Bryce V. His emotions or why I’ll never be like Spock

[Please check out www.Bryceelliott,com for the official website of Bryce Elliott.]

After taking time in my life to pursue counseling, there is one thing I have learned more than anything else. Emotions always find a way out. I was sitting in my counselor’s office one morning and tried to hold back tears when he asked me “why are you trying to hold back your emotions?” my response was truer than I expected. I said “I don’t want people to see me like this and I hate not being in control.” My statement was simple, I wanted people to see only certain parts of me and my desire for control meant that I always wanted to be in control of my emotions.

Think of Spock from Star Trek. He is logical and always thinks through thinks without letting his emotions cloud his judgment. I wanted to be like Spock. I wanted to think life through and make logical and analytical judgments that proved to be sound and respectable. I wanted to always keep my emotions in check, never letting them control me or making my decisions for me. I wanted to be in charge, not my emotions.

In elementary school through middle school I always got suspended or in trouble. I remember one incident at school where someone who supposedly was my friend stole my ball from under my desk and ditched me during recess to go play with the other kids. This was traumatic because if you didn’t have the ball, no one wanted to play with you. Second, I was abandoned by someone who was supposed to be my friend. The events of that afternoon resulted in a fight, my karate teaching being called and a community disaster nearing DEFCON 1.

See, when parents don’t know the whole story they create conjecture and react to a worst case scenario. Thus, one kid said I used my amazing Karate skills to chop and punch kids while drawing awe and the attention of the West Linn Ninja guild. I was better and more awe inspiring than Danny Larusso. This conjecture caused a parent to call my karate teacher. Instead of explaining how awesome I was, she complained that he was teaching kids to become lethal weapons and  I was a threat to the community.

Little 9 year old Bryce had set off the community DEFCON level to 1 and it was all out panic in the highly affluent white community that had nothing better to do on a Saturday than to drop a few grand at Nordstroms in the Gucci section and polish their Porsche or Bentley.  Yes, a 9 year old had the effect of Batman on Gothom, striking fear into the hearts of man.

When I went to karate that night there were two teachers there. My sensei then took me for a walk and told me a story about what happens when we let our emotions get the best of us. He was a plumber in college and a few guys tried to jump him and “teach him a lesson.” In self-defense he fought off the guys and hit one with a plumbers wrench. Even though it was self-defense he was imprisoned and now has a felony.

I began meeting with my karate teacher to learn to control my anger and my emotions. He took me under his wing and helped me to have an outlet for my anger. The problem is that it doesn’t heal the hurt of years of being made fun of. It doesn’t heal the scars from being picked on and laughed at. Instead, I learned to control my emotions even if it meant stuffing them down inside and never acknowledging they are there.

Eventually little 9 year old Bryce grew up. Over the years he got much better at controlling his emotions. He learned to not react and to simply avoid conflict. I learned through the years to be logical, analytical and like Spock, always thinking before I act. Yet, emotions have a way of making their way out. Some use addictions like sex, alcohol, eating, cutting, and others to quench the emotions. Some simply explode one day while others have rollercoaster ride of emotions, one day being fine and the next a train wreck. For me, my emotions leak out one way or another. I have gotten to a point where sometimes I don’t realize what is bottled up inside. I don’t know what is going on. While I have tried to take time to reflect and release emotions in a constructive manor these days there is one activity that always lets me know what is going on: Grocery shopping.

There is a Grocery store near my house and since I need to eat I usually go there to buy my food. I am a pretty good cook and love trying new things, yet I am also a controlled person. Meaning I like a plan, a structure and a guide that gives me a sense of where I am going so I can deviate and make my own path. I like to be in control of my success and know that when I cook it is always going to be good. Why? Because I hate failing and looking like an idiot.

As I walked into the QFC it was like my world suddenly grew cold. The grocery store suddenly felt like a 3 story maze full of traps and monsters. I made my way over to the produce aisle and immediately my heart started racing, my hands trembled and my face grew pale. Should I grab apple, oranges, celery, strawberry’s? Would I actually eat what I buy? Am I wasting my money if I buy apples and don’t eat them all? I could probably use them for something, but what? I don’t have a recipe. In the course of 5 seconds these questions and a myriad more flooded my mind. Suddenly buying an apple wasn’t about pleasure and food. Rather, it was a question of my competency as a cook. If I just got an apple and it went bad it meant I was lazy or uncreative in order to not find a use for it. It was just an apple, but suddenly this apple said more about me as a person that I would ever know.

If an apply threatened my identity as a person, then what must the celery say about me? Or the orange? The pressure of the produce Isle overwhelmed me and I felt tears coming to the surface. I was inadequate as a human, a cook, and a person. I couldn’t cook, survive or even eat just an apple without my identity as a person being brought into question.

