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You’re a Good Man, Trey Ford

As most of my friends in the information security community know, one of our own — Trey Ford — got left out in the cold last week when Black Hat’s powers that be decided they no longer needed a general manager to handle their annual summer conference. He’s following the proven path of seeking new job leads on the social networks.

But he’s doing something else that makes him worthy of mention here.

Mood music:

http://youtu.be/-BTad4tTdrE

Most people would single-mindedly push forward on their own job hunt, and that’s not a criticism. When you have bills to pay and mouths to feed, you have to do what’s necessary to get re-employed as quickly as possible.

But knowing that a lot of other people in the industry are looking for new jobs, Trey is offering to use his vast network to help them as he tries to help himself. In a message on Facebook, he said:

There are a number of folks looking for work, and I have fresh perspective on opportunities out there. Drop me an email and I will do what I can to help assist you in your hunt.

During times of global trauma, I like to refer people to a post I wrote two years ago about words of wisdom from Mister Rogers’s mother. She’d say that in tough times, the helpers always arrive.

While it’s certainly true during huge tragedies like the massacre at Sandy Hook Elementary School last year and the Boston Marathon bombings this year, it also applies to the seemingly smaller events, like someone losing a job and needing help to find a new one. In such cases, the hardship involves individuals rather than big segments of the population, but if you’re the individual who has lost income, it’s a pretty grave deal.

It warms the heart to know that there are people out there hell-bent on helping those individuals.

That someone like Trey would offer help when he needs to find work himself is damn inspiring.

Thanks for being you and Merry Christmas, friend.

Trey Ford

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Honor the Mental Sacrifice Veterans Have Made

With another Veterans Day upon us, I want to thank our servicemen and -women for a very specific sacrifice they’ve made.

Mental sacrifice is always implied when we thank our veterans for the larger sacrifice of life and limb to protect our freedom. That’s as it should be. Still, as someone who has never seen combat but has struggled with mental illness, I’m especially grateful to troops past and present for carrying the mental burden.

Mood music:

I have many friends who have served in the military and have seen combat. They’ve been shot at, lost limbs and lost buddies they served with. They suffer with depression, addiction and post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).

I wish they could have been spared all that. But I hope they can get some satisfaction and even happiness in knowing that they raised the profile of mental illness as a scourge to be confronted more than perhaps anyone else could have.

Soldiers are known for their courage, and when that courage extends to confronting mental maladies left by war, they are breaking stigmas that have held us all back.

Amid the last decade’s War on Terrorism, we saw an alarming rise in suicide among those who came home and couldn’t reconcile their former lives with where they had been and what they had seen. We saw a lot of troops struggling with depression as they came to terms with the loss of arms and legs. Many of them shared their struggles publicly and, in the process, showed us all how to move beyond adversity toward something better.

One example that sticks with me is that of U.S. Marine Clay Hunt. He survived Iraq and Afghanistan but ultimately fell to depression, taking his life in 2011 at the young age of 28.

Before he lost his battle with depression, though, he managed to help countless people suffering with the same disease. As James Dao wrote in a New York Time‘s blog post, “News of Mr. Hunt’s death has ricocheted through the veterans’ world as a grim reminder of the emotional and psychological strains of war — and of the government’s inability to stem military and veteran suicides, which have climbed steadily in the decade since the 9/11 attacks.”

Despite the ravages of PTSD, Hunt threw himself into volunteer work. Dao wrote that he built bikes for Ride 2 Recovery, a rehabilitation program for injured veterans. He journeyed to Haiti and Chile with Team Rubicon to help organize events for Iraq and Afghanistan Veterans of America (IAVA) and appeared in a public service announcement encouraging veterans to seek help for mental health problems.

Despite how his life ended, I hope his friends and family know how much he did to fight the mental illness stigma.

I want to thank him and all the other veterans who have taken arms against the enemy of the mind. Peace be with you all.

atwar-clay-hunt-articleInline
Clay Hunt participating in a 2010 Florida ride with the Ride 2 Recovery veterans organization. Hunt, who was active in various public service groups, took his own life in March 2011. Photo by the Associated Press

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Songs That Mattered After 9-11-01

Like so many other times in my life, music made the difference between sanity and insanity. I focus a lot on the metal. But in the weeks after 9-11, I turned to a broader group of musicians to help me along. They did their jobs well, helping us all see that it was OK to go on living.

