Introduction
FALLING FORWARD
Do you feel things deeply?
If you are like me, you are a very sensitive person. Sometimes I think it’s a curse. For many very dark years, it felt like a bad one. But today I see it differently. I see it as a badge of honor, because I now know what it feels like to be human, and it allows me to see and feel things in other people that I never felt before. No, I am not an energy healer or a psychic or anything like that. But I am someone who has felt deep brokenness, anxiety, and depression. I am someone who has run the gamut of “Life is good” to “Life is horrible and hard” to “Wow, this is what life is about? This is better than I could have imagined.”
For the past ten years, I have traveled the country sharing my story on stages in front of fifty to five thousand people. I have spoken to students, educators, employees, executives, criminals, veterans, victims of domestic violence, churchgoers, volunteers, influencers, and TED goers, and my message didn’t change. I believe that we humans are all the same: we want to feel loved, know that our life has purpose and meaning, be seen and heard, have gifts to offer the world, be worthy and enough, have our words and actions be meaningful, and know we are special. The challenge is that many of us don’t feel this way. I know, because I was one of them. But I also know that all of us can … and we will.
In this book, I’ll tell you some of my story in the introduction, so you know where I’m coming from. And then in parts 1, 2, and 3 we will together dive into the ideas and steps it takes to know your worth and the value of your life. I’ll share some stories from my life and the lives of those I’ve met over the years.
I also suggest you get a journal to keep handy while you read this book. In the three parts after the introduction, I offer positive action steps to take, some journal prompts to help you reflect on the message of that chapter, as well as some conversation starters so you and a friend or group don’t just read these words but also discuss them. Use these action items, journal prompts, and conversation starters as ways to figure out how to apply the ideas in this book to your life. Reading the book is a good thing; applying the messages to your own life is a transformative thing. Much like telling you that You Matter is much different from you experiencing it firsthand.
I wrote this book with big hopes for you. I hope that this book introduces you to deeper understandings about yourself and your choices. That it empowers you to “go there,” while shining a light on tough topics, both personally and socially. That the stories I share will make you smile, laugh, cry, dream, and everything in between, just as they did for me when I lived them. And, most important, that when you finish reading the last word, not only are you inspired and encouraged, but transformed. Because you matter. Once you own this, your life will change forever. And when enough of us own this, we will change the world.
That is my hope for you and the world.
You matter.
LIFE FOREVER CHANGED
My rock bottom happened on a Monday morning.
As I tied my Chuck Taylors while getting ready for work on just another Monday morning, I could tell something was different. I felt it the moment I opened my eyes, but I didn’t know what it was. It was a sensation I had never experienced before, which only heightened my discomfort and exacerbated the symptoms. Was I getting sick? Maybe the flu? No, this was different. Heavier. Dread-filled.
As I slowly sat up from the pine trunk at the end of my bed, almost afraid to look up and check in with my surroundings and myself, it hit. My vision tunneled, my heart started racing, sweat drops beaded up on my arms and forehead, and my breathing immediately shortened. I was in trauma.
Could this be a heart attack? Was I dying? Was this going to be my day? Home alone and scared, I ran out the front door to see if any of my neighbors were home. I needed help. My first thought of course was to call 911, but then I was concerned they would show up at my house to find a dead thirty-one-year-old lying cold on the wood floors of his home. I thought it might be faster to just drive to my doctor’s office. I jumped in my car and, as I was headed there, I began talking myself off the ledge. Matt, just calm down. You are healthy. You would have died already if it were something major. I convinced myself that I was going to be okay. Feeling better for the moment, instead of driving to my doctor, I decided to head toward my parents’ house.
Clearly my thinking was mixed up. For starters, they lived five hours away without traffic. But it was 8:00 A.M. in Southern California, so with morning rush hour the trip was going to be more like a seven-hour drive. As soon as I hit bumper-to-bumper traffic on the freeway, I burst into tears. I completely fell apart. The panic was back stronger than ever.
I tried calling my parents but was unable to get a single word out. I was stuck—unable to see through the tears and stopped dead in the middle lane of a typical SoCal five-lane-wide freeway.
At this point my symptoms were unbearable. I somehow forced my way off the freeway, driving on the median until I reached the exit, and quickly headed for my doctor’s office again.
Reaching my doctor’s office was like discovering an oasis in the desert. I was no longer alone. Still scared, but not alone. The caregivers started in with the blood pressure cuff, then a needle in my elbow joint, and multiple vials of blood drawn, a stethoscope down my shirt, and a cup for me to pee in. It was hard for me to concentrate or even sit still enough to allow them to do their job. Their comments echoed in my ears: “Just try to relax” and “Everything is going to be okay” and “Breathe, Matt.”
