Jerry from Ohio: The Richest Man in Scottsdale

• One of the 5 pillars of this show is Radical Authenticity.  To be authentic is underpinned by our ability to be present.  
• For me to tune in to who I really am at my core I have needed to learn how to be present.  If I’m not present then I’m getting triggered by the world around me and younger parts of me could be running the show of Michael leaving no room for me to show up as who I authentically am today -
• A 58 year old aspiring good human who has the scar tissue to know the version of me that has me feel whole and at peace - the “Authentic me”.
• So, how do we get present in a world that seduces us not to be?  
• Today, I want to take you with me on a bike ride through the heart of Scottsdale, Arizona. It’s an incredibly affluent place, a bubble of wealth and comfort that for good reasons and not so good reasons, I live in. 
• But on this specific morning, underneath a desert pergola, I was stopped in my tracks by a young man who owns next to nothing, yet possesses a spiritual wealth that moved me to weep.
• Grab a seat, slow down for a second, and let’s talk about Jerry from Ohio: The Richest Man in Scottsdale

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:50

Welcome, listeners. Excited to talk to you about something that happened to me a few days ago. To intro it though, I wanted to talk about one of the five pillars of this podcast, how I live my life. The first one being radical authenticity. To be authentic is truly underpinned by our ability to actually be present in the moment. Why is that? Well, for me to tune into who I really am at my core, I have needed to learn how to be present. Because if I'm not, then I'm getting triggered by the world around me and younger parts of me who are getting triggered by those things, my environment, people, people who might be angry, resembling different younger parts of me, my dad, my stepdad, my mom. Then those younger parts are running the show and leaving no room for me to show up as who I authentically am today. A 58-year-old, aspiring, good human who has the scar tissue to know the version of me that has me feel whole and at peace. The authentic me. And I would certainly invite all of you to think that there is a version of you and you know what that is. So, how do we get present in a world that seduces us not to be? And we've talked about this in other episodes. Our world is moving faster than it ever has in human history. AI is pushing us to an entirely different level. We're plugged into a digital matrix, we're hyper-focused on our own advancement, our own families, our own survival. We track metrics, we optimize our schedules, you know, we're all chasing the next level of comfort, getting more, getting ahead. Something vital broke down for me. What was it? Well, I forgot about the things I had, and I put way too much focus and emphasis on what I didn't have. Folks, I could never talk too much about the importance of gratitude in our lives. As aspiring good men and people, it is vital. And in this race to get ahead, one of the outcomes and the impacts is that we've traded raw human connection for these convenient bubbles of comfort in our lives. Cars we drive, malls we walk around in, and even walking in parks. It's rare, for me anyway, that I feel a human connection with someone where I see them and they say me, they see me. Most people are plugged into their phones or their earbuds and they're just not paying attention. And part of this is because we think we need more. We need more security, we need more money, we need more success to finally feel fulfilled that holy grail. But what if the deepest wealth in the world has nothing to do with what's in your bank account? What if that's actually true? I'm sure all of you have heard that a lot. What if true alignment and radical gratitude are waiting for you in the exact places where we've been trained to look right past, to not look at. And today, I want to talk to you about a story that had me do just that. I want to take you with me on a bike ride through the heart of Scottsdale, Arizona. And for those of you who know about it or read about it, it's an incredibly affluent place. It is a bubble of wealth and comfort, and that for good reasons and not so good reasons, I happen to live in. Work brought me here. But on this specific morning, underneath a desert pergola, I was stopped in my tracks by a young man who clearly owned next to nothing, and yet he demonstrated to me that he possessed a spiritual wealth that moved me to weep. So grab a seat and slow down for a moment. Try to be present while I talk to you about Jerry from Ohio. For me, by far the richest man in Scottsdale that I have met. It began a few days ago. I rode my bike like many other days along the Arizona Canal. It's beautiful. I love to see the birds, especially the hummingbirds, the fish. Really slows me down, helps me get present. And the reality is that in this place, there are not a lot of homeless people. And frankly, there's not a lot of people who look to be facing any kind of adversity at all. So this is a story of one interaction that moved me to weep about how fortunate I am to have what I do, to be who I am, and to get up every day with the opportunity to be human. And it came in the most unlikely of places. And so I'd seen this young man several times on other bike rides carrying his large knapsack and his plastic bag full of his stuff. I don't know what was in it, but it was his world. And he looked like a young man who was down and out on his luck. He looked like a young man that was sleeping outside because he had nowhere else to go. This was my perception, at least. He'd been wandering along the paths that follow the Arizona Canal. I'd seen him in several different places. These same paths that also line high-end golf courses and high-end homes. And on this morning, I rode my bike past him again on my way to the endpoint of my ride that I usually do four or five times a week. And as I rode by, I thought about him and remembered that moment that I'd seen him a few times. And I thought to myself, is he okay? Is he mentally stable? What brought him here to this place of all places? And so I wondered about this young man, and then there was a part of