I felt all my insecurities rise to the surface. Not only was I standing to long looking at an apple, but now I was sure everyone else was looking at me. They were thinking to themselves about how I was an idiot and can’t even pick up simple groceries. They were looking at me all wondering why I was so incompetent, so worthless and pathetic. To escape the glances of the wandering judgments of my passerby’s I moved on out of the ruthless and vicious produce aisle.

I suddenly found myself in the meats aisle. While I had escaped the evil apples, I had not escaped my insecurities. If I bought meat what would I use it for? I could make Chili, but that would mean I would have to go back to the produce aisle, I would also have to get a ton of other things too. So no Chili, but what about this or that or maybe that one dish? I suddenly felt overwhelmed by even the idea of buying meat.

I was hungry, tired and somehow just simply buying food for the weak made me want to curl up in the corner and cry. Everyone knew it too. Everyone could see my thoughts. They judged me and knew how inadequate and pathetic I was that I couldn’t even buy groceries. Finally, to escape the evils of the grocery store I forced myself to grab 4 things: Pepsi, bread, cheese and deli meat. I grabbed them and headed for the check stand as fast as I could.

An employee stopped me mid stride down one aisle, “are you finding everything alright?” What like I couldn’t find things on my own? Do I look that pathetic that I need help? I am not inadequate and I am offended that you would even think so… I simply responded “I’m fine, thank you.” and headed to the check out.

Suddenly in my car I felt the quiet echo of my heart in the silence. I was worthless. I was inadequate.  How pathetic must I be to be overwhelmed by grocery shopping? It’s just food and even then I was losing it. I started my car and drove home and the world could not have moved slower. Ever heart beat was felt in my hands, my head swirled with emotions and my body longed for rest.

An hour before I was fine. I was happy and under control. Life was my oyster and now suddenly a simple task such as grocery shopping opened the Pandora’s Box that were my emotions. It was in that moment that I recounted the words of my counselor. My emotions would find a way to come out one way or another.  It was a simple task of Grocery shopping that let me know that everything was not alright. I was feeling things and hiding emotions from my life because I didn’t want to deal with them.

I felt like my Karate teacher and the grocery store just called me to tell me that my inner child just got in a fight with my adult child. There was a war going on inside and emotions were boiling. Something needed to be done in order to deal with the root causes and issues of my life. That thing was simple, spend time writing and praying and being willing to listen to my heart in all its agony and frustration.

Emotions have a way of coming out, one way or another. Grocery shopping has taught me that I will never be like Spock, letting my analysis and logic overpower my emotions. Instead, each day I am trying to listen to my emotions as they are usually telling me something that I am not aware of. That is the funny thing about emotions; they let us know what’s going on. I just hope that in the days and years to come I can listen more to my emotions and find a way to get in and out of the grocery store without them screaming obscenities at me.



Wrestling with God and getting a tattoo

I was an amazing wrestler. I wrestled for 6 years and went undefeated for 2 years. I was only pinned twice in my career; once in my first match and another time when I was knocked unconscious by my own arrogance and pride. I beat wrestlers who were ranked in state and I even wrestled national champions. I started going to Varsity practices when I was in 8th grade and just to push me my coaches made me wrestle the Heavy Weights in practice (I weighed 171lbs, heavy weight is over 230).

One time my coaches had me wrestle up 2 weight classes in a duel meet. I stepped onto the mat to shake the hand of the opponents coaches son, a 6’1 and 215lbs miniature man with a slight 5′oclock shadow. I looked up at him as if I was David facing Goliath. It was a match of epic proportions as the balance of our duel meet hung on my ability to defeat our opponents best wrestler who happened to only weighed 35lbs more than me. I stared at him as the whistle blew and our match started. His strength was greatly overpowering me. Yet, I was good, very good. So I quickly used his size and strength against him catching him off-balance and in a move of pure eloquence and grace rarely seen in a wrestling match my opponent landed on the mat locked in my fierce grip. The next 30 seconds was a battle as I stared into his eyes and squeezed his body watching the blood constrict as his shoulders inched closer to the mat. Then it happened, the ref slapped the mat and signaled a pin. I let go and was surrounded my cheers of excitement. David had defeated Goliath.