Let’s start with Neal Young, whose version of John Lennon’s “Imagine” was both haunting and inspiring:

Nothing said “fuck you” to terrorists like this P.O.D. song, which begame something of a hit after the attacks:

The Foo Fighters weighed in with this song, which wasn’t necessarily about 9-11 and the aftermath. But the lyrics somehow worked for me:

During that same 9-11 tribute concert where Neal Young played “Imagine,” Bon Jovi did this powerful version of “Living on a Prayer.”

Finally, there’s Bruce Springsteen, who put out an entire album inspired by 9-11. Yesterday’s post included a live performance of “The Rising” but this song also resonated for me:

Peace be with you all this 9th anniversary of the attacks.

Everyone has a memory of that day. I wrote about mine yesterday. Today, on the actual anniversary, I choose to sit back and let the music do the talking, especially that last refrain of “Come on Rise Up” from the Springsteen song above.

Firefighters raise a flag late in the afternoon on Tuesday, Sept. 11, 2001, in the wreckage of the World Trade Center towers in New York. In the most devastating terrorist onslaught ever waged against the United States, knife-wielding hijackers crashed two airliners into the World Trade Center on Tuesday, toppling its twin 110-story towers. (AP Photo/The Record, Thomas E. Franklin) MANDATORY CREDIT
Firefighters raise a flag late in the afternoon on Tuesday, Sept. 11, 2001, in the wreckage of the World Trade Center towers in New York. In the most devastating terrorist onslaught ever waged against the United States, knife-wielding hijackers crashed two airliners into the World Trade Center on Tuesday, toppling its twin 110-story towers. (AP Photo/The Record, Thomas E. Franklin) 
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Wherein I Get Another Year Older

On this, my 43rd birthday, I can’t help but remember what Indiana Jones said in Raiders of the Lost Ark. Grousing about a body beat to hell from a life of adventure, he noted that it’s not the age but the mileage.

Mood music:

http://youtu.be/lWkZqE3oaDs

I have to admit, my mileage shows. My beard is getting grayer. My knees aren’t as durable as they used to be. I’ve got sleep apnea and bad vision. But then all these things existed on my 42nd birthday. And my 40th and 38th. Which means I’m not at all bothered by it.

I’ve always had trouble understanding people who get depressed about their birthdays. What’s not to love about not being dead; of making it another year?

I’m always mindful of the fact that I had severe illness as a kid. That I haven’t yet developed colon cancer after all the damage Crohn’s Disease did to me in my youth is pretty amazing. I’ve seen a sibling and some good friends die young, and the fact that I’m so many years older than they were at their deaths makes me realize how lucky I am.

And hell, I’m still a kid in many respects. I love new toys, especially technological gadgetry and musical instruments. In the past year, I’ve collected guitars, amps and effects pedals with the same enthusiasm I had as a boy collecting Star Wars action figures and ships. I still play my music at maximum volume. I still love a good party, even if I no longer drink.

I’ve also found that being in my 40s is much better than being in my 20s and 30s. A lot of those years were full of suckage: jobs that chained me to desks for 80 hours a week, a body much heavier than it is now, OCD, and fear, anxiety, and depression that kept me in hiding much of the time.

At 43, I have a career that I love. I have the best wife on Earth and two boys that teach me something new every day. I have many, many friends who have helped me along in more ways than they’ll ever know.

This aging thing ain’t half bad.

Another year of graying whiskers, sore knees and hectic business travel? Bring it on.

Smoker 100th Year

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Good Luck, Gretchen 2.0

A quick note that long-time friend and former boss Gretchen Putnam is leaving The Eagle-Tribune to pursue new creative opportunities.

The news organization won a Pulitzer and many other awards under her leadership as metro editor and managing editor, and her dedication to the communities she covers has been inspiring to watch.

Though I left the paper nearly a decade ago, I have memories of working with Gretchen that I’m forever grateful for. I was a mental mess back then and I know it often made her life difficult. But she continued to be a steady, reliable friend who always made sure I put my family and health above all else.

Anyone who has worked for her will tell you she’s a nurturing soul, and a lot of us are better for it.