Finally, my doctor walked into the small exam room that felt no larger than a broom closet. Warm, caring, and witty, he had a certain way of always calming me, so seeing his face and hearing his voice were instant comfort for me.
“Matt, you are not having a heart attack; your heart is totally healthy,” he said.
Relieved but confused, I realized his comments raised new unanswered questions.
“Then what is wrong with me?” I asked. “I’ve never felt anything like this before.”
My doctor started asking me about my life. He asked how work was going, how my personal life was, and about my habits. We talked about the importance of balance and rest and healthy life choices. Everything we spoke about had less to do with my physical heart and more to do with my emotional and mental heart—that vulnerable place deep inside us that we so often keep hidden.
His advice for me was to go home and rest. Once I felt better, in the days ahead, he wanted me to take time to ask the tough questions about life and significance and purpose and meaning. When I asked why a medical doctor was asking me to think through these questions, he delivered the diagnosis.
“You’re clinically depressed and suffering from chronic anxiety disorder,” he said. “Whatever you’re doing needs to change.”
Little did I know, from that Monday morning on, my life would be forever changed.
OUR DEEPEST NEED, MY GREATEST MISSION
I believe we are brought into this world with the same set of hopes—to be good and to feel good. We are human beings, considered by us the masters of the universe … and any other universe, for that matter. We want to be happy. We want to be healthy. We avoid hurt at all costs. We have all seen the workout posters: NO PAIN, NO GAIN. We would rather that they say, “NO PAIN, NO PAIN.” Isn’t that easier? Avoiding pain or danger is in our DNA. It’s called, “fight or flight.” And given the choice, we would never encounter circumstances that caused them to surface.
Our greatest fear is dying. If we had it our way, we would never die—and we are trying to discover how to make that a reality at a feverish pace. The antiaging industry is currently over $150 billion a year and is projected to surpass the $300 billion mark in the next few years. We have Botox, antiwrinkle products, antistretch products, antipigmentation therapy, liposuction, chemical peels, oxygen chambers, vitamin shots, hair restoration treatments, microdermabrasion, laser aesthetics, anticellulite treatments, and antiaging radio-frequency devices, just to name a few products and procedures. Anything and everything for us to stay young—even if it means injecting ourselves with poisons to do so. But this only speaks to the physical side of the equation, and, frankly, I’m yet to meet someone who has beat Father Time.
What about the mental and emotional parts of life? I believe we also want to be happy. We want our lives to be filled with joy. In the beginning of life, we were pretty good at this. Life was good: we ate, pooped, and slept. We were innocent and life was one big discovery, filled with awe and wonder.
At a certain age, the innocence drifted away and our awareness shifted. Life was still good, but it got a little more complicated. We started to experience new feelings, thoughts, and changes. We became aware, both individually and socially. Then middle and high school—those six years, from seventh to twelfth grades, have growing pains written all over them. Our bodies changed. We discovered certain organs and how they make us feel. We had to perform well to get to the next level, be it in sports, school, or other social constructs. We enjoyed our first slow dance and first kiss. We also survived our first heartbreak.
If this wasn’t already enough, we had “friendly” competitions for homecoming, prom, yearbook nominations, National Honor Society, and student government, and our sense of value and worth were put on trial again. The comparing and competing began, thereby developing insecurities all along the way, and we began building our own little private, safe bubbles to hide our wounds.
After high school, we continued to follow the rules. We went to college, got a job, hoped to get married and build the perfect life. All along, making our parents proud and judging those who didn’t do everything “right.”
But what happened? Because I certainly don’t feel fulfilled. I have endured an overwhelming amount of performance pressure. I am in debt. And I am one of the “lucky” ones who actually secured a job, unlike a lot of my friends who followed the rules as well. Why didn’t anyone actually tell us the whole story? How is it that there are high school dropouts who are now multimillionaires? How is it that there are Instagram and YouTube stars making millions of dollars by simply expressing themselves? Why didn’t someone tell me that life would be filled with letdowns, broken hearts, failures, broken promises, and hurt? Or why was their only answer to saddle up, grow some skin, and know that past generations had it even worse—snow, barefoot, uphill both ways. Life is hard and often sucks. The walls of our bubbles grow thicker, and we start to go inward because we think it’s safer there.