There are a myriad of other stories that I often tell often avoiding a very key part of my wrestling career. I was a good wrestler that is true. I went undefeated and wrestled heavy weights in practice which is also true. What often is never said is that I quit in the beginning of my junior year. In my sophomore year I refused to challenge the senior to take varsity in our district meet, thus I entered as the second man from our team, the lowest seed. I fought through a number of opponents, even defeating a fellow senior in my youth group, only to find myself in a battle for 3rd place. Only the top 3 from each weight go to state. I had moved past our teams first seed senior into a higher placing, I had come from the bottom to challenge seniors who had done this before. The guy I was wrestling for 3rd was intimidating, he was huge, fierce and a senior as well. He was a veteran having gone to state before. I was but a sophomore who had spent 2 years undefeated in the JV league. Our match contains too much detail for this blog, but I lost on a cheap shot by my opponent. I was cheated out of going to state by one place. I placed 4th in the toughest district in the state in the 171 weight class and I held back tears as I crawled off the mat after my match.

I continued to practice with the team going to state. I pushed them hard out of my anger and frustration knowing I should have won. I should have been better… It killed me. Realizing where I should have been and where I was, I quit. I entered the wrestling room my junior year of high school, one of the best wrestlers our team had and proceeded to have a mental break down over the next 3-4 weeks. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t push myself. I felt broken, worthless and like I would never be good enough. So I quit and the decision has haunted me ever since.

I loved wrestling and still do, but it is painful to admit that I quit. I could have been a contender. I could have been someone instead of a failure, a bum, which is what I am. When I look at quitting and wrestling it is a part of my past and choices in life that I want to forget. I probably could have gone to college on a full-ride wrestling scholarship if I wanted. But I didn’t.I quit because I could never be as good as I though I should have been.

Years later, enter my junior year of college where I was the Vice-President of our student government. I was leading an early morning prayer time for STUGO (Student Government) and students before classes (i.e. 6am). There are only 2 moments that I can ever say God clearly and evidently spoke to me. The first was sitting in orientation as a freshman God clearly spoke to me and said “I want you to become a pastor.” So, naturally I went into youth ministry as my major, instead of Pastoral Ministries. That lasted a semester before guilt took over and I switched to Speech & Communications. That lasted a semester before finally God got me in the pastoral ministry major. That only took 8 years to complete the degree…

As I was sitting in the prayer time I flipped open to the story of Jacob in Genesis 32. Jacob was a thief who basically stole his brothers birth-right (inheritance). His name literally means one who supplants. Imagine having a name that always reminds you of who you are? It would be like Bryce meaning “Failure” or “Quitter”, except unlike american names, my name would probably just be “quitter” which would be spelled Bryce. Jacob is going to meet up with his brother, whom is stole a very important part of his life from. Jacob is left alone and all the bible says is “So Jacob was left alone, and a man wrestled with him till daybreak.” It was in reading that passage that God clearly spoke to me. He said “Bryce, why do you run and hide from me? Why don’t you face me and wrestle with me?”

In wrestling you wrestle for 6 minutes total in 3 rounds at 2 minutes a piece. I could not fathom wrestling with someone all night, and then to have a hip displaced and wrestling through the pain. I could not imagine wanting something that badly that I would suffer and place myself through that kind of torture, not even to know God more… God had called me out.

I spent time praying asking God to reveal to me the state of my heart and to prepare me to wrestle Him. I wanted to be one who was willing to wrestle with God and fight to know him more. I wanted to be able to say ” I saw God face to face, and yet my life was spared.” I wanted to be able to say that I was that close to God… That is what I wanted, to wrestle God and never quit.

That spring semester I resigned as the Vice-president of STUGO, flunked out of college, and got my first tattoo. I then started working in a church and a year and a half later had a blow up with the pastor and left the church wounded and hurt. I battled addiction and spent a year of my life in what I like to call “The dark year” living in a basement with no windows and living a life far from God. I wanted to love God but didn’t know how any more.  I felt hurt by people and let down and didn’t even know if I believed in this “God” who I at one time when to college to get a degree in studying. It was through the very honest and bold words of a woman I was dating during that time in my life that I got started back on track, painfully and slowly. I started going to counseling and got involved with a very healthy church and a group of friends. In wrestling with God through all those years and even trying to get away, unlike the story of Jacob, it was God whom I could not prevail against and he won by calling me back to him.

