The One Where I Climb Mount Rainier, Part I

I am a Seattle native and so of course it's been staring at me for 34 years.  It has shown me a great many faces, playing a starring role in dazzling sunsets, towering over me as I have worked long hours at jobs both outdoors and in, and anchoring my internal compass as I've driven or ridden my bike across this great Washington landscape.

Over the course of those 34 years, I've had a great many adventures on its slopes.  Almost every single magical fold of its topography holds memories for me - often very deep and meaningful memories.

I remember countless boy scout trips during my youth with friends I still hold dear.  Campouts in every season and in every weather condition you could imagine.  I have slept in a snow cave at Paradise through the bitter depths of a howling January snowstorm (more than once!).  I'll never forget emerging from a snow cave one crystal clear frozen morning and following my curious feet halfway up to Camp Muir before the weather began to turn.  We hadn't told anyone we were going anywhere - we hadn't planned on going anywhere - and we had to face a scoutmaster's wrath when we moseyed back into camp.

I remember taking my girlfriend Heather on a drive around the park early on in our relationship and coming back to visit time and again after we got engaged and as we began to have children.  Sharing this special place with my dear ones is like sharing a piece of my soul.

I remember 10 wonderful days in August of 2010 when I set out with my best friend and three other people to circumnavigate the mountain on the famous Wonderland Trail.  Ninety-three miles of pristine forest and ridgeline hiking that I will never forget.

Many and more are the times I have ventured into the park and forged a new and deeper connection with nature, friends, family, and myself.  I've learned numerous valuable lessons in Mount Rainier National Park, about the importance of preparation, hard work, teamwork, positive attitude, respect, kindness, food, water,  heat, shelter, friendship, moleskin, Advil, toilet paper, ...............

And yet, I'd never made it to the top.  Never even tried.

That was to change this August as my friend Brent started to lay plans for a summit attempt the weekend of August 17th.  Between the two of us we pulled together 7 people: me, Brent, Mike Jacobsen (a veteran of 14 successful summits of Mount Rainier who would serve as our guide), Mike's son Aaron, Aaron's friend Dallyn, and my friends John and Lara.  Although Brent had lived here in Seattle for over 7 years, he moved to Houston, TX a couple of years ago and would be flying up to make the attempt.

I thought you might like to hear about our experience.

Thursday, August 15, 2013

After making a couple of stops to gear up, I picked Brent up from the airport at about 8:30pm.  We made one last stop at REI (I decided I should get some gaiters after all) and then spent a ridiculous amount of money at Fred Meyer getting food and fuel for the trip.  How or why we ever thought we would need that much food, I have no idea.

Not at all excited at Fred Meyer

After destroying Fred Meyer's inventory, we headed back to our place where the plan was to pound down a spaghetti dinner (quickly dispatched), divide up and pack the gear, and then get as much sleep as possible before heading out at 4:00 am.  Things took a while, as these things do, and we were up well past midnight.  Brent and Lara were spending the night at our place.  I don't know when they finally went to sleep - I guess they only got about 2 hours of rest.  I was able to manage 3 hours from about 12:45 - 3:45. . .

Part II here.

Of Changes

Just an update today, folks.  No epiphanies or social commentary.

Maybe it's midlife crisis time, or maybe I'm just bored.  I don't really know what is propelling me in so many new directions.  I simply know that the last two years have brought tremendous change in so many areas in my life, and that the changes keep on coming.

This year was my fifth consecutive busy (tax) season at work.  And it was the hardest one yet.  It didn't start off too badly, but from March 11 - April 15th I was only able to take one day off work (Easter) and most weeks were well over 60 hour work weeks with a couple topping 80.  I am lucky to have landed a position at Peterson Sullivan, where I enjoy doing interesting, challenging work with a group of people who are great to work alongside.

Nevertheless, such a heavy workload leaves its mark.  Really it was on a whim - in early February in the midst of such a busy time - that I decided to sign up for the Seattle to Portland bike ride on July 13th.  I didn't have a bike, I hadn't exercised in forever, and I didn't have any kind of a training plan.  But I had a few friends who were going and who encouraged me to join them.  Perhaps I just needed something to look forward to that would power me through the rest of busy season.