As we struggle individually and privately, we look outward, at arm’s length, for the answers, but we just encounter more questions: Where did the good guys like Mr. Rogers go? How could Bill Cosby, America’s dad, have done that? How is it possible that Robin Williams committed suicide? Are cops racists? Do politicians even care about me, or just about getting my vote? Did we really elect a president that brags about grabbing pussy? Am I safe to go to flea markets, school, concerts, or to fly on an airplane anymore? Is our environment in peril? Is bigger, stronger, faster really better? Why does everyone ask me what I do instead of who I am? Does success equal money, power, influence, and popularity? Where do I rank? Why isn’t being a teacher celebrated? Or what about a social worker? Is fame and wealth only for professional athletes, celebrities, and politicians? Is it “millionaire or bust” in America? Is that the dream? What happened to joy, purpose, fulfillment, peace, relationships, or happiness? I just want to feel good—and I don’t. I’m tired and just want to disappear. As the walls of our bubbles grow even thicker, we find ourselves alone, confused, and completely disconnected from ourselves and the world around us. And if all of this isn’t enough to break us, our self-imposed isolation certainly will.
Now, I am fully aware that not everyone asks these questions, and this may all sound a little overdramatic to some. I also know that we all have different journeys that start in different places. But I wholeheartedly believe that there is not a single soul alive who has not stumbled upon some of these realities during his or her life’s journey and that each one of us wants to be and feel healthy and happy.
This is why my mission in life is to help people know how much and why they matter. What could be more important?
OUR WORLD NEEDS IT
Just flip on the news at night and you’ll get plenty of stories that show our humanity struggling. What is most newsworthy to me is that nearly every tragic story we see or read about is the result of a person, another human being, acting out. A person. A human. And if we roll back the tape and get some context, I am certain we will find one of two types of people. It will be someone who doesn’t think he or she matters and feels the same about everyone else in the world. That type of person is likely apathetic, depressed, uncaring, and has given up hope. Let someone else deal with it. What do I care? Not my problem. Or it will be someone who actually believes he or she matters, but for all the wrong reasons. They are likely egotistical, narcissistic, lacking regard for others, and overflowing in self-entitlement. Do you know who I am? I am wealthy. I am powerful. I play by my own rules. I’m untouchable. Very different types of people that share the same struggle—not knowing how much and why they really matter. And the results are what we see today.
I understand this because at different times in my life, I was both of these people. I’ve been narcissistic and I’ve been depressed. I’ve been uncaring and I’ve only cared about success. I don’t think this makes me bad. I just think it makes me human. But I’ve changed, which leads me to believe that we can all change.
WE NEED IT
We were born for something different from this. You were born for something different from this. Something bigger. You want to be good, do good, feel good. It’s in all of us. But maybe you have lost your way a little bit. Maybe you are struggling to find purpose and meaning. Maybe you don’t have as many good days as you would like. Maybe you are going through a tough transition in life. Maybe you’ve never embraced how amazing you are. Maybe you had a tough childhood. Maybe you are going into the second half of your life and are looking for more. Or maybe you hit rock bottom, like I did.
The fact is that you would not be reading this book if you weren’t looking for something that isn’t there already. If there wasn’t some sort of hole in your heart or ache in your soul, coupled with a hope and a belief that there might be answers out there somewhere. Well, first let me congratulate you for having the courage to go looking for those answers. I commend you for that, for sure. That is a big and bold step. Second, let me tell you that my hope is that this book brings you some or all of the answers you are looking for. I want nothing more than for you to embrace how much and why you matter—to love and be loved, to feel like you belong, and to have hope, to have purpose, to like the person you see in the mirror both inside and outside, to embrace how powerful you are, to leave a legacy, and to know that your life has meaning … and that the world is all the better because of you.
CHOICES
Being human is tricky. Part of this is ultimately because we never chose this life. It’s not as if one day we decided to be born and, next thing we knew, we were taking our first breath. Nope. That’s not how it worked. But just because we didn’t choose to be born doesn’t mean we don’t get to choose how to live.
We have all heard the saying “Life is full of choices.” I can hear the game show Let’s Make a Deal ringing in my ears now: “What’s behind door number three, Johnny?” The average adult makes more than thirty-five thousand choices per day. Over a year, that’s more than twelve million choices—over a lifetime, just under one billion. Of course, many of these decisions don’t have a profound impact on the direction of our life. I’m not sure if whether I wore black or blue socks one day will determine much about my future. However, many of our choices do.
In the summer of 1997, I had to make one of those big choices. I had just graduated from the Anderson School of Management at UCLA with my MBA, and I had a career decision to make. I had interviewed with several companies and had some options on the table, but my heart wasn’t really into any of them. Sure, having those three letters after my name could afford me an attractive salary, but I wasn’t feeling the passion for the work. The truth is that I never really felt like I belonged in business school, and every day I questioned why I was there. But, at this point in my life, I was used to struggling to find my path: it seemed to be the story of much of my life. Ultimately, however, I needed to make a choice with the hope that, this time, I would get it right … but would I?