Brennan Manning in his book Abba’s Child: The cry of the heart for intimate belonging quotes Mike Yaconelli, the founder of Youth Specialties, during his time with Henri Nouwen:

I heard him, and my slumbering soul was filled with the joy of the prodigal son. My soul was awakened by a loving Father who had been looking and waiting for me. Finally, I accepted my brokenness… I had never come to terms with that. Let me explain. I knew I was broken. I knew I was a sinner. I knew I continually  disappointed God, but I could never accept that part of me. It was a part of me that embarrassed me. I continually felt the need to apologize, to run from my weakness, to deny who I was and concentrate on what I should be. I was broken, yet, but I was continually trying never to be broken again–or at least to get to the place where I was very seldom broken…

I wept when I read that. I am a perfectionist and I hate people seeing that I can’t do something. I never want to admit making mistakes because I cannot live up to my own standards. It is not God who calls me to live a perfect life, it is me trying to impress God and others with my perfect life. Instead, my life got progressively worse and my sin because insurmountable. God doesn’t want us to get to a point where we are perfect. Rather, he wants us to get to a point to where we realize we are imperfect and it is His love that looks at us and says “If you but simply love me and try, you are perfect in my eyes.”

But God, I don’t want to be “perfect in your eyes” I want to be perfect in MY eyes… I don’t want to be broken. I don’t want to admit my addiction, my sin, my failures, because I will never be good enough. God, don’t you understand, I am not good enough!

I weep as I hear the words of God saying to me “Bryce you will never be good enough. Accept it. I just want you to give me the part of you that isn’t good enough, and together we can begin to heal your wounds.” I say “But God, then you’ll see how imperfect and horrible of a sinner I am” God replies “My son, I made you. I watched you grow in your mother’s womb. I saw your first steps when you failed thousands of times before walking. I saw you when you still wet the bed. My son, I am your Abba and you are my child.”

Tattooed on my right shoulder is an intricate cross with the name “One who wrestles with God” in Hebrew across it. On the inner part of my arm is Jacob wrestling God. This tattoo was started before the dark years, and before my life felt like it was in ruins. Yet at each moment in my life as I stand before the mirror everyday it reminds me that while I may have quit wrestling and strayed in my faith, each day I will strive to engage God and never quit… To pursue him relentlessly and let his healing love wash over my heart and life and bring me peace.

My tattoo is not for art, it is a part of my life and a piece of my story. It contains the hidden failures of a wrestler who quit at the peak of his career because he could never live up to his own standards. The tattoo also contains the struggles and failures and successes of a very imperfect man who desires to seek after God. Just as Jacob was scarred from his encounter with God, a daily reminder of his encounter, so too my tattoo serves as a daily reminder of the God who loves me and desires me to wrestle with him. Except, God doesn’t want me to wrestle with him as a competitor seeking to dominate and win, but rather as a child who wrestles with his Abba which always ends with both boys side by side leaning against the couch laughing and bonding.

Man versus Laundry…

I hate laundry. I honestly believe it is the bane of my existence. When you live in an apartment building and there is a shared laundry facility you can’t just throw your laundry in the washer or dryer and then return at your convenience. Instead you have to carve out time to wait around for the washer to get done so you can promptly move the wet clothes to the dryer. Then you have to wait for the dryer to finish to then take the clothes out. Now the clothes are dry and warm and must be folded promptly before they wrinkle. On top of that one must also iron and hang the dress shirts before they wrinkle.

This is a huge pain. First off, I must not only pay attention to time, but must carve out 2 hrs for laundry alone and at least an hour for folding and ironing, if not more. I think the worst part about laundry is the fact that I must fold my clothes. Whenever I go home to my parents house (i.e. Free Laundry) I enjoy placing my clothes in the washer and then the dryer (always remembering to clean out the lint trap). However, it seems that I always have to go hang out with friends before I can fold my clothes. It is amazing that when I return my clothes are folded, thanks to my mother. This is why I love my mother so much, and someday will, hopefully, have one more reason among a myriad to love my wife (just remember that folding clothes is a negotiable aspect of my future wife… and only ranks #18 on my list of “wishes”).

I was living with a few other guys in a house during college and also working full time. The dress code for work was to wear a collard button up shirt and slacks. This meant that to do laundry I had to do iron my shirts and slacks in order to preserve that crisp managerial look. I was finishing up my laundry one day and standing in the the middle of the living room ironing my shirts when low and behold one of my roommates walked in with a few young ladies. To top it off I do believe that I was watching some mid day talk show like Oprah or something. Now why was I watching Oprah? Good question…

As these young ladies began to laugh, one commented to my roommate “I can see why he can’t get a date…” With my masculinity now in shambles and my bitter hatred of laundry now increasing I set out on a journey to find the most masculine way to wash, dry, fold and iron my clothes. This journey has taken a few years to perfect but through my trials and tribulations, I can now begin the arduous process of laundry knowing that I am not only a man, but a mans man. Here is the complete guide on how to win the war versus laundry:

Step 1 -Get as dirty as possible.

Managing a cafe this means coming home lathered in chocolate, steamed milk, whipped cream, etc. In all other jobs it just means get dirty… Have pit stains, etc. After work I like to go to the gym. Therefore I work out hard not because it is healthy, but because I want to sweat as much as possible and reek to high heavens so I can teach my laundry who is Boss: ME!

