are a couple that at least some would consider a bit odd.

• While watching TV may not seem like a weird way to pass the time, I seem to have developed an obsession with watching cooking shows, and in particular Ree Drummond – The Pioneer Woman. I get a real kick out of her “down home” approach and love her “comfort food” style recipes.
• Anyone that knows me well understands that I have a touch of OCD when it
  
  comes to organizing. Therefore, when left to my own devices, I can spend copious amounts of time organizing and arranging various areas of the house. Sometimes it’s in my “fishing room” where I can spend literally hours sorting lures, labeling tackle boxes (I LOVE my label maker!), and just basically “fish futzing”. This week, I plan to tackle the dreaded “container cabinet” – that area of the kitchen where all those plastic containers and lids are stored. I have become increasingly frustrated with this part of the kitchen as trying to match containers with lids has become an arduous task at best.
• I don’t know how weird this is, but another thing I tend to do when alone is clean house. Not weird in itself but when I do it, I like to play music … Hard Rock music … and I like it LOUD. I find AC/DC LIVE to be a particularly good soundtrack for getting housework done.

So there are my weird things I do when alone … or at least the ones I am willing to write about for public consumption.

Update: I did get the dreaded container cabinet organized, thanks to a re-purposed laundry basket ... 

Southern Accents

I've decided to stick with the "song title" theme for a while here, mainly because it's fun to write about and I find it refreshing to write about things I have a lot of feeling about. Music has long been a huge part of my life - a timeline if you will - chronicling the years and where I was at various points in my life. While I have never played an instrument, and I have no singing voice at all (note here that in the one and only musical I performed in back in high school, I was asked to speak my lines and only sing when it added to the comedic aspects of the play), but I have been a life-long listener and student of music that interested me.

About the time I graduated from high school Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers hit the scene and a major part of my life's musical score was established. In those early years, Petty's tunes spoke to the trials and tribulations of love, lust and the angst of young adulthood; a perfect soundtrack for that period of my life. But its one of his lesser known tunes from one of his lesser revered albums that has spoken loud and clear to me in the later years of my life.

In 1985 Tom and the Heartbreakers released the album "Southern Accents". While this was supposed to be a "concept album" relating to the group's life growing up in the deep south, a series of events and collaborations diluted the album's original concept and what was finally put out was not what most band members hoped for nor was it as successful as many of the band's other efforts. The record did produce a couple Petty "standards" with "Rebels" and "Don't Come Around Here No More", but it was the title track, "Southern Accents", that touched me like very few songs have ever touched me.

I had heard the song many times as the album was a regular on my turntable in the late 80's, but it was right after my mom passed away in 1986 and I had spent a little time in my hometown of Joplin, Missouri (pronounced "Mizzurra" when you're from there) that the words in this piece really began to hit home with me.

The song starts off straight forward enough:

There's a southern accent, where I come from
The young'uns call it country
The yankees call it dumb
I got my own way of talkin'
But everything is done, with a southern accent
Where I come from


The line about "The yankees call it dumb" conjures up some fun memories; in 1973 I moved from Joplin to live with my dad and stepmom in Forest Lake, Minnesota. While being in fairly close proximity to the Twin Cities, Forest Lake was a small town more influenced by the rural surroundings than the metropolis just down the highway. I never considered that I had any sort of an accent back then, until classmates constantly asked me to repeat myself. Eventually I figured out they just wanted to hear me talk because to them I sounded funny (and the girls seemed to think it was "cute"). Years of living north of the Mason-Dixon Line and a year in Broadcasting school have stripped the accent but I still say "Mizzurra" and I still "warsh" my cloths from time to time.


Now that drunk tank in Atlanta's
Just a motel room to me
Think I might go work Orlando
If them orange groves don't freeze
I got my own way of workin'
But everything is run, with a southern accent
Where I come from

As many of you are aware and I have written about before,  my past includes a period of years where alcohol and drugs were ... well let's just say they were "influential" in my life (he says sarcastically). So while this stanza in the song really didn't relate to my life directly, I could relate to the feeling it speaks to. 

For just a minute there I was dreaming
For just a minute it was all so real
For just a minute she was standing there, with me

There's a dream I keep having
Where my mama comes to me
And kneels down over by the window
And says a prayer for me
I got my own way of prayin'
But everyone's begun
With a southern accent
Where I come from

This is the part of the song that really hit home when I listened to it following my mom's passing. Mom was a "southern girl" right down to her bones. She had that enviable talent of speaking like trailer trash in a country club crowd, do it with a smile on her face, a sense of charm and a "Bless yur heart ..." that left others defenseless. My "inner southern accent" comes directly from my mom.

I got my own way of livin'
But everything gets done
With a southern accent
Where I come from

For any of you that have lived in the northern states, and then spent time in the south, one of the first things you come away with is the fact that things move at a different pace down south. I think I have become somewhat of a hybrid over time ... working and living with an energy level more relaxed than many around me, but with a bit more vigor and urgency than is typical of my "southern" roots ... and still everything gets done in its own time. 

If there were ever a song that I'd want sung at my memorial service, this one would be in the running. At one time I even went so far as to rewrite part of the song lyrics to make it more specific to me and my life (sorry Tom but its my funeral and I'll want it sung my way):

Now that clinic in Dakota
Taught me how to live drug free
And words will be my labor
As I write on what suits me
I got my own way of workin'
But everything is run, with a southern accent
Where I come from

I'm very excited about Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers coming to Summerfest in Milwaukee this summer, and I already have my tickets purchased - center stage. I hope "Southern Accents" will be part of the playlist that night, but I won't be disappointed if its not. I'll enjoy the show regardless, and I'll do so with a southern accent, cuz that's where I come from.