Good luck in your new adventures. I expect big things from Gretchen 2.0.

GretchenPutnam

 

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Godspeed, Neil Roiter

Yesterday I learned that a former colleague, Neil Roiter, passed away on Sunday from an inoperable brain tumor. We worked together at TechTarget for several years, and I’m a richer man for it.

Neil was a journalist’s journalist, a stickler for details and truth. As a tech reporter, he didn’t just quote security vendors about what their products did and why they were worth the customer’s money; he made them prove it. He’d put the technology to the test, finding experts who could take things apart to see what made them tick.

But that’s not what my affection for Neil was about. It was the quick-witted family man I was proud to call a friend.

I remember him leaving work minutes after arriving to drive the hour back home to help his family. I laughed my ass off one day as he gave his daughter, Tess,  a talking to on the phone. The young lady replied to all his questions by Instant Messenger even though they were on the phone together. The more she did it, the louder Neil’s voice got and the more I chuckled from my desk, next to his.

Whatever they were arguing about, Neil didn’t give up on her. He stayed on the phone and talked her through her problem long past the point where many parents would have slammed the phone down in frustration.

The love he had for his kids was on display every day. He’d spend an hour on the phone with Andrew talking baseball, and he would always beam with pride every time he talked about those kids. The same could be said about his love for his wife Gwen, also a journalist. In every conversation, you easily understood how much he cherished her.

As a co-worker, Neil was a lot of fun. I remember walking the streets of Provincetown, MA, with him during a SearchSecurity group outing. The team took a shuttle boat to the small town on the tip of Cape Cod and spent an afternoon poking around shops and enjoying lunch at The Lobster Pot. Neil and I decided to have a few Irish coffees and proceeded to walk off the buzz, popping in and out of book shops and candy stores.

On the shuttle back to Boston, we talked about pretty much everything.

We liked to have a battle of wits in the office. I’d like to say I won every time, but our officemates will probably tell you otherwise. Either way, we had a lot of laughs.

After I left TechTarget, Neil and I stayed in touch, hanging out during various security conferences. I’m grateful for that.

Rest easy, Neil. We’re all going to miss you here, but you left us with plenty of sunny memories to keep us going until we meet again.

Neil’s obituary and funeral-memorial information can be found on Hathaway Family Funeral Homes’s website.

NR_8-2011

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Hearts Bigger Than Boston or Any Bomb

Whenever we experience the kind of evil we saw in Boston yesterday, pictures emerge to restore some hope in the human race: EMTs, police, firefighters and many bystanders leaping to action, giving victims medical care and getting survivors to safety.

As a lifelong Bay Stater who tends to be prideful of my Boston roots, those scenes warmed my heart. But I don’t want to be selfish. What we saw wasn’t merely a Boston thing. It was something you’ll see anywhere in the world when bad things happen.

We sure as hell saw it in NYC on and after 9/11. We saw it after the horrific earthquake in Haiti. We saw it after the London bombings in 2005.

Though evil is everywhere, so is goodness. Evil can never be strong enough to beat the good at the core of most people. No matter who we are &dmash; a businessperson preoccupied with the next sale, the driver stuck in traffic and losing their temper, the addict enslaved by the addiction, anyone — we have the ability to cast aside our demons and leap to action when someone is in danger.

That’s why evil will never win. It can kill a lot of people and damage a lot of property. It can make us do a lot of stupid things in life. It can break our hearts.

But it can’t destroy our hearts.

Helpers in Boston

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Human Tourniquets And Freaks Who Love Them

I originally wrote this three years ago. Looking at it again, it’s an important post describing a time when not even best friends were safe from my insanity. I’ve updated it for the present. 

Mood music:

[spotify:track:2YGwSRjcY4Hjz6fktW9619]

You know the type. They hang  out with people who act more like abusive spouses than friends. They are human tourniquets. They absorb the pain of their tormentor daily and without complaint.

This is the story of the man who used to be my tourniquet.

I met Aaron Lewis in 1985, my freshman year of high school. He was the kid with really bad acne. But nothing ever seemed to bother him. I’m sure a lot of things bothered him, but he was very good at hiding his feelings.

That made him the perfect target for a creep like me.