Step 2 – Accumulate a mass

Keeping up on laundry only means 2 things. The first is more time doing laundry and second more time doing laundry. From a logic stand point if a load of laundry can hold up to X number of clothes and still takes Y minutes to complete, it is not a good use of time to do a load of laundry with only 0.5X as it will still take Y minutes. Rather, then at that rate to do X number of clothes as 0.5X a load it will take 2Y… This means more time. So, stink up a mess of clothes and then in one swoop do it all in one mass laundry war.

Step 3 – Prepare the weapons of mass cleaning

As a male I cannot condone using any sort of detergent or fabric softener if it smells girly. Thus, while I have written numerous letters to Old Spice to create a laundry detergent, my attempts have been met with silence. Therefore, I go to the store and sniff every bottle before I buy. I also set up a time that works for me to do laundry and stink up the entire building. As doing laundry has a way of creating a permeating smell, I make sure to do laundry right at 7am when everyone is leaving my apartment or at 5pm when everyone is getting home. In preparation I also vacuum the floor and make sure my surround sound and DVD player are properly set up. In order to properly win any war, one must prepare. This also means mental preparation. To mentally prepare a man must be pushed to the brink. This means make sure you do laundry only when all your clothes run out and their is no other option but to battle.

Step 4 – Die Hard.

The key to winning the war over laundry is to turn on Die Hard and fold clothes and Iron your shirts. I would be willing to substitute another good “Man” movie like 300, Braveheart, Gladiator, or Die Hard2 (3&4 are tertiary at best). While doing laundry you must grunt at all the right spots in the movie and react accordingly. Your focus is not on laundry but the movie. On occasion you might forget you are folding clothes as you are engrossed in the movie… why? Because laundry holds no power over you… err… me. I AM A MAN and I watch MAN movies while I do laundry.

I still hate laundry… But I love Die Hard. Therefore, laundry is but a mere nuisance to a great movie. Sure, you may say that such a great movie should not be tainted by something so unholy as laundry. To which I kindly reply “What then, should a man watch while doing laundry?”

Though, if one truly wishes to avoid laundry I suggest only 2 options. The first is to get married and have your wife do your laundry (Though I am not married I suppose this option is better than the second option I am about to propose). The second option is to get a girlfriend, beg her to do your laundry and then propose that you will make her a really nice dinner or give her a foot massage. Yup, Men it is either man up and win the war against your own laundry or enlist a woman to do it… Good luck.

Death and Identity

I can still remember the place I was when I got the news that Marcus had died. I was running the pyrotechnics in a show in Downtown Portland and I was headed home after a morning school show, when I was finally reached with the news. I was on I-405 headed south just before it merged with I-5 south of Portland. Marcus was just a few miles from me at OHSU up the hill in Portland… I still don’t remember how I got home but I cannot express how grateful I was that my father was standing in the Kitchen. I told him the news and tried to hold back the tears.

Marcus was one of my High School students during my 5 years working with Junior High and High School youth. When I was a Senior in High School Marcus was the annoying 6th grader that kept kicking the back of my chair. He was the Kid that never seemed to get things right. If humans could replace power plants Marcus could have powered the entire Northwest with the amount of energy he had.

While Marcus was annoying at times and could never sit still, he had a heart that truly exemplified a heart overflowing with love from Christ. He befriended anyone and everyone. No one was without a friend in Marcus. He cared and loved everyone. Still to this day I cry thinking about how much Marcus has taught me about loving people. He was the only high school student that would show up on my door step just wanting to chat or hangout. He was always investing in people and doing things for people. He gave so much of himself that I sometimes wonder if he ever had anything left for him.

“The drive train went out on his car and he crashed into a tree. Even as the paramedics were cutting him out of the car he was till typical Marcus, worrying about everyone else.” Said one of my mentors. I could tell stories of Marcus for hours, ones where he and 2 other high school students jumped me and tried to win in a wrestling match. Stories of discussions about God, Jesus, and how much he cared for others. Cars… He loved cars… But the reality is Marcus is dead. Marcus is never coming back.

I watched him grow up before my eyes. 7 years of his life and then he’s gone. I never got to tell him how much I loved him. I never got to tell him how much I cared and how much he taught me. I didn’t pray for him or with him enough. So much of my life can be looking back and wanting to change what I didn’t do. The reality, however, is to focus on all that was done. Those moments in Enterprise OR, wrestling, staring at the stars and talking about God, how he was always early to youth group to help out… Those moments are the moments that will forever push me to give more of myself to others and to God.