On a beautiful evening in early fall, my friends, Andrew and Dave, invited me over to their apartment to watch Monday Night Football with a group of buddies. Little did I know, they had a plan. After priming me with pizza, beer, and something else that makes you feel a little funny after smoking it, they popped the question—“Matt, we want you to manage our band. You in?” In that moment, the seas parted, the stars aligned, and Matt officially found his purpose in life. We signed an official contract on a Domino’s Pizza napkin and the rest is history. My job was to make Virgil the next U2. No biggie.
We worked hard and the guys killed it in the studio and on stage, which landed us a multimillion-dollar record deal. However, after a few months of receiving checks from the label, the money stopped coming in. I couldn’t get anyone from the label on the phone. Panic settled into our camp. The guys needed this monthly check to pay their bills, to pay for band expenses, to eat. Clearly something was not up to par, and the wind was sucked out of our sails. After weeks of trying, I finally figured out that the label lost its funding and was shutting down. No more millions of dollars. No more multiple albums. Dreams squashed. Grown men upside down. Dirty businesspeople ruining lives. I was at a complete loss over what to do.
At this time, it was recommended that I meet Robert Kardashian. I only knew of his face and name from the O. J. Simpson trial. I knew him as a lawyer on the “Dream Team.” What I didn’t know is that Robert started and ran a successful music marketing company and had actually stopped practicing law in the seventies. The reason he was a part of the O. J. case was because he and O. J. were close friends from college at USC.
The plan was to meet Robert Kardashian because he had contracts with every major and indie record label at the time. If I could befriend him, maybe he could help me connect Virgil, and other artists, to record labels. I guess in some ways, I saw it as a farm system: I would bring the talent, he would bring the deals. Together, we could launch careers and make dreams come true.
I remember my first meeting with Robert like it was yesterday. I remember his big smile, his welcoming eyes, that silver streak in his hair, and his humor. I remember him taking me back to his office, which had walls covered in gold- and platinum-record awards and a life-size cardboard cutout of The Beatles.
Robert was kind and generous with me from the first moment we met. When we sat in his office he asked, “So who are you and how can I help you?” I shared with him that I was a band manager with a plan to build mega-acts, and I thought he and I could work together to make it happen. I also played him a few demos of different artists, but mainly with the goal of him falling in love with Virgil.
Unfortunately, Robert did not fall in love with the music, but he did fall for me and he offered me a job as vice president of his music marketing company, an offer I said yes to.
* * *
Working for Robert meant experiencing the music industry on an entirely different level. He knew everyone, and everyone knew and loved him. We had a small team, which often included the kids—Kim, Kourtney, Khloé, and even little Robert, Jr. We produced a radio show, we promoted music videos on the big screens in theaters, and we produced DVD releases and live events. I found myself working on projects for every major and indie label. More specifically, on projects for artists such as U2, Coldplay, Snow Patrol, Keane, Avril Lavigne, Black Eyed Peas, Tim McGraw, and the list goes on.
During the day, I worked in the office, which often included sightings from the kids’ famous friends and the crazy energy they brought into the day. Then after work, I was either working with Virgil or attending some sort of celebrity dinner or event. These dinners and events often led to after-parties, and then after-after-parties. This lifestyle was certainly the inspiration for the hit HBO show Entourage, and I found myself right in the middle of it—drinking, smoking, objectifying women, staying up late, and trying to be cool in the City of Angels.
It was a slippery slope, and I was sliding with the best of them. Somehow the business kind of grooms you this way. So much ego and narcissism. So much brokenness and so many dirty deals. Yet so much glamour and so many bright lights. The red carpet and the Hollywood Hills were the places for VIPs, so that’s where I started hanging out.
To further feed the beast, I would go home to Modesto, California, where I grew up, and everyone wanted to hear my stories. After all, things like this never happen in the small agricultural town of Modesto. We swam in canals and partied in orchards for fun.
Being close to this level of celebrity made me feel more important than I was. It fed my notion of “success,” which is really most Americans’ understanding of the word. I looked at the fame and popularity around me and thought, “This matters.” I looked at my new celebrity friends and thought, “They matter.” I looked at the screaming fans and thought, “That matters.” And all of this made me finally think, “I matter … right?”