Whatever the reason, I was committed.  I got a brand new road bike for my birthday in late April and I hit the road.  I didn't get to train quite as much as I'd have liked, but after putting in some 500 miles I set off on the 13th to make the 200-mile trek.  About 16.5 hours later we made it to our destination in Portland, exhausted and elated to have achieved something difficult and worthwhile.

Since my training started in April, I have made a regular habit of commuting home from work (a 30-mile ride) and taking longer rides on the weekends.  I am in better shape than I've been in since who knows when.  It's been a tremendously positive change in my life, and I'm grateful for friends who encourage me to make positive change and for capricious decisions that sometimes have fantastic results.

Oh and speaking of change did I mention that I'm changing careers?  True story.  Let's recap Matt's career:

* Graduated from BYU in 2002 with a degree in communications (Public Relations).  Intended to get a job at a PR firm and make a career of it.
* Couldn't find a job in PR so spent nearly 2 years working as an electrician.
* Attended law school from 2004-2007; passed the bar and practiced law until the beginning of 2009.
* Switched to a career in public accounting, which I have done since early 2009 until the present time.

Let's not forget that the CPA career has included three jobs.  Two at decent-sized CPA firms and one (sandwiched in-between those two) at a small firm that I was intending to purchase and operate indefinitely (a plan that failed).

As of right now I've been at Peterson Sullivan for almost a year, so naturally it's time to switch things up.

You see, the only constant through all of those career changes noted above has been my involvement at Pacific Ballroom Dance.  It became a 501(c)(3) organization about the same time that Heather and I got started with it in 2003.  Since that time, we have been intimately involved in helping it to grow and expand.  One of the most fulfilling aspects of my life these last ten years has been serving in this organization where I have been able to influence the lives of young people in a positive way.  I have come to believe strongly in the transformative power of ballroom dance as a tool that builds character in youth and breaks down social barriers.

Three years ago, we partnered with a fantastic program called Dancing Classrooms, based in New York City.  It's an incredible, inspired program that trains Teaching Artists to go into 5th grade classrooms to teach ballroom dance to students.  We have loved this program and have enjoyed our interactions with its leadership since we teamed up three years ago.  The organization has about 24 sites around the country at the present time.

Some time during the dog-days of busy season, I became aware that Dancing Classrooms was looking to hire a full-time National Operations Director.  I let them know I would be interested in talking to them about the position.  After some interviewing and discussions back and forth, they made me an offer, which I accepted.  In this position, I will be responsible to help shape the strategy and structure of the program and I will manage its growth into the future.

It seems like the perfect fusion of my training, experience, and talents at this time in my life.  The vision is to bring this program to every 5th grader on the planet.  That may or may not prove possible, but what a wonderful and lofty goal to work toward!  My full-time occupation will be to bring the joy of ballroom dance to tens (and eventually hundreds) of thousands of children all over the country and world.  I couldn't be more excited.

My Letter to the Boy Scouts of America

February 4, 2013

Dear Boy Scouts of America:

I fondly remember the Court of Honor where, together with my two best friends, I was awarded the rank of Eagle Scout.

I remember so many friends and family members coming to celebrate the occasion.  My family was very supportive of my scouting efforts and I was lucky to have a lot of help as I progressed through the program.  My three younger brothers were there, one of whom would go on to earn his Eagle rank a few years later.

I remember the pride in the eyes of my grandfather, who had long encouraged me to reach this goal and who had pledged his assistance in spite of failing health.  He would pass away less than a year later and I was so glad he lived to see me receive it.

Many of the scout leaders I had worked with for years were present, some of whom I had butted heads with from time to time.  One scoutmaster in particular had left a strong impression on me when I was trying for my First Class rank some years before.  I had been 12 years old at the time, and way too cool for Boy Scouts.  I remember him hesitating to sign off on my requirements and saying that he was disappointed in my lack of Scout Spirit.  His assessment stung and it motivated me to commit to try harder.  I came out of that discussion more humble and more teachable.

Preparing for that Court of Honor, I reflected on some of the experiences I had along the way.  I thought about the many campouts spent in the soggy forests of Western Washington, miserably waiting in a leaky tent for a break in the weather.  These experiences taught me patience and preparation.  I thought about the younger boys I had led through merit badge requirements and through the wilderness.  These experiences taught me how to mentor and how to teach.  Mostly I thought about how the program had helped shape my character, and how I had been richly blessed by the investment of so many dedicated leaders.