Marcus death was hard… I still weep when I write about him. There are moments driving home that I just star crying because I miss him. Looking back I realize how much death I have encountered. I lost a fellow camp counselor to heart failure when I was 17, earlier that summer another fellow camp counselor died in Portland. I don’t remember my Grandfather and that makes me sad because I want too… All I remember is sitting with my mother at the funeral. I remember getting home from a retreat at college and learning my cousin in Chicago had died. I held the hand of my grandmother and wiped up the fluids from her mouth as she died of lung cancer. I felt her last heart beat and the silence and peace in the room as she died.

Death is strange. It makes us realize our own mortality and often puts things into a perspective (sometimes the right one, sometimes not). Yet, Death imputes identity. Once we die we can no longer change who we were. In death, out lives are finalized. There is no more editing of the chapters of life or correcting mistakes. Rather, death finalizes everything. It is the final period at the end of the last sentence of the last chapter of the last volume of our lives. I remember my grandmother not as the cranky and bitter woman that she often was but rather as the woman who through gurgling fluids in her lungs and glazed over eyes could only say “wow…” when she was told that I was there.

Marcus was not the annoying and frustrating kids he seemed to be in his death. His last moments spoke to his character as he worried more about keeping his best friend safe as he was slowly dying.

How will you be remembered? If you died today, what would your last days say about you? Would others say “S/he was one that always cared more about others.”

Start shaping today the identity you wish to have in death. My recommendation is to die twice like Marcus did. The first death is to let your old self die so that you can be resurrected in Christ, anew. Then each day strive to let Christ’s heart and love change and transform your life into one more like his so that when you cease to live on this world your legacy is rooted in Christ and his beauty. When I think of Marcus, I think of his love for others which could only come from his love for Christ… Through his death his identity was sealed as a masterful and beautiful life of love in Christ.

Unspoken pains or Who I am

I spent a year and a half managing a café in Downtown Portland. It was one of the most amazing jobs ever, primarily because it was a Chocolate Café. Every day I got to engage women with free samples of chocolate. For men, I was the man who helped them score points with ladies. The world was my oyster and in that oyster only I held the keys to the giant pearl.

For me this was the first Job that I was truly proud of. I had worked for the company years prior as just a barista and fell in love with the chocolate. When I was hired as a manager I was charged with the mission of turning around the store. I took it upon me to invest myself and time into turning around this café to make it profitable and successful. For me, this café was a huge part of my identity.

There were days in which I would arrive at open and leave at close. I scanned spread sheets of data to figure out sales and streamline profits. My amazing shift leads helped me revamp the flow and process of making drinks, cleaning and selling. Within 3 months we had successfully turned the café around from being the lowest grossing store to the 3^rd highest in the nation. I would stand outside my café with a tray of chocolate feeling like I was king of the world. It was amazing!

As the company progressed and my successes spread throughout the company I was blessed to get to know the people at Corporate. Our graphic designer is still to this day one of the most creative and beautiful woman that I know. The customer service team was the team I went to see on a bad day as they always cheered me up. Then executive assistant was one of the sweetest and caring people I knew.

Through time I got to know people, develop friendships and love my job even more. I was blessed even more to be allowed to write the training materials for the implementation of our new POS system. I spent hours on the plane flying out to train and implement the system all the while writing and documenting training systems. Eventually the Executive assistant and I served as System administrators for the POS system and I was in heaven. I got to play with tech toys, train managers, and have a successful café. The world was truly my oyster.

I can still remember the day I was called into the corporate office for a sales meeting. I arrived and sat down in the conference room and was prepared to discuss numbers. I could feel the blood drain from my face as the HR manager and my District manager came walking into the room together. All logic told me what was going to happen next. Fifteen minutes later I walked out of the conference room feeling dazed and hurt, yet I held it together. The graphic designer extraordinaire had her door open as I walked past. When she finally made contact I simply pointed to my termination papers. I continued my walk of shame all the way to my car pretending the whole time I was fine… Nothing was wrong… I was the king of my own world… I was superman…

But I wasn’t fine. I was deeply hurt. I felt like I was rejected and discarded like a piece of trash. I had trained the manager that replaced me. Even after all the success I had, the investment in producing a top quality training system, the streamlined POS system, I, me, Bryce, was let go. I lied and pretended to all my friends for weeks that I was happy I was let go. I had been unhappy and stopped liking my job.

The reality was I didn’t sleep well. There were moments when searching for jobs I would break down crying. I hated having nothing to do. My confidence was shot and I felt like my value as a human being was zero. I sat in my counselor’s office one week and cried like a little girl as I told him of how hurt I was. I could no longer lie to myself about how much it hurt. Each time I thought or talked about it I felt like a piece of my heart was being ripped out.