But underneath the veneer of importance, a gnawing sense of emptiness started to linger inside of me. I painfully realized I had grown lonely in my relationships, most of which were shallow and superficial. Then one sun-drenched Saturday afternoon I found myself at a pool party in the Hollywood Hills, filled with celebrities and models and millionaires—the typical fare. Sitting by the pool, I started looking around and observing the crowd. I noticed that many of the people at the party were likely in their fifties, yet they were still performing and pretending to seem and feel important. Is this where I would be in twenty years? Was I destined to become that desperate guy one day?
A weird feeling began to build inside me, and I got up from my poolside lounger and grabbed the keys to my car from the valet. Racing off the property, I got into my car and sped home. The sensation had subsided by the time I arrived, but the peace would not last. I was beginning to realize I had been chasing after smoke and wind. I was starting to question everything, including my own worth. And unbeknownst to me, I was about to have a complete mental breakdown.
A few weeks later, I was set up on a blind date with a woman that several mutual friends thought would be “the one” for me. I am embarrassed to say that I don’t remember her name, and I don’t even remember the name of the restaurant. I remember she was sweet, kind, and pretty, but I also remember immediately thinking she was not the one. More significantly, though, I remember that the feeling came back again—the same “I need to get the hell out of here” feeling that I had just experienced at that Hollywood pool party. The sweat started dripping down my back, my legs started to feel weak, my hands became clammy, and my vision started to tunnel. I quickly tried to drink more of my cocktail to calm me down, but I couldn’t fight the feeling, and I needed to leave. I felt terrible for cutting the date so short, and a bit concerned about what she would say to our mutual friends who thought we would be perfect together, but I needed to get home and get to bed. I just wanted to sleep it off.
Unfortunately, a little sleep couldn’t stop what was about to happen the next morning—the Monday that changed my life forever.
MY EXPENSIVE FRIEND
A month after that Monday morning from hell, things were still not going well. In fact, it got much worse. I refused to take any medications the doctor recommended for me, thinking everything would pass and I would be back on the slippery slope of my work again. I guess when the doctor told me that “whatever I was doing needed to change,” he actually meant it. The hard part is that the eye cannot see itself, so it was hard to know what I was doing and what needed changing.
At that point, my “dream” life was crashing down. I failed everything and everyone. My appetite had vanished. Sleep evaded me. The paranoia got so bad at night that I needed to shut all of the blinds in my home to deflect the feeling that the sky and the darkness were closing in on me. Driving my car became too stressful because I knew I wouldn’t be able to handle a traffic jam, short of leaving my car in the middle of the road and running home. I also had this real fear of taking my car up to 80 mph and simply yanking the wheel to end my anguish. I was literally that desperate.
Thankfully, my parents made the executive decision to spend a month with me. My dad came down from Modesto first for two weeks, and then they traded duties. I remember my father driving me to my first counseling appointment. I was not happy at all. I could feel my core body temperature skyrocketing—partly from anger, partly from fear, partly from embarrassment—not the best places from which to operate. At the same time, I remember the feeling of surrender. Acknowledging that I needed help, and thank God I had my loving mom and dad there to hold my hand and lead the way.
My therapist’s name is Denise. She and I spent several hours together that day. And the next day. And for many days over the weeks, months, and years to come. I got lucky, because I knew from the very first minute that she was the right therapist and coach for me. I could tell she was going to be empathetic and compassionate, but she was no pushover and was going to call me out on my “stuff.” Perfect.
Denise and I made an unofficial, unspoken agreement. I would pay for her daughters’ college educations and she would save my life. I think the deal worked out nicely for everyone. I called her “My Expensive Friend.” In the beginning, it was all about slowing down the water that was crashing onboard. The ship was sinking quickly and we needed to plug a ton of holes. Once we leveled things out a bit through months of hard work, we systematically worked through my life, my views, my feelings, my motivations, my goals, my needs.
One day Denise told me she wanted to give my recovery a motto, and she slid a book across the table to me. She asked me to read the first sentence of the book, which is: “It’s not about you.”
You might have read this line before from Rick Warren’s book The Purpose Driven Life. Denise then said, “Matt, until you understand what it means to live a life not about you, you are never going to feel better.” Interesting. Foreign. Confusing. How is it possible that I am sitting here depressed, riddled with anxiety, having occasional suicidal thoughts, yet it’s not about me? All of a sudden, one plus one didn’t equal two. Besides the fact that I was the one hurting, I was also the one seeking her help. A narcissist working in the most narcissistic industry in the world. How can this possibly not be about me?