My leaders worked tirelessly to help me understand what it meant to be a responsible young man.  I was taught extensively what it meant to be a member of my community, my nation, and my world.  I was taught how to manage my finances, my time, and my fitness.  I was taught how to respect and take care of my environment.

More than 15 years have passed since that Court of Honor and these days I’m a dad with three young daughters.  While they obviously won’t have the benefit of learning these same lessons as members of the Boy Scouts of America, the values and lessons I learned through my Boy Scout experience color their lives every day.  Because of my experience with Boy Scouts, I know how to recognize and take advantage of opportunities to teach them important lessons about life.

I know, from first-hand experience, the benefits of participation in the Boy Scout program.  And I believe those benefits should be shared with as many people as possible, including youth and leaders who identify as homosexuals.

As a young man going through the program, I most likely would have been uncomfortable with homosexual members of my troop.  I hope that I would not have been the kind of person who would have picked on or bullied a young man who was wrestling with questions of sexual identity.  But I can’t say for certain how I would have responded in that situation.  One thing I do know – I didn’t develop the compassion that I now feel toward my LGBT brothers and sisters until much later in life.  I’m ashamed of that, and I wish I had found earlier opportunities to face the issue of homosexuality and to gain a better perspective.

The Boy Scouts of America is in a unique position to offer leadership in this sensitive area.  By opening its ranks to homosexual individuals BSA can demonstrate that they deserve respect and an equal footing in our society.  More importantly, BSA would create opportunities – ones that I did not have – for members to learn how to accept and how to treat young men who are homosexual.

Over the last decade I have been deeply involved in a youth character development program in my area (not BSA) where I have interacted with young people of diverse backgrounds.  I have worked with students struggling with various issues common to American teenagers - including questions of sexuality.  The supportive, loving environment this program creates has made a huge difference for these young people and has allowed them to flourish where otherwise their struggles may have proved overwhelming.

These opportunities are priceless and, as a society, we desperately need to foster environments where these lessons can happen in a safe place under the guidance of wise, trained leaders.  We need places where young men can learn tolerance, respect, and acceptance in lieu of ostracism, persecution, and ridicule.

A change in this BSA policy would be challenging.  It would raise new questions and create situations that require new guidelines for regulating behavior and supervision.  But these are challenges that can be capably handled with the kind of thoughtful, visionary leadership that is expected from BSA executives.

This letter is a request from an Eagle Scout for you to open your doors.  Allow homosexual individuals to participate as members and as leaders.  If handled carefully, a revised policy will be a tremendous blessing for all who interact with this wonderful program.

When I think of the future and all the additional young men who could benefit from this program under a new policy, I picture thousands of joyful, celebratory Eagle Courts of Honor like mine that otherwise would not happen.  I see leaders and young men working together and learning from each other - developing character in new and important ways.  I see generations of young men emerging from this wonderful program better equipped to handle the realities of a changing society.  Please make that future possible.

Sincerely,

Matthew Longhurst
Eagle Scout - 1997

The Weekend, Part II: The One Where I Went to Prison

Outside of a couple of visits to Alcatraz and seeing lots of TV shows or films like The Green Mile or Shawshank Redemption, I have never really seen the inside of a prison.  Given this limited exposure, I've always pictured prison to be a very bleak, cold, brutal place of constant misery filled with ruthless, violent individuals.  And I'm sure a lot of prisons fit that description very well.

When my youngest brother Andrew became a convicted felon earlier this year and was sentenced to spend some time in the care of the Federal Bureau of Prisons, I wasn't sure what he was in for.  I knew that the jail where he had previously spent several months in North Carolina was a pretty rough place where bad things could and did happen to people with some regularity.  The last thing I wanted for my wayward but gentle brother was for him to land in a place where he would have to fend for himself among dangerous people and conditions.

We were pretty relieved when he was finally assigned to serve his almost 1 year sentence at a low-level security institution in Sheridan, Oregon.  Reviews on the place were pretty good, reporting favorable conditions.  The inmates there are not violent offenders and safety would not be a concern.  He would get decent food to eat and limited opportunities to work and improve himself.