I was worth nothing. I had been discarded so easily. I had no value or worth to a company that I invested my very being in. I could never be worth anything again. No one believes in me (at least no one that wants to hire me. Who wants to hire a reject?). I didn’t believe in myself anymore. I stopped caring. What good did I have to offer the world?

There is an unspoken pain that has pierced the hearts of thousands if not millions of people. Let me simply say this:

I know how you feel.

I have stood where you are and felt the crushing wave of defeat.

I have pretended to be fine and successful.

I have felt the pain you feel and the rejection.

I know how you feel.

How I learned the secret of world domination or Monopoly strategies

During my freshman year of high school I learned the secrets to business and probably should have been awarded a MBA for all my work. But alas, I was simply granted 3 more years of high school and tortured by being surrounded by non-business minded students. Yet, I owe my business savvy to a dear friend of mine who during a US History class beat me in a game of Monopoly.

This game of Monopoly was not just a friendly game. Rather 4 students were paired together to play against each other. The student who won, got an A on that project. The second place finisher got a B, and the final 2 students got C’s. This simple little game turned into a bloodbath, turning friends into enemies and aligned high school bullies with nerds. Each game took a unique turn of events. Some students were eliminated the first day and got a second chance with a new game. Others of us battled it out day in and out to get the A.

My game consisted of one student I don’t remember, my good friend Jake and a guy I really didn’t like named Matt.I got off to a good start and found myself buying up property and building Hotels. Matt did the same. The guy i dont remember found himself at a loss near the end of day 2 and eventually faded away but never left the game. He wasn’t a threat. He was the equivalent of the mom & pop coffee shop trying to take on Starbucks. Sure he may steal sales from one store, but the entire corporation will never fail.

Jake soon found himself in the same situation. He didn’t own much property and soon realized he couldn’t win. In a moment of pure genius Jake entered open negotiations with me regarding business. See Jake had more money than anyone in the game. The dice seemed to roll 10′s, 11′s and 12′s constantly. This allowed him to maneuver around the board collecting money faster than anyone. But his disadvantage was that he didn’t own property. Thus, Jake offered me a deal that changed the course of the game, and eventually the business career of a young 15 year old.

Jake offered me enough money to turn one of my monopoly’s into 3 beautiful hotels. But there was one condition. That condition was that he gained immunity from all my property and I would never be allowed to charge him rent if he landed on my property. Realizing that Jake, a good friend of mine, was no threat to me, I agreed. As Jake progressed around the board, and I gained money from my monopoly from other players, I repaid him and a beautiful business relationship began.

The only problem was that Matt was continuing to grow in his business venture and gaining hotels. As our nonamed friend got lower and lower to bankruptcy, Jake did the unthinkable. He bought him out. All of a sudden Jake had property and money. He still was no threat to me, but he posed a threat to Matt.

After a day of going back and forth Matt decided to play dirty, he offered Jake free rent on all his property if he funded his building venture. Like a wise businessman Jake Agreed and suddenly found himself never having to pay out money, but only gaining it. This left Matt and I to duke it out. We Battled it out and I found myself gaining on Matt. With Jake as my banker I had an endless supply of money.

This left Matt out of luck. By the near end of the game Matt conceded and sold me most of his property and went bankrupt. I found myself jumping with great joy and new found excitement. See Jake had sold me all his property too… I truly had a monopoly. I owned the game. Yet there was one problem left: Jake.

Since we had an agreement, binding as a written contract (part of the game, all contracts had to be written and not verbal), I could not charge him anything. All my properties were free rent for him. Yet, there could be only one. And so the final day of the game approached and our game was the only one left. Therefore Jake and I took turns rolling until our teacher stopped the game.

I figured I had won and congratulated Jake on being the best #2 I could ever have. Yet when all the money was counted I came in #2. Jake had amassed so much money over the course of the game that it would have been nearly impossible to win. Even with all my property, I had lost to the man who made my monopoly success possible.

It was at this moment I realized a few very key issue with business:

1) Never give something away for free.

2) Supply and Demand control the margins

3) Always have Jake as your Banker… and the Banker always wins.

It has been these three lessons that have taught me to be the successful businessman that I am. If you ever get the opportunity to play Monopoly with Jake be warned that you will never see business the same way and may it be for the better.

Why I still eat Peanut butter and Jelly, or How I learned to cook

It came as a shock to my mother when I asked her if I could cook dinner for the family. Immediately my mother asked who she was and if they’d like her. After answering all the obligatory questions about the woman that was the guest at dinner my mother then asked me where I learned to cook. This is a sound and proper question given the status of my cooking while I lived in her house. She was partial to the beginning stages of my cooking career that eventually launched me into the master chef I am today.