Beautiful Loser

"He wants to dream like a young man, with the wisdom of an old man." And so starts a song sung by Bob Seger, a song that from the first day I heard it I was sure it was written specifically about me.

"He wants his home and security, He wants to live like a sailor at sea ..." may seem like a phrase contradicting itself, but I think its that contradiction that really hits home with me. On one hand, the security of home and family is one of those facets of life that keep us all grounded. On the other, the sense that life's adventures and challenges are out there for us to experience.

There are lines that make me feel good when I hear them like, "He's your oldest and your best friend, if you need him, he'll be there again." and there are lines that cut deep with truth that make me know this is me he's singing about, "He's always willing to be second best, a perfect lodger, a perfect guest." 

I told my son once that this was my favorite song of all time, and his initial reaction was one of most folks that hear me say that, "You're not a loser!". He's right, I'm not a loser .... but a "beautiful Loser" is something else altogether.

Seger once said the song was about "people who set their goals so low that they never achieve anything ... underachievers in general". He wrote it, and he's entitled to his opinion, but I don't hear it like that. A Beautiful Loser to me is one who knows his place in the world and understands that it's not on top where he may WANT to be, but rather more like a "supporting role", the character actor in life I guess.  A Beautiful Loser is the "nice guy", the guy that gives of himself in order to be a part of something, often at his own expense, but for the good of the whole.

"He'll never make any enemies, he won't complain if he's caught in a freeze." Well at least the "goal" is to never make enemies, but I did learn a long time ago that you can't please everyone no matter how hard you try. But I do try hard not to offend. "He'll always ask, he'll always say please." Of course I do ... that's' how I was raised. 

"Beautiful loser, Never take it all, 'Cause it's easier And faster when you fall, You just don't need it all". This obviously says different thing to different people, but to me, its a reminder to keep life simple and un-cluttered. A complicated life is .... well, complicated. A good life is made up of a few simple and key components; Love, Family and a good sense of 'Self'.

We all have our own favorite songs; ones that touch a nerve or help us keep a memory we cherish. My personal playlist is long and varied, but this tune will always have a spot at the top. It's a verse that simply speaks to me, about me, and about what's important in life. Sometimes when I'm feeling down, feeling more like a "loser" than a winner, I listen to this song, and it just helps.

A Quarter Century of Sobriety

26 years and 2 days ago my Mom passed away. Hard to believe its been so long ago. Probably still why I don't like April Fools Day ...

25 years ago today I walked into the Heartview Foundation Rehab facility in Mandan, ND and have not used alcohol or drugs since that day. My Mom's death had much to do with that. Well, not her death really; more her life leading up to the day she died. Mom had her issues with substance abuse too. Bourbon and pain killers, often at the same time, kept things "interesting" to say the least during my formative years. I distinctly remember saying to myself that I'd never "be like her".  But in reality, the fruit didn't fall far from that tree .... not far at all.

When she died, she was 50 years old and about 8 months sober. That was the longest I can remember her ever being drug and alcohol free. It was different. Although she had been through rehab a couple times before, it didn't stick. But this time she looked different, sounded different and talked different. This time it seemed it was  finally going to be behind her. Then in a flash, she got sick and died.

Going through her things after she passed I found her Big Book of AA as well as other books from her days in rehab. Inspirational reading material is very common in the "treatment process". Books full of daily readings meant to keep you thinking about why it is you want to get sober and what its going to take to stay there. I knew by this time that I needed help, I just wasn't 100% sure what kind of help I needed. The passages I read in these books really affected me. The more I read them, the more I felt that this might be the answer I was looking for to "fix" my own life.

So, one year following Mom's death I found myself in the Heartview facility talking with an addiction counselor and being told that I was an addict and that if I was ready to quit using, they were there to help and show me how. At that point it was actually a relief, mostly because I was half sure they were going to tell me I was not an addict, I was just crazy. Long story shortened, they did help me sober up ... they couldn't do anything about the "crazy" part of me except to teach me how to embrace it and call it my own. 

I could probably write a book on all the reasons I thought I was justified in turning to drugs and alcohol to get from one day to the next, but to be brutally honest, it would be a pretty boring book. Every addict has a tote full of rationalities to justify their indulgences and I was no different. "Mom drank; Mom shot up pain killers; Mom embarrassed me; Dad's not in my life; I'm different; I don't fit in; I'm not good enough." The reasons are never-ending and mostly irrational, but the bottom line is I was an addict with a disease; still am, although now I simply choose to treat my disease, not practice my indulgences, and live with what life has dealt me the best I can, sober and with the help of my Higher Power, my friends and my family.

It's 25 years later now. I'm still straight and sober. I don't really even think about it much anymore except when the 3rd of April rolls around. I don't miss drinking alcohol, smoking pot or eating mushrooms. I don't miss popping pills to stay up, then popping more pills to come down. I don't miss snorting, toking, slugging or huffing. I'm glad I don't use anymore. I'm still crazy from time to time ... but the only excuse I need these days is "just cuz that's me" ...

Mom, I know you weren't happy about leaving us so early in life. I also know you left those books right where you figured I'd find 'em. Thanks Mom ... I needed that. But then you always knew what I needed.