Having said that, I still didn't really know what to expect when we went down to visit him for the first time this last Saturday.  I had heard reports from my mom and dad that it was a comfortable place to visit and that it would an okay place for my kids.  This was good news, because I felt pretty strongly about exposing my girls to that environment and sharing that whole experience as a family.  You see, I had multiple purposes in mind for the visit.  First and foremost, I missed my brother and I wanted to see him (he's been in since October 1).  But secondly, I wanted my daughters to get a little taste of life in that kind of environment.  I wanted them not only to see first-hand the consequences of unlawful behavior but also to see that inside the prison there are people who are good and who are loved.

So we set out Saturday morning from Auburn and drove for nearly 4 hours to get to Sheridan.  As the miles ticked away I got more and more excited to see my brother.  It was a pleasant drive and I especially enjoyed the last leg of the trip.  After escaping the Portland suburbs the road to Sheridan winds through some beautiful country dotted with orchards and vineyards.  Also there was a huge, unexpected flight museum not far away from Sheridan in McMinville with a huge variety of interesting planes on display in full view from the highway.  Apparently it's the current resting place of the Spruce Goose.  Who knew?

I briefly had second thoughts about the whole excursion after we had hopped out of the car and were entering the building that housed the inmate visiting area.  We had just passed through the unmanned, open front gate and found a parking spot before heading inside.  As we were approaching the front door of the building a voice came on over a loudspeaker broadcast throughout the prison giving some kind of instructions to the "inmate who just stabbed himself in the eye."  It didn't sound pretty, and I knew from previous correspondence with Andrew that things in an adjacent, higher-level security part of the prison sometimes got a little crazy.

Heather and I traded concerned looks and continued into the facility.

We quickly got checked in and entered a room full of inmates and their visiting friends and family members.  If it weren't for the fact that each inmate was dressed in an identical dark green jumpsuit with names and numbers printed on the front the place would have felt just like a gathering at a community center.  All told there were probably 50-60 people present visiting with each other.  Lots of groups were playing card games or reading books.

We located Andrew and everyone traded hugs and we spent a very pleasant hour visiting together and catching up.  My brother Scott was there too and we talked about sports and news items, family updates, and of course Andrew's life in the prison and his plans for when he gets out in September of this year.

What struck me the most about the visit was the love in that room.  I know it's been a lonely place for Andrew, who of course doesn't know anyone in the prison and hasn't really reached out to get to know anyone since he arrived.  He's done a lot of reading and working out, but not much else since he arrived.  I imagine that most of the inmates must feel the same way.  So receiving guests (many of whom likely had to, like us, travel quite some distance) must be a unique and rare experience.

Looking around at the faces of the inmates (using my newfound skills I mentioned in Part I of this post), each one of them looked incredibly happy to have a visitor.  All of the visitors who were in the room looked very supportive toward their loved one.  There was no hint of animosity or resentment - and only the briefest traces of sadness - that I could see on any of their faces.  Just love in large quantity.

When visiting hours ended at 3:00 I saw many tearful goodbyes - including one where a young girl who was probably Sydney's age was clinging to her father and bawling.  Seeing these displays strongly reinforced for me the tremendous worth of all of the people residing in that place.

Heather said tonight that when somebody goes away to prison they kind of move out of time.  They are unable to make the kind of normal life progress (school, work, family, etc) that most people make most of the time.  It's kind of hard to know what to talk about with Andrew sometimes because it's not like he has a lot of his own news to report.  And my life rolls forward without him for now and his connection to my life gradually gets more distant.  I am happy to know that it's a temporary separation and that he will be back among family by autumn.

I think everyone has a right to the kind of love I saw in that prison on Saturday.  Parents, siblings, spouses, and children who care and who communicate or demonstrate that care.  While I hope to never find myself on the other side of the situation I observed this weekend, I am grateful to be in a position to support someone I love who is spending some time there.  I am grateful for the new perspective I picked up on Saturday, and for the opportunities I will have to demonstrate that kind of love to others whenever they might need it.