Don’t get me wrong. He was a true friend. One of my best friends. We shared a love of heavy metal. We both got picked on, though unlike me, he didn’t take it out on other, weaker classmates.

We hung out constantly. He practically lived in my Revere basement at times. I let him borrow my car regularly. And if I drank, that was OK, because he almost never drank. He could be the driver.

Except for the time I encouraged him to drink a bottle of vodka. He had just eaten a bag of McDonald’s and I told him I was sick of him trying to get buzzed off of wine coolers. This night, I told him, he was going to do it right. He got smashed, and proceeded to puke all over my basement — on the bed, the carpets, the couch, the dresser. That was some strange vomit. It looked like brown confetti.

I sat on the floor, drunk myself, writing in my journal. I wrote about how drunk Aaron was and prayed to God that he wouldn’t die. Man, would I love to find that journal.

We saw a lot of movies together. We watched a lot of MTV.

He was the perfect counterweight to Sean Marley. Marley was essentially my older brother and I spent a lot of time trying to earn his approval. I didn’t have to do that with Aaron. He didn’t criticize. He didn’t judge. He just took all my mood swings on the chin.

I would sling verbal bombs at him and he’d take it.

I would slap him on the back of the neck and he’d take it.

I was evil. And he took it.

That’s a true friend.

Aaron got married, moved to California and has a growing family. He’s doing some wonderful things with his life. I cleaned up from my compulsive binge eating, found my Faith and untangled the coarse, jagged wiring in my brain that eventually became an OCD diagnosis.

If he’s reading this, I apologize for all the times I was an asshole. I hope somewhere in there, I was a good friend, too.

Buddies
Left: Aaron Lewis. Right: His asshole friend
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Don’t Go Away Mad

A funny thing happens when people share stories of the not-so-happy moments of their lives: You walk away thinking they’ve experienced nothing but tragedy. In reality, there are plenty of uneventful pages in between the drama.

Mood music:

http://youtu.be/RI4SzEb5tog

One time I was asked to tell my story at a 12-Step meeting. Under the format, you tell your story for about 15 minutes. The first five cover the speaker’s ugly path to addiction, the second five focuses on the point we hit bottom and entered the program, and the final five are about how our lives are today in recovery.

So I delved into the stormy past: The older brother dying, the best friend killing himself, the childhood disease and the depression and addiction that resulted. And, of course, the underlying OCD.

At the end of the meeting, someone expressed shock over all the troubles I’ve been through. “It’s just been one tragedy after another,” the person said.

I had to laugh. I’ve experienced my share of adversity, but a tragic life? Not even close.

It’s easy to feel punched in the face by the gravity of the experiences I shared because it’s all concentrated into one intense place, whether it’s reading all the back entries in this blog in one sitting or hearing me talk about it for five minutes of a 15-minute talk. Inevitably, it’s going to come off to the observer as a horror movie.

In truth, while I have been through the meat grinder, there have been many years of peace, joy happiness in between all the bad. All these events are stretched out over the 42-plus years I’ve been around. If you were to sit and watch even a three-hour replay of events, you’d find it a lot more boring.

To understand this, think about your own life. You’ve no doubt experienced sickness and death, family dysfunction and career ups and downs.

If you haven’t, you will.

In between the rough patches, I fell in love with and married the best gal on Earth, had two precious children who keep me laughing and loving, I’ve enjoyed a lot of success in my career, traveled to a lot of cool places and found God.

Would I want to go through the bad stuff again? Of course not. But the weird truth is that I’m not sure I’d change the past, either. It’s easy for someone to wish they had a lost loved one back in their life and that they were less touched by illness.

But without having gone through these things, would I be where I’m at today? I really don’t see how.

So when you read about some of the tougher things in this blog, don’t worry about me and don’t feel bad. I’m no different from most people in what I’ve been through, and it’s all good.

url

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Live Like Renee

Erin and I attended yesterday’s memorial service for our friend Renee Pelletier Costa, who died a couple weeks ago after a 9-year battle against cancer.

The last page of the service program was a copy of a letter she wrote about a year and a half ago. It’s a great testimony about staring down death and learning to live in the moment. Read it and stop sweating the little things. Thank you.

renee

May we all learn to live like Renee.

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