me, some developing human part of me that felt some responsibility for where he found himself. And you know, I thought about other moments in my life where I had something that had gone slightly different for me, and took me to a really tough, dark place. And if I didn't have the love of others, I might be right where he is, and others are when they don't have a place to go, when they find themselves homeless. And I felt this responsibility, not the kind of responsibility where I felt blame for his life, but the kind of responsibility where he's a fellow human. And who would I be if I didn't make sure that he was okay? And so I rode my bike back toward home, and there he was, sitting in the same spot. He was underneath this pergola, you know, a rooftop in the middle of the desert, off of the canal, designed to allow people to rest from the heat. And then I rode past him again, and I hit the brakes. And, you know, I stopped and just consternated on approaching him, this part of me that kept coming up. And look, the truth is that there was some hesitation and some fear for me. You know, would I be safe if I walked up to him? And I think the bigger question for me is what would I do if I asked him if he needed anything? And I wasn't able to provide it. And so these things came up for me. And in that, in those moments, I I debated, do I do this, do I not do this? And so I decided that I was going to approach him. Here's someone who is very alone and has been for some time, and that was clear to me. And I didn't know his whole story, but I could tell enough in the moments that I'd passed him. So I rode my bike up to him, and at first he seemed a little wary. Probably worried that someone like me might be asking him to move on to somewhere else. I don't know. I didn't ask him, but it's certainly what I felt from him in that moment. So I stopped my bike in front of him and I took off my sunglasses so he could see his eyes. My eyes. He could see my eyes. I could see his eyes. And I simply asked him, Are you okay? And his reply stunned me. He looked at me in the calmest demeanor. Yes, I am okay. But I'm very, very thankful for you stopping and asking me if I'm okay. No one stops to ask or to say hi here in this place. And he then asked me my name, and I told him. And he offered that his name is Jerry. And I told him that I'd seen him a few times, and that I'd been thinking about him and wondering if he needed anything. And so I asked him, Do you need anything? And his reply stunned me again. No, I am good, he said. I am grateful, and I have thanks to God that I get up to see another day and to see another sunrise. And I asked him where he was from, and he said, I'm from Ohio, and I've been here for two years. And he said in the most humble way, Life has had some ups and downs in the last few years, but I am okay. Here was a man sleeping outside and describing his life as having ups and downs, like he was spouting some wisdom of a much older man that could see his life from a bird's eye view. And so, you know, with a stunned look on my face, I asked him again if he needed anything. And I invited him to know that there are people who do care about him and how he's doing. And I told him that I would look out for him on my next ride and that I'd bring extra water in case we cross paths again. And he thanked me again for seeing him, truly seeing him and saying hi. And so I rode away from Jerry, and after about a hundred yards, I wept. I wept that a young man living on a desert trail far away from his home, clearly completely alone, expressed deep gratitude for being alive, just being alive, and being able to get up for another day. And I wept for the days that I'd felt so alone following my separation and my divorce, and now I've got cancer that I'm battling. And yet I'd had so many people surround me with love and caring. And the depth of loneliness at that time of my life was an echo reverberating with the sound of Jerry's words in that moment. How could this young man express that kind of gratitude sitting where he was at that time? And I wept because the gravity of his strength and courage is still glowing inside of me as I'm talking with you about this. It lights me up. And I can't help but think about the loss of these simple human connections with people that don't conveniently cross our paths. People at and in different phases and stages of their lives. And I ask us this, including myself, is humanity our ability to connect with people that it's easy for us to connect to? Or is humanity defined by our courage to connect with someone who needs to feel seen and cared for in a way that reminds them that they are not alone, that they're part of a bigger family, they're part of a species, and that we're not bound by social norms or comforts. My interaction with Jerry has made me deeply grateful on this day. It's taken me to a deeper level of gratitude than I had before the moments that I met him. That young man taught me a great lesson and stopped me in my tracks just for a moment to be able to reflect on how lucky I am to be alive and to be an aspiring, good human being. As I'd said earlier, even in my darkest hours, I was surrounded by a safety net of love and resources. While here's Jerry sitting under a pergola, completely alone, and yet anchored by some inner oak tree of his own strength and wisdom. What a gift to be, you know, reminded that there are people to support every day, and that each person that we take a moment to truly see is a moment that we might just make our species a little better off. And so I invite all of you to take the time to practice gratitude in your own lives. Have a daily ritual, whether it's a gratitude journal or something that you say out loud to yourself, to pave the way to allow you to be present and to allow you to know your authentic self, just like Jerry seemed to in those moments, so that you can see people in the most unlikely moments in the most unlikely places, just like I happen to be lucky enough to do with Jerry. And maybe, just maybe, that that makes our communities and the places we live just a little bit better for us, for our children, for our grandchildren. Thank you for letting me wonder out loud about this with you and for sharing the story of Jerry from Ohio.