The Weekend, Part I: Eye Contact

It's about a mile to walk between the train station and my office in downtown Seattle. For months I've made the connection via bus, which is pretty good for avoiding the elements but pretty bad for taking advantage of an exercise opportunity twice a day.  Wanting to make a change, I recently got some better walking shoes and committed to taking the heel-toe express. I have been enjoying the 20 minutes I get to spend outside among the people of this city.  It's also a great chance to really wake up after dozing on the train for a half hour.

On Thursday my firm brought in a speaker who gave a presentation on how to effectively handle challenging interpersonal relationships. The speaker spent some time talking about body language and, specifically, about eye contact. She made several interesting points and it reminded me of another conversation I had with a friend this week about "shifty Seattle eyes." My friend observed that most passersby on the street can't hold eye contact for more than a fraction of a second before their gaze darts away.  I had noticed the same thing and, more troubling, I've noticed myself behaving in kind from time to time.  I don't want to be a darty-eyed dude.  There is a certain confidence that is projected when you're good at establishing and maintaining eye contact.  A few people in my life stand out to me as being really good at holding eye contact, and I always feel comfortable and confident around these people.

I hadn't thought much more about this subject until the following morning (Friday), when I passed by a woman on the street. I didn't notice anything remarkable about her at first; she was not beautiful or ugly or tall or short, her clothes were not flashy or dirty or anything out of the ordinary.  I glanced up at her as she hopped off the bus that had stopped up ahead and prepared to look ahead and keep walking. That's when something happened that changed the course of my commute.  She looked me in the eye and smiled at me. It wasn't a big goofy grin. It wasn't a creepy grin. It was a small, simple smile and it was aimed directly at me. And it nearly stopped me in my tracks.  I could not help but smile back.  As we passed by each other I suddenly felt warm and happy where moments before my thoughts were merely drifting.  What surprised me was the intensity of the warmth and the happiness.  I still can't make sense of it, really; I all I know is that it was real and it was powerful.

So I decided something.  I determined that for the rest of my walk to the office I was going to scan the face of everyone I passed, try to make eye contact, and smile a friendly smile.  Something in that woman's smile made me lose any inhibitions I might have felt and I decided to be completely indiscriminate - smiling at the old, young, attractive, not attractive, scary, sketchy, ragged, polished, and potentially homeless all in the same way.  And I did.  And it was amazing.

At 8:00 on a weekday morning one passes scores or probably hundreds of people walking a mile through the heart of downtown.  Most people gave me the shifty Seattle eyes I would have expected, and I didn't really make a connection there.  Some people looked startled or surprised and unsure how to react.  A couple of people actually looked touched in the same way that I felt touched by the woman several blocks earlier.  In particular, one large man with an black eye patch (think Dale Chihuly) on the corner of 4th and Madison had a reaction that morphed from surprise to a very heart-felt smile-back - all in an instant.

By the time I arrived at my office I was bursting with happiness.  In a very small yet meaningful way I had made a connection with dozens of my fellow people.  The connections were satisfying and I felt like the experience had completely broadened my focus for the day.  Even in my interactions in the office I found myself doing more to study the nuances in the faces of my co-workers.  I was looking for chances simply to smile at them in a (hopefully) disarming and connecting way.

Hopefully I can make this a habit.  I'm sure it will take some practice.  If you are someone who I see regularly, you might see me giving you a smiling staredown over the next week or two until I get the new habit all worked out.  The next time you're walking through a crowded place I suggest you give this little exercise a try.  It will change your day!

Of Angst and Reconciliation

Last week, amidst the growing cacophony of opinion following the Sandy Hook school shooting, I had an interesting conversation with an attorney friend of mine.  The topic du jour was gun control, a debate given new life following not only the events in Newtown, but also a raft of gun violence across the country in recent weeks and months.

The cries for reform have grown louder in the media and on my social networks.  Facebook (my personal universe barometer) reveals a very stark contrast between the two sides.  Some voices echo strongly Charlton Heston’s famous “From my cold dead hands” statements while others argue for the confiscation of most or all the firearms currently in private hands.  These two sides seem to be at an impasse – and each time one side voices its position, the other side is whipped into a frenzy of passionate rebuttal.

It’s the same kind of rhetoric that pushed me to start this blog last month, and it’s as predictable as it is exhausting.  But that’s not what I want to talk about today.