The next thing I remember is that week after week, for months, I spent my Saturday mornings doing something that wasn’t about me. A new addition to my recovery tonic: I fed homeless people. I read to elderly. I picked up trash, painted over graffiti, wrote letters to veterans. For some reason, my jam became picking up litter. There was something about being out on the town Saturday mornings that was so peaceful. The city was still sleeping. I got to know the Meals on Wheels drivers, the dog walkers, the early crew at Starbucks. I didn’t wear headphones or listen to music, rather I was just super present with the sights, sounds, and even smells of walking the streets and picking up other people’s trash. Just me, my rubber gloves, garbage bags, baseball cap pulled low, and big sunglasses. Of course, I still had a reputation to protect.
One Saturday morning while picking up litter, I got a phone call from some friends who worked in PR. They were going up to a pool party in the Hollywood Hills. Sound familiar? They asked me to join them, and I blurted out, “No thanks, I am out picking up litter. I’m good.”
I hung up the phone and thought, “Holy crap, I just outed my secret. My sickness.” Only my family and one of my closest friends knew about my situation, and that just changed.
But then, in a moment of magic, lightning bolts, God, aha, it all clicked for me. The motto Denise gave for my recovery finally made sense. I realized that it was actually possible to find more meaning, purpose, and significance picking up other people’s litter than it was doing everything else I did all week. That by being of service to others, I could find myself. That living a life not about me would actually lead me to me.
It was that moment when hope reentered my life. It was that moment, when I started believing that I could actually live a long, healthy life free from the pain, worry, anxiety, depression, and darkness that had taken over my life for years. I finally saw the way to live a life that mattered, and I couldn’t wait to share it with the world, because I know I wasn’t alone on this journey called “life.”
FROM BROKENNESS TO BLESSING
A few weeks after my profound moment standing on the sidewalk of Wilshire Boulevard, trash bags in hand, rubber gloves on, and empowered by a new understanding of the meaning of life, I was walking back to my office with a coworker and noticed a piece of litter in the street gutter. In his defense, he had no idea I was a secret semiprofessional trash picker-upper every Saturday morning, so instinctively I bent down and picked up the crinkled piece of paper. At that moment, my coworker asked me why I would pick up someone else’s trash. I tried to explain by sharing a bit of this breakthrough I had experienced a few weeks prior, but the conversation ended quickly with an argument and him saying, “Dude, you’re weird.”
Pissed off, I went up to my office and called my friend Kelly to share an idea that popped into my mind. “Kelly, it’s Matt; I want to write a book,” I shared excitedly. She responded with, “Matt, you don’t even read books; how are you going to write one?” There was some truth to her reply, but I went on to explain that I wanted to write a book that shows us ordinary people that we matter. That every single one of us matters. And that together we can change the world.
My thought was, if it took me one second to pick up one piece of litter, what if all 300+ million people in our country picked up just one? It would still be a collective one second, but 300+ million pieces of litter would be gone. What if we each picked up five or ten? Or what if we got our schools, companies, churches, friends, or family involved? It is just a numbers game.
What if we all smiled more, planted a tree, donated blood, wrote a note of gratitude, took better care of our health? It just became a “What if” game. I wanted to call the book Why Wouldn’t You? The actions I wanted to put in the book were so simple for people to do, why wouldn’t they want to do them? Kelly and I started making a list of “Why wouldn’t you?” actions, and we immediately had over 100 of them. Eventually the list got to 150.
One day my father called me to offer his opinion on the book. He said, “You know, I believe your working title is too negative and not inspiring enough. I think you should go with something more upbeat and positive, like Every Monday Matters.” Bam. The book got a new name. Let’s help people start their weeks off inspired. No more TGIF, which has always been one of the dumbest concepts to me. The fact that we even have a restaurant chain named after it boggles my mind. Living doesn’t only happen from Friday evening to Sunday around 1:00 P.M. when we start dreading the next Monday on the horizon. Living starts at the beginning of the week, and we take it up a level each day.
We picked fifty-two actions from our list and wrote the book Every Monday Matters: 52 Ways to Make a Difference, and amazingly it was acquired by a publisher. It was a simple guide to help people engage in something bigger than them every week. Sounds a bit familiar to what Denise had me do, doesn’t it? If it worked for me, it just might work for someone else, too. We were going to find out soon enough.
* * *
A month after the book came out, I received an email from a single mother named Darby, who shared a story that she was driving down the road and saw a car pulled over with a woman hanging out of the door. Darby pulled over to see if the woman was having car trouble. What she learned was that she was not having car trouble, rather she was there to commit suicide. She was just waiting to get up the courage to jump in front of an oncoming car. Instead, Darby showed up. In her email, Darby included the copy from a thank-you note the woman had sent to her for saving her life. And at the end of that, Darby wrote, “If it weren’t for your book, I would have never pulled over to help.”