All during high school and early college I invaded the kitchen about 4 times a week to cook for myself. Any mother can attest to the rarity of such an action by a 15-20 year old male. However, for me it was an opportunity to create, innovate and eat (3 of my favorite things). Yet, the problem was not my creativity or innovation or even my ability to eat. Rather, the problem is I only cooked one thing: Top Ramen.

I was a master at Top Ramen, putting to shame many college students and lifelong college students.  While the noodles were basking in the boiling water, I was perusing the spice cabinet for anything that sounded fun. Coriander, cardamom, garlic, steak spices, basil, parsley, cilantro, Chile powder and many other fine spices accompanied my Top Ramen making it the best in the house. Sometimes I’d add a hint of cinnamon for sweetness, or overload on black pepper and garlic.

For years this was the master piece I longed to woo women with. My Top Ramen was revered among high school students and the poor alike. The only food next in comparison to my Top Ramen was my masterful skills in frozen pizza. I was king of the world in cooking and all looked to me as the prodigy I was. Now you understand why my mother was shocked that I wanted to cook dinner and bless her with my amazing skills. It was a shock because this blessing has never been offered on a family wide scale with a guest. Yet, little did my mother know that I had been increasing my cooking skills far beyond the expert skills needed for Top Ramen.

Around the ripe age of 23 I was invited to a Sunday night dinner with a bunch of my friends. The topic for the food was breakfast and I was asked to bring sausage. Upon arriving at the house I realized I was one of the first people to arrive. Strutting into the kitchen I was immediately charged with a question “Bryce, do you want to make the omelets?” Suddenly I was faced with a choice. I could explain to them that I was a master Chef, specialized in Top Ramen and decline this low level feat of culinary decadence. Or I could suck it up and realize I’ve never cooked Omelets before and jump in with both feet.

Realizing that my hubris prevented me from turning down a challenge outside of Top Ramen, and having just finished watching the Iron Chef on Food Network before coming over, I jumped in with both feet, adorning my waist with a bright pink apron. This was either going to be my moment to shine, or my undoing. Luckily for me it was a shining moment. After burning the first Omelet, I quickly learned what I did wrong and continued.  11 custom made omelets later and I suddenly became the shining chef of the evening.

Feeling like I was the winner on the Iron Chef, Sunday Night Dinner style, I now felt charged to further bless the world with my skills. The problem is that every chef has an amazing repertoire of great dishes that are specific to them only. I knew that in order to advance as a chef I needed to move past Top Ramen and into an unknown world of potential failure.

It was in this world that I suddenly began cooking randomly for large groups. With that group of friends I would always try a new dish, meticulously planned at home before cooking there. From a Chardonnay basked salmon slathered in rare spices, to my Creole bourbon marinated steak or my special brueschetta al pomodoro or the previously mentioned omelets my skills began to increase.  Yet, my moment had not yet come.

I was blessed with an amazing opportunity to cook for a house of women on the final eve of the whole group being together. After hours of laboring in the kitchen, meticulously pairing each course with a fine wine and a chocolate truffle, I met the bane of my cooking skills. It was a 4 course meal. We started with a light appetizer and a wine paired with a small truffle. Then the first round of the main course followed by the second round, each paired with a different wine and chocolate. Finally, dessert was to be served: A Bourbon Chocolate Pecan pie.

When I pulled the pie out of the oven something was wrong. The pie was not a pie at all. Someone had sought to overthrow my masterful evening of culinary skills by turning my pecan pie into a pecan soup!  The bane of my culinary skills had been found, dessert. From an appetizer to the main course I was skilled in many ways beyond my former years as a Top Ramen master. However, it seems that my first master failure as a cook came in the form of a Chocolate Pecan soup. It was at this moment I swore never to bake or cook a dessert again!

Since that fateful day my cooking has only gotten better. My pallet has only become more refined and the innovation with which I approach cooking has only gotten better. Yet, there is only one problem I seem to encounter on a daily basis. With all the masterful cooking skills now crammed into my head from years of experimenting and artistic skill, I seem to lack one very important skill: How to cook on a daily basis.

I can cook for a special occasion, a fancy party or to woo a woman, but when it comes to simple day to day eating I find myself lost in the kitchen and overwhelmed by the simplicity of it all. So, I grab some bread, peanut butter and some jelly and craft the most amazing PB&J sandwich one has ever had… I can read the headlines now: Master Chef eats PB&J for lunch because he can’t cook normal food.