My friend, over the course of our conversation, expressed some fairly passionate opinions on the issue and seemed to be pressing, by the end of the conversation, for some kind of action that she could take to help make change happen.  There even seemed to be a hint of challenge in her words and her tone – a suggestion that people who talk but don’t act share some measure of culpability when bad (and perhaps preventable) things happen.

This got me to thinking.  My response at the time was that I feel too far removed from the intricacies of the problem, the history of the debate, and the wheels of power to get involved in any kind of meaningful way.  As honest and real as those reasons are, they felt kind of weak in the moment.

But I’ve had time to reflect since then.  In a society as large and complex and interconnected as ours it’s easy to feel like one’s voice – let alone one’s actions – is too small to have a real impact on our society.  We live in an age where it’s easy – and almost unavoidable – to get a lot of (often highly charged) information about today’s current events and hot topics and to get all riled up about the latest crisis.  For an avid news and information consumer like me this can lead to a lot of angst.

As I’ve reflected on my role my mind keeps coming back to the many young lives I’ve been privileged to impact through coaching.  I didn’t set out to be a ballroom coach because I felt passionate about gun control, women’s rights, access to education, gay rights, government entitlement/tax/fiscal policy or any number of other pressing social or political issues.  Nevertheless, I am hard pressed to think of a more effective way that I could have made a difference in all of these areas over the last 10 years than by serving in that capacity.  As a coach I have spent countless hours in groups and in one-on-one conversations speaking with young people about the problems and opportunities in their lives.  I can point to many doors opened and many perspectives broadened due in part to the influence that I have wielded.  While it is very rare that I preach any one side of an issue in those settings, I always do my best to leave my students feeling empowered and capable of tackling hard problems.

Evaluating and accepting my role in this big society is an ongoing exercise.  It’s something that’s certain to evolve and change over time.  For now I am content to leave the larger societal issues to those who are (hopefully!) more informed and who have the power or influence to make the right thing happen.  I will continue to support their efforts and try to stay informed and involved in the democratic process.  But I’m going to spend less time worrying about all the ways that I can’t possibly matter in this big puzzle and focus more on the areas where I just might make a difference.

Of Socks and Gratitude

I’ve been watching you for a couple of months now, little white sock.  You weren’t very remarkable at first, simply the latest in a long line of your brethren who’d come before – left outside near the trampoline by your owner after she enjoyed an afternoon romp with her friends.  Little did I know how different your fate would be.  Unlike so many other forgotten socks, your abandonment would last much longer.

The seasons sometimes change abruptly up here in Washington, and this was the case when our summer ended in early October this year.  Months of constant, glorious sunshine were quelled overnight as the gray rains settled in to stay.  This put an end to the bustle in our backyard and we’ve hardly ventured back out there since.

And so you have stayed there through cold, wet days and nights waiting in vain to be retrieved.  I noticed this morning that you’ve cuddled up with a dark brown leaf, long fallen from some lofty perch and wedged between you and the patio paver upon which you lie.  Both of you standing as soggy reminders of sunnier, warmer times gone by.

I wonder what you think each morning as the dark slowly gives way to our grim December days.  Does the morning light give you hope each day?  Do you wonder with each sunrise if perhaps this is the day that your outdoor adventure will come to an end?  Do you long for a happy reunion with a little girl’s foot?

I have to admit your presence has frustrated me at times.  I have often wondered why it remains so difficult - despite so many reminders - for your owners to take better care of you.  This summer there seemed to be a constant yard sale of goods and garbage on display back there on a daily basis.

Of course, on this particular morning as I was thinking about you it didn’t take long for the frustration to give way to gratitude.  Along with every parent in America, I’ve spent the last few days holding my children a little tighter.  I feel incredibly grateful for three beautiful children with big hearts who tonight are all healthy, safe, and warm in their beds.  I am grateful today for stray socks, messy rooms, loose teeth, fights over wearing tights with their dresses, fights over eating dinner, crying fits over tic-tac-toe games, and all the other frustrations that necessarily accompany parenthood.

My hope today is that I can do a better job of keeping this perspective in the challenging days, months, and years of parenting that lie ahead.  I am grateful for you, little sock, and all the innocence and life that you represent.