I never dreamed of writing a book, let alone one that would literally save somebody’s life. But that was the sign I needed to walk away from the music industry and try to make Every Monday Matters a household idea. To finally live a life that matters.
It started with just me, then unemployed and working from home. Thank God Subway had started their $5 Footlong program. Subway for lunch and dinner for $10. Bargain. Little by little it started to grow. I created a Myspace page and people started joining in. Poor Myspace … at least it was good for EMM. I was asked to write a newspaper column for The Modesto Bee. Massive readership, for sure. The column was then syndicated to papers all across the country. From music exec to “Dear Abby” … who would have thunk it? Then I received an email from Harpo Productions. Unbeknownst to me, Forest Whitaker, the actor, bought my book and took it to President Obama’s first inauguration in DC, where Forest handed it to Oprah. What? Oprah! I ended up doing a year-long partnership with Harpo, which showcased a new Monday on Oprah.com and on her Spirit newsletter.
All of a sudden, I found myself running a small “movement” out of my home. I say the word “movement” loosely, because I believe it is overused, often inaccurately, but I certainly wasn’t running a business yet, so I had to call it something. But then a few key developments turned the book into an actual company.
Teachers who purchased the book started emailing me asking for lesson plans, as they wanted their students to learn this concept of self- and social responsibility. So we partnered with a group of educators in Central California to create the EMM K–12 Education Program and began selling it. Additionally, companies for which I had keynoted started asking for more. They wanted team-building experiences, employee engagement, and corporate-culture work, so we launched the EMM Corporate Engagement Program and started working with companies nationwide. Every Monday Matters now had office space, employees, payroll, health care. Somehow, in a wild tail-wagging-the-dog fashion, EMM had become something. But just when everything seemed to have settled into place and had found a rhythm, another moment happened that changed me again. I was asked to speak to a group of convicted felons who were using Every Monday Matters, the book, as part of a restorative justice program.
* * *
I will never forget the moment the judge asked me if I was ready to meet the convicted felons. As soon as I said “Of course,” the door opened and in entered a group of men and women in prison jumpsuits, ankle chains, and waist chains, and wearing flip-flops with socks. As they sat down and stared at me, the judge said sternly to the group, “Okay, everyone, this is Matt. He wrote the book, so Matt go ahead and share.”
I was frozen. I had never seen another human being in chains before. It literally broke my heart. I was at a complete loss for words. But something told me that the best thing I could do was to let these men and women know how much they mattered. I’m not sure of the exact words I used during my fifteen-minute pep talk, but it was clearly effective. I was just trying to give them hope. After I finished, one of the convicted felons stood up and said, “No one ever told me that I mattered; that’s why I ended up where I am today.” With that, I watched a six-foot-six, three-hundred-pound man break down in tears.
This convicted felon changed Every Monday Matters, the company, and me forever. He showed me that I still had it all wrong. For me, EMM was still all about the numbers. What if, because of EMM, we could prove that there is less litter, more volunteers, less this, more that? For example, one of the Mondays in the book is: “Don’t Flick Your Cigarette Butt.” In writing the book, I learned that every year in America we smoke 300 billion cigarettes. Even worse, we litter 100 billion of those cigarette butts every year. I measured a cigarette butt and figured out that if you connect every one of those 100 billion cigarette butts end to end, they would span from L.A. to N.Y.C. 337 times a year. So we basically build a cigarette-butt freeway across our country every year. And we argue whether or not or why we have environmental issues in the world. Sorry, I digress. My thought was, what if, because of EMM, we could get that number down to 90 billion? Or 80 billion? What if we could change the numbers?
But this convicted felon, a man whose name I don’t know and whom I will probably never see again, changed how I see it. Yes, litter is an environmental tragedy, but this convicted felon taught me that the biggest tragedy is that every single person who littered one of those 100 billion cigarette butts didn’t think it mattered. They also didn’t believe that they themselves mattered. In other words, our environmental problems are really just human problems. And the same with any other problem we see in the world. So change the way people see themselves and help them connect with how powerful they are, then we can change the world. In other words, we change the world from the inside out. Mind blown.
With this new understanding, I decided to transition Every Monday Matters from a for-profit company to a not-for-profit organization. I don’t own it anymore; I just work there now. There’s no ownership or equity in not-for-profits. Our mission is to create a world where everyone knows how much and why they matter. We launched a brand-new education program that now serves over 2 million students nationwide. We continue our work with companies to help them create workplace cultures where people feel like they matter. We are launching a senior program that will be rolled out in assisted-living communities to help our seniors reconnect with how much they matter in the last part of their lives. And last year, ten years after my first book came out, I wrote my second one, Every Monday Matters: How to Kick Your Week Off with Passion, Purpose, and Positivity. And now comes this, the book that I have always wanted to write. Somehow, some way, my breakdown has become a blessing, and I wouldn’t have changed a thing about it.
* * *
As I sit here and type these words on the page, I realize that everything I have gone through over the past nearly twenty years—the good, the bad, and the ugly—was to bring me to this book, You Matter. This book is different. It goes deeper. It’s more personal. I realized that before my breakdown, I lived a pretty easy life. Sure, I had bad days. Sure, I’ve had my heart broken and have lost friends, pets, and family members. But for the most part my emotions lived on the positive and bright side of things. If we put our emotions on a continuum, with “As Good as It Gets” on the far left and “As Bad as It Could Be” on the far right, I might have only experienced about 75 percent of that spectrum, leaving out the final 25 percent to the right.
But that one Monday morning changed everything. Now I know what resides in that remaining 25 percent. Now I know what despair, helplessness, and hopelessness feel like. Now I understand how people can consider taking their own lives. Fortunately, I didn’t. But experiencing those emotions has given me a new understanding of what it means to be human. It has changed the way I see people, for if it could happen to me, it could happen to anyone. On paper, my life looked great. Deep inside it couldn’t have been any different. It has gifted me a deep sense of empathy and compassion for people that I never had before, because I never want anyone to experience what I did … yet I know it’s possible they are experiencing something similar, or have before.
I know I created Every Monday Matters. I wrote the books, I started the company, and now the not-for-profit. But in a beautiful Frankenstein-ian sort of way, Every Monday Matters has also created me. It has made me a better and more complete person. It has challenged me and inspired me. As much as I am asked to come inspire others, the stories of the people I have met along this journey have inspired and changed me tenfold.
This book is not only a chance to share my story, but, more important, the stories of other people and the incredible teachings I learned from them. I am committed to helping you fully embrace how much and why you matter, and I believe this book will do just that. Because, whether you know it or not, you matter to yourself. You matter to your family. To your friends. Your company. Your community. Every word you speak. Every thought you have. Every action you take matters. It’s time for you to truly love yourself for who you really are. You matter.
WARNING: CHANGE HAPPENS HERE
Taking a journey like this is never easy. It takes work. It took each of us some time to get to the place we are currently in, so it might take a minute to unpack our junk, implement some new tools, and transform ourselves and our lives. To help, I have organized this book around three fresh perspectives that will provide a new framework for how to live your life. Each of these perspectives is paramount to living a life that matters, and you will find yourself weaving in and out of them throughout your days ahead, always mindful of where you are at any given time.
Before getting into these perspectives, I also want to come clean about something. Yes, I know this book is entitled You Matter., but you’re also going to become super aware of and comfortable with the statement “It’s not about you.” I know, seems paradoxical: “I matter, but it’s not about me.” Trust me, it was strange for me to first hear that as well, but it is the very thing that changed my life. More on this later. I also know that you purchased it from the “Self-Help” section of the bookstore. Well, I am here to say that I think that “Self-Help” is only half of the conversation. We don’t each live on our own private island of one. We are social creatures who live in a social context. So as much as this book is going to focus on the “inside” of you, it is also going to focus on the “outward” nature of you. For I believe that self- and social transformation are first cousins and they happen interchangeably at the same time. Stay with me; it will all make sense right now.
The book is divided into three sections to help move you through this self- and social transformation process:
• “I Matter”—The understanding of self. An opportunity to embrace your uniqueness and to be authentically you. To embrace your inherent specialness. To know that you have agency to feel good about yourself, in all of your brokenness and imperfections, and to design a life that best honors your personal health and well-being.
• “You Matter”—The understanding of your ability to affect someone else. An opportunity to embrace how your actions, words, and thoughts play a significant role in how other people in your life feel about themselves and life in general. Maybe it is a family member, a coworker, a dear friend, or just someone you see occasionally as part of your typical routines.
• “We Matter”—The understanding of your connection to and ability to influence the larger fabric of humanity. This can be done either individually or with others. Either way, this is an opportunity to embrace how powerful you are in impacting total strangers, people on the fringe, and even people completely around the world, and how they will do the same to you. Life is a “we” thing, and you are part of something really big.
Shall we begin? There is a lot at stake here … in the best and most beautiful of ways.
Copyright © 2020 by Matthew